Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Arcane spits him out in the Arbor Botanica.

Jayce wishes he could say he is surprised to be breathing once again, but he is not. It seems all his life is a grand cosmic joke, woven from childhood into a Gordian knot, and there is no sword capable of slicing him free of its tangled weave. Perhaps that is why he lives yet again; he is imprisoned in an infinite loop, a snake eating its own tail, and this is his fate and his doom, to be forever bound to the whims of the Arcane.

Or maybe it was the Mage who intervened at the last, a final chance for atonement. Maybe it was neither, and this is only a figment of his imagination, a last dream of his dying consciousness.

It matters not. His heart beats, his blood rushes, his leg aches. It is real enough.

The cowardly part of his shadow-self is disappointed at this outcome. He braced himself for an end, and though he feared the pain, he was ready to welcome the conclusion. A cessation of his and Viktor’s suffering, to leave this world as they should, as best friends, as soulmates, as partners.

To now find himself lying on golden grass, looking up at a warm autumn day, the Arbor trees shining like flame across a clear, azure sky; to draw fresh air between his lips, to feel the distant vibration of an airship arriving at the docks?

It feels like sin. A stolen gift not intended for him, not after all he has wrought on the world. To taste again the beauty of life is a cruel punishment indeed.

Then someone stirs beside him, the sound of their inhaling breath intimately known, and all his guilt is forgotten in an instant. He swivels to look, rolling over like a lupine creature, trembling hand already reaching for mercury dipped tresses, and pale, pale, shimmery skin.

Amber eyes gaze back at him, wide with disbelief.

“Jayce?” Viktor croaks, voice hoarse but familiar, no hint of mechanical resonance.

The sound undoes him utterly. Jayce falls into him, crushing him close and pressing his mouth into his hair, unable to contain his shuddering cry of relief. He cares not that they are lying in a public garden, or that the patrons walking past are looking askance at them; he drags Viktor into his arms, holding him like a lover, aware of nothing except the sweet warmth of his body, and the resulting rush of undying, overpowering gratitude that consumes his every thought.

Viktor makes a faint noise of anguish and clings to him, burying his face into Jayce’s neck with hitching breath. The sensation of him reaching out, of touching willingly for once, is euphoric; Jayce groans, literally groans, and entwines them closer, their legs winding together.

“Thank you,” he gasps, to whom he cannot say. “Thank you.”

They hold each other like that for an unknown length of time. No further words are spoken, both too absorbed in the intoxicating sensation of requited love and permitted touch, for there is no possibility of mistaken affection between them now. Not after the Herald took possession of Jayce’s soul, observing all that was buried inside; not after Jayce reached for Viktor in the Arcane realm, and saw his devotion reflected in perfect synchrony, a decade of orbital yearning.

Viktor runs his hands all over him, stroking his brow, his beard, his neck, sliding long, clever fingers underneath the stiff collar of his black shirt. Jayce arches into each caress like a touch-starved creature, shivering in delight, greedy for more.

A pointed cough sounds out behind them. Jayce stills, feeling irrational anger spike within him, a predatory reaction honed by months of torment within a broken realm. Yet beneath him, Viktor only smiles softly, his eyes reassuring. He puts a gentle hand on Jayce’s chest, and that is enough to calm him.

They both sit up, looking rather rumpled. An Enforcer woman stands on the path below their patch of grass, staring off the side of them, rather than directly, in typical Piltover propriety.

“Sirs,” she intones, “Your conversation is disturbing the lunchtime patrons.”

Jayce glances past her and catches the haughty disgust upon a group of merchant class seated at a nearby picnic table. He returns their gaze coldly, and something in his eyes must disturb them, for all flush in unison and hastily look down at their delicatessen sandwiches.

“Our sincerest apologies,” Jayce sneers, irritated by the banality of the situation. “Naturally, it is of utmost importance that we protect the sanctity of their meal.”

The officer sighs, her eyes meeting his.

“I got called away from my meal for this,” she says tiredly, and his annoyance is swept away by her clear exasperation.

“Yes, of course you did. I’m sorry for the hassle, officer. We’ll head home.”

“That would be wise,” she says emphatically. Then her head tilts. “Hm. You look familiar. Have I seen your face before?”

“Time to go, I think,” murmurs Viktor, standing gracefully in a fluid motion and offering Jayce a hand. He takes it, awkwardly leveraging the braced leg underneath him, and together they retreat from the gardens, feeling the prickle of judgemental eyes upon their necks.

***

It is fortunate that Jayce was returned to existence in more casual attire and not the armour of their last battle. Between the brace, his beard, and the atypical clothing, he does not attract any of the undue attention normally showered upon him as the Man of Progress. The relief of moving unseen, for the first time in years, is heady; in fact, something about his rugged manner is deterring civilians from his presence, sending them scurrying away from his loping gait.

That only pleases him, and he does not begrudge their caution. He knows he was made into something feral after the pit. The Mage took his willpower and obsession, the parts of him that drove the creation of Hextech, catapulting him into fame and fortune, and transmuted them like an alchemist of old.

Jayce was sharpened, his fragile edges battered into a new alloy, from shining brass to a dark adamantium. The scientist and politician yet linger within him, but they have been subsumed, overcome by the warrior spirit his suffering unveiled.

It would shame him, this lurking savagery, were it not for the way Viktor looks at him as they meander through the Piltovan alleys. Viktor himself appears much as he did in the commune, wrapped elegantly in that indigo robe, though it reveals miasma-marked skin instead of metal. His muscle is strong, and he walks and breathes without effort, padding at Jayce’s side with steady, bare feet; whoever returned them to life evidently saw fit to heal him wholly, and Jayce could not be more grateful for it.

Yet there is something strange, too, in the way Viktor is looking at Jayce. A cloying heat he does not understand, a slow drag up his body that tarries on his legs, on the stretch of fabric across his chest, on the curls of hair at the nape of his neck.

It feels…objectifying. Like Viktor is not really seeing him, only admiring him, like he is something to covet.

The fourth time Jayce catches Viktor’s heated gaze, comprehension crashes into him. There is no such thing as a shadowy alcove in Piltover, so Jayce shoves him roughly against the lush vines of a storefront trellis and pins him there instead.

“This is why you had me kill you without talking to you, isn’t it?” he growls, grasping Viktor by the jaw and forcing him to look into his eyes.

Viktor’s pupils dilate.

“I expect so,” he grits, understanding Jayce’s meaning. “To have you bound as my eternal protector would have been too tempting a proposition. Your devotion would have been proportionate to your lethality, and I would have revelled in claiming and wielding you as my own.”

Anger washes through him. His grip tightens.

“Would that have made you happy?” he hisses. “Taming me? Having me beholden to you in all things? Hollowed for your pleasure, whenever you desired it?”

Viktor’s breath puffs against his face.

