This Is… A Blog?

Perhaps I should have heeded Viktor’s warning.

I come to, head throbbing and vision streaky, in a warehouse of sorts. Full of dinge and grime, with light so sparse I’m amazed anyone would even consider working in these conditions. I shift in the seat with a groan, blinking as I will my vision to refocus.

A harsh push against my shoulders holds me put. I follow the arm to see one man—a veritable wall of muscle—towering above me. I swallow, mouth too-dry, surveying the room to find two other men nearby, both reedy and underfed. The one standing closer leans in, though his words are garbled, drowned out by the persistent ringing in my ears—broken only by the thrum of my heartbeat.

I wince, blinking away the tears threatening to form as the hand at my shoulder tightens. A whine slips out. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic—landing myself in this situation as well as playing the whimpering, sniveling fool. I hiss as all the sound in the world comes rushing back with a resounding POP. My eyes wrench shut.

A tap at my cheek has them flying back open, struggling to lurch away from his touch as he sneers, “uh-uh princess, we’re gonna have a little talk.”

“Let me go,” I spit, thrashing. I am a pathetic, cornered little rodent. Another heavy hand falls on my other shoulder, pushing me into the cold steel of the chair.

The man laughs, pinching my cheeks between his hands—the harsh press of flesh between teeth and bone is searing. “What’s a piltie bitch like you doing here, huh?”

I cry out as he grips harder, tears lining my eyes, “I’m a marine biologist. A scientist.”

His eyes narrow, leaning into my space, “that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Listen, please, I’m just studying the river. Fish. Okay?”

He’s either unmoved or lacking understanding. Either way, he clearly doesn’t give a shit. Any words I had left to say die in my throat as he fixes me with a sordid sneer, leaning close. Close enough that I can smell his rotten breath cascading across my face. Eyes screwing shut, I shift away—

My makeshift savior comes by way of a heavy slam of a door. The hands pull away from my face as if burned, thank the gods. I lean forward, eyes wild, struggling to get my breathing under control. Rise, fall. Rise, rise, fall.

“Hey Boss! Found a little topsider rat skulking around,” the lech calls out.

“Oh yeah? Came to admire the view, huh?” The ‘boss’ laughed, crossing the long warehouse. I blink into the darkness, until I can pick him out from the shadow.

“Said she’s learnin the fishes,” the lech snickers.

The man’s steps halt in a half-stumbling little shuffle before they resume. “You idiot,” he hisses, “Chross’ll fucking kill you if he finds out.”

“Why?” the lech says with a pinched face. Confusion clear as can be.

The new man—stocky, scarred—crosses into the light, smacking his underling up the side of his head, fixing the room with a glare. The hands at my shoulders leave me as well. Relief. Foolish, naïve relief washes over me and I blink away more treacherous tears.

“The eye said hands off the fucking scientist,” he points my way.

I swallow, the lech’s face pales as he speaks, “I never heard nothin—“

“Which is why you don’t run shit,” the other spits. He mumbles under his breath as he approaches me, “whole business is knowin shit and this motherfucker couldn’t walk into a fact if it was right in front of him.”

He stalls in front of me, evaluating me with a long, dark stare before turning to the other man, hand clamping around the nape of his neck as he leads him away with a hushed whisper. His voice trails off, followed by footsteps. There’s another slam of that unseen door, and I’m alone.

I twist in my seat, craning in search of something, anything. Nothing but distant machinery and worn metal tables and conveyor belts and darkness. I regret my field of study, for a brief moment. Viktor would be able to physics and fulcrum his way out of this, I’m sure. Viktor would also never find himself in this position, but, that is beside the point. I grit my teeth, doing another scan.

Be inventive, damn it. Think.

I crane my neck, looking behind to assess the knot; the rope is sturdy, but looks worn. Not so much that it’s brittle. Still, there’s a promise in those frayed and tattered fibers. I scan the metal chair, in search of an edge… there. A little ragged metal lip where the leg connects with the body. It’s an awkward stretch. I grimace past the once-forgotten pain in my palms as I rub the rope against the spot. It’ll take hours to chew through…

A fulcrum isn’t such a bad idea, actually.

I make a few week points around the knot as I glance about… Something long, something sturdy enough.

Ah.

An iron tool of sorts, rusted and battered, lays atop one of the conveyor belts. My legs are free, thank the gods, though I choose to ignore the implication hidden in that choice. A few clumsy steps and I have it in my palms. The cold metal biting my raw skin.

My eyes screw shut as I ram one end through the knot, the other through the gap in the metal chair. I push down, breathing through the pain, applying as much leverage as I can muster. A curse.

My back snaps against the chair, the jostle sending that ringing back through my body; just a burst of it, thankfully. And… I’m free.

I need to be fast. Idiots these men may be, I can’t imagine they’ll leave me for long. I swallow, blinking into the deep, crushing darkness. I stumble forward, the opposite direction of that door, in search of another route. My hand meets corrugated metal—a wall, I think. I follow it, hand held against it as if the darkness itself is intent on whisking me away, cuts picking gods-know-what in the process. A break in the pattern. A hinge?

An exit.

Unlocked, too. How convenient hubris can be—a double edged blade, I suppose. I slip out, blinking rapidly, pupils slow to grow accustomed to the too-bright exterior. It’s clear. The one silhouette from earlier now gone, I presume he was one of the men inside the warehouse. One of the ones figuring out how to cover up their mistake… Why, exactly, was grabbing me a mistake worth fretting over? Later. Worry about that later.

I swallow, throat catching, before staggering forward on still-shaky legs. One foot in front of the other. As quick as can be.

Somehow, they manage to take me through the undercity, past that looming neon eye, into the bathysphere, up through Piltover—it’s easy to ignore the stares I receive on my way. What’s a little more humiliation?—until I find myself knocking at Viktor’s door. It’s a foolish a gamble, really.

One that pays off with the slow crack of his door.

“Jayce? It’s late. What could possibly—“ he halts, blinking at me. His harsh brows pinching in concern as he mumbles my name, “what are you doing here?”

That’s what breaks the dam. A creaky, sobbing dam. I exhale a garbled explanation, wordsslurringtogether broken only by gasps for air. An explanation he clearly doesn’t catch, eyes wide and confusion painted across his features as he ushers me inside.

“You’re bleeding?” His voice is pitchy.

I nod, frowning as I fight against another set of sobs. They’re right there, at the surface. My stomach burns with the effort. He leaves me at the couch, returning moments later with a first aid kit. Silver steadily streaks from my eyes as I wait. Pathetic.

He sits down, cradling my hand within his own, teeth baring in a wince.

“This will hurt,” he says simply, bringing the alcohol-soaked rag to my skin. I curse as I feel it eat away at my wounds.

His touch is gentle, fingers ghosting along my skin as he wraps my palms in a bandage. And on to the second. As he finishes, he keeps my hand cupped within his, thumb running along the seam of the bandage.

His gaze, however, is sharp and assessing as he speaks, “Tell me, what happened?”

I shouldn’t have come here, I realize. It was far too needy and naïve. Reckless. The theme of the day, apparently.

My inhale is shaky, shoulders rising and falling. I steel myself as I speak, recapping it all. I watch his emotions run the gamut, jaw ticking as his face flickers from concern to judgment to anger to pain.

With a whisper of my name he pulls me into a tight embrace, chest rising with a heavy sigh—the carefully-controlled kind that bubbles up with white hot rage. He swallows, thumb tracing circles on my skin, “If you weren’t currently sobbing in my home, I’d call you an idiot.”

“What does that mean?” I croak.

I feel his cheek rest against my hair. His reply is low and teasing, “I mean you’re fortunate I’m not a cruel man, hm?”

“You’re just going to call me an idiot later,” I groan.

“Mh, true,” I can hear the lazy smirk in his voice.

I look up to glower at him, and he relaxes his arms just enough to accommodate the movement, fingers still making those steadying little circles.

One hand pushes the hair behind my ear, thumb coming to wipe my tear-stained skin.

“If you’re going to insist on returning alone repeatedly, you need to learn how it operates,” he chides, “you are not a naïve woman.”

“I know,” I sigh, resignation deep within my bones, “I got comfortable.”

“Yes,” he agrees. His eyes shift around the room for a beat, thinking, before he looks back at me with a quiet resolve, “come here.”

He pulls me close, my back to his chest, slotting easily between his legs as he leans back. Enveloping me entirely, I breath out, eyelids softening as the events of the day ebb away. Until there’s just a whisper of that pain left. We sit in a lengthy stretch of silence. Comfortable and secure.

Eventually, Viktor is the first to speak, voice a quiet rumble, barely above a whisper, “fissure folk are not inherently dangerous—“

“I know,” I cut in, trying to twist to look at him.

“Eh, let me finish, please.” He presses a kiss to my hair, “it’s the conditions that create the crime, as well as certain people capitalizing off of it. Chross is one of them.”

I still, nodding. I feel his arms tighten around me as I ask, “meaning what, exactly?”

“He’s from Piltover,” Viktor sighs, “a parasite, which you will find more than you’d expect. I say this because it’s also what will give you the most resistance in your own work.”

I rest my hand along his arm, drawing a line back and forth with my fingers, committing to memory every little scar and vein and freckle in my path. “And whoever gave me protection…” I mumble.

I can feel the rumble of his hum against my back as he considers, “No. I’m afraid that is after my time—though there are rumors, of someone filling the vacuum left by Vander.”

“Vander?” I ask, adjusting in his lap.

Viktor’s fingers leave divots on my hips, stilling me.  “He built the lanes,” Viktor explains, “a true pillar of the community.”

“Aren’t the lanes a smuggling operation?”

“Mh, yes,” he says simply, utterly undeterred.

“And when—when did you leave home?” I let my hand roam, starting at his knee, a meandering touch.

He shifts, uncomfortable. My fingers still. A moment passes, and his head dips forward to whisper against the back of my ear, “enough homework for tonight.”

He shifts again, leg turning out a little wider. It’s enough permission to continue down that treacherous path, nails catching the fabric as I glide down his inner thigh.

“You were the one saying I need to learn,” I tease.

Teeth catch against the skin of my neck—a playful little nip. I hiss, cringing away from his bite as his hand splays out against my stomach, holding me in place. “Another time,” he murmurs, soothing where he just bit with a swipe of his tongue.

I let out a stuttering gasp, back arching.

A hand traced up the length of my body to wrap around my jaw, tilting my head to the side. I fight against it with a whine, trying to turn his way, chasing his mouth. He tuts between wet kisses to my neck. “I’d like to take care of you,” he whispers, “will you let me?”

I gasp a resounding yes. His hand toys with the hem of my shirt, fingers dipping beneath.

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” he murmurs against my skin, hand sliding beneath my shirt, “to feel you again.”

I pant as he skims over my breast, arching into his touch. I’m pathetic, whiny already and I’ve barely been touched, “me, too.”

He pinches at my nipple, rolling it between his fingers and thumb until I’m letting out a sharp moan, brushing against him as I shift in my seat. He takes a sharp breath in, that hand splayed across me sliding closer to where I need—fingers barely sliding beneath the waistband of my pants.

“You’ve been thinking of me, hm?” His nose brushes my skin as he kisses his way back up my neck.

I nod, hips rolling against nothing.

He lets out a laugh—rumbling and low. His thumb tugs at the button of my pants. He waits.

“Viktor,” I sigh, nodding once more, “please.”

“Lift your hips for me,” he murmurs, tugging them open and past my hips in a smooth motion. I kick them the rest of the way off.

“You have too much on,” I pout.

“Eh, don’t worry about me,” he says, fingers sliding down, brushing along the outside of my folds with a teasing touch.

My breath hitches, back arching into his other hand in a silent plea. More. His lips find the crook of my neck, sucking.

My voice is breathy, wanton, “you’ll leave a mark.”

“I know,” he hums.

Any retort dies on my lips as his fingers find my center. I let out a strangled little gasp, head falling back automatically, canting to give him better access. Let him cover every inch of me as long as he keeps touching me like this.

“Good?” He whispers, voice soft. The check-in shouldn’t make my heart flutter as rapidly as it does.

“Gods, yes,” I gasp.

His touch is experimental—like my body is a puzzle—cataloging every response or lack thereof. It’s strangely vulnerable. He must sense this, too, as his other hand slides across my torso, pulling me even tighter to his chest. I close my eyes, let the feeling swallow me up.

His lips drag against my skin as he purrs, “so wet for me.”

He continues, fingers playing me like an instrument. Whispering sinful words that have me panting. Pleasure steadily building until I’m at the edge, hips wantonly rolling against his hand.

“Are you close?” He murmurs. At my frantic nod he laughs, “so needy.”

I nod once more.

His hand splays out against my stomach, fingers picking up their pace against me. He nips at my ear lobe, letting out a low, insistent murmur of my name until I’m crying out—dots spotting at my vision.

My body quakes as I come down, panting. His fingers—trecherous things—keep their insistent circles on my clit, tearing a cry from my lips.

“Viktor,” I plead.

He slows, but doesn’t yet stop. His leg hooks around mine, holding my legs open for him as he smirks, “can you give me one more, hm?”

I short circuit entirely. A keening whine and I find myself nodding, back arching at his touch.

“Mm,” he murmurs, fingers picking up against me, legs opening me a little wider, “so good.”

I reach behind my back to press my hand against his bulge, his hips shift at the touch automatically, bucking into my hand. I tilt my head up, holding his gaze as I grind my palm down—I hope he gets the message. I ignore the sting at my palms as the bandage digs in.

He, however, doesn’t; with a hiss he grabs my hand, bringing it tight against his chest. His heart thundering. He swallows, fingers not slowing as he rasps, “here? Or the bed?”

I look at his knee, frowning, “I don’t think here would be comfortable.”

He laughs as he slides out from beneath me, until my back hits the cushions beneath. It’s with another lazy smirk that he settles between my legs, grinding up against me to prove a point, “its a good thing that sex isn’t always about comfort then, don’t you think?”

I pant, fingers digging at his shoulders with each roll of his hips. “Gonna ruin your pants,” I gasp.

“Ever practical,” he teases, but his hand slides down, unfastening his pants and pushing them down his hips with practiced ease.

He slides against me, teasing my clit in a way that has my head spinning, mewling as I grind back against him. He sits up a little, watching, utterly rapt with each stroke.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. It’s quiet, earnest, lacking the usual theater that comes with bedroom talk. It makes me feel exposed, laid-too-bare. I shift my hips, pulling him into a kiss and letting my eyes softly close.

He groans into my mouth, and I am rewarded with the heady stretch as he buries himself in me. He doesn’t move for a moment—not his hips, at least—his lips slowing to a stop, a line of spit connecting us as he pulls back. His eyes burn, scanning every inch of my face, as if memorizing every little detail—the way my lips fall open as my breath hitches, the twitch in my brow. My own hands rise to cup his face, fingers brushing into his hair.

It’s quiet, save for the beat of my heart thundering in my ears and the sound of our breathing—ragged, uneven little pants. That vulnerability is back, that unfamiliar, ugly little thing. Too intense. I clench around him, a silent urge to move. It’s a cop out, admittedly.

But, one I’m rewarded for.

His thrusts are slow, deep, each movement sending me spinning. He lets out a quiet groan that sounds suspiciously like my name.

“Gods, you feel so good.”

He dips down, forehead presses against mine— skin starting to slick with sweat. Holding himself up with one arm, the other hand is everywhere. Toying, experimenting, searching for all the spots that make me shake.

“Viktor, need more—“ I whine.

His hand snakes around to my thigh, fingers leaving divots in my flesh as he thrusts deeper. “Is this what you want, hm?” He teases.

My eyes slide closed as I nod, my own hand slipping between us to circle against my clit, eliciting a strangled noise from his throat.

“Gods,” he chokes, eyes hazy as his pace picks up. Each thrust hitting exactly where I need it, pleasure coiling in my core. He continues to rasp, half-crazed, “you, ah, really are perfect. Made for me. I don’t know why I took so long—“

He cuts himself off, a groan falling from his lips. Too late. That little slip had my heart doing somersaults. But all I can focus on is the feeling of him inside me, sparks dancing on the edge of my vision with each intoxicating thrust.

“Fuck, Vik,” I gasp, eyes sliding shut.

His hips snap against mine, filling the room with all matter of indecent noises. He groans, “are you close?”

I mewl, nodding desperately.

“Open your eyes for me,” he husks, “I want to see you when you finish.”

I whine, eyes fluttering open. Overwhelmed. His thrusts get uneven, choppy, bottoming out inside me with each stroke. Until I’m on the very edge—

“Come,” he pleads.

That’s all it takes.

My back arches, the coil snapping as I cry out his name. I feel him pulse inside me as he follows me over the edge, eyes burning into mine for a moment—too warm, too full of something else—before fluttering shut, pulling me into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth as his hips come to a skittering stop.

We lay there, just for a moment. Breathless bliss before reality sets in. Clarity. Its purely physical, at first: the sting of my palms, the faint ache as he slides from me, the way he hisses as he adjusts his leg, his sweat-slicked forehead resting in the crook of my neck. Then, a dull realization. That heavy, heady ache in my heart. I swallow. This time may have meant something more entirely.

Viktor sits up with a groan, hand resting on my leg as he looks around the room. Anywhere but me? Perhaps. His thumb draws circles against my skin, and I suddenly feel too exposed once more.

“Pants,” my voice comes out hoarse, moving to sit up as well. His hand leaves my skin as he reaches forward, handing me the discarded garments from the floor. He smiles at me as he hands them over. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was good,” he says.

There’s something else that’s different about his eyes as he looks at me—still warm, just a little closed off, calculating.

“It was,” I return with a pasted-on smile, standing as I slide my clothes back on with weak legs, “I should probably head home. I have a meeting early tomorrow morning.”

His head whips up, swallowing. Though his only reply is, “if you’re sure.”

I nod, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Feeling the way his body tenses, relaxes, tenses again beneath my fingertips. There’s a stone in my stomach that I do my best to ignore.

“I’m sure.”

---

I wallow, sure. I indulge in it, just for the night, let the feeling fester and twist in my gut:

It’s that hatred of dependence that has me returning to the lanes the next day, hands still wrapped from the night previous. This time, I let the eye draw me in.

It’s a club. Music blaring at all hours of the day. All sweat-soaked neon and smoke. I’m not sure why I hadn’t noticed before; I always tried not to let my gaze linger, I suppose, lest it look back at me.

The eye.

The interior is filled. More leches, gamblers in the corner, everyone armed to the teeth, and me, standing in the doorway, like a mouse. I tuck my hand into my pocket, clutching the knife I brought until my knuckles turn white.

A woman—tall, menacing—red cloth draped elegantly around her shoulders, in direct contrast with her cocky swagger, approaches me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she raises an eyebrow.

I keep my returning stare flat, raising my chin just a little, “I’m looking for your boss.”

She scoffs, “he doesn’t do drop ins.”

“He’ll want to see me,” I challenge, “again.”

That, admittedly, was a minor gamble.

She smirks, laughing to herself as she shakes her head. Some private joke. “C’mon.”

I follow her up the stairs and to his office, ignoring the weight of the stares boring into my back from the bar below.

The man stands, back to me, framed by an ornate glass and wrought iron window. It looks as if it’s been broken and reforged 100 times over. I catch a glint of orange as he turns towards me.

Sevika guides me towards one of the chairs, pushing me down to sit before looming beside the door.

It’s a routine, I realize. One I’m eager to interrupt.

I clear my throat, leaning forward, “you’re protecting me. Why?”

It appears I’m successful, his shoulders straightening ever so slightly as he turns, giving a quick nod to the woman behind me and we’re left alone.

He approaches with a cool swagger, coming to stand before the couch, towering above me. It’s an effort to reclaim power, a reminder. I swallow.

I stay silent.

He huffs, a mirthless laugh as he takes his seat, legs splayed wide with an arm draped along the back of the couch. I do my best to keep my gaze level, ignoring the tug of his blackened eye as he speaks, “Is that really all you came to ask? A rather long journey for that, don’t you think?”

I frown, “we both know nothing comes without a price, especially here.”

His eyes narrow, he shrugs, “I believe we have aligned interests,”

“Which are?”

“Zaun.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh? Pity,” he smirks, “I thought they taught you better up top.”

I narrow my eyes. “The undercity?”

“Well done,” he coos, voice mocking, as if indulging a child. “Now, why don’t you ask me what you’re really here for?”

“Access to land, long term,” I jump at the opportunity. “The land behind Chross’ factory to start with. Next week.”

“That can be arranged,” he leans forward plucking a lighter from the coffee table.

I swallow, “and the cost?”

He ignores me, fishing a cigar from his pocket. Elegant fingers light it, “depends entirely on your plans.”

I sigh, launching into yet another recap of my project. To his credit, he’s clever. Hitting me with questions along the way. Finally sated, he leans back.

“So?” I shift, wincing at the awkward squeak of the chair.

He sniffs out the cigar, eyes flicking to the ceiling, “call it a donation.”

I narrow my eyes.

He shrugs, “take, or don’t.”

“I’ll consider it.”

---

Eager for advice, and to bridge the gap that feels bigger with each day, I stop by the Hextech lab.

Two short knocks before entering, eyes scanning the room in search of a familiar mop of wavy hair. Jayce greets me, smiling warmly from his desk as he speaks my name, “are you here to check—”

“—Viktor?” I ask, any pretense of business slipping with the foolhardy question.

“Ah,” he smiles again, though it doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “he’s out.”

I frown. “I see… how’s progress?”

“It’s going well,” he hedges, eyebrows pinching as he regards me, “he has a habit of disappearing, you know.”

“It’s fine,” I flush, “I was hoping for his advice about my project.”

It’s a flimsy excuse. Jayce’s round eyes tell me he’s thoroughly unconvinced. “He’ll reach out soon.”

I shrug, skin feeling tight.

---

A few days later, I sigh in my lab, studying some more samples scooped form the lower regions of the river Pilt. More of those strange, bioluminescent creatures. A wide swath of different species, too. Diatoms and cladocerans and copepods. All changed. Stronger, even.

But quick to decay.

I hum, jotting down some notes to myself, pushing back the ever-present desire to lament. To follow that tug across the academy to Viktor’s own lab once more.

The picture of his amber eyes turn colder, more shrewd in my mind with each day. It’s just about the only thing that keeps me from letting that tug swallow me up.

Jayce’s ‘soon’ isn’t nearly soon enough.

The day before my deadline, I find myself at the entrance of the last drop. Sevika escorts me upstairs once more. This time, she stays.

“Right on time,” Silco sneers.

I tilt my head. I find it incredibly grating; how much this stranger appears to know about my life. My movements, my motivations. I bite back the urge to narrow my eyes at him as I take my seat.

“I’d like to take your help.” I swallow, “however, Chross’ men attacked me before. I’d like some assurances.”

He flips through his book—what seems to be a leger—unperturbed. “They’ve already been dealt with.”

My mouth pressed into a thin line. Convenient.

“I don’t want hand outs,” I urge.

He sighs, snapping the book shut. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he speaks, “how adept are you at teaching?”

I falter, frowning, “I’ve worked as a TA.”

The most dreadful quarter of my existence, admittedly.

He sighs again, eyes flicking to the ceiling, mulling it over. It’s the most hesitant I’ve seen him so far. “I have a daughter.”

Oh.

I nod. This, at least, is something I can understand. Something far more human than feels appropriate for this menace of a man. Somehow, it makes his prior words seem less like lies.

“She quite gifted with gadgetry. Though she could use more varied influence,” he says, voice still holding that careful veneer of disinterest, “take her on your research.”

He waves me off in a clear dismissal, looking through me to Sevika at the door. Time to go, then.

I nod to him, “My work starts tomorrow. Though, allow me some time before I meet your daughter, please.” Something about the way his mouth drops tells me a very select few people are bold enough to set terms with him. So, I tack on, “the next phase of my research will be rather boring at the start.”

He huffs, nodding. ---

My work, at least, kicks off without a hitch. Between both my benefactors, I have all the protection and funds I could possibly require. Over the first few weeks, I spend more time in Zaun than I do topside. Overseeing excavations, planting wetland species in the buffer zone between the factory and the river.

Eventually, with time, I learn what the factory is for—shimmer refinement—operated by a skeleton crew, clearly not Chross’ main line of business. It’s Sevika who clues me in on the purpose: pain relief, power, pleasure. A medicine in some hands, a bane in others.

“You really ought to ask the guy who made the stuff if you want to know more,” she finally says, seemingly tired of answering my endless questions.

And so I do.

There’s a cave, conveniently located off of the river, far from any of the sites Viktor and I attended previously. Tucked away in a protected little alcove. Idyllic, for Zaun.

I enter carefully, fiddling with the knife in my pocket as I look around. The cave mouth quickly opens into a lab—something out of a children’s novel. Perhaps a horror story is more apt, judging by the specimens encased in formaldehyde lining the shelves of the room.

“Excuse me?” I call out.

There’s a clatter from the other end of the room, followed by a head popping out from around the corner. His face is half covered by a cloth, with a port-wine stain of mottled skin covering the remaining half.

“Ah, the Marine Biologist. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I step closer, the weight of the blade still heavy in my fingers, “you’re Singed, I take it?”

He doesn’t reply, eyes focused on the workbench before him.

“I’m here about shimmer,” I try again, closing the gap.

His spindly fingers balance a pipette, taking a drop of the familiar incandescent liquid from a vial. “I’m afraid I’m not in the business of supplying it.”

I sigh, “not here for that.” I close the gap, standing beside him as he drops the liquid into a beaker. “I think it’s affecting the ecostystem.”

His reply is monotone, unperturbed, “that is likely.” He brings the beaker eye level, swirling the liquid within. It flares pink before neutralizing into a cool purple. “You work with my protégé.”

“Who?” My brows pinch, “Viktor?”

The words hang in the air between us, laden with unspoken meaning. I’m met with nothing but silence from the vexing, reticent man.

I sigh, knowing full well my next question is a reach given how taciturn he’s been up until this point, “the ingredients?”

His eyes finally slide towards me, before pointing to a basket of dully glowing flowers in the corner of the room. I walk towards it.

“You may take as many as you need,” he waves me off.

I reach in, carefully plucking two from the top. “Your price?”

“No need,” he turns his back towards me, returning to his tinkering, “they’re worthless, on their own.”

I grit my teeth, “thanks.”

A/N:

Writing this chapter was rouuuugh, y'all. And I'm still deeply unsure how I feel about it. It's been like pulling teeth over the past couple weeks, and I reached the point where I needed to full send or I'd abandon the fic entirely haha.

It's a weird world out there. Hope y'all are taking care of yourselves. As always thanks for the reblogs and likes and kind comments.

Another drop.

Silco and I sat in the alley, waiting for Vander to finish the sale inside, which was pretty fucking novel, if I’m honest. I rarely joined runs, and Vander playing the businessman was even rarer. Unfortunate for us all, the fucker we were selling to happened to hate Silco—Shocker, I know—though clearly not enough to avoid our business entirely. I was reminded of why as I watched the man before me fish a cigarette out of his pocket. The little pill.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I narrowed my eyes at him. He froze, hand cupping the air as he cocked his brow.

I shot a leading glance to the crate he was seated on. He knew full well what manner of shit was stuffed within. One wrong ember…

“Life’s short,” he shrugged, fixing me with a wicked grin as the lighter sparked to life.

I scoffed, shaking my head as I watched him take a languorous drag. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed as he exhaled, fighting the tug at the corners of his mouth. Show off.

He held it up, level with his eyes, perched carefully between his fingers, “it was worth the effort.”

Right. He’s insisted on that foolish fucking run for a crate of these the week prior. I let out another exasperated laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

His answering snicker was low and treacherous, “unfortunate for us, seeing as I’m the brains of this little operation.”

“We’re doomed,” I held my hand aloft, “give me a hit.”

“You don’t smoke.”

I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, rolling my eyes, “life’s short, isn’t it?”

I heard the crunch of boots on gravel as he hopped down from the crate, a saunter in his step. As always. I keep my eyes forward, smirking towards the alley entrance as he approached.

“Close your eyes.”

My breath hitched; that I didn’t expect. Still, I wasn’t one for giving him what we wanted. Not easily, at least.

I glared his way instead, “we’re working.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” his eyes sparked as he closed the remaining distance, dashing the ashes with a dramatic flick.

I stared back, eyes narrowed.

“Let me give you what you want,” his eyes landed on my mouth as he drawled.

Fine. I’ll bite.

My world went dark, save for the remnants of that Zaun green that made its way into every crack and crevice of our city, stamped to the back of my eyelids. A constant reminder of where, and who, we were. Another crunch of gravel alerted me to his movement, followed by the warmth of his body, inches from my own.

“Head back,” he murmurs, “just a little.”

I hesitated. His laugh was rumbling, amused. My fingers gripped at the crate beneath me as I felt his fingers on my chin, tilting my back. I let him guide me.

The warmth of the cigarette hovered over my cheek, setting my nerves alight, followed by his lips ghosting over mine. His fingers pull at my lower lip, an instant little tug. Them smoke, warm and acrid and intoxicating, streamed from his lips into my mouth. I took in all the air he was willing to offer, greedy fingers threatening to make their way into his hair. My lungs burned as he retreated, just barely.

My eyes fluttered open, and I swallowed back the urge to cough.

“Good?” His mouth quirked up, eyes dark, roaming down my body.

Divine. But he didn’t need to know that.

I nodded.

“More?”

My own eyes betrayed me—fixed on that little scar on his upper lip. Another nod.

“Good girl,” he purred, shifting closer. His eyes burned into mine as dropped the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out. “Too bad.”

My legs parted automatically, making a space he eagerly filled. “Silco,” I warned, my words cut off in a gasp as his fingers tangled in my hair with a sharp tug.

His lips brushed from my ear to my jaw as he murmured, “Corvin’s a haggler. That wordy little shit will keep Vander busy for time enough.”

He punctuated his sentence with another tug, muffling my sharp cry with his lips. My hands found the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer as he rolled his hips against me.

He was all tongue and teeth as he pressed me against the crate, mouth trailing down my neck. Fingers dipped beneath my collar, shifting the material to expose more skin.

He smelled of cedar, smoke, and sin.

Another treacherous whine escaped my lips and he let out one of his trademarked wicked, rumbling laughs. He held my hips against him, pressing against the divots with enough force to bruise. I try to buck out of his grip, desperate for more.

His hand found its way to the front of my pants, sliding beneath the waistband with practiced ease. I let out a ragged gasp as he found my core.

“Silco,” I gasp.

He smirk, “shh, I’m working.”

“Fucker,” I said between gasps.

He laughed, “yes, you know I think you’re right.”

He brought his fingers up, glistening with my slick, to pop them into his mouth. I pant as I watch.

“Open,” he instructed, pressed my lips apart and slid those very same fingers inside, they’re firm against my tongue.

He purred, “you always taste so good.”

With another sharp tug I was pulled of the crate entirely, feet hitting the ground. My legs unsteady as he turned me around, bending me over the crates until I felt wood kiss my cheek.

“You want more?” He teased, pressing himself against me. My back arched automatically, grinding my ass against the unmistakable hardness pressed against me.

“Please, Sil,” I whispered. “‘S not enough time.”

One hand tugged my pants down my thigh, his other hand at the small of my back, holding me in place. His cock, hard and teasing, slid between my folds.

I let out a cry as he buried himself inside me – the stretch making my head spin. I relished it.

“Sweetheart,” he shushed me, fingers sliding over my mouth as he pulled me up.

He wasn’t soft. No, he fucked me viscously. Bottomed out with each thrust, pressed against me until the wood bit the skin of my hips. Each snap sending indecent sounds ricocheting through the alley. Fire began to pool low in my core.

He mouthed at my ear, whispering while he fucked into me, “always so good for me.”

I whine, back arching against him.

He started to ramble, as he always did when he was close. Voice rough, gravely, “gods. When we get back, fuck, I’m going to take my time with you. Fuck you until you forget everything but my name—“

There’s a noise at the end of the alley, a crunch of gravel that freezed my blood over. Followed with the click of a gun. I whip my head in its direction, blinking past the haze.

A man stood frozen at the mouth of the alley, equal parts afraid and intrigued. Some poor idiot who stumbled down the wrong alley.

I pant against Silco’s hand, his other held the gun aloft—towards the stranger.

No one moves for a moment. Silco is the first to break, thrusting into me. He lets me fall forward, and my eyes snap closed with a needy moan.

“Hear that?” He sneered at the stranger, voice a low growl, “she’s occupied. Find another alley.”

I turn my head, wood scratching against the skin of my cheek. “Piss off,” I grit out at the stranger, eyes sliding closed one more.

And he must have listened—I hear the clatter of the gun against the crate, feel Silco double forward, chest pressed to my back. His teeth sink int my shoulder with growl, hips snapping against mine at a renewed pace.

His breath peppered my skin as he husked, “such a perfect little cunt.”

My legs shook, “Silco I’m—I need to—“

“Not yet,” he hissed, though his fingers found their way to my clit.

I blinked back tears as I whined, “I can’t—“

“Wait,” he barked, voice growing huskier.

I clawed at the crate, the wood collecting beneath my nails.

“Do you know? How. Fucking. Hard. It is?” he grit out, each word punctuated with a hard thrust, “to pretend I’m not thinking of your perfect fucking cunt every moment we work together.”

I moaned, babbling incessantly—his name, pleas, apologies, anything. Whatever would let him stop fucking torturing me.

“You were made for me,” he panted, grinding his fingers against me, “you understand?”