“Yes,” he admits, biting it out like the confession is being torn from him. “At first, anyway. I cannot pretend otherwise. To have you as I always wanted would have been a singular delight indeed.”

Then his amber eyes shine with fervent emotion; one hand comes up to grasp Jayce’s wrist, and with a strength that should not be possible, he pushes Jayce away from him.

“But you know it would have been a farce,” he continues, voice strained. “You saw where that future led me. Bitter, undying, suffocating regret, once I realised what I had done. To have snuffed out your mind, Jayce; to take all your brightness and brilliance and dull it; to never hear your sweet laugh, to never feel your stinging anger, for a millennium or more! A perfect torment of my own design! To wake every day knowing I violated my partner’s soul, that I condemned you, you who I love above all else- god, Jayce! Of course I bade you to kill me; even in that I was selfish, because I needed you to save me! I am so-”

Jayce kisses him, taking his face in both hands, and there is nothing sweet or tender about it, only a desperate, consuming need to taste, to know, to share this pain. Viktor moans into his mouth, his cheeks damp with tears, and the sound flares through Jayce’s abdomen like spiced wine, and he thinks, wildly, of fucking him right here, of slipping a hand underneath his robe and turning all their acidic sorrow into sweet, sweet pleasure.

The thought sobers him, and he parts to gasp for air, though he does not let go of Viktor, both panting against each other as they struggle to contain their need.

“Forgive me,” Jayce heaves, hands clenching and unclenching on Viktor’s body. “I just…the way you were looking at me, as if I was an object, and I…”

“I do not desire to possess you, Jayce,” breathes Viktor, his expression softening with understanding. “I’m looking at you with want. I want you.”

“Oh.” Jayce flushes scarlet, realising his mistake. Viktor smiles and takes one hand, lifting it between them.

“It’s a new sensation for us,” he says softly. “I have never permitted myself to look at you like this before, beloved. I don’t blame you for misunderstanding.”

He slides a thumb along Jayce’s palm, down to the pulse point of his wrist, and strokes the whorled scarring from where their acceleration rune once lay embedded within him.

Jayce shudders, his cock aching already.

“I feel unhinged,” he mutters. “Like a wild animal. I’m sorry.”

Viktor’s siren eyes slant at him in a way that steals his breath.

“Do not apologise. I find this side of you as appealing as all the rest.” He cups Jayce’s jaw in turn, rubbing his thumb across his beard.

“Wild is an excellent look on you,” he continues, now in a low voice, smooth like honey. “Tell me…would you fuck me like a wild animal, Jayce? Is that what you want? To take me to the floor and claim me however you wish? You could, you know. My leg and spine are healed. There is no limitation to how you might bend me beneath you.”

“Fuck,” Jayce snarls, crowding into him once more; Viktor melts against him, eyes burning with longing, and Jayce stoops to capture his mouth, desperate to get inside him in whatever way he can.

“Seriously, gentlemen?” snaps a voice, right beside them, causing them to jump apart.

It is the Enforcer from before, glaring at them with vexation. She puts her hands on her hips.

“You told me you would go home. You didn’t even make it two blocks. And now my salad is soggy, because I received another six complaints before I could finish my lunch. This is a bloody storefront! Have you no sense of decorum?”

Jayce rubs the back of his neck, feeling rather chagrined; beside him, Viktor is stifling a laugh. The officer looks between them and sighs again.

“I’ve been instructed to escort you home,” she says sourly. “And if at any point, I can’t fit my baton between the two of you, I’ll have to consider using it. Are we understood?”

They nod obediently.

“Lead on, then,” she orders, gesturing for them to proceed. “And no more funny business.”

***

Jayce interrogates the Enforcer carefully as they walk. By unspoken agreement, he and Viktor head to where Jayce’s apartment should be, wary of provoking any more suspicion other than that of an overly amorous couple.

From his questioning, he is able to verify that this world is not their own. Of course, that much was already apparent from the intact streets around them, but there was still the question of time; perhaps they were sent back to an earlier point in their lives, rather than a new reality altogether.

The truth, it seems, is a little of both. Only one year ago, Jinx’s rocket detonated in the Council Chambers, fracturing the tentative peace between Zaun and Piltover once more. It seems since then, both cities have returned to their typical status quo, Piltover oppressing, Zaun regressing. Yet there has been no occurrence of the Herald, and although the Enforcer does not know of Viktor, she confirms Councillor Talis recovered well from the attack and continues to serve the people.

Overall, it seems this world seems remarkably like their own, excepting the notable absence of a certain Machine Herald.

When Jayce enquires about Ambessa, the Enforcer shrugs, confirming the Noxian Warlord had disappeared a few months past, and neither Councillors Medarda nor Talis seemed concerned by her mysterious absence.

At that point, Jayce tactfully changes the topic, wary of triggering any inadvertent comparisons. It is enough to know that another version of himself is alive in this world, which means Viktor is too; hopefully by getting into Jayce’s apartment, they can assess what other divergences have eventuated, since he has inferred the explosion happened far earlier than in their own timeline.

From there, they can work out what to do next. Clearly, they cannot stay in their cities, not while other versions of themselves are present. They will need to find a new life, one far away from their home, from their dreams, from their loved ones and friends.

Far away from Hextech.

He wishes the thought were not so disheartening.

***

Exhaustion. Emptiness. Brief points of blessed distraction when absorbed in his work. Endless stretches of melancholy during the countless meetings. A wrenching ache that never subsides, a leaden weight in his limbs that never eases.

He cannot focus well anymore. His mind wanders as he remembers. He yearns. He grieves.

The shadow of him is most present when he makes the rounds at a function. He always dreaded them, and now they are nigh unbearable, the ghost of a beloved accent whispering in the quiet corners, lilting underneath the clink of fluted glasses and the humming laughter of hateful sycophants. When Jayce turns his head too quickly, he hears the drip-drip-drip of precious blood, smells the charring of sacrosanct flesh, and a fresh dagger is slipped into his side, twisting cruelly to crack his battered bone, shattering him again even as he smiles vacuously at the attendees.

Sometimes, he is viciously, bitterly jealous of him. His end was swift and merciful, compared to what might have been; it is Jayce who is now forced to linger on, dying a thousand deaths every day, hale in body but not in mind, haunted by regret and memories he cannot escape.

He works. He sleeps sometimes. He tries to do better by Zaun.

It is not enough. His passion is extinguished, his heart shrivelled, and the dullness of his spirit is evident in all he does. He is an automaton held together by tape and taut wire, quivering at the strain of existence, twenty-eight years old and soul-weary, a pathetic man who kept a promise without understanding the cost until it was too late.

At three, on the dot, Mel stops by his office. She always makes a point to do so, attempting to bolster him with a semblance of normality. They fell apart in the wake of the bombing, for Jayce’s grief held no space for her, for them. A month later she was taken by the Rose, and on her return, they were both too changed to resume their relationship, her by magic and familial loss, and he by his abject failures.

Still. She cares enough for him to help how she can. He is distantly grateful for her determination to hold him upright and does not have the heart to tell her how pointless it is. There is no foundation left to support him. It was all washed away by the sight of Viktor’s broken body, lying dirtied in the rubble, his lovely face slackened, his beautiful eyes void of brightness.

As she pauses in the doorway, Mel takes in his drained, pallid appearance and orders him to go home. He does not have the energy to argue, so he simply picks up his satchel and leaves, kissing her tiredly on the cheek as he goes.

The afternoon outside is glorious, a crisp rosary blue with a fresh breeze blowing. But he feels none of its beauty, heedless of the warmth of sunlight upon his face, the singing of magpies, the rich scent of baked bread wafting through the air. He traipses home on foot, hunched in his coat, staring only at the cobblestones passing beneath his boots in a grey blur.

The apartment door is unlocked when he gets there, which makes him blink. Presumably in his fatigue this morning, he forgot to secure it. In the foyer, he shrugs out of his coat and loosens his necktie, laying the former on a chair; then he meanders to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, a habit that persists even though all he wants to do is crawl into bed and succumb to unconsciousness.

He is just rinsing off a mug when light footsteps sound out behind him. As if trapped in molasses, he turns sluggishly, too dreary to react as he should to a trespassing presence; when he sees who stands there, the mug falls from his hands, clattering into the sink with a crashing noise. He barely registers it over the roar of blood in his ears.

An apparition stands in his kitchen doorway, looking at him with soft, sorrowful eyes.

There is a long, laden pause, while Jayce stares at him in horror, certain that he must have finally lost his mind.

“Jayce,” the vision murmurs, and instantly, Jayce breaks.

He strides across the room to take him into his arms, moaning at the resulting rush of feeling; soft skin, steady breath, beating heart. His whole body trembles when warm arms slip around his own waist, pulling him closer; a cherished voice speaks into his ear, sending goosebumps all down his neck.

“Shh,” Viktor says. “It’s alright. I am here, love. I know. I know. I saw the memoriam. Oh, Jayce.”

Jayce is too shocked to do more than cling to him for a long while. It is not until Viktor shifts in his grip, loosening his hold slightly, that Jayce draws back to properly examine him, casting his gaze over the indigo robe, the strange sheen of his scarred skin, the tumbling curls of his hair, silver at the ends.

Suddenly, he knows.

“You’re not my Viktor,” he whispers.

“No,” growls another voice. “He’s mine.”

Then intimately familiar arms are taking Viktor from him, guiding him away; Jayce follows their movement with uncomprehending eyes, up over a black shirt, along flexing muscle to a long throat, then up further, where he beholds a mirror of himself.

He gapes, and his reflection sighs.

“Sit down,” his other self orders. “I’ll get us some tea.”

***

They end up talking for hours, until the evening has blanketed the streets, painting the world in the blues and violets of gloaming. Jayce is astounded, horrified, and pained by their tale, them no less so to hear his own sad story.

He supposes he should feel panicked by what they have told him, yet instead he feels hypnotised, charmed, and enchanted by their presence, barely sparing a thought to the concept of alternate dimensions. Instead, he stares unabashedly at Viktor, drinking in his every movement, feasting on the cadence of his gentle voice, hardly able to believe he is there in the flesh.

His older self, or Talis as he offers to be called, is no less absorbing. He is cold and fey, unnervingly still until he moves, demonstrating then a predatory grace. Only when he regards Viktor does his frosted exterior melt, revealing the wildfire underneath, a roaring and consuming conflagration of devotion.

Jayce is compelled to stare at him too, though when subjected to his intense gaze in return, he flushes and looks away shyly. Talis exudes confidence and control, a leader and a warrior in one. Jayce has always felt comfortable in his skin, but Talis seems like a man who takes what he wants, when he wants it, and Jayce has never been that self-assured.

It feels strange to know that he could be. That this figure before him is a hidden potential, one he never knew lay inside himself.

The way Talis and Viktor interact steals his breath away. Manifold love and longing pour between them, so potent it makes his own heart race in turn. He supposes he should be envious of it, yet each time it happens, it only stokes a flame of yearning within him, although that also confuses him.

Not until after sunset does realise he is aching to receive that look for himself. Then Viktor catches his eyes again, and this time Jayce perceives the reciprocal ardency and passion therein; a tiny groan escapes his lips as a wave of desire unfurls within him.

Viktor wets his lips in response. The gesture sears Jayce’s body, and the ache becomes physical, swelling in his pants. He stifles a gasp.

“Would you give us a moment, Jayce?” Viktor asks softly, gesturing between himself and Talis.

“Oh,” starts Jayce, standing awkwardly, face hot as he tries to hide his reaction. “Yes, of course. Should I leave…?”

“Why don’t you wait in the bedroom for us?” suggests Viktor, voice low, caressing. Beside him, Talis clenches his jaw, though he says nothing.

“I…okay. I can do that.”

The bedroom?

He goes as he was bid, feeling dazed, and once inside he paces anxiously across the room, fluttering with inexplicable nerves. His mind is reeling from all he has learned, and he senses that he should probably leave; he needs space and time to process everything, surely.

That would be the rational and logical course of action.

But his body, his traitorous body betrays him. It is madness, madness to feel arousal after revelations like these, yet he cannot help himself. He can think only of timelines and possibilities, and the knowledge that Viktor has always loved him and always will; hope is bursting within him for the first time in twelve months, and although he knows this is not his Viktor, and he has no claim to stake, his foolish heart cannot help reaching, praying, pleading for deliverance.

Fuck, his cock is hard. In a frantic effort to distract himself, he flies about the bedroom to tidy it, then gets a crackling fire going to counteract the autumn chill, filling the room with dancing light and a toasty heat. After all that is done, still no one has come for him, so he makes himself sit on the edge of the bed, tapping a foot anxiously as he runs his hands through his hair over and over.

What are they talking about? Why did Viktor look at me that way?

Will they leave me?

Please don’t. Please don’t go.

What will he do if they walk away from him? How can he go on, alone, bereft, whilst knowing Viktor walks again in his world?

Tears threaten to fall for the first time in a long time. Angry at his weakness, he wipes them away and wishes fervently that he had a fraction of the poise his older self possesses.

Then they are both there, stepping into the room with their unusual grace. Unable to meet their eyes, Jayce stares instead at Talis’ braced leg, wondering somewhat manically how on Runeterra he manages to move so quietly with such a terrible injury.

When he finally musters the courage to look up, he sees Talis is standing behind Viktor, gloved hands braced on his shoulders. He is looking darkly at Jayce, his eyes sparking with anger; Jayce gulps and tries not to shrink away.