“Yes,” I cried out, “only you. Silco, please—“

“Good girl,” he gasped, thrusts growing uneven and breath growing ragged, “come for me, darling.”

I fell apart at his command, vision going blurry at the edges, each grind of his hips sending me further past the edge. Gods. Fuck. He let out a low groan, hips stuttering as he growled my name. He rocked against me until my legs ceased their quaking and my moans quieted. Until the world around us started to resume. Back to reality. He pressed a kiss to my cheek as he slid out, murmuring, “divine.”

I panted, propping myself up to turn around. I needed to face him, as the cold chill of the undercity air suddenly sinked into my skin.

He knew. He received me with open arms, pulled me into a deep kiss, and fingers finally, finally found their way into his soft hair. Long hair freshly fallen free from its usual bindings, dusting against his neck. He smiled against my mouth as he pulled back, blue eyes warm and full of light.

“Sap,” I laughed, batting at his chest.

He pressed a soft kiss to my neck with a quiet hum.

The door to the building cracked open, revealing Vander who quickly cycles from surprise, confusion, to an all too knowing smirk.

In the cramped confines of Heimerdinger’s carriage, I avoid Viktor’s eyes at all costs. I ignore how his finger traces his lower lip as he stares absently out the window. Realistically, I should be grateful for ride home, but right now I’m half-convinced it was some contrived torture method.

Gods, help me.

Heimerdinger fills the air, ensuring there are no pregnant pauses throughout the journey, rattling off plans for the remainder of the month. Meetings, meetings, meetings.

One such meeting, uncharitably, is apparently taking place at 8 the following morning. Perfect. A board meeting, Heimerdinger informs me, so not one I can skip. Naturally. He’s practically immortal, I remind myself. I doubt he’s ever experienced a hangover, or even needed to sleep in a day in his too-long life.

“Thank you for the notice,” I clip, though it’s a struggle to come across neutral. I paste on a weak smile for good measure. From the edge of my vision, I catch Viktor’s shoulders silently shaking with laughter, shifting to face the window fully. The little shit.

It isn’t until Heimerdinger exits, hopping out with a bright ‘see you in the morning,’ that Viktor looks at me. His hand sliding from his lips as he turns my way.

Lidded eyelids and a lazy smirk. My heart lurches. And there’s something about the way he fixates on my mouth has me following that tug—stumbling across the distance to scramble into his lap. His hands meet my hips, holding me steady as he looks up at me, his head tilting back with a soft exhale. Whisky. Another taste wouldn’t hurt, would it? My hands float up to hold his face between them, thumb swiping across the mole on his cheek.

“I don’t live far,” he warns.

I dip down, pulling his lips to mine, watching as his eyes flutter closed. Strong hands pull me tight against him, one shifting to splay out flat against the small of my back. I trace the seam of his lips with my tongue. He gives me access with a groan, tongue running along mine.

The hand on my hip roams up, tracing along the side of my body, into the dip of my clavicle, before coming to rest on the nape of my neck. I breath in, deep, smiling against his lips as our teeth click. One of those little snags when things are still new. He laughs in turn as he pulls back, hand in my hair holding me in place.

My eyes fluttered open to find his earlier bravado replaced by a shy curve of his lips. “Almost there,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Would you like to come up?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He cranes up once more, pulling me into another kiss—slow and soft and heady. He sucks on my bottom lip and it sends my head spinning, whining softly into his mouth.

The motorcarriage jostles as it comes to a stop. I’m hesitant to break away. Greedy. My fingers clutch at his lapels, pulling closer.

“Up,” he smiles against me, guiding me off of his lap.

It’s an awkward scramble out of the carriage. Viktor’s the first to step out, leaning to the driver to shake his hand with a quick thanks. I’m fairly certain he slipped some coin his way as well. Good. I follow without decorum, stumbling out, taking Viktor’s hand as he offers it.

Its quiet. And something electric hums through the air as he leads me to his front door. The feeling thickens when we reach it. With a swallow, his eyes glance my way for a split second before he unlocks the door, propping it open.

Black currant tea, warm leather, and wood envelope me. It smells completely, utterly, like Viktor. Comforting, complex.

His apartment is messy; not health-risk messy, but certainly cluttered. Half-finished projects and knick knacks line the shelves, a discarded mug left on just about every surface. A daunting little pile of coats sits atop the chair at his writing desk. Clearly, he doesn’t pen many letters. I can’t help but laugh as I take a look around.

He regards me with a quizzical brow.

“I thought Jayce was the messy one,” I tease.

Color dusts his cheeks as he continues in, leaning down to set his keys on the table, haphazardly tidying what he could within reach. “He is,” he insisted, “in all fairness, I didn’t anticipate company tonight.”

I smirk, walking behind him, hands sliding around his waist as I press my mouth against his shoulder. His hands still, and his tense shoulders melt under my touch. His fingers intertwine through mine, and he peels them away, turning in my arms.

“So impatient,” he smirks, voice growing low and rough. I raise my eyebrow in a challenge he gladly takes.

The kiss he pulls me into is searing, bruising, as he ushers me backwards. He leads me blind through his apartment, my steps falter, stumbling, until the back of my knees hit something soft. A push, and I’m seated, his bedding a silken whisper against the palm of my hand. He’s out of breath already.

I reach up, tugging at the collar of his shirt; greedy hands fussing with the buttons, exposing more and more to my touch as his legs slot between mine. His hands traces along my thigh, knee nudging against my core and a white hot need curls in my stomach.

“So perfect,” he whispers against my skin, shifting his weight fully onto his knee. Another push, and I’m on my back. A vague clatter goes ignored as it rings through the room. My mouth parts.

He watches me, drinking in each hitch and gasp as his fingers trace up my bare thighs, pushing the hem of my dress up with the movement. His lips part. My heart skitters at the look in his eyes—focused, gentle.

His hand skates to my inner thigh. Tracing up, up, up; parting them with each inch. There’s a hitch, so soft, almost imperceptible, in his breath when he catches the first glimpse of the lace that lies beneath.

Dipping between, he presses his fingers against my still-clothed sex. I arch into his touch. More. He’s slack-jawed and sly, mouth quirking up as he watches his fingers slip beneath the side of my underwear.

“Gods,” he rasps, “you’re soaked.”

I keen. He’s going to be the death of me. I grind against his hand, shameless and desperate for friction. Any foolish hope of maintaining any demure air now cast to the wind as I reach forward, tugging at the button of his slacks, “off.”

He peels my hands away, pressing them down against the sheets; fingers twining through mine as he presses wet, hot kisses down my neck.

I gasp, “fuck.”

“Patience,” he chides.

He takes his time with me—languidly pushing my dress up as his own mouth works its way down. Dizzying. I can feel his smirk with every strangled noise I make. When the hem of my dress pushes past my ribs, he pauses, pressing a kiss to my shoulder, pulling me to sit up before peeling it up past my head.

“Lay down,” he says softly, gesturing towards the headboard.

I slide my underwear off, and quickly resist the urge to cover myself, feeling suddenly bare at his hungry eyes roaming my form as I scoot back. My head hits the pillow. His own tilts to the side as he pushes his shirt down his arms, shrugging it off. His lips quirk at the face I make—pinched brows, lips parted—while I watch him make short work of his pants. He’s lithe, lean, with an elegant cut of muscle. As I drink him in, I spot the metal brace lining his leg. I wasn’t even aware he wore one. He smiles, a little shyly; color dusting his cheeks. Still, he doesn’t shrink away.

“I wanted to do that,” I pout. Which is true. I’d undress him with my teeth if he let me.

He laughs, half-crawling onto the bed, “another time.”

He collapses onto his side beside me, bed doing a little shake before his fingers are curling around my knee to part my legs. His unbraced leg hitches forward, holding mine open as his nails rake up my inner thigh. It’s torture.

“Viktor,” I gasp, a warning.

He hums, craning forward to watch his own hand intently as it slides higher. So close. I turn to look at his face, and I’m struck by just how long his eyelashes are, kissing his cheek with contented blink. When his fingers hit the juncture of my thigh, I whimper. He relents, thank the gods, amber eyes lifting to mine while his fingers brush against my core.

“Good?” He asks. He knows the answer.

My hips buck against his hand, “yes, please.”

His eyes widen, blown-black as his fingers sink inside. I keen, writhing at the delicious curl. Well-practiced. My own fingers find his hair, searching for purchase as he dips down, lips pressing against my ear. I can feel the heat of his gaze, watching my hips stutter and grind against his palm.

“That’s it,” a ragged groan tears from his throat as he whispers into my ear, “so perfect.”

I cry out, that familiar heat building in my core as a litany of praises fall from his lips. So fast. Teeth scrape at the skin beneath my ear, fingers curling within me in time with the roll of my hips.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

My hips stutter with another whine, “Viktor, please.”

He hums, but is cut short as my hand snakes down to his underwear, palming him. “Gods,” he chokes.

My fingers wrap around him through the fabric, thick and weighty in my hand. I let out a strangled noise. Gods. I tug at the waistband, a quick yank and his cock springs free. Gorgeous. I’ve never found a cock gorgeous before. I trace up the underside with a light touch, wringing a sharp breath from him.

“Need you,” I swallow, throat suddenly dry.

Another groan, and he’s falling onto his back, bringing me with him, tugging me forward until I straddle him. My legs quivering, I prop myself up with my palms flat against his chest.

For a beat, we catch our breath.

He looks so soft, wavy hair splayed out on the pillow beneath, staring up at me like a man starved. It’s nearly overwhelming.

So I break the spell; my fingers wrap around him.

His hips buck up into my hands as I give an experimental stroke, pausing to press my thumb against his cock to collect an errant bead of cum. I bring my thumb to my lips, bringing another lovely curse from his lips. He’s salty-sweet and intoxicating. My eyes flutter closed, making a show of it and—

Was that a growl? How interesting.

He grabs my hips, fingers bruising as he pulls me down against him, cock grinding against my clit. I fall forward, hips stuttering with a cry. How on earth does he keep pulling the rug out from under me?

“All this for me,” he rasps, rocking my hips against him, “and I haven’t even fucked you.”

I mewl his name, reaching down with unsteady fingers to line him up with my entrance. He slides into me with a rough, insistent thrust that makes me gasp. I clench around him, the unfamiliar stretch of him sending a dizzying wave of pleasure through my core.

“That’s it,” he gasps, guiding my hips to roll against him. His eyes burn into mine, rapt. There’s a flush to his cheeks, dusted pink as he pants up at me, fingers making their way up the length of my body.

It’s by the nape of my neck that he pulls me down into another crushing kiss, each thrust up into me stoking the flame. He’s all tongues and teeth as I cry against his mouth. A hand snakes between us, thumb circling my clit. With each motion I feel an aching pulse. Intoxicating. I could get drunk off the feel of his cock hitting that spot—that perfect fucking spot—alone.

“You take me so well,” he gasps, breath catching, “so perfect, so needy.”

Each word sends fire through my veins. Thumb brushing against the base of my ear, he presses my forehead against his, our broken breaths mixing in the air between. He gulps as I clench around him, “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

“Don’t care,” I shake my head, thighs shaking as his thumb picks up the pace against me, “me neither, fuck, Viktor—“

“You going to come for me, hm?” He hisses, his own thrusts growing uneven.

I nod, a feeble little motion as I moan out. He chases the noise with his lips, pressing to mine, drinking in each little noise that slips out. Every rough thrust of his cock up into me bringing me closer to the edge, that heat building until I’m mewling, babbling against his lips—

“That’s it,” he groans, “good girl, just let go.”

My back arches as I cry, waves of pleasure coursing through me as I fall apart at his command. He’s close behind, a high-pitched strangled noise tearing from his throat as he fills me, hips jerking erratically. He chants my name, holding me against his chest as I slump forward.

“Gods,” I pant.

With a content hum his lips brush against my temple, hand tracing soothing shapes along my back. I cant my head towards him, pressing a kiss to his jaw as I slide off of him—eliciting one last hiss.

He turns to his side to face me, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. Though his eyes hold something else—keen and alert, looking into mine like equations were written on a blackboard within. My eyes widen.

Too bare.

I stretch, retreat; eyes sliding shut. A chaste kiss to his cheek and I’m slipping out of the bed with a quick, “be right back.”

When I return he’s half-awake, heavy lidded eyes and a lopsided smile as I tuck myself beneath the sheets. His arms slide around me, tugging close to his chest, enveloping me fully. I sink into the feeling; safe.

As the clutches of sleep find me, I hear him mumble, “I am.. glad you decided to stay.”

- - -

I’m the first to wake. Surprisingly.

The rising light peaks through the windows of his apartment, setting those brown locks aglow—a halo of orange and gold. His mouth was slack, lips softly parted. I leaned in, admiring the way his long lashes kissed his cheek. He sleeps like the dead, which is, honestly, rather unexpected.

Birdsong—a loud, twittering call—rings through the room, as if on cue. Time to get up.

I have that blasted meeting a 8. And the academy was a twenty minute walk away. And I needed a change of clothes. And a shower. Shit.

I really needed to leave.

I pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek, murmuring, “gotta get up.”

He groaned, eyelids heavy as they fluttered open. His mouth tucked into a pout as I slipped from his arms. He mumbled, “mh, leaving?”

I nod, rifling through his closet. “Meeting,” I explain, shrugging on one of his shirts.

He’s all limbs, taught and elongated, stretching out. He takes it a hair too far, apparently, as his face pinches into a brief wince. I frown, fingers faltering on the buttons. There’s another muffled groan as he shifts to his side, hand slipping beneath his pillow to stare back at me.

I fish a pair of pants from the closet, slipping them on.

“Little thief,” his teasing voice is rough, warm and gravely.

“You’ll get them back,” I laugh, “walking home in a gown at 7 am feels a bit indecent.”

He hums, “eh, a convenient excuse.”

“Careful, I may pilfer more on my way out,” I pad over towards the bed, leaning down to pull him into a kiss. Soft and slow and sweet. He hums as I retreat once more. “See you, Viktor.”

- - -

The board meeting turns out to be, as always, entirely unnecessary. Bloviation and repetition. I continuously find my mind floating back to Viktor’s apartment: to soft brown hair and fleeting touches and gentle lips. I float through the rest of the day this way; half-present, swept up in the whirlwind that inevitably comes after Progress day.

I manage to carve out a moment for myself to pen a message to Cassandra, taking it alongside the veritable mountain of pending correspondence that’s grown throughout the day. It’s only a quick jog to the pneumatic tubes, thankfully. I’m half-surprised he didn’t have one installed in his office. A suggestion for later, perhaps.

When I return, I’m surprised to find Viktor and Jayce loitering in the office. The events of last night come flooding back at the sight, a fire licks through my veins, curling in my stomach. Low, needy. My face heats as my eyes meet Viktor’s, judging by the tug at his lips his thoughts are the same.

“Afternoon,” Jayce smiles.

He seems… unexpectedly oblivious. Nonplussed, at the very least. I raise a brow to Viktor before I turn Jayce’s way, “good afternoon, Jayce. Meeting with the councilor?”

At his nod, I smile, pivoting on my heels. “One moment, I’ll see if he’s available.”

For his star mentees? Of course he is.

Heimerdinger insists I sit in on their discussion—on next steps, which was, apparently, loosely scheduled the night previous—to take meeting minutes. From the spare seat in the corner of the room, I keep my eyes glued to the page, doing my best to ignore the fleeting glances Viktor keeps casting my way.

“We anticipate, mh, twelve months to complete construction on the Hexgate,” Viktor says, coolly crossing his ankle over his knee as he shifts in his seat.

Hm, interesting.

Heimerdinger’s eyes practically bulge out of his head, exclaiming, “that’s quite an aggressive timeline!”

It really isn’t. Still, I hold my tongue; I’ve learned long ago that it’s better to nudge Heimerdinger in the right direction from the sidelines, rather than advocate in public.

There’s a pause as Viktor’s tired eyes meet Jayce’s, a wordless little exchange that seems to say ‘you deal with it.’

“We’ve worked on these plans for years,” Jayce leans forward, eyes bright and full of promise as he speaks, “you have my word, sir, that we will continue to take every precaution.”

Heimerdinger narrows his eyes before sliding them closed in an animated little nod. “Fine, fine. It’ll have to be discussed with the council, of course. But, you’ll have my vote.”

Viktor is quick to stand, reaching forward to shake his mentor’s hand, “your support is.. appreciated, sir.”

His smile is pleased, peaceful, as he turns towards the door. I go to follow him and Jayce out, steps halting as the councilor calls my name.

“A moment,” he says.

- - -

Cassandra Kiramman is quick to respond, and a date is set for one week later.

Cassandra Kiramman’s estate smelled of freshly-cut lilac mixed with sandalwood and vanilla. Buttery and altogether intoxicating. I bring the tea provided—white with honey and some secret, delectable third taste layered within—to my mouth, savoring each sip. I very much doubt I’ll taste something so fine for a long time.