“Viktor,” he breathes. “What’s going on?”

In response, Viktor’s gaze slides sideways to Talis. His older self sighs and leans in; he presses his face to the oaken tresses of Viktor’s hair, inhaling sharply, then noses it aside to get his mouth on Viktor’s slender neck. Jayce watches, heart in throat, as Viktor lets out a soft whimper at the kiss and closes his eyes; Talis slips sly fingers into the gaps of Viktor’s robe, stroking teasingly down until the skin of his chest is exposed.

Then amber, alluring orbs open directly onto Jayce, burning into him with unmistakable intent.

“Come closer, Jayce,” Viktor purrs, and as desire floods through his body, Jayce stands and goes to him, wholly incapable of resisting his summons, mouth like cotton from how badly he wants to touch him.

“Take off his belts,” instructs Talis, voice rough and rich, sending a jolt of electricity down Jayce’s spine. He obeys with trembling hands, unfastening and pulling them through loop after loop; all the while, Talis is sucking softly on Viktor’s neck, making him arch upwards.

“Are you sure?” bursts Jayce, drowning in heat. “I’m not- I mean, I don’t want to intrude- oh god.”

Talis has slipped Viktor free of his robe, and it falls in a rustle of fabric to the floor, leaving him entirely naked before him. Jayce drags his gaze down Viktor’s body, completely unable to look away, and gasps as a broad hand reaches around to take hold of Viktor’s fattening cock, stroking it leisurely.

It is his hand and not his hand; Jayce feels dizzy with confusion, moaning even as Viktor moans, and he remembers with a lurid thrill that this will be the first time any of them have touched each other in this way, and is feverishly gladdened to know it.

“If you can’t handle it,” sneers Talis, glaring at him, “You’re welcome to leave.”

The scorn in his tone riles Jayce, and his spirit rallies to counter it.

“If Viktor wants this, then so do I,” he bites out.

“Told you,” breathes Viktor, hips rocking into Talis’ grasp; Talis rolls his eyes and applies his teeth lightly to Viktor’s shoulder, making him moan again.

“Tell him, then. We need to hear you say it,” orders Talis.

Viktor sighs deeply, looking again at Jayce from under heavy lids.

“I want both of you,” he says simply. “I love all of you. And I am tired of denying myself what I want. Will you give this to me, Jayce?”

“God, yes. Yes. Please.”

“Then: touch me.”

Everything blurs after that. Jayce is vaguely aware that at some point Viktor turns to strip Talis, though he hardly pays attention, too preoccupied with running his own hands along Viktor’s flanks, ass, and thighs while he kisses the moles and whorled scars on his back. He feels completely drunk on the sensation, and how Viktor shivers at his touch; he sucks a mark over one mole, turning that delicate, pale skin a blushed pink, and feels his cock leak at the sight.

Then Viktor is all over him, working him out of his Councillor clothing with hurried haste; the first stroke of his hands upon Jayce’s bared body makes him cry out, and when his cock finally bounces free, the feeling of those long fingers wrapping around his length makes him keen.

“God,” breathes Viktor, pumping him mercilessly. “Are you always this noisy?”

It is Talis who answers, chuckling so deeply it almost rumbles through the air.

“I’ve screamed your name more times than I can count,” he says warmly, and does something that makes Viktor go limp in Jayce’s arms with a whimpering sound; that makes Jayce buck forward in turn, sliding their cocks together, and then he and Viktor are both moaning wantonly as they grind against each other.

“Fuck’s sake,” growls Talis, dragging them apart. “You’ll both come in less than a minute if you keep that up.”

“Your finger was inside me,” snaps Viktor, his face flushed. “What happens thereafter is on you.”

“Get on the damn bed,” commands Talis, ignoring Viktor’s complaint, and shepherds them both towards it. Jayce swaps a raised eyebrow with Viktor, amused by his bossiness, though his amusement quickly transmutes to a liquid heat when Talis abruptly lifts him up and throws him on the bed unceremoniously.

Fuck, he thinks, stomach clenching with delight. No one has ever manhandled him before. From the smug look in Talis’ eyes, he must know exactly what that move just did to him.

As he clambers backwards onto the bed, a slow, inexorable wave of realisation crashes over him, stealing his breath with its intensity. He watches in muted silence while Talis kisses Viktor hungrily and then pushes him on the bed too; understanding rocks into his very core when Talis strides over to their dresser and takes out the bottle of translucent oil that he knew would be there.

On his back is a vivid red scar, as if someone took a chainblade to his body. His injured leg, freed of the brace, is cruelly disfigured, and his own tan skin is marked in similar whorls to Viktor, only his seem to ooze like rainbow sheen on oil-slick, instead of gleaming with iridescence.

The evidence of his toil, when combined with his tousled hair and beard, makes his older self look powerful. Dangerous. Lethal, like a panther prowling through jagged moonlight. A warrior and defender.

I want him too, Jayce thinks, in a languid, stupefied sort of way. Fuck. What the fuck.

Only then does he realise Viktor has stretched out beside him and is staring directly at him. When their eyes meet, his lips curve mischievously. He has been watching Jayce watch Talis.

Jayce blushes harder than he ever has in his life, certain his ears have gone beetroot-red from the force of it. It only serves to make Viktor’s smile widen.

“Darling,” Viktor calls sweetly, not taking his eyes off him. “Would you mind stretching Jayce for me? I would like to watch.”

I’m going to strangle him.

Jayce wants to glare, but his heart is too overcome with affection to entertain the notion. He has never known Viktor to be this playful, for his own was always too consumed by pain; to behold this version of him now, so at ease, is a balm to his soul.

In response to the request, Talis looks as if he would rather eat dirt than touch him, so Jayce tries to conceal his perplexing disappointment. But Viktor sits up to kiss Talis deeply, and whispers something into his ear; Jayce sees him figuratively melt, and then his fierce eyes lift to capture Jayce’s own.

Jayce sucks in a breath unconsciously, feeling a wave of arousal at the focused attention, and this time he cannot look away.

Talis leisurely stalks over to him, flicking open the bottle lid; Jayce holds his breath, heart pounding furiously, nerves alight with trepidation and longing. His older self slowly pins him on the bed, then uses his knees to slide Jayce's legs apart; he reaches down between them to rest a single, strong finger against his clenching rim.

“Is this what you want?” Talis asks him, affecting casual disinterest. It makes his limbs go molten, and he bears down unconsciously on the finger, desperate to feel it inside him.

“Please,” he manages, tongue thick in his mouth.

Talis immediately shoves into his ass, right to the knuckle of his hand, and Jayce’s body sparks with mingled pleasure and pain, biting down on his lip to restrain his cry.

Talis is too courteous not to use oil, but his treatment is nevertheless rough, heedless of Jayce’s comfort as he works him open with plunging, savage thrusts. He looms over Jayce with a furrowed brow, anger in his eyes, and held thus beneath him Jayce cannot avoid looking into them.

All too clearly does Jayce suddenly, intimately, understand his older self’s apparent distaste for him.

For Jayce must be another reminder of their own failures, another he who was too cowardly to confess feelings to Viktor before fate tore them apart. Whereas Jayce is awed by his older self’s devotion and all he did to bind Viktor back to him, Talis is surely disgusted by him, angered at the inescapable evidence of his weakness.

Jayce knows it must be so, because he feels the same. Since his Viktor’s passing, he has hated himself, despising all the years he worked by his best friend’s side, forcing himself to be content with platonic company, even though he wanted so much more. To know now that Viktor wanted him in turn, is both a blessing and a curse, for with only a little more bravery Jayce might have given them both everything they desired before the end.

It wounds him more deeply than anything ever has. To be confronted with his own self-hatred bewilders him, even as the pain of it arouses him; when Talis viciously adds a second finger before he is properly ready, making him burn with the stretch, Jayce gasps, his cock jerking against his belly.

Talis misses nothing, nostrils flaring like a wolf scenting prey. He slows his touch inside Jayce.

“You like this,” he says, sounding surprised.

Jayce closes his eyes, too emotional to speak.

“Tell me why,” Talis demands, his voice harsh.

“Give him a moment, love,” murmurs Viktor, from somewhere to the side.

For a minute there is only the sound of Jayce’s heaving breath and the crackle-spit of the fireplace.

“I want you to punish me,” chokes Jayce eventually, unable to bear the silence, and he covers his face with a hand.

A pause.

“Why?” asks Talis softly.

“I deserve it,” gasps Jayce, words loosening from him in a torrent. “I let him die. You saved your Viktor and I let mine die. I hate myself for it. I’ve wanted to hurt myself, but I couldn’t do it. I am a weak and pathetic man. All my life has been grey and hollow since he left, and now you are both giving me colour and shape again; but I don’t fucking deserve it, I deserve punishment, I deserve your hate, I don’t-”

Talis silences him with a bruising kiss. Jayce is not prepared for it; all thought flies from his mind as he is stunned into lassitude, unable to do anything other than catalogue the disconcerting sensation of having his own lips upon his mouth, and the blazing fire it kindles within him.

When he breaks for air, Talis slips him tongue, and in the space of a heartbeat they are sliding together like magnets, fitting so perfectly against each other it sends his heart-rate skyrocketing. Talis’ hand upon his jaw is now gentle, tender, and the combination alongside Talis’ wicked mouth has Jayce going weak with need.

When they pull apart, both are panting. Talis looks as wild and shocked as Jayce feels.

“I don’t hate you,” Talis blurts, then grimaces. “Well. You know what I mean.”

He reaches down and cards his fingers through Jayce’s hair in a soothing caress.

“I’m angry because you were strong enough to keep your promise. I’m angry because I was too weak to let Viktor go. Yes, I saved him in the end, but at what cost? Thousands died because of my fear. You are the strong one, not I.”

“You did as I would have wanted,” adds Viktor quietly, shifting closer. “I can assure you of that. Neither Jayce nor I would choose this life if we knew the consequences it bore.”

He reaches over to brush away the tears rolling down Jayce’s cheeks, and Jayce presses into his palm, overcome with gratitude; Talis sighs and leans down to kiss him again, making his flagging erection swell once more, caught between Viktor’s touch and his older self’s lips.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” he confesses shyly, when they part again. He glances up at Talis, then away, blushing again at the intensity of his gaze.

“Which part confuses you?” purrs Talis, wilfully misunderstanding him, his eyes now sparkling with mischief, not anger. “Is it the part where my fingers are inside you, and you like it?”

He punctuates the question with a slow thrust and twist that has Jayce arching off the bed; Talis knows exactly how to drive him wild, and now that he is giving him his undivided attention, it seems he intends to do just that.

“Yes,” gasps Jayce, drawing his knees up as Talis resumes sliding in and out of him, a little more carefully than before, though still with enough roughness to make him feel it. “God, yes, that; I- fuck- why do I want you so much?”

He feels rather than sees Talis shrug as he adds a third finger, making Jayce throw his head back against the pillow.

“I find I don’t really care to know why,” Talis informs him, voice going gravelly as he watches Jayce writhe beneath him. “We’re entangled, across eternities. I want to fuck you, and Viktor gets off on watching us fuck; does anything else matter?”

Jayce can only moan in response, his body succumbing to primal need, hungry for more, hungry to be filled.

“He’s nearly ready,” murmurs Viktor.

“Then sit on his face, gorgeous. Make him eat you the way I know I want to.”

So Viktor settles over him on his hands and knees, kissing Talis even as he lowers for Jayce’s salivating mouth; Jayce parts his flesh and tongues him with shuddering delight, then licks into him, curling inside the rim, thirsting for his taste.

The sound Viktor makes, god. Jayce’s hips buck up as if in answer, but Talis shoves him down, adding a final finger and holding him there in the stretch. Jayce moans wantonly into Viktor’s ass.

“Fuck,” he hears Viktor cry out. “Jayce, your mouth, fuck. Oh, I can’t-”

He starts to lift away, but Jayce grabs him by the hips and pulls him back, fucking him now with tongue and fingers combined; Viktor whimpers, his thighs shaking, and Talis laughs.

“You started this,” he scolds Viktor. “There’s no getting away from us now.”

Viktor makes an incoherent noise.

“Mm, I know, beautiful. You’re going to fuck him while I fuck you; then you can be inside me while I am inside you. Does that sound good, lovely?”

Jayce is going incandescent at the thought. He reaches one hand around to pull at Viktor’s silken length, pumping him inelegantly, right as Talis adds:

“Put this in your mouth, gorgeous,” and he knows, knows, that Talis just fed Viktor their cock.

“Oh god,” both Jayce’s moan in unison, right as the slapping sound of Talis fucking into Viktor’s willing mouth fills the room, a slow and sloppy noise; sweat is starting to roll down their bodies, the fire and sex making them feel sinfully hot. For a while they all rock together, finding their rhythm, bringing each other ever more surely to the edge, until they are a trio of meteors spiralling out of control, desperate to collide into one.

Jayce has never felt such consuming desire or such maddening lust in his entire life. All too soon he is on the precipice, merely from the taste of Viktor and the feeling of his own fingers curling inside him.

“Talis,” he gasps in warning, pulling back from Viktor’s soaked thighs. His other self knows immediately; he withdraws from Jayce and Viktor straight away, and Viktor collapses onto Jayce, hips grinding slowly into his chest as he pants for air.

All his senses are in bliss, sheer bliss, and unbidden Jayce looks past the curve of Viktor’s trembling body to meet Talis’ eyes. His older self looks back at him with a dazed, ardent longing, and tilts his head towards Viktor in an inviting manner. Jayce instantly understands his meaning.