Her office is bright, ornate. Filled to the absolute brim with flowers and plants of every kind. All quite rare. All exceedingly difficult to keep alive in Piltover’s climate. This room, however, is warm, hospitable, and teeming with life.

Cassandra Kirraman, however, is quite cold. Not unfeeling. But, proper. A woman of process and propriety. Currently, her shrewd eyes are on mine, watching me take in the room.

“You’ve a lovely home,” I say, and I’m sure my smile comes out more grimace-like than I intend.

“Thank you,” she says, “and thank you for sending your materials in advance of our meeting.”

“Of course, I assume you have questions?”

Jayce, who was kind enough to help prep me for the meeting, warned me that she would be more hands on with her patronage. In recent years, at least. I can’t imagine why.

She nods once, curt and to the point, “yes. My primary point of concern lies in your ‘runoffmitigation’plans.”

Ah. As anticipated.

She continues, “You don’t have any sites determined yet, and I don’t expect you’ll find the industrialists of the undercity to be jumping at the opportunity to collaborate.”

“Of course,” I cross my legs as I speak, “but the benefits are great enough that I’d be remiss if I didn’t try.”

She nods, thumbing through the packet of papers.

The arduous pause that follows has me shifting in my seat, leaning forward to add, “nailing down where is my next step.”

She hums, “and your estimate on this? Will you have this determination made soon?”

“That,” I squirm, “is difficult to say.”

She tilts her head, “In that case. let’s aim for 3 weeks.”

Final answer, then.

- - -

It’s an aggressive timeline.

Perhaps it’s time to have a conversation with my boss—one thats been haunting the back of my mind these few months. On my return from my meeting, I march directly into his office; I’m fairly sure any delay would dry up the remaining dregs of my courage after my morning.

I clear my throat, propping the door open, “sir, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course, my girl,” he straightens in his seat.

I reach down to pet his poro, who excitedly circles me, as I take my seat. I shift, throat suddenly dry—

“I’m fairly certain I can take an educated guess as to why you’re here,” he narrows his eyes.

I nod, a bit feebly. The words snag in my throat.

Charitably, he continues, eyeing me with his ever-shrewd gaze as he speaks, “time is about to become quite the premium for you.”

So he heard about my meeting, then. I swallow, “Yes, I expect so, sir.”

“Of course, it’s not lost on me that meeting minutes and correspondence are a waste of your talents—“

“Not at all, sir, I—“

He narrows his eyes at me, hushing me immediately. With a curt nod to himself, he continues, “I’m glad you came to me. I’ve been thinking it’d be prudent to adjust your role—let a student take over the mundane tasks for you to focus on your work. In exchange, however, I do have a request.”

I frown, tilting my head, “sir?”

“I’d like you to be a pair of extra eyes for me—primarily on any Hextech progress.”

Ah. I’ve had assignments like these as his assistant before, of course. I’ve never been a fan of them—hounding scientists to ensure they’re keeping to the ethos. Still, it’s a fair trade. I nod, “yes, of course sir.”

He fixes me with a neutral, if assessing, stare. I shift in place, finger carding through the edges of my notebook.

“Our boys have hit their fair share of snags,” he finally speaks, “I’m also aware you have grown quite close with Viktor, I expect you remain neutral.”

I nod, swallowing thickly. That was quite the emphasis. Did he mean that in a stay-away-from-my-star-pupil sort of way? Perhaps. Perhaps, I’m paranoid. Either way, I’m thrown. Something else scratches at the edge of my mind, and I ask, “Why, sir? Keep accommodating me, I mean.”

It’s a foolish question.

He blinks, mustache tucking into a frown as he considers my words. “It is the greatest importance, my girl, to focus on our future, to shape young innovators such as yourself.”

I’m not sure I enjoy the idea of being molded.

I chew on my lip, nodding. “Thank you, sir.”

- - -

The first two weeks pass far too quickly. I dive headfirst into my project, and visit the Hextech lab a few times. Okay, I’m fairly sure Heimer only meant for me to check in every so often. Call it an indulgence.

Viktor is keeping busy, as well. Relegating us to subsist on stolen glances and fleeting touches. The heat eats at me each time regardless, and I’m still a little unsure whether Heimer’s warning was purely about professionalism, or pursuit.

So, we’ve been careful.

It doesn’t stop the visits from being pure, blissful torture. It builds on it, really.

- - -

“Hello, boys,” I beam at the threshold of the Hextech lab.

Jayce’s greeting is warm, much warmer than Viktor’s—who opts for a soft ‘mmh’ with a wave of his hand, eyes glued to his notebook.

I scoff, teasing, “I’m doing fine, Viktor. Thanks for asking.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“So, any interesting progress?” I turn to Jayce.

He readily walks me through their latest developments—planning, materials they’re sourcing, the few more tests left before construction kicks off. They’re moving fast.

“Why the hurry?” I tilt my head, finger tracing it’s way down the schematics laid out before me. Jayce has returned to his project, welding what appears to be two small metal sheets together.

He hooks a thumb in Viktor’s direction, “ask this one.”

“I would like to move forward,” Viktor pipes in with a sigh, “the Hexgates are just the surface of Hextech, and will likely only impact Piltover’s elite.”

I hum, he had a point. I step away from the table, crossing the room.

“The undercity will feel the effects too, V,” Jayce says.

“Eh, do we know that, Jayce?” Viktor stands, watching me as I approach his desk, “better to quickly satisfy our benefactors and move on to measurable, tangible impacts.”

His amber eyes shine, hopeful. Up close, however, I can see the purple kiss of dark circles blooming beneath his eyes. He’s been working too hard again.

Jayce hums in reply, not bothering to look up from the soldering iron in his hands, “I know, V.”

This was a regular conversation, then.

It’s quiet for a moment, Viktor silently watching the back of his partner’s head. I shift from foot to foot, drawing idle shapes against the desk top. The soldering iron kicks on.

Viktor’s eyes slide to mine, and my lungs stop. A careful step forward and he’s caged me between his arms, back against the table, breath hitching as he whispers against my hair, “you are incredibly distracting.”

His hips press against mine, driving the point home. My hands find his waist as I struggle to steel myself. I swallow, “I’m going back to the undercity soon.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of my jaw, voice low and amused. “Is that so? And do you require an escort?”

He seals his sentence with a nip at my skin.

“No,” I say, voice airy as I try to maintain an even reply, “I should be fine.”

Jayce clears his throat, “V.”

Viktor backs away, utterly nonplussed as he sits beside me on the table. I take the opportunity to step back, to put some distance between us.

Viktor looks at me, suddenly earnest as he speaks, “you’ve been going to the undercity a lot recently.”

I nod, blinking. I still have yet to find a suitable factory in the Undercity, each visit turning up fruitless. I murmur, “I’m on a tight deadline.”

Viktor stares at me for a moment, lips forming a thin line, “Careful.”

I shrug, giving him a lopsided smile, “of course.”

- - -

One such factory sits conveniently in the higher levels of the undercity, not-so-far from the very spot I ran into that odd man at. It’s partially why I’ve been avoiding it. The sigil lining the exterior of the building, however, was not the same. I’m still not sure if that is a boon, or not. The sense of unease twists in my gut.

I round the exterior of the factory, nose pinching. Smoke plumes up from one of the stacks towards the center, cloying and thickening the very air around me. There’s just enough space between the factory itself and the river, jagged rock and cobble smattering the land between. The ideal location for my work.

I cross around the back of the building, sticking towards the river. The closer to the other end, the more cumbersome the earth becomes: Manageable boulders turn to smaller, frail jagged shards. It’s a scramble. The factory itself is surprisingly quiet—windowless, devoid of most signs of life—save for the guard posted on the other side of the building. A silhouette in the distance, lax posture.

One wrong step. That’s all it takes to send me cursing as I tumble onto the sharp rocks below. A pain tears through my hands. Then, blood. I struggle to my knees with a hiss, investigating the source—broken slivers of shale embedded in my palms. I cry out as I peel the first away.

Swallowing, I manage to muffle the worst of it. My heart leaps into my throat. I risked a glance at the guard, paranoia singing through my blood. Had he heard me?

He shuffles on his feet, leaning against the wall.

I exhale, looking down to tug out another; this one deeper. I glance at the door to the factory, still closed. The guard still leaning there, unmoving. My nostrils flaring, I stand up on wobbly legs. I can deal with the rest later, when I get home. Was that a noise? No, I’m being paranoid. I stagger forward—

There’s a crunch of feet against stone behind me, and I whip around just in time—a glimpse of metal, a resounding crack, the tilt of the horizon.

I despise short-notice meetups. It’s my mantra as I fiddle with the buttons of my blouse, dread curling in my stomach while I change from my standard uniform into an outfit more bar appropriate. Shucking on my coat, I jog downstairs and out my door. I curl in on myself immediately, drawing my coat tight against the chilled air currently snaking its way down my spine. I would bail entirely there wasn’t the sole, simple reason I agreed to go in the first place:

Some monster inside me has grown used to Viktor’s sporadic presence in my life, and I find myself eager for the easy way out of this... void. I really should apologize. And I have tried. I just happen to chicken out. Repeatedly. Which is exactly how I found myself invited to this event in the first place earlier today.

I stand, hovering down the hall from the Hextech labs, trying to will my stubborn feet to move forward. Eyes affixed to the door. It’s Nathan greeting me that breaks the paralytic making its way through my bones.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Nathan’s voice is leading, full of a promise I opt to ignore in favor of his next words, “Jayce will be there, Alisa—“

He rattles off more names, though I’ve stopped listening. I let him go on, watching the door at the end of the hall. It cracks open.

“Sure,” I interrupt.

His eyebrows fly up, “really? Great. I’ll pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there,” my answering smile is tight-lipped. I hope the subtext is clear enough. He nods, opening his mouth to speak.

“Great, see you!” I turn on my heels, straining to maintain a dignified pace despite every muscle in my body wanting to bolt. Right then, right there.

It’s not a matter of pride. Honestly.

I just don’t want to face that again—that palpable disappointment. It makes my chest ache, a hollow and rotten sink worming its way through my heart. A tad overdramatic? Fine. Yes.

It had only been a few days. Still, Viktor strikes me as the kind of man with walls so high, any perceived slight would result in another being rebuilt and reinforced. Brick after brick until the only option left is to take a bulldozer to his heart just to get back to where you started.

Either way.

I truly, truly hate last minute events.

The bar itself is chock full, with a long, mostly empty table sitting towards the back. A touch out of place, considering the standing-room-only atmosphere throughout. I cringe as I make my way there.

Viktor is the first I spot—seated with his back to the entrance beside Jayce and a woman I distinctly recall being his date at the gala a short while ago. Jealously rears its ugly head, burning and wriggling a hole through my heart. I smile weakly at them as I follow Nathan, taking a seat toward the center, my back to the wall.

The rest of the party grows steadily as people filter in. Filled with strangers, and a few familiar faces peppered between. Sky, who shared a few of my ecology classes during my time as a student. A few colleagues from my department. Pupils of Heimerdinger’s.

I sip at my drink, watching the liquid swirl inside the glass as I listen to the conversations surrounding me. Content with eavesdropping, I stay quiet. Viktor does the same, though I avoid looking his way at all costs.

To my dismay, I can’t stay a voyeur forever.

“I hear you’re researching a restoration project? In the trenches?” It’s Nathan who asks, finally turning my way.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat as I correct, “yes, in the Undercity.”

There’s a scoff at the other end of the table, though I don’t catch who it’s from as I take a deep swig from my drink. I can feel Viktor’s eyes on me, boring little holes along my skin. I don’t dare look over.

“Interesting,” Nathan leans in, “all hypothetical then?”

“Good luck cleaning up after the sump trash,” the same person mumbled from down the table. This time, I’m able to pick him out as he stares my way with a cruel grin. The man has a shock of white hair, and is quite over adorned, even for Piltover. Gold stacks of jewelry hang off of his fingers, long nails tipped in the very same. Not someone who works with his hands then. His eyes hold a challenging glint.

I take it, narrowing my own. I distantly recognize him as one of the sons of a merchant house, though I can’t recall the name. Relatively unimportant, then. And clearly not involved with the academy. Someone’s plus one.

Likely Nathan’s, judging by the familiar look he gives him: eyebrows raised, lips tight, a silent broadcast of ‘shut up’ across the table.

“No,” I cast one last cold glare in the direction before returning to Nathan, “I plan on following through.”

I give in, daring a glance towards the other end of the table. Jayce is bouncing between Viktor and I—expression oozing with concern. He sends a curt nod my way before he places a touch to Viktor’s arm, touch lingering there as he stands. Viktor swallows. He scratches his fork against the small plate before him.

“You won’t get funding,” comes another voice: Nysa Virellian. A former classmate of mine. Her words are measured and sure, naturally. Her family, owners and operators of a prominent trading fleet, have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo.

“I may. With the right angle,” I shrug.

Jayce heads to the other end of the long table, hand clapping down on the man from earlier’s shoulder. He speaks in low, hushed voice. I can tell by the receiver’s gulp, face flaring bright red, that it isn’t pleasant. With a harsh pat to their back he’s standing, coolly returning to his seat.

Emboldened, I continue, “it affects us too, you know.”

Another scoff.

I arch my brow, pointing to the picked over pastries scattering the table. “We use fish for fertilizer, you know. Degrading habitat mean less fish. Less fish, less wheat. Less cakes to stuff your face with.”

The table grows quiet. Admittedly, I’m being a bit preachy. But my fuse is short, and I don’t particularly feel like putting up with being picked over by near-strangers tonight like a carcass slaughtered for their entertainment alone.

“Not exactly a compelling argument. The are other sources for both wheat and fertilizer—we are a trade hub, after all,” Nysa brushes me off.

I sigh, deep and ragged.

Nathan pats my hand above the table as he speaks, “keep at it, you’re just getting back into the swing of things.”

Patronizing bastard.

Rage, white hot simmers up my throat, threatening to bubble out. It’d be too easy to turn that acid his way, he’d make such a large target for a few choice words. Too insecure, too advantageous. I swallow. I pull my hand away instead, placating him with a tight smile.

Leave it, my heart chants. And so, I do, taking the awkward lull as an opportunity to drain the dredges from my glass.

There’s that warmth again.

I glance up to find Viktor staring my way, eyes burning into mine with an otherwise blank face. I shift, holding his gaze, as the conversation picks up around us. Thankfully, they shift away to lighter topics. One thing is certain: no one in Piltover wants to talk about the Undercity for long. Jayce’s voice cuts our spell, sending us scattering to find fresh focuses as he previews the progress they’ve made with their research.

I wait. Until enough time passes to not be horribly obvious, I take the first opportunity available to slip away, eager to rid my lungs of the stagnant, perfumed air of the bar.

The alley provides just that. Cool, crisp. Dim but warmly lit, incandescent lights providing a warm glow throughout.

Clean.

So, shocking clean.

I’ve never noticed how clean our alleys were prior to my trips with Viktor. Until I saw how easy it is for a city to slip into disrepair and filth when the lack the basic resources for survival. Who sweeps a damned alley when survival means clawing your way through earth itself. Hopeful to find a something of worth for us up above. My stomach turns at the thought, signing. There are many things I haven’t noticed, it seems.

I close my eyes, arms wrapping my coat tighter to my skin. I’m debating leaving entirely as the door behind me cracks open. Footsteps let me know another has joined me.

I feel, more than see, Viktor step into my periphery.

“I have been meaning to talk to you,” he starts.

I swallow, sighing as I look to where the alley meets the street, away from him, “I don’t have the heart for any more debates tonight, Viktor.”

“Mh? No, no. That is not my intention.”

I turn towards him, taking him in.

His arms are crossed, expression guarded. Walls up. I note his cane—rested gently against the brick wall. Still feeling uncharacteristically stubborn, I wait. Let him be the first to speak.

“You were right,” he acquiesces. His mouth pulls into a little grimace that lets me know exactly how rarely he says those words. He continues, “I have no right to dictate where you can go.”

I blink. My own words escape me in an easy exhale, “at least we’re guilty of the same sin.”

His eyes crease, warm.

“For what it’s worth,” I frown, “I’m sorry, too, Viktor.”

His gaze falls away, fixating on something over my shoulder in the distance. I wonder if that was the wrong thing to say as he worries at his lip with his teeth.

“It is,” his voice is gentle as he trails off to find the right word, “unpleasant to be underestimated.”

He casts a glance back towards the bar door. My reply comes out in a hum, nothing more to add. He’s right. Uncomfortable doesn’t cover the half of how it feels. As I let the last of my guilt fester under my skin, he half-shuffles in place.

Another cold wind brushes past my neck, bringing a tantalizing, tempting little thought to the forefront of my mind. The drink giving me just enough confidence to follow through. “Speaking of research,” I smirk despite myself, “I’m heading back to the academy. Want to hear the latest?”