Because they are finally on the same page, uniting for a singular, encompassing purpose: to protect and love Viktor with everything they have, as they promised themselves they always would.

***

As his Jayce, or Talis, as he reminds himself, sinks his cock into him, Viktor realises that no fantasy, no matter how vivid, could have prepared him for this feeling.

Talis fills him completely, pushing to the hilt, and as he bottoms out, they both moan loudly. Never has Viktor been so deliciously stuffed.

“You feel divine,” gasps Talis. He has one strong hand splayed around Viktor’s chest, holding him bent over in place on his knees; the other arm is braced on the bed to give them both support.

They need it. They are folding over Jayce, who lies beneath them, his muscled thighs parted around them both. His own hands are cupped around Viktor’s face, fingertips massaging into his scalp; he is looking at Viktor with glazed eyes, his gorgeous cock curving thick and long between them.

“You good?” he asks, in a low, warm tone. Viktor can do no more than nod and then melt as Jayce kisses him for the first time, tender and sweet, teasing him gently with the taste of himself.

“Get inside me, then,” Jayce coaxes afterwards, canting his hips up to greet Viktor’s aching cock. He lowers one hand down to guide the tip in; then he pauses, keeping Viktor there as he trembles, and looks over his shoulder to Talis.

“Give him to me,” he pleads, and Talis sighs as if pleased; he pulls almost all the way out from Viktor before slamming back in, driving him down into Jayce with the strength of his thrust, and Viktor keens as he plunges into Jayce’s tight, perfect heat.

“Oh god,” he cries out. “Jayce, Talis, god. This…”

He cannot find the words. To fill Jayce and be filled by him is the sweetest ecstasy he has ever known. He tries to move, to ease the building riot of pleasure within him, but Talis holds him down with unyielding strength, and Jayce pulls him ever closer.

Abruptly, he realises he is trapped between them. Adrenaline rockets through him, and he strains himself to move; perhaps with one of them he could do it, but two is far too much to overcome, even with the strength of his new form.

Talis perceives his realisation; of course he does. He rests his brow on Viktor’s shoulder blades and laughs breathlessly.

“You’re ours now,” he says silkily into Viktor’s overstimulated skin. “All you can do now is take it, beautiful. I’m going to fuck you deep and slow, fuck you right into me, fuck you both at once. God.”

He kisses a spot on his neck, right on one of his moles. It softens him, and Talis slips in a fraction deeper; Viktor gasps at the stretch.

“Fuck yes, gorgeous. Take me in. You’re bending so beautifully for us. I thought about bending you over like this in our lab so many times. Whenever we had a breakthrough. When you’d get pissy at me for messing with the board. Wanted to rut you on our workbench, fill you with my come, make you mine.”

“Talis,” groans Jayce, “Please, please, fucking shut up and move.”

He laughs again but obeys his younger self’s demand.

It takes them a few minutes to figure out how to move together, causing a few gasped apologies, and teasing smiles; when they get it right, flowing against each other like water, the feeling of connection is indescribable.

For Viktor, every sense is wholly overwhelmed by his partners. The way Jayce welcomes him in, legs locked around his body to sink him in deeper, is a visceral, intense pleasure through every inch of his swollen cock; each rolling thrust is accompanied by a far more forceful pounding into his own body as Talis takes him deep and slow as promised, angled now to fuck right against his prostate, sending radiating starbursts of electricity through his perineum.

He becomes aware that he is releasing pitched, breathy whimpers at being forced to be so pliant between the two of them. He cannot seem to stop, not even when Jayce kisses him again; it only causes him to whimper into his mouth directly, making Jayce moan, and the sound of that makes the rhythm of Talis’ thrusting inside him stutter.

They are not going to last. It is too much for all of them. They are drowning in sensation, drowning in each other; in a bolt of clarity Viktor realises that he already wants this again, craving the next fix before the current Shimmer-high has even subsided, thinking wildly of the myriad ways they could pleasure one another, each vision more hedonistic than the last.

His body tightens, drawing close to climax, whether by fucking or being fucked, he cannot tell. All his world is his cock inside Jayce, and Jayce’s cock inside him, the hot press of their broad chests against him, the sweet sounds of one merging with the rough grunts of the other; he is spiralling, falling into them, being fucked into oblivion, and all he wants is to be held suspended between the two of them forever, a tool for their pleasure, a hole for them to fill and claim as they will.

Talis senses his undoing and slips the hand from his chest up to his throat, making him gasp; then he leans in, voice grinding like gravel from his exertions.

“You love this, don’t you? Look at you, mewling like a goddamn kitten. I should have known you’d be a slut for our body and a whore for our cock. I saw the way you looked at me, sometimes. Thought I was crazy, but I wasn’t, was I? You were thinking about it then, weren’t you, Viktor?”

The slurs lance into him with laser precision, liquefying his mind even as his face burns with heat. Before he can formulate a response, Jayce surges up to croon into his other ear in that melodic timbre Viktor never tires of hearing.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you,” he breathes, stilted as Viktor rocks helplessly into him from the force of Talis taking him. “The way you looked at me in the Chambers, Viktor, god. It stirred something in me, that look alone, and when you came to me that night you walked into my heart as well; I’ve kept you there ever since, held you warm inside me, loved you, revered you, adored you. Every night I fell asleep wanting you in my arms-”

“-and touched myself to the image of my cock inside you, or yours inside me; I wanted to find out all the ways I could make you beg-”

“- and all the ways to soothe your pain, ease your burdens, however you would permit me; I wanted to care for you, laugh with you, share every moment with you-”

“-at night I’d take you to bed, worship you with my cock and lips and words and body, give you all that I had, fill you until you knew nothing else but the feel and taste of me-”

“-I’d do anything for you-”

“-I’d never let you go-”

“-I want to be yours, always-”

“-You are mine, Viktor, mine.”

At the last, Viktor flies apart, a white-hot-punch-rush of an orgasm that he feels in every part of his body, making him arch with the strain of it, quivering like a taught bow. He comes like a rocket into Jayce, slaking his need inside him in shuddering, wet pulses that slick out from around his stretched rim. Viktor cries out, or maybe screams their name; he cannot be sure over the pounding of blood in his head and cock, swooning from the violence of his climax.

Whatever sound he makes causes Jayce to go rigid beneath him, canting up with a filthy moan as he comes untouched from Viktor’s cock fucking into him; as he does so, Talis snarls both their names and pounds roughly into Viktor twice, thrice, and comes in turn, filling Viktor with the hot flood of his spend, holding his hips steady while he spurts inside with gasping breath.

For all three, the pure potency of their release, entwined together as they are, is nothing short of nirvana.

***

They lie on the bed for a long time afterwards, saying nothing at all. Not one of them was prepared for the intensity of what passed between them.