He nods, eyes positively alight. “Yes, although, perhaps, I was hoping—would you like to see our prototype?”

“Viktor, of course,” I laugh.

 ***

I catch him up on my research on the walk over, fighting back the utterly childish urge to go giddy at the way he listens. Eyes wide, fervently nodding at each development. When we finally reach the lab, Viktor fishes out a key, a soft smile as he holds the door open.

Stepping through, I let myself take it all in. For once. I’ve been here before, many times, though usually only ever on quick drop-ins between meetings. I’ve never bothered to look at the details.

It’s cleaner than one would expect, a long workbench lining the wall perpendicular to the door. Well, at least left side was utterly spotless. The other had books and notes and boxes scattered atop the workbench. Not messy, just lived-in. At the center of the room held a device—near identical to the prototype showcased the year prior at the Distinguished Innovators Competition. This one, however, appears to be slightly larger, now holding slots for multiple crystals in the chamber.

“This is terrible for your eyes, Viktor,” I tease. It was dark this time of night, only a little a light filtering through the central window.

He laughs, “I believe I can survive a little dark.”

He walks towards the device, elegant fingers plucking two of the crystals out of the slot, leaving just one. They’re placed gingerly in a box atop the table.

“We have successfully localized the effects,” he explains as I join him, standing at his side, “and can, effectively, control the velocity and distance of transportation.”

He turns down one of the nobs with one hand, fiddling with a sequence of runes with the other. I lean in, watching carefully. He moves with a practiced ease. Turning towards me, he asks, “Ready?”

I let out a soft yes, and watch as the device sparks to life, pulling the very breath from my lungs.

Viktor watches with a cheeky grin. He plucks a screw from his pocket, tapping it through the air. There’s a shock of blue light, and it lands on the floor three feet ahead with a rattling clink.

“How does it work?” I step forward, rounding the device to see it from the side.

“Theoretically, the runes open a path as the very fabric of existence folds in. Letting the object slip through,” he turns the nob up a hair and I find myself feeling a little lighter. He sends another screw through, this one landing against the door with a plink.

“Wow.”

He beams, turning the machine off with a shrug. The picture of faux nonchalance. His eyes scan the blackboard across the room as he speaks, “there is still much to figure out—augmenting payloads, for example...”

I watch as he trails off, a kernel of a thought sparking behind his eyes. He staggers forward to the blackboard, scribbling corrections to the long equation across it. I follow, pulling up a chair to watch as he works.

Moments stretch into minutes and, brilliance aside, playing the voyeur to the genius can only stay entertaining for so long. As my eyes rake across his form shamelessly, my thoughts turn from vague investment to something far more interesting. The slope of his shoulders—all lean muscle with a vague indication of an angular blade, sharp and pleasing peeking from beneath his shirt. I imagine how it would feel beneath my fingertips. Better still, my lips.

I cough, sputtering. Thankfully, my reeling goes unnoticed as he mulls his problem, tapping the chalk against his mouth, a white mark left in its wake just beside his mole. Hesitant to leave, I curl up, pulling out my own notebook to work. Greedy.

We stay like this for quite some time. It’s comforting. The room silent save for the occasional hum, the rare rustle of the other shifting, both lost in thought. It isn’t until my eyelids start drooping that I decide to take my leave.

“Vik,” I yawn, “I’m going to head out.”

He comes back to his body with a hushed ah, standing a little straighter as he turns back my way. His cheeks flush. “My apologies,” he clears his throat, “I have a bad habit of losing myself.”

I shake my head, smiling as I crack the door open. “No need. It was nice, Viktor.”

As I step out he calls my name, eyes warm as he watches me go with a gentle, “goodnight.”

It becomes a ritual of ours over the next few weeks. Not every night, but most. At first, he comes to collect me, dropping by my lab after the academy halls have grown quiet.

“At the very least, come work where there is a little comfort,” he urges.

He does have a couch. One that I’m positive Jayce insisted they procure after one too many late nights spent in the lab. I don’t point out the irony. Instead, I follow.

Most nights, I find my way there on my own as the sun sets. With my journals and materials in tow, I curl up, making a little home atop that very couch.

Tonight, he sits in front of the window, the warm glow of the sun highlighting the edges of his hair, liquid gold streaming into the room. His fingers twirl at the hair behind his ear, long legs elegantly crossed—an ankle atop his braced knee.

The echo of his partner fill the room in errant scraps of paper and discarded coffee mugs, though our paths seldom cross.

“Doesn’t Jayce ever work late?” I ask.

“Eh, Jayce is usually quite good at keeping a healthy schedule.” There’s no hint of judgment or resentment there. Only a quiet understanding and that ever-present undercurrent of admiration.

My pen taps against the page.

“Did you two ever..?” I start, wincing as the words exit my mouth.

Viktor straightens a little, turning to look at me. “Date? Yes,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Didn’t work out?”

“Eh, that depends entirely on how you define ‘working out,’” he shrugs, shifting his notebook to his lap to write as we speak.

I blink at him from across the room, completely at a loss for what to say.

He continues, “eh, it was short lived. When we first started working together. We quickly discovered we wanted different things and our research was too important to risk.”

I hum, skeptical, “that’s rather rational.”

He looks up at me, eyes guarded as he speaks, “he is my partner, our relationship is not something I’d jeopardize willingly.”

Noted. It’s a fair statement but one laced with a hint of warning. I’m not sure of what, exactly.

I cross my legs, head tilting as I continue to poke the proverbial bee’s nest, “no friends with benefits, then?”

Viktor scoffs, smirking as he returns to his notes, “no, Jayce cannot handle something like that. Cleaner to stay partners.”

“And you can?” My brow arches, “handle it, I mean.”

“Yes,” he says, voice smooth and confident, not even bothering to up from the page. So he had then. Maybe does still? As if clairvoyant, his pen pauses against the page as the cogs whir in his mind, clarifying, “not that I have for quite some time.”

I chew on my lip. Interesting.

***

Our steady ritual proves to be the most productive I’ve been in my life to date. Something about the quiet warmth of another while I work, freeing my mind of that constant need to be present, on guard. Safety. I wonder if Viktor feels the same.

Still, it can only do so much. I hit a wall with my research. Humming, I tap my pen against my notes. It’s the third night I find myself stuck on this problem: Tetrachromis fluviatilis, more commonly known as Shimmercale. A clear keystone in the Pilt with a population on a steady decline. Despite more than enough food to eat. No disease present. No reason to poach them. They simply... vanish.

There’s little impact my work can have without understanding the cause.

My eyes float up to Viktor, who is hunched over the workbench once more. A half-constructed model plane lays on the table. One arm curls around his chest, fingers prodding at his shoulder as he rotates it in the socket.

A quiet wince has me standing up, walking over.

I press my hand to the nape of his neck, warm beneath my fingertips. He stills, looking up at me.

“Shh,” I coo, turning his head to face forward, as I replace the hand at his shoulder with my own.

“What are— ah,” he lets out a soft noise as my thumbs connect with his shoulder, smoothing out the knots in his muscle with a light touch. His sigh is stilted.

“This ok?” I breathe.

He nods, his voice tight, “Yes.”

I continue, pressing a little deeper, drinking in every little response. Once-taught muscles relax, turning him into putty in my hands. His neck hangs forward, giving me better access, as his breathing picks up.

I can feel the faint vibration of the hushed, rumbling groan that slips from his lips.

We both still. Just for a moment.

I let out a satisfied hum, and leans back, head tilting up until the back of his head rests against my stomach. His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded as he watches me. I press my thumb into the space where his neck and shoulder meet, and his breath hitches, arching towards my touch. Another ragged gasp is tears from his throat as I repeat the motion, my other hand dipping forward, tracing the hint of collarbone poking out from beneath his shirt. With a hungry gaze, I watch his lips. Softly parted, panting. Like a man starved, desperate for air.

Oxygen.

My hands still.

He blinks, eyebrows pinch together.

“Air,” I hiss, letting him go.

His whine is downright pained as he watches me rush to grab my notebook, bringing it over to the bench. I scramble into the chair beside him, rambling. “They’re dying out. I haven’t been able to figure out why but—it’s oxygen, Viktor.”

The confusion melts away as I speak, eyes lighting up. He leans in, his hand coming to rest along the back of my chair as he reads over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of him enveloping me. It feels right. I rifle through the pages, pausing to tap at the diagram I was searching for.

“They host a type of plankton in their gills. They convert the ammonia in the waters into air, but,” I flip through the pages of my notebook, “see, here. They thrive off of these minerals—which are in excess thanks to all the runoff. The population density rises, as does the byproducts. They’re getting oxygen poisoning.”

He blinks, worrying at his lip, “and reducing runoff would fix this?”

I nod, fervently. “Yes, although that’s rather unlikely. However, there are ways to mitigate it.”

I continue scribbling notes, feeling him watch with keen interest. The time stretches on until, eventually, his head bobs forward. Forehead hitting my shoulder and snapping up again. I turn to see him blinking away the exhaustion. As if watching me write was worth it.

 I smile, “c‘mon, get up.”

He looks up at me blearily, but follows my guidance without a word, letting my lead him with a hand against his back until he’s slumping down onto the couch. His legs stretch out with an automatic yawn before tensing—face pulling into a grimace as his eyes flutter closed. I run my fingers through his hair once, watching the tension melt from his face. Greedy.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, pulling the spare blanket draped across the back of the couch over him.

***

We don’t see each other over the next few days, both buckling down on our own preparations for the symposium. It isn’t discussed. But, the tacit, unspoken understanding is there nonetheless.

On the first night of the weeklong affair, the hallways of the main building of the academy are stuffed to the brim with scholars and scientists. Posters line the edges of the halls—graphs and images, findings from just about any study one could imagine. I fight my way through the thick crowd, keen on nabbing a spot in the back of the auditorium where Jayce and Viktor are scheduled to speak.

Eventually, I succeed. Watching with bated breath as the lights dim, leaving only the stage illuminated. The crowd quiets to a dim murmur as Jayce takes the stage. It’s busier than I anticipated, the rare socialite and politician seated amongst the throngs of scientists.

They certainly brought a crowd.

Predictably, Jayce does the speaking. In fact, I can’t see Viktor at all on the stage. I frown. Eyes scanning the wings for him as Jayce recites the words Viktor had written on previous nights. There are a few modifications here and there but, predominantly, untouched. Save for one part:

Jayce’s voice booms out over the crowd, confident and steady as his walks to the prototype, his speech drawing to a close. He gives an easy smile as he says, “I present the next step in Hextech’s future.”

With a press of the button, the crowd hushes to complete  silence as the air in the center of the stage electrifies. A blue glow fills the auditorium. From the podium, Jayce collects a familiar model plane—Viktor’s, from the night previous—and tosses it through.

It vanishes.

The audience murmurs, questions floating through the crowd.

It’s a voice behind us that answers. Lilting, a little uneven, but with an unexpected air of confidence. “As you can see,” he holds up the model plane, “with this, we are one step closer to becoming the center of trade across all of runeterra.”

The little magician.

He beams up at Jayce, and I laugh as the crowd absolutely loses it. Applause thunders through the room as Jayce steps down from the stage, making his way towards his partner as the poor man is quickly enveloped by dozens of scientists—undoubtedly peppering him with questions. It’s nice. Seeing him be the center of the attention for once. Judging by the warm smile touching Jayce’s eyes, he thinks so as well.

I slip through the crowd towards the exit, craning to catch Viktor’s attention through the cracks of the crowd. Somehow, I succeed, honeyed eyes shining into mine as I mouth well done. His answering glance is part proud, part petrified.  Satiated, I slip out the door.

***

My own presentation, a slot secured by Heimerdinger both to my relief and chagrin, is in a much smaller auditorium on the last day of the symposium. Thank the gods. A short speech to summarize and, hopefully, intrigue investors. Terrifying nonetheless. I pick at the skin around my nails as I run over my cards for the 50th time today from the wings.

As the speaker before me finishes, I stumble forward to the podium.

It’s bizarre distilling down mountains of research into a ten-minute talk. I operate on autopilot alone. It goes by faster than I imagine, and I’m finishing the last of my well-rehearsed words. The applause is subdued as I take my leave. I’m distantly aware of Haynes fuming from his seat in the front row. Heimer is there, as well, with a satisfied look gracing his features. He’s proud, I realize. I must have done well enough, then.

I nod his way as I step down, walking along the wall of the auditorium as the next speaker takes the stage. Towards the back, I see Viktor and Jayce leaning against the wall. Jayce leans to whisper something into his partner’s ear, his right hand squarely resting on Viktor’s back. I resist the urge to fiddle with my top as I approach.

Viktor murmurs my name, “you did well.”

Jayce’s hand slides from Viktor’s back to shake mine, “you’ll have no trouble securing funding at tonight’s party.” Before I can reply, he gives Viktor an overt look, knowing and coy, as he steps back, “I’ll see you there.”

Viktor gawks back at him, annoyance written across his face clear as day.

“Thanks,” I mutter, bringing Viktor’s attention back to me.

He shifts, nodding. “Will we? See you there.“

“If I can get changed in time, yes,” I laugh. There was plenty of time. I should have just said yes. I dig the toe of my shoe into the carpet.

“Good,” his eyes slide around the room as he leans in to whisper, “we’ll introduce you to some of our investors.”

Part of me wants to deny him, say I can network just fine without the support, thank you.

“I know,” he says, ever the mind-reader, “however, you’ll do well to remember: you have an uphill battle. And, to be honest, you’ll find some of our investors less likely to be scared off by your choice of locale.”

I swallow. Right. Investors of his must have been able to make peace with his own background, though his work was much more tantalizing. A different circumstance entirely.

“You have the backing of multiple counselors,” I cock my brow at him.

“As will you,” his smirk is downright filthy as he speaks, “go, get dressed.”

I gulp.

***

The ballroom is elegant and frankly overwhelming. I blink up at the chandeliers littering the ceiling, filling the room with a warm, intimate glow. The crowd, however, is anything but intimate. So many people are stuffed in this single room I find myself asking if this really was invite only as the hosts claimed.

Nonetheless, Nathan is quick to find me. Coming stand at my side, I imagine he’s eager to use me as an excuse to rub elbows with Piltover’s finest. He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, “your speech was good.”

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to wince. I can’t say I attended his.

I fetch a glass of wine from one of the servers as they pass. Nathan’s fills the dead air, droning on about the different talks he attended, who he’s met, who might give him funding. I half-listen, scanning the room for a familiar face.

It’s not a face that I find, but a familiar mop of wavy hair instead. My breath catches as I take him in. Oh I really would like to scream. He’s traded his usual uniform for a suit: black as night and perfectly tailored. Gold piping lines the seams, highlighting just how lithe he really is. A burgundy collar pops out from beneath his jacket. He looks dark, dangerous.

The rotten, malformed part of me chants delectable.

He turns, eyes catching mine and, a moth to flame, I float forward. I’m vaguely aware Nathan is following. Judging by the way his eyes ice over as he spot my companion, Viktor is too. This won’t do. Viktor walks toward me, meeting us in the middle. Thankfully, he is in fine company, meaning Nathan quickly extricates himself from my side to chat with one of the councilors. Not even bothering to greet Viktor, who stared daggers at his retreating back.

Viktor turns towards me, eyes raking down my form before looking back towards the group. He mouth quirks down, “your date?”

“No,” I breathe, “I came alone.”

His mouth twitches, but he schools his feature into a neutral position. “I see.”

I imagine I look much like a fish out of water, mouth gaping and working to reclaim the air that seems to have left my lungs. “You look good,” I finally manage.

There’s another quirk of his lip threatening to betray him before he turns, holding his arm out. I take it. Of course I take it. He’s warm beneath my fingers.

He leans down, whispering in my ear. “I believe I promised some introductions.”

I nod, looking up at him. I brush my hair behind my ear on instinct. He lets out a short, low laugh and my heart picks up. Turning towards the group, he points against the ground with his cane—a tap to the right. My eyes follow.

I feel his breath ghost along my skin as he dips down to speak once more, voice low and dangerous, “Silas Thorne, one of our early adopters. A bit of a skeptical man; but, ultimately a fine topsider.”

I nod, taking it in. As best as possible, at least. I huff a laugh at the slip of the term topsider. An insult rarely uttered in Piltover.

“House Kiramman, as you are aware. You’ll find an ally in Cassandra,” he continues, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks, “To the left, Holloran.. Mh, not worth your time.”

My breath is drawn from my lungs as he continues rattling off names. I blink, nodding, until he peels back at last.

He looks down at me, mouth pulled into a wicked grin.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t have you pegged as so socially adept,” I say.

His eyes crease, head tilting as he shrugs. “Eh, for me, it’s a matter of survival. Or, was. Before Jayce and Hextech.”

I swallow, frowning.

So much laid bare in just a few words. Despite everything, it is far too easy to forget what he’s been through. What he’s had to tolerate to get where he is. And to say it so readily, the picture of nonchalance. As if it’s just another basic fact of life. I’m still reeling as he asks, “ready?”

My dress suddenly feels much too tight. Seams clinging against my ribs keeping the air from my lungs. I blink, looking up at Viktor as I nod, “sure.”

His hand finds the small of my back; his touch a warm, soothing balm on my stuttering heart.

He leads me to Cassandra’s side first, easily slotting into the group as he introduces us.

Her eyes light up, putting pieces of some unspoken puzzle together as she shakes my hand, “Jayce tells me have a rather interesting project. Habitat restoration of the river Pilt?”

“In the distributaries in the undercity, yes. Though I hope to renew the Pilt itself one day, perhaps.”

This seems to please her, her chin tilting up as she smiles, “your research is actionable, then.”

I nod. I’m fairly certain I look like a bobble head.

“Have you secured funding yet?”

“Not quite,” I chew at my lip, shifting my weight to my other foot. My shoulder brushes against Viktor’s chest. It’s steadying.

He gaze is shrewd as she asks, “tell me. Why the undercity?”

I stick to my canned argument, citing the economic benefits for Piltover—trade, fishing, health. She takes it in, with a look that says she can already read the subtext written beneath every page: to help, to do something worthwhile for the betterment of us all.

These conversations repeat throughout the night. A monotonous refrain of the same questions. How interesting, why the undercity? Who is financing? Why there? Somewhere along the evening Viktor has drifted away, standing beside Jayce as they speak with Heimerdinger. He listens to them speak, a gentle curve to his eyes as he looks down at the Yordle.

When the conversation with my last magnate of the evening has grown stale, I gracefully make my exit. Eager to join my friend’s side.

Nathan, however, stops me with a hand at my shoulder. I suppress the instinct to sigh, facing him.

“You’re the popular girl tonight,” he smirks.

My stomach turns. I give him a tight-lipped smile, “hardly.”

He presses forward, invading my space, “have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight?”

I look away as I mutter, “thanks.”

While we had dated on rare occasions, my interest in him waned as it became clear that it would never delve into anything more interesting than superficial sex and the occasional date for social events. Nothing particularly worth going back for. I thought we’d had a tacit agreement on this. However, it appears I am wrong.

I glance over to Viktor, who watches the exchange with a ferocity that was utterly rare. His upper lip curls, narrowed eyes looking at us from beneath stark brows. As his eyes land on me, they burn. Annoyance mixed with something else. My breath hitches.

Nathan, it seems, misinterprets this entirely. Catching me by the elbow, he leans in to whisper, “how about we get out of here?”

I choke.

Viktor shifts more of his weight to his cane, head tilting back as he stares.

“No,” I stutter, “I, ah.. No. Sorry.”

I don’t look back as I walk off, face flaring up. Undignified. I’ll blame the drink later, should it come up.

Like gravity, I’m pulled to Viktor’s orbit. He smirks, wicked and cruel as he glares past my shoulder as I approach. There’s a glint to his amber eyes and my mouth runs dry as he muses, “hm, I almost feel bad for him.”

I gape, floundering. Utterly thrown by this fresh side of him. I can feel the heat from his gaze as he waits for me to reply.

Nothing worthwhile comes to mind as I croak, “almost?”

His stare is knowing, but he chooses to ignore my reply. I note a flush on his skin as he sets his emptied glass down, leaning in, and I’m keenly aware that whatever his next words are, they will be my damnation.

I’m saved by Cassandra’s hand atop my shoulder. I turn, letting out a shaky exhale as I greet her once more.

Her elegant hands pass me a card as she cuts right to the heart of it, “I’d like to sponsor you,” she says, certainly not one for mincing words, “Let’s arrange some time to speak over tea. Soon.”

It’s exceptionally jarring, considering.

I feel Viktor’s chest at my back as he peers over my shoulder. A little off-kilter, and less-than-dignified. Nosy. Certainly the wine, then. I swallow, taking the card from her hands. One side holds her family emblem foiled in gold, the other a pneumatic code.

I nod, “yes, yes of course. I’ll be in touch.”

She gives another smile, nodding to Viktor as well before taking her leave.

My head thoroughly spins. Between the wine and the complete, utter whiplash of the last few minutes, it’s all far too much.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I croak.

Viktor smirks at me in a way that screams, ‘you won’t die, you dramatic girl.’ Charitably, however, he does not voice it. Instead opting to loop his arm through mine as he speaks lowly, “let’s get some air, hm?”

I follow, clutching to his arm like my own personal lifeline. He leads me out the banquet hall, to a hall equally as grand. Tall windows line the entire exterior wall, each tucked into an alcove. To the right lays the exit. We take the left. Towards the end of the hall, he guides me into an alcove, hand sliding from my skin to unlatch the window, cracking it open.

The air is crisp, grounding. Moreso are has hands finding their way to my shoulders, thumbs drawing an idle path to sooth my stumbling pulse.

“She wants to sponsor me,” I breathe at last.

He beams down at me, “yes. I anticipate more will follow.”

I rub my face, “one is more than enough, gods, Viktor, I—“ I swallow, looking up at him, “thank you.”

His mouth parts, brows pinching. “No need, you did—“

“Viktor,” I urge, “let me give you the credit you’re due.”

That seems to strike a chord. His brows raise, and he swallows thickly. Nodding, hesitant as he whispers, “you’re welcome.”

His hands find a strand of my hair, twirling it with his fingers as I so often see him do to his own as he works. There’s a far off look in his eye as he stares at the motion. He swallows, coming back to me with a slight nod of his head. An answer to some unspoken question.

“You did well,” he says at last, amber eyes glinting before falling to my mouth.

He takes a step closer.

“You did, too,” I exhale, “I never got to say.”

He lets out a gentle huff of a laugh, “I said a single line.”

He watches me carefully, looking for any sign of hesitation as he steps closer, closing the gap. He smells of tea and aluminum and him. My heart races, every nerve standing on end.

“Viktor,” I say. Not a warning, but a prayer.

One he hears.

He swallows, harsh and hard as his head dips down, pressing my back against the alcove wall. He halts, lips hovering above mine as our breath mixes in the gap between, letting out a whisper of my name. I gasp it in like air. I could subsist off my name on his lips alone.

His hand slides up from my shoulder, ghosting along my collarbone, my neck, my jaw—until my face is nestled securely within the palm of his hand. He swipes at my cheekbone with his thumb, tilting my head back.

I let out a noise—strangled and sharp and desperate. Once honeyed eyes are now blown black, fluttering closed as he dips down until I can just, just feel the warmth of his lips. I crane my head, chasing after it.

His hand at my neck holds me put. Letting out a ragged breath, pressing every inch of his body against mine.  It’s not nearly enough.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for quite some time,” he muses, voice far too even for my liking.

A thumb swipes across my lower lip, and I shudder. Another shaky breath against my skin—whisky and wine and want—before he’s closing the gap. Pulling me into a kiss so searing I’m sure I’ll burn up right then and there.

I whine into his mouth, and I am rewarded with hands falling to my hips, pulling me sharply against him. My own hands tangle into the soft curls of his hair and I could cry. I tug, pulling his mouth off mine. He pants, looking down at me with wild eyes.

“As good as you imagined?” I smirk.

He groans, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of my mouth, “better.”

I gasp as he pressing another searing kiss along the bend of my jaw, stopping at the juncture. “Like honey.”

His leg slots between mine, pulling me against his thigh as he presses his lips against my ear. “I wonder where else you taste so sweet, hm?”

I whine, my fingers scrambling for purchase in his jacket and hair. Teeth nip at my ear, tongue darting out to sooth at my skin before he whispers, “you must be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, a frantic little motion. He lets out a rumbling laugh as his lips trail down my neck. I shudder with each kiss. He mouths at the juncture of my neck, and I bite back a moan, hips rolling against his thigh instinctively. Desperate for friction. His thumb is sharp against my hipbone, pulling me down harder.

“Good girl,” he smiles against my skin. His hand trails down my neck, to my collarbone, down to the edge of my neckline—gliding along the seam, finding their way back up to the strap. A calculated flick and it’s falling down my shoulder.

He chases after with his mouth, guiding my hips to roll against him as the cup of my dress slips downward. He mouths at every inch of the newly exposed skin. The crest of my breast, the soft dip between. My head swims, eyes fluttering closed. The feel of his soft hair the only thing left tethering me to this plane. A thumb brushes across my nipple, followed by his tongue. I gasp, and he stills.

My eyes blink open as I pant down at him, watching. Rapt. Judging by the sinful smile he gives me, he’s well aware the picture he paints below—wild hair tangled between my fingers, his lips wrapped around the peak of my breast.

“Quiet,” he reminds me, hand rising to press flat against my lips. I whine, grateful, nodding.

Distant laughter stops him, he lets out a sigh as he stands, chest pressing to mine. His hand rights my dress as his arm comes to rest against the wall. Propping himself up.

I roll my hips, shamelessly in search of friction.

He smirks, dipping down to whisper, “mh, you’re desperate, aren’t you? You want me to touch you right here in this hall?”

I shudder, “please.”

His laugh is low and sinful, heat coiling in my core as his fingernails rake down my thigh.

“Not here,” he purrs, “not like this.”

It’s full of promise.

A familiar voice calls our names from the other end of the hall. Heimerdinger’s. And it’s a bucket of ice water across us both. He groans against my ear before standing, leaning to grab his cane from its resting spot against the window.

“More benefactors,” he says with a lopsided grin, breath still uneven.

I let out a soft laugh as my hands glide up to fuss at his collar, smoothing it down in place beneath his jacket. His eyes are gentle as his own fingers card along my hair, righting it. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, whispering, “come, let’s go.”

My mind—the restless, wandering thing—is only half on-task. The other drifts back to the shared lab—it’s cool metal shelves and sterile walls, the bite of chemicals hanging in the air. Specifically, the fresh set of samples waiting for me patiently in the fridge, which had been procured over a couple of visits to the undercity. Waiting. Ever the gentleman, Viktor insisted on coming with each time.

The words on the page before me blur as I twirl my pen.  It’s only a quick jot away from the office. Perhaps I could take lunch there instead of at my desk. A bit questionable? But, tempting.

Unfortunately for me, Heimerdinger appears intent on giving me a stroke at the big hour of 9am instead. Breaking the silence, he asks, “have you considered presenting at the symposium?”

I let out a sputtering cough, eyes widening. Across the room, he waits.

“I hadn’t,” I gawk, “I’m not sure I have anything worth presenting, sir.”

He wags a finger my way, regarding me with a stern brow that I’d find intimidating on any other man. “I’ve seen too many a great scientist fall prey to false modesty.”

I frown.

“I have on good authority from a certain predecessor of yours that your research holds great potential, my girl,” He preaches. I pinch my nose at the term as he continues, “with a little hard work and guidance, of course!”

I tap my pen against the page, marking up the margins of the poor student’s paper haphazardly. Dot dot dotdotdot.

“I’ll think about it,” I say at last.

His eyes narrow for a moment, disappointed, before light flashes behind them. “Perhaps a private space is in order.”

I gape. That’s quite the bribe. What could possibly motivate this sudden investment in my career? “Sir I—”

“Now, now,” he repeats, closing his eyes as he walks into his adjoining office, “I won’t hear another word. Consider it!!”

His door clicks shut.

I sigh. I’d have to live and breathe my research, especially with the symposium at the end of the quarter. But I could possibly secure funding for my project. No more personal bankrolling and personal time and borrowed supplies. My nose pinches, I could care less about the competitive aspect. Progress, however…

“Sir,” my voice cuts the silence like a knife, “I’ll take you up on that lab.”

***

It’s in that very lab that I see Viktor next.

The space is a mess, as all good labs are. Half-empty boxes in the corner, a sparse arrangement of supplies scattered throughout the rest. But it’s my own, and it is wonderful. Finally able to break away from the small mountain of paperwork, I hum softly to myself as I work.

“I thought I might find you here,” a familiar lilting voice speaks.

My eyes remain glued to the microscope, the corners of my mouth tugging upwards, “I think I have you to thank for this.”

A few paces closer, I hear him shrug as he sets an object on the table, “eh, hardly.”

I look up. Standing at my side, he takes the room in with curious eyes. Drinking in each detail. Atop the desk sit a notebook and a mechanical pencil—sturdy, with a surprisingly ornate metal casing. He lifts his hand, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“A lab-warming gift,” he says, a small laugh escaping him. His mouth is a half-grimace, color dusting his cheeks.

I laugh, and he sharply turns, muttering something about ‘taking his leave’ as he stalks towards the exit.

“Hey, hold up, Vik.”

His steps falter, he keeps his back to me as he waits, tilting his head in my direction.

“I’m sure you’re sick of these little excursions, and this one isn’t in the undercity, so, no pressure.” My foot taps erratically, and I can feel the back of my neck heating as I continue, “anyways, I’m going to take some benthic samples from where the river is widest. I’ve arranged for a boat next week. You’re welcome to come.”

He blinks at me. A beat passes, and when I’m positive I’ve made a horrible fool of myself and overstepped, he replies, “I would… enjoy that.”

Oh. His expression is surprisingly gentle.

That’s that, then.

***

It’s that same expression that graces his features as he leans his arms against the railing, watching where the river meets the coast while we pull away from the wharf. Eyes wide, mouth parted. That not-quite-crease in his brow softening, as if he’s five years younger. He takes a deep breath in. Out.

“I’m starting to move on to biodiversity surveys,” I say. It’s an excuse to talk, and a rather lame one. I’ll take any.

He hums, eyes still scanning the coast, “hence the benthic samples.”

“Exactly,” I look over the edge of the ship into the deep dark below, I shudder, all too aware of what lay beneath. “I need samples of the less... polluted areas of the river anyways. Two birds: meet stone.”

He propped his chin on his elbow, looking at me from the side of his eye, “how soon will you return to the undercity? I imagine your timeline has moved forward.”

“Something like that. Though, I’m not sure when.” I laugh, shifting closer to nudge him with my elbow, “and how is your presentation? Prepared?”

He grimaced, but doesn’t budge, “mh, we will be. More or less.”

“How confident,” I laugh dryly.

The corner of his mouth twitches, “no, I don’t think I’ll be prepared for that until after it’s already done.”

My eyebrows raise.

“The prototype, however, is nearly ready to go!” he says with mock enthusiasm. He rubs at his chin, “I am.. eh, not a fan of public speaking.”

“Huh. You could have fooled me.”

“Funny,” he clipped.

“I’m serious. You’re always so,” I wave towards him, searching for the word, “confident.”

He squints at the water. Reading a page that’s not quite there. With another tilt of the head, he looks at me. Eyes focused, bright. “Self-assurance does not necessitate a lust for the limelight,” he says, his gaze shifting back to the water for a moment before returning to mine. There’s a flicker in his eyes, something I can’t quite decipher.

If we were closer, I’d call bullshit. Instead, I settle on a lopsided smile, “fair enough, Viktor.”

The trip proves surprisingly fruitful, save for one glaring issue: the ecosystem is under much more strain than I initially anticipated. Still, it was nice to see Viktor so… relaxed. Soft.

If I want to have a half-decent report in the next handful of weeks, I’ll need to do more faunal surveys. Measurable surveys. Possibly even find a link between the inevitable biomagnification and Piltover’s economy, if I’m really lucky. And all of this requires one thing. A knot forms in my stomach.

I’ll need to seek out Professor Haynes. Head of the Marine Biology department and God-king of supplies. A few of which I need.

***

It’s fairly early in the morning, the academy halls still quiet as I approach his door.

I rap on his office door, calling out, “sir?”

A quick grunt of ‘come in’ and I’m standing beyond the threshold. My eye’s scan the edges of his room. A mess of books line the shelves as sun pours through the window, the columns of light highlighting each speck of dust. Beige and musty. I fear my smile comes across as more of a grimace as I greet the man behind the desk.

“Ah, you’ve been making quite a stir,” he smiles up at me, though his eyes hold no warmth.

I cough, shifting on my foot, “I haven’t accomplished anything worth ‘stirring’ over, sir.”

“True.”

I tongue my cheek. Okay, I may have walked into that. Still, it stings. I swallow down my reaction.

He’s keen on twisting the dagger, “your little pet project has, at least. Especially considering the… location.”

I shrug, “it’s fairly standard, sir. I recall learning about habitat restoration from you during my studies. Why not improve our own back yard?”

His eyes narrow, leaning backward as he regards me, “what brings you to my office?”

“I need an electrofisher, sir.”

“Unfortunately, they’re all booked for the next 6 months.”

Bullshit. Utter bullshit. “Is there no way sir—“

“Do you have any idea how many requests I receive for such equipment? They’re all in use for the foreseeable future.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Perhaps you should choose a less ambitious area of study.”

I grit my teeth, the urge to slam the door on my way out all too great.