It is not until the doorbell rings that they stir.

“I’ll get it,” mumbles Talis, looking at Viktor’s dazed countenance, and the satisfied exhaustion embodying his younger self. He clambers stiffly to his feet, leg flaring in protest at being made to walk. He staggers to the closet to grab a robe and makes his way slowly to the front door.

Opening it welcomes in the cold night air, the stars above glimmering like frosted jewels. The Enforcer woman from earlier is standing on the steps; she takes in his appearance with climbing eyebrows, eyes tracking from the high flush on his chest and cheeks, to his rumpled hair and kiss-swollen lips.

“Neighbour reported screaming,” she explains shortly, looking immensely unimpressed.

“Ah.”

“Murderous screaming. ‘Like a man is being tortured and then beaten repeatedly’, they said. Insisted it was of the utmost importance an officer attended.”

She waits for a response. Talis pauses for dramatic effect.

“I suppose it was a kind of beating, in a certain light,” he offers cheerfully.

She heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“Tell Councillor Talis to soundproof his bedroom properly, if he’s going to be doing this on the regular. I did not sign up to this job just to deal with this kind of shit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something of his amusement must come through in his tone, because her eyes narrow.

“If I get called out here again, I will come in and gag the offending party myself.”

“Why, officer, are you propositioning us?”

“Fuck no, I ain’t. I wouldn’t touch any of you with a ten-foot pole. You’d probably eat me alive.”

He laughs, startled by her candour. She glares at him, though he perceives the faintest twitch in the corner of her pursed mouth.

“Have a good night, sir,” she says darkly, her tone implying rather the opposite, and marches away before he can reply.

As he shuts and locks the door again, his mind lingers on her words, turning them over as if they presented a problem to solve, examining them from every angle.

Doing this on the regular, she said.

He thinks about that, as he wanders back through the apartment to his partner and his…what?

His lover?

His other partner?

What are they doing?

***

Back in the bedroom, he rouses the other two out of their afterglow stupor and into the shower. It is huge, featuring dual showerheads, one of the few luxuries he permitted himself after they started making decent money from Hextech. He liked the conjoined water pressure and how it soothed his muscles after working all day inside the forge or lab.

It is big enough for the three of them, so they pile in. Viktor still looks rather glazed, so Talis takes care of him first, pressing tender kisses into his skin while he gently kneads his shoulders. When he gets to his scalp, a full body shudder runs through Viktor’s form; he sighs and leans all his weight into Talis, wrapping his arms around him.

“That good, is it?” Talis murmurs, amused.

“Mm.”

Jayce has been washing to the side of them, giving them space. When he reaches overhead for the shampoo, Talis slaps his hand away, making him startle.

“I haven’t forgotten you,” Talis warns him. “I’m doing you next.”

“Take care of him now,” says Viktor sleepily. “I want to sit under the water.”

So Viktor curls up against the tiled wall, with one shower head directed over him, looking blissful. Talis crowds his younger self against another wall and pours some shampoo into his hands; when he looks up at Jayce, the younger blushes and glances away.

I love that, Talis thinks with surprise.

He finds it endearing that Jayce is so nervous around him. It makes a warm desire pool inside him, makes him eager to tease. To feel this way about his own self should probably be more alarming to him than it is, but after all those months in the pit with only his own company, he is allured by the chance to take care of this version of himself who has suffered even more than he.

Because he has suffered; it is evident in his exhausted face, the hunch of his back, the leanness of muscle from lack of appetite. Even in the pit, Talis always knew his Viktor was alive, and though being made to witnesss what they did to the world was horrific, Talis still believed he would find a way back to his partner, and therefore had something to hold on to even in his darkest hour.

Jayce had no such hope, and no way to understand what his sacrifice had spared the world. Yet he has soldiered on anyway, despite the bleakness of a broken heart. Talis admires him for his strength, and finds he dearly wants to banish the pain from him.

So he steps in, sliding their wet bodies together, and kisses him as sweetly as he knows how. Jayce melts in response, settling broad hands upon his waist, opening to accommodate him with such ease that it sends a thrill through him.

When they part, Jayce looks dazed, his cheeks high with colour, a far more appealing look than the hollow dullness when they first saw him. Talis massages his head with the shampoo, digging in almost to the point of pain, just the way they like it, until Jayce is making soft noises of delight from his ministrations.

He should leave it there, but Talis cannot help himself. His mind is whirring with possibility, too desirous of exploring this strange connection between them, the scientist’s curse.

He gets his mouth next to Jayce’s ear, murmuring so that Viktor cannot hear him.

“In the morning, shall I fuck you like I did Viktor?” he breathes, hot and salacious.

Jayce trembles in his arms and lets out a tiny, shocked sound.

“Ah,” continues Talis, voice curling with satisfaction. “You want it harder, is that it? You want me to throw you around, bruise you up a little? Want me to pound you until my come is with Viktor’s inside you, make you scream our name for the neighbours to hear?”

“Fucking hell,” gasps Jayce, his cock jerking between them, still far too spent for anything more.

“Tell me, Jayce.”

“Yes. Yes, I want that, god.”

“Good. I’ll fuck you senseless, and Viktor will wake up to the sight, and you know what that will do to him, to see you taking me like the good little slut I know we are. Then you’re going to take his cock in your mouth, and I’m going to fuck his ass with my tongue, until he’s coming down your throat, and both your holes will be filled by us.”

He pauses then to examine the effect of his words and is viciously pleased with the result; Jayce is looking at him with such longing it has extinguished the creeping sorrow in his eyes.

“That work for you?” Talis asks casually, returning to massaging his scalp, like he was not just soaking him in pure filth.

“…Yeah. It works,” Jayce replies, sounding somewhat strangled.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” grouses Viktor, having observed the conversation, if not heard it; he stands and comes to embrace them both. He kisses Jayce first, soft and sweet, then attacks Talis with hunger, before coaxing him to ravish Jayce again while he watches, eyes dark with desire.

Water cascades down and the steam furls in great clouds, warming them from without, even as their touching burns them from within.

***

After they have dressed, hunger leaps to the forefront of their minds. Jayce has no food to cook, so Talis takes their money and goes to acquire something to eat, thinking it right to give Jayce some time with Viktor alone.

To face the night’s chill, he shrugs into a black trench that he rarely wore, too often required to dress as the people thought he should in white and scarlet and umber. Just as he reaches for the door, Viktor materialises behind him, chewing on his lip.

Their eyes meet.

“Is this okay?” asks Viktor quietly. Talis knows what he means.

“Yes,” he replies, walking over to touch his face, stroking along the flare of his cheekbone with a thumb.

“I fear I pushed you into this,” Viktor confesses. “I know you were reluctant.”

Talis sighs.