***

Heimerdinger is hardly more receptive. Supportive, yes. But intent on taking Haynes’ side—or, at least, believing his end of the story. My heart pulses wildly as I sit in his office for the second time today. He insisted on speaking to Haynes himself after the first. Citing my need for patience and ensuring me that it couldn’t possibly be driven by any personal biases. A few hours later, he returns to the office with a pleased smile, motioning for me to follow.

Of course, his idea of good news is out-of-touch:

“You will have access to your equipment in a few weeks, my dear,” he declares.

My heart sinks. “Sir, I don’t have many weeks left—“

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “but there’s nothing to be done. A little patience and you’ll see; the time will fly right by!”

I huff, standing from my chair so fast the chair rubs against the floor with a loud groan. “Thank you for your time, sir,” I grit out.

Eager to escape, I nearly run face first into Jayce’s stunned self waiting in the main room outside. I mutter a quick apology, sidestepping him as I make my way to the courtyard. My usual spot. A bench tucked away amongst the trees; perfect for lunch, fuming, or a combination of the two.

The air was warm, but a dark cloud hung low on the horizon, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. Weeks. He wants me to wait weeks? My research can’t afford it. Especially given the gods-forsaken timetable his insistence put me on. I pick at my nails as I glare out across the courtyard.

Jayce, it appears, has followed after.

“Hey,” he pants, jogging to standing above me.

My eyes shift towards him, narrowing, I give him a polite nod. We don’t often speak, what purpose could he have with me now?

“I heard your conversation with Heimerdinger,” he starts.

Ah, that.

I bristle, watching him expectantly.

“In my experience, pushback generally means you’re on the right path.” His smile is lopsided.

I blinked, the air catching in my throat. Right. He’d been Piltover’s golden boy—Heimer’s personal protégé—for so many years I nearly forgot, “you were nearly expelled.”

He starts at first, a moment of surprise crossing his features. It quickly melts into a fond smile, eyes glazed and far-off. “I was,” he confirms, “it was Viktor that saved my research.”

“Right,” I exhale. I distantly wonder if he’s always had a habit of doing that. Supporting from the wings. Guilt gnaws in my stomach.

Jayce coughs, a put-on little noise to buy him confidence to say the next words to a near-stranger, “V says the work you’re doing is good.”

I nod, shifting in my seat. I’m eager to look anywhere but his direction, choosing instead to watch the students and professors walking across the quad. Uncomfortable. Yet, a part of my heart sings. My voice comes out stilted, “I keep hearing that.”

“Keep at it,” he says, earnest, “steal a damn boat if you have to.”

I snort, “thanks, Jayce.”

He nods, eyes glued to the building over as he nods once more—towards at himself more than me. An awkward wave, and he’s returning towards Heimer’s office.

***

I opt out of larceny, for the time being. Choosing instead to conduct visual surveys, in addition to a few other benthic grabs. Which, naturally, means more Undercity visits.

We worked backwards, this time. Ending up at the uppermost research site; a calm, brighter alcove on the river. The space is shielded from prying eyes and relatively clean. As far as the undercity goes, at least. The crisp air still holding that metallic undercurrent, but lacking all the usual rot and decay. Viktor sets delicately atop a boulder, ankles tucked against it.

I watch as he scribbles labels on the sample jars, delicate fingers holding it eye-level as he writes with the other hand.

“You sure this isn’t your true calling, Viktor?” I tease scribbling notes in my field journal. Bird counts, visible flora and fauna in the areas we’ve visited. It’s a slow process.

He laughs for a second, before growing serious as the words sink on, “mh, no, biology is not a preferred subject of mine.”

My brows pinch together. “Don’t invite you out next time, noted.”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye, mouth quirking up. And there’s something in the way his eyes are glazed over that has me leaning towards him, asking, “did you study biology? When you were younger?”

It’d make sense—why he so quickly picked up on these things.  Second nature, like riding a bike.

“When I was very young, yes,” he replied. Called it. His lips form a thin line that I’m learning means he doesn’t intend on elaborating. Alright, then.

I set down my notebook, sighing as I stand. He watches me, expression closely guarded as he waits for my next move. I think he’s used to people pressing him. Instead, my fingers rise to the buttons of my blouse.

It takes a moment before the gears slide into place. “What are you doing?” He sputters.

I shrug, “diving.”

He gawks, before snapping his gaze away as the shirt slips off my shoulders to reveal the wet suit beneath.

“Relax, dork,” I laugh, kicking off my pants as well, “I’m wearing something under.”.

“I will not relax,” he hisses, “it’s dangerous!”

I shrug, crouching down to rifle through my bag for my goggles and rebreather. “Can you swim, Viktor?”

If the way he glowers at me is enough to say no, the way he whacks my calf with his cane is enough to shout it.

I laugh, “noted.”

A satisfied smirk crosses his face momentarily before he swallows, his eyes flickering from my face downward haphazardly until he averts his gaze entirely. “I’m able to swim,” he clarifies, “I simply never learned.”

“You should,” I reply, walking towards the water. It’s cold. Damn near frigid on my skin. I hiss as I muscle past the pins pricking into my skin with each step. “I could teach you, sometime.”

Back at the shore, he watches; ears flaming red as he blinks rapidly. Another harsh swallow. He holds my gaze in a way that makes me crave the cool of the water. Biting the bullet, I let myself sink.

The beneath water is tinged green, hazy—streaks of that odd oil-slick iridescence as the light refracts into columns. Errant trash from above collects in crags of the rocks along the floor. Empty. So, heartbreakingly empty. I pop back up.

Above, still perched on his rock, Viktor watches. Lips a thin line, eyebrows heavy. His fists tense and relax as I resurface.

I pull off my rebreather momentarily, “Vik? Take notes for me?”

He nods, scrambling across to grab my notebook from the boulder across from him. He blinks up at me, waiting. I dive back below.

We work like that for some time. Resurfacing every few minutes to rattle off the various species I do manage to find. His eyes flicker—concern, relief, and back again as I dive down. Finally, he speaks up, voice strained, “you really should stop.”

Whatever brief shyness was there earlier is gone as he glowers at me as I rise from the water.

“A warning, next time,” he huffed, thumb idly pressing into the palm of his hand.

I nod, stepping back to my bag to grab the towel I stashed inside. He watches me from his periphery as I grab my clothes, as well. I stand, taking a step closer. With my spare hand, my fingers slide atop his hair—incredibly soft, god, of course it had to be soft—guiding his head to face away.

“See that rock?” I laugh, breathless.

“Hm?” His voice is strained.

“Eyes there, soldier.”

He shifts, back straightening as I let him go. As I quickly slip out of my wetsuit and into my clothes, I note his foot tapping rapidly against the ground, and oh the red is back. Flaming tips of his ears that I would very much like to kiss. I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I complete the last of the buttons on my shirt.

“Okay, let’s go,” I breathe.

The walk back is quiet, but comfortable. It isn’t until we’re tucked away into the bathysphere that he speaks, “you shouldn’t endanger yourself. It would be better to borrow the supplies you need.”

I laugh, “Jayce told you about that, huh?”

“I’m serious,” he urges. His thumb still worries at his palm, skin red.

I ignore his statement, “what’s wrong with your hand?”

“Nothing,” his hands still, fingers flexing, “just gets sore sometimes.”

I grab his wrist, pulling his hand towards me, he makes a small noise of shock. But makes no move to pull away as I speak, “I won’t make a habit of it, Viktor. Though, you could argue stealing from the academy is endangering oneself.”

He doesn’t reply, instead blinking down at our hands. I keep my touch light, smoothing out the muscle in his hand, from his thumb down to where his and hand wrist me. He swallows, looking back out the bathysphere window.

“We hit a snag with our prototype for the demonstration,” he sighs, “I’ll have to ‘buckle down,’ as Jayce puts it, for a bit.”

I hum in reply. A little, selfish part of me savors the feel of his skin on mine as I see the top of the railway nearing. I slow to a near stop.

His hand is ripped from mine as the door opens, though not unkindly. He’s the first to scramble out.

On the platform, to the side, I look up at him. “Are you headed back to the lab?”

His answering look says that was a stupid question, and it’s my turn to glower at him.

“If you’re going to lecture me about putting my body in jeopardy,” I raise my brow, “you should listen to your own warnings.”

He scoffs, rolling his shoulder, fingers flexing out form the handle of his cane. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” I reply.

He stares down at me, and I can tell I’m rubbing him the wrong way. So I add, “it’s been a long day. You can burn the candle at both ends tomorrow.”

A beat, and he nods, sighing.

“Have a good night, Vik,” I say, patting him on the arm as I walk away.

***

Days blend into weeks—just a couple. Regardless, it feels far too stagnant for my liking. All my previous samples have been processed, and I have the burning desire to return. To move forward. It beats its ever-present thrum of a song in the back of my mind.

Perhaps I’m being a little impatient. In all fairness, it’s hard not to be, with my research being arbitrarily held hostage by a man with enough biases to fill a lake. Much like the torrential downpour that has filled the river over the past week. It’s been a couple days since the rain stopped, and the river is at its crest.

Up by half a meter, it seems.

The air smells of ozone and metal. I drop a wire with a weight affixed to it into the water’s depths at one of our spots along the river. A bit rudimentary, but easily transportable and much less likely to grab attention than lugging a staff gauge through the city would be. Careful not to get myself robbed, or worse, I opted for quick and light. A notebook, Viktor’s gift pencil, tucked into a small bag hidden beneath my coat.

Viktor, I expect, would be livid to find me here alone.

What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

I pull up on the wire as soon as it hits the bottom. 2.8 meters. I’ll have to return again in a few days to confirm my estimate. I start winding.

“Not quite the ideal place for a tour, topsider,” comes a controlled voice from behind. Dropping the wire into the water entirely, cursing, as I turn to look; mismatched eyes meeting my own. My skin crawls. He’s dressed well, which, somehow, is all the more concerning. You don’t make money like that in the undercity without spilling blood.

“Fortunately I’m not a tourist,” I say back, hoping my voice comes across as neutral.

Eyebrows pinch, followed by the thin line of his mouth breaking into a wolffish grin. The kind that devours for sport. His head tilts, sizing me up with a snaking glance. “No, you aren’t.”

He takes a few paces, coming to stand at my shoulder, looking out at the water. “I’ve been monitoring you, you know. Topsider academic coming to the undercity, never a good sign…” his voice trails off, sign said with a taunting little lilt. Like a private joke with an old friend. He’s enjoying toying with me, I realize.

“I’m not up to anything—“

“I will be the judge of that,” he sneers, “though in this case, I do believe you’re telling the truth.”

My shoulders relax, just a little.

His answering stare is a command: elaborate.

“I’m a marine biologist,” I supply, “researching habitat restoration.”

“How altruistic,” he scoffs, “for what purpose?”

I pause, head tilting.

“Nothing comes without a motivation,” he explains, voice bored as if speaking to a child. There’s something else, though. It’s laced with conviction. A creed.

I shift my eyes away from his, fixing them on the water. “Those are my own concern,” it’s a stupid response, and one I’m sure he doesn’t often hear. Quick to add an olive branch, I say, “I can assure you I mean no harm to the people here.”

He laughs dryly. “That so? How rare.”

I swallow.

He regards me for a moment, searching my eyes for an answer. Whatever he finds, it must be satisfactions as his lithe hand is held out. As I take it, he purrs, “to finding opportunities below, then. I expect you’ll find plenty of resistance above.”

I respond with a level stare, “I appreciate your candor.”

He smirks.

“Better return soon, girl,” he shrugs, “be in touch.”

A threat?

I don’t bother replying, watching as he stalks off. I wait a few minutes before I make my own retreat. As I cross the lanes, I stare back at that neon eye hovering above us all.

Watching.

Quite the calling card.

***

The next day, I bury myself in books. Stacks of them fetched from the academy library over multiple trips sit towering across the tables in my lab. I groan, burying my face in the latest: a rather dated book titled Restorative Ecology for Acquatic Systems.

A rap at the door, and I’m smirking into the pages as I call out a quick ‘come in.’ I don’t get many visitors. Yet.

“Hey,” I breathe, looking up to see Viktor standing before me.

Purple pools sit beneath his eyes. I frown. He has been burning the candle at both ends, then.

“Hello,” he echoes with a smile. A bit of bright breaking through the exhaustion.

“You look tired,” the words tumble out before I can help it. He gives a little shrug, sheepish. God, why isn’t he saying anything? I’ve nothing to offer but hot air, “how’s the prototype?”

“Good, good,” his eyes continue scan the room, “and your research? I was looking for you yesterday.”

I cringe.

His eyes narrow.

I look down, running my fingers along the pages, “I went to the undercity.”

He frowns, taking a step closer with a heavy sigh. I start to ramble, “really, Vik, it was just one trip. I needed my research—”

I stop myself. I don’t need to defend myself on this. So, what?

“You could have asked me,” is all he says.

The way he stares down at me, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip, a hint of disappointment in his eyes, makes my breath catch. The truth spills out unbidden, “you were busy and, after last time, I didn’t want to unnecessarily drag you across the city just to spend five minutes measuring the water.”

“Last time?” He blinks, cogs turning behind his eyes.

My own eyes flicker down to his leg. Involuntarily.

Hurt flashes across his face, his jaw tightening. I swallow, the silence stretching between us. This is going completely, unnecessarily, wrong.

 He takes a deep breath in. Out.

“Let me be very clear,” he says, taking a step closer, “I do not need you to infantilize me.”

“Viktor,” I sigh, “I wasn’t—“

“Stop,” he spits, eyes burning into mine, “I am perfectly capable of deciding what is too much and what will fit into my schedule.”

I can feel my face burning—cheeks hot, head light. I push back from the table, standing to face him head on. The air thickens. “You’re a complete, utter hypocrite, Viktor.”

His mouth opens, surprise flickering across his features as I close the remaining space between us. I can feel the heat radiating off him.

“You are,” I continue with a poke to his sternum, “I don’t need babying, either, Viktor. I’m a grown woman—a perfectly rational one—who can assess risk and travel alone just fine. The fact that this is even an argument is ridiculous.”

He stares down at me, a glint of something unreadable as his gaze drops to my mouth. His breath hitches. Something hot and electric curls in my stomach.

It’d be so easy to close that gap.

“Leave, Viktor.” I sigh, sitting to return to my books, “I don’t have time for this.”

I feel frigid even saying it.

We meet at the bathysphere, at his insistence. The line snakes around the platform in a near-stagnant queue. Deciding to get a head start, I step in line while I wait. I pull my coat tighter, the air biting at my skin through the layers.

I fiddle with the contents of my bag for the 5th time today. Counting vials, containers, extra markers, a couple pairs of gloves—everything needed to collect samples. All accounted for. I crane my head around the treelike man in front of me as the line shuffles forward.

Viktor.

He’s standing beside the front of the line, with the conductor, looking regal as ever. His eyes scan the distance—searching for me, presumably. Something electric and wriggling sparks in my stomach.

“Viktor,” I wave him over.

His eyebrows pinch, scanning. A moment later, he shakes his head, waving me his way instead. I lament. Another cluster of people have joined the queue. Progress lost. I huff, repositioning my bag as I walk towards him.

“Good afternoon,” he says, and there’s a wry grin on his lips.

“This your ‘associate’?” A gruff voice asks. At Viktor’s nod, the conductor claps a heavy hand over his shoulder. Viktor walks forward, coolly slipping past the line to step onto the ramp. A few grumbles behind me as I follow, though they’re quickly silenced by the conductor’s cough.

Finally tucked away in the bathysphere, I blink up at him. “How?”

He shrugs, and I can tell he feels oh-so-smug by the way he smirks as he picks nonexistent lint off his shirt. “I barter.”

I scoff.

“House Tallis manufactures the parts he needs to maintain this,” he stares out the window at the steep drop below. I follow suit, my stomach turns immediately. My skin a reflection of the pallid green below. Viktor continues, a grin playing at his lips, “i procure them from time to time.”

“You pilfer from your partner’s house?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He smiles earnestly now, eyes still glued to the world below. “What’s a missing cog or two, hm?” He shifts in his seat, “a mere rounding error in the ledgers. Jayce would not mind.”

I laugh, “resourceful.”

“Eh,” Viktor shrugs again, “it’s survival. The basics.”

I hum, he’s got me there. We’re jostled in place as the machine hits a seam in the rail. My stomach lurches.

After a moment he speaks again, “I’m curious how you would restore the habitat, assuming you gain funding.”

I shift in my seat, straightening. Grateful for the distraction. “It depends on our coming research, honestly.”

“In a perfect world, then,” the corners of his eyes crinkle, “indulge me.”

“In a perfect world, we would have the funding and regulations needed for water treatment plants, bioswales built between the factories to reduce runoff, regulations on hazardous materials in the first place,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing.

Viktor laughed, clear and bright. “Yes, well, a slightly imperfect world, then?”

I hum, mulling it over, “a water treatment system would be ideal. Depending on the toxins in the river, careful introductions of certain plants and animals could help put a dent in it as well.”