“You cannot make me do anything I do not wish to do,” he tells Viktor firmly. “But there is much I am willing to try, if it would make you happy, my darling. In this I have no regrets, I promise you.”

“I just…I could not bear his loneliness.”

“Turns out, neither could I.” Talis pauses, then adds carefully: “Does that bother you?”

Viktor looks at him with surprise.

“Bother me?” he repeats. “Why should it bother me that you see yourself as I already do? It is perfectly natural to me that you feel that way. You are a good man, my Jayce, and you deserve whatever love comes your way, no matter how strange the path. I only want you both to be happy.”

Talis kisses him then, filled with love for him, and when they part Viktor reaches up to sweep the hair from his brow, laying his fingertips against the silvery marks there.

“Besides,” Viktor murmurs, “Having two of you in my bed is certainly not cause for complaint.”

“Mm. You made that perfectly clear when you came. Even the neighbours heard just how appreciative you are.”

“Oh, god.”

Talis shrugs.

“They’ll get used to it,” he purrs, kissing the pulse point on his throat so that Viktor shivers with anticipation in his arms.

***

He returns, leg aching pleasantly from the walk, with seafood. White, flaky fish grilled in lemon, buttered scallops wrapped in prosciutto, and three thick claws of soft crab meat. To accompany it is a tray of crisp roast potatoes, sprinkled with rosemary and pink Ionian salt, and a fresh salad of tomato and cucumber.

At the last he slides out a dozen oysters for him and Jayce to share. Viktor always hated them, calling them a slimy and uncouth thing to eat. They would tease him relentlessly for it, given the proclivities for tentacle and grub that Zaunites favour in their cuisine; the familiar chorus strikes up between them tonight, both Jayce and Talis sparring with him until Viktor throws his hands up in mock defeat.

The apartment is made homely by light and laughter and the smell of good food. Yet the luxury of fish, after months of chewing on salamander meat, leaves Talis feeling an eerie dissonance. Like he stands on the threshold of two worlds, a heaven and a hell. He keeps lapsing into silence unintentionally, mind wandering back to dark abysses, feeling the ghosting of frigid ice upon his skin.

Each time it happens, Viktor touches his hand, and his amber eyes look at him like he knows where Talis has gone. The contact soothes him, and then Jayce asks a question, distracting him, and slowly the memories recede in the wake of their gentle attention.

Then Talis looks at them both, at the shine in Viktor’s eyes, and the softness in Jayce’s body, and feels some hidden tension unbind inside him, like he has finally arrived somewhere he was always meant to be.

***

Jayce gets into bed first while the other two brush their teeth, trying to fend off a returning flood of melancholy.

Not since the night of the bombing has he felt such warmth and hope in his heart. To have Viktor in his home and arms, to speak with him again, to know at last the taste of him, is a gift beyond measure.

How easily they fell into their usual dynamic shocked him. This is not his Viktor, yet his structure is evidently the same, even if the facets are carved a little differently. That only makes him yearn to understand how else they differ, to learn this other version of Viktor as intimately as he knew his own.

Not in his wildest dreams would he ever have imagined feeling similarly about himself. The depth of his desire for Talis bewilders him, making him feel both crazed and uncertain, though neither Viktor nor Talis seem bothered by it. Talis is certainly willing to touch him now, and the proposition from the shower sits coiled in his belly like molten lava.

But inside it is mingling with a burgeoning, inescapable fear. For after tonight, what will come next? He needs to know desperately, yet is afraid to ask, too scared to admit his desire, too terrified of rejection. He is not theirs. He has no right to ask anything of them.

Which means this day will be no more than a treasured memory. Surely, he can be content with that: to know his love was always returned, to hold a fragment of reciprocation, when before he had nothing. A glowing, undying ember to balance what was taken from him one year ago.

It will be enough, he thinks, wearied and pained. It has to be.

Yet when Talis and Viktor slide into bed, to his amazement, they curl up on either side of him, warming him with their bodies. His heart thuds painfully, and he cannot help tensing, because in that moment he knows it will never, ever be enough to only hold the memory of them.

He is abruptly struggling against tears, bees buzzing in his throat as he tries to contain them, agonised anew by his longing.

It is Talis who reaches for him, of course. He knows the shape of their pain and is not fooled by his silence. He guides Jayce into his arms, and his touch breaks through Jayce’s faltering walls; a choked moan escapes him, and he sinks into him helplessly.

“Tell us what you want,” Talis murmurs.

“I can’t,” he gasps.

“You can,” says Viktor, leaning over him to kiss his hair, his neck, his shoulder. “You can tell us anything, beloved. I promise you.”

“Trust us,” breathes Talis, curving a firm hand around his head and holding him steady.

He wages war within himself to answer them, anxious to please, mortally afraid of pushing them away.

“I want you to stay,” he cries at last, shaking with the effort of voicing his need. “God, please, stay. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave.”

Talis huffs a laugh against him, cutting through his panic.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “What on Runeterra made you think we ever intended to go?”

Oh, the joy of knowing he is not alone in this feeling! His soul brightens like a dawning star, shining again into his internal night with renewed hope; he seeks blindly, and Talis finds him, taking his face and kissing him deep and true until he is breathless.

Then Viktor says:

“I am him, and he was me; he would never forgive me for leaving you, not when I have the power to make you happy, just as you have always made me. I love you, Jayce. I love you.”

And now Jayce is crying, because the sound of him is so like the Viktor he lost, and that wound will never stop hurting, no matter how many years pass by. But as they take him into their arms, wrapping him in their eternal love, he thinks for the first time that maybe the wound will at last scar, healed by their embrace, and it will become precious to him like the marks on his partner’s bodies, another cherished part of their story.

A new future unfurls before him, new possibilities. One where he can devote himself once again to his political career, championing the uplift of Zaun to equality, able to relieve himself from the burden of Hextech. Because with Viktor and Talis here, they can take over that work instead, this time without Council knowledge or interference, and deliver onto Zaun the aid they always intended Hextech to bring.

He will not even have to keep them a secret, he realises with a dizzied delight. Caitlyn, Vi, and Ekko can all be trusted to know the truth, and Mel too, because she will see the benefit of their independence now, after all that happened with Ambessa.

Jayce…Jayce can keep them.

Work with them. Love them. Fuck them. End each night with them by his side, wake each morning tangled in their arms.

Together, they can live.

His heart is full. He turns to Viktor, who kisses away his tears, and Talis smiles against his neck, curling a possessive hand around his hip. Jayce feels all his pain and sorrow wash away, replaced by a boundless gratitude, and in his mind, he whispers his thanks, over and over, though to whom he cannot say.

But thanks he must give, because he sees how perfectly they fit together, feels how right it is to have them here. And he is certain, now, that their arrival into his lonely life must be the result of a divine intervention: for they were delivered exactly, among all timelines and all possibilities, where they most needed to be.