His head tilts, “plants?”

The bathysphere lands at the bottom with a soft thunk. I’m quick to scramble out. All limbs and nerves.

I blink up, taking in my surroundings with equal parts awe and dismay. Twisting wrought iron gates and windows peppered with discordant glass interspersed throughout the towering buildings. Almost organic. Everything has a lean to it. There’s a layer of dust and dirt and fumes that has me swallowing instinctively. That encompassing green from above is joined by others, here—a veritable kaleidoscope of blues and yellows. The graffiti adorning the walls is delicate, warm. Portraits applied with reverence. Unexpected.

I feel Viktor in my periphery, watching me carefully. When I turn, his expression is guarded. He begins walking, motioning for me to follow. I notice now that he’s traded his usual cane for another—one less flashy. Smart. I shouldn’t be surprised by that. He keeps his eyes forward as he speaks, “thoughts?”

My eyebrows pinch, conflicted on how to reply. I settle on my honest, foolish opinion, “I hope this doesn’t sound offensive, but, it’s oddly beautiful.”

He tilts his head, “that I have not heard before.”

I look around at the unearthly glow, a rattled groan comes from the alley as we pass. My lips quirk downwards, “the architecture, at least.”

Viktor doesn’t reply, opting for silence as we walk. Any insecurity that tugs at my skin is quickly replaced by concern as I become lost. Spending the past week studying every map I could get my hands on not nearly enough to make sense of the snaking layers of the undercity. Viktor’s steps are sure, at least.

“You’re gawking like a tourist,” he broke the silence as we passed through an empty alley, “that will get us mugged.”

I blush, eyes front. “Sorry.”

The silence slithers on, uncoiling unfettered as we walk and I find myself desperate to rid myself of it.  My words cut through, “did you grow up nearby?”

His footsteps falter, just for a moment. “No.”

Moments pass, and he leads us through another alley. At its end I see jagged rocks towering above, the glint of water along the ground as the street opens.

“I lived to the southeast,” he replies at last. “For the most part.”

Judging by the way his hand grips his cane, knuckles paling, I don’t press further. The river at my fingertips, anyways. I step out of the alley, eyes scanning the space. There’s a huddled form 20 feet to the left. Still. I push away the thought—whether they’re dead or simply sleeping—walking towards the water instead. At its bank I kneel down, fishing a container from the bag.

“I wouldn’t go in,” Viktor warns.

I nod, “wouldn’t work anyway.” I collect a sample from the water’s edge, pulling it up towards the light. Craggy, brown, a strange iridescence at its edges. I let out a sigh.

Viktor stands beside where I’m kneeling, eyes flitting across our surroundings. A little wary, but mostly apathetic. I clamber to my feet, searching around me for something above the river itself. No footbridges, but a tall cliff juts out above. Accessible should I hop over the boulders littering the way across. It’ll have to do.

I move towards the closest; Viktor makes a brief choked-off sound of worry from behind. “I need to be vertical from the water,” I half-explain as I take a tentative step.

The boulder wobbles slightly beneath my weight but holds. Stable enough, I continue.

I pause when both feet are on the boulder, “if I fall in—what happens.”

Viktor’s shrugging. “Eh, immediately? Likely nothing. Cuts could fester, but long term exposure is known to cause.. complications. It’s not something I would suggest.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, making the hop to the next stone on my path.

I try to ignore the weight of his gaze on me as I make the final three less-than-graceful leaps to the shore.

The climb itself is simple. The jagged rock, thankfully, full of sturdy footholds. At the top of the cliff, I knee down to fish out a horizontal sampler from my bag—a simple tube held by a line, a chamber cover at each end connected by a trigger mechanism.

I peer over the edge to find Viktor watching from the shoreline, leg crossed over his foot as he leans with both hands on his cane. I lay down, leaning out past the edge to lower the tube to its mark. Gentle.

At the correct depth, I release the messenger—watching as the weight careens down the line into the water. A soft plunk lets me know it’s made its landing. A tug lets me confirm it.

Another sample later, and I’m scrambling back down the wall. The journey down is much less confident. My toe searches for each foothold, biceps burning with effort as I claw at the rocks. A small misstep and I land on the ground with shaky knees. I gasp.

Across the river, Viktor smirks at me. “You nearly pass for fissure folk.”

I dust myself off, my answering laugh full of sarcasm. I hope he doesn’t see the way my face burns lightly as I make my way back to him.

The next location is simpler, no acrobatics needed. Sunlight reaches this area. I try to ignore the strange look in Viktor’s eye as he stares across the rocks at the plants growing along them.

Samples collected, I return to his side.

“The last stop,” Viktor says, voice low, “we’ll need to cross the lanes to reach.”

I blink up at him, unfamiliar.

“It’s,” he waffles for the right word, “a black market of sorts.”

I walk closer to him as we travel deeper. The air itself is tinged with a spark—motor oil, salt, and metal mix with something cloyingly sweet. Neon green pours through every crack. The once-quiet streets fill with life. Automobiles, market stalls, children hawking undoubtedly stolen wares. Brothels. My face burns again as one of the women calls out to us, another grin tugging at Viktor’s lips.

An eye in neon watches us all from across the lanes.

Viktor stares back at it warily, hand hovering behind my back as he tucks us down an offshoot. Away from its gaze.

The air thickens as we walk, filling my lungs. Ozone and earth. I cough. Viktor soothes me with a gentle touch to my back, his expression strange and unreadable.

He leans down, “almost there, I suggest you work quickly.”

I follow his sightline, landing on a group collecting towards the mouth of the alley. I shift a little closer with every step, feeling his warm body brush my shoulder with each step. As we reach the group, he fixes them with a stern glare. Unintimidated. A tight nod, and their interest dissipates, marginally. I clutch my bag tighter.

“I think a surface level sample will be fine,” I murmur as we approach the river.

Viktor nods, his mouth a flat line.

He stays at my side this time, joining me on the water’s edge as I scoop up a sample. There’s a slight shake in my hands as I screw the cap on. Stupid. I peer up at Viktor’s face, and he regards me with a tight smile. His eyes flit behind me, “let’s go.”

I follow him, pressing the container into my bag. The men are still there, interest growing with each step. I feel their eyes slither across my skin, lecherous and oozing.

“Hey sweetheart,” one of the men calls.

I feel Viktor’s hand at the small of my back once more, and I’m quick to press in closer.

“Why don’t you ditch your little friend and have fun with a real man instead?” He continues, and the men sitting beside him hooping and hollering. I feel his fingers tighten against the back of my shirt.

I open my mouth—

“It’s not worth it,” Viktor murmurs, “ignore them.”

It’s the feeling of his lips against my hair as he leans in to speak that stops me, really. Selfish.

I do, however, glare back at the man as we pass. My blood whooshing past my eardrums. They laugh. I’d like to give them something to laugh at.

As expected, they bore. Not even bothering to get up off the stoop. Content to heckle in place and wait for someone isolated.

Viktor keeps his hand on the small of my back the entire walk back to the surface. When we reach topside, I miss the feeling. Our conversation is subdued as we make our way back to the academy. When we reach the foyer, I look up at him. “I appreciate your help.”

Another smile, soft yet distant. “Of course.”

I nod, giving him a lopsided grin in return, and I’m about to wish him a good evening when another sentence entirely springs forth, “I could use some help making slides.”

A little bit of that warm light returns to his eyes as he considers. “Yes,” he laughs awkwardly, “though I will warn, it has been quite some time.”

“That makes two of us.”

- - -

The Assistant position comes with access to the common labs. I lead him to the closest one, taking note of the way his foot drops a little hard with every step. Inside the lab, he perches on a stool, stretching his leg awkwardly.

I set the samples from my bag atop the counter, grabbing the supplies needed from various cabinets. Viktor inspects one canister of water with faint interest. Eyes dull.

“Is it hard going back?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. I keep my back to him as I fish out the pipettes.

There’s a pause. A hum. I peer over to see his hand perched on his chin, tapping.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I grimace, “I’m sorry.”

His returning smile is sad, weighed down by the day. “It’s a little difficult, going deeper. Even as a child, I tried to keep away from the lanes.”

I nod, continuing to work as he speaks. Giving him space. My fingers run along the box of glass slides.

“There is.. a guilt. When I visit,” his voice comes out hoarse.

My hands still.

“It’s illogical,” he half-laughs, laced with bitter.

“I don’t think so,” I answer, fishing out a slide. I hand it to him. “Help me hold this steady.”

I lean in, pipette hovering carefully over the glass. I speak softly as I work, “it’s not my home, but I feel the same.”

It was gnawing at my bones.

He’s quiet as he watches my fingers place the cover on the slide, a bit of water lost in the process. Another companionable silence. We continue processing the samples, making our way to the last much faster than I’d like.

“It’s nice you know,” I smile down at the cover in my fingers, “actually working with someone for once.”

Viktor snorts, “Heimerdinger isn’t much of a collaborator.”

I laugh, my finger slipping on the slide in the process. My gloved hand brushes against his and it’s everything I can think about. Warmth. I curse, “pathetic.”

“Perfectionist, hm?” He teases, grabbing the pipette. “Let me.”

I blink twice. Snapping to, I grab a slide and hold it out. His fingers are long, elegant. Each movement sure and graceful. As he places a droplet of iridescent water on the slide, I wonder how those fingers would feel on my skin.

“I always hated this,” he laughs. The slide cover is placed on with ease. Effortless.

“Sure,” I tease before taking the slide over to the nearest microscope. “I’ll need to send the rest of these samples off to identify the toxins but… want a peek?”

He lights up, crossing the distance in a couple short strides. I watch as he slides atop the stool, long legs stretching while he huddles down to the microscope. His brown hair cascades around his face. He lets out a pointed little exhale as the image comes in focus.

He pops up, a little sheepish, “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

I motion for the microscope, heart tugging at the faint pink coloring his cheeks. He’s not used to that. He clears his through, shifting it towards me but staying in his seat. I feel the heat radiating off his chest as I lean down.

The slide is emptier than I’d hope. At its center lay a conga line of cylindrical organisms forming in a slight spiral. “Ah, these are diatoms.”

I make space for him to look again, his mouth softly parts he takes another turn. “Plural?”

“They’re single-celled organisms, but they form chains. A type of phytoplankton, actually—algae.” His shoulder brushes mine, and I’m greedy enough to stay in place. I’m rambling, I realize a bit distantly. Unwilling to stop if it means I can stay like this just a little longer, I continue, “their cell walls are made of silica.”

“There’s something else,” he interrupts with a sharp intake of breath, fingers gripping at the knobs of the microscope— chasing it. He leans back a little, less than before, “here.”

I look. A oval creature shifts on the slide, two filigree-like antennae feeling around the space. There’s a dim purple glow. I hum. He cranes forward, chest meeting my shoulder, as if he could see the creature with his bare eyes if he angled himself just so. I blink, steeling myself. “It’s a copepod—zooplankton—but, I’ve never seen bioluminescence quite like this in this species before.”

His head tilts. And, oh, I feel his little breaths on the back of my ear. He murmurs, “I’ve seen similar. There’s a plant in the undercity.”

“Must be their food source,” I breathe. I feel him shift, the warmth ripped from my skin as he slides off the stool. I straighten.

His brow pinches, downcast eyes scanning the cabinets. Searching for something that’s not there. “I nearly forgot I have a prior engagement, thank you for allowing me to participate in your study.”

“Of course. Thank you, Viktor,” I choke out. My mouth hangs ajar as I watch him leave. Bewildering.

He’s a terrible liar. - - -

The council chamber is a cold, lifeless place. Built to intimidate and underscore the grandeur of the city’s leadership. A beacon.

Unfortunately, most days, the space is wasted on useless squabbles and event planning. Petty galas and dinners to fatten and entertain Piltover’s elite. Today, the focus is the upcoming progress day and all the pomp that surrounds it.

The room is full—an invitation extended to the great houses and other notables. Viktor and Jayce included. I tap my pen on the page, willing away the sleep that threatens to claim me as I stand. Hoskel drones on from his seat.

A shift in the crowd behind me is followed by a voice in my ear, “You’re missing some riveting details.”

I let out a silent laugh, coming out in a singular puff of air. “It’s the same every year,” I sigh. “I think he just likes to hear himself blather.”

His answering chuckle is dry, “a fair observation.”

Across the room, I spot Jayce watching us. His eyes glint, mouth pulled in an unreadable line. Uncomfortable. I return to my notes.

“I wanted to apologize for my abrupt exit,” Viktor speaks a little lower, “I’d like to hear your results, if you’re interested in sharing them.”

My pen falters. “None needed,” I shift in place, lowering the notebook, “they were mixed. I need to return to the final location for more conclusive samples.”

Whatever Viktor is about to say is quashed my Hoskel’s voice raising, unnecessarily shrill as always. “We need a demonstration,” he urges, “something to rally the people for progress day!”

Mel’s ever-assessing gaze lands on him, “perhaps there are Hextech developments to share?”

Viktor’s hand tightens on his cane beside me, quietly cursing as Jayce steps forward. A tug of Jayce’s head and Viktor is crossing the room to his side, hesitantly, as if being pulled by gravity itself. At his side, his nostrils flare as Jayce speaks, “I believe our Hexgate prototype is ready for a larger demonstration.”

Viktor’s mouth presses into a thin line, another chip in his stoic facade. This was unplanned, then. Jayce stares up at Mel with all the eagerness of a beagle.

Heimerdinger sits up in his chair, “marvelous!”

They continue their discussion, the salient details slipping out my ears in favor of digesting something altogether more interesting: the dynamic unfolding in front of me.

Jayce’s hand rests on Viktor’s back, his thumb tracing a circle between the blades. Almost imperceptibly, Viktor leans towards his touch. Jayce speaks on, a shine to his eyes as he holds Mel’s. Fond. Perhaps he’s just a warm person?

No. The way Mel responds, peppering him with affectionate glances, makes me wonder. Perhaps there’s some tooth there, after all. Viktor’s eyes remain fixed on the edge of the table, his brows knit together as the gears shift in his mind. Jealous?

He glances up, mouth parted. He waits for an opening. It doesn’t come to him easily. “Perhaps we hold our demonstration at the symposium’s opening,” he cuts in at last.

The research symposium was a week-long affair leading up to progress day. Marked with prototypes and demonstrations and talks. A space to share knowledge, seek inspiration, secure funding. All in the name of, well, progress.

The majority of the council regards Viktor with thinly veiled disdain. Unnecessarily. He shifts, shrinking under the weight of it. Jayce blinks at him, surprised by his words. His thumb maintains that soothing little motion, and my heart swells. Odd.

Viktor continues on, voice a little steadier now, “to make the work of the academy the focus—it’ll draw more people to the symposium.”

Chiefly, it would make for a smaller crowd. I smirk as Heimerdinger’s eyes light up, gesticulating as he exclaims, “An excellent idea, Viktor!”

Jayce’s hand drops, looking at the floor with an impish smile tugging at his cheeks.

Assistant to the dean.

The opening had been unexpected, both in terms of timing and the context: Heimerdinger’s own right hand gone rogue. Allegedly. Likely cast out of his current role, I imagined, conveniently leaving a space for me.

Naturally, I was a little surprised to find the man of the hour standing in the office. His back to the door as he stared up at the bookshelves, a gold-tipped cane propped neatly against the shelf beside him.

I cleared my throat, “excuse me?”

He jolted, standing a little straighter as he turned my way. Handsome. The rumors hadn’t mentioned that.

“Ah! Hello, you must be my replacement, yes?” He approached with measured steps, his left hand sliding from its place in his pocket. He transferred his cane to as he reached out, “it’s a pleasure to meet you—I’m Viktor.”

His touch was warm, solid. And I was, embarrassingly, fawning.

He continued, “Heimerdinger requested I stay on for a few weeks to show you the ropes.”

My eyebrows shot up, much to my chagrin, “weeks?”

“A little unnecessary, eh, yes.” His eyes danced, “however, I’ve been his assistant for years and, well, he’s not known for his flexibility.”

I hummed, considering. As if I had any choice in the matter.

“I have no doubt you’ll pick everything up in a day or so. Think of me as a safety net.” He smiled, a bit impish.

- - -

He was right, I’d gotten the hang of the routine by day 3. On day 4, between the many meetings around campus, I finally got the courage to ask him, “where next?”

His eyes widened, head popping up from the paper he was scoring, “Oh! Yes. I’m, ah, working on an independent study of sorts.”

“Congratulations,” I said awkwardly, toying with the urge to press further. Still, I couldn’t help myself, “is it related to those crystals?”

His tone was reproachful, though a mischievous glint lurked beneath. “You should know better than to listen to rumors.” My face burned, wanting to crawl inside my skin. He was definitely laughing at me. I was about to apologize when he cut in with a warm smile, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “We’re calling it Hextech.”

- - -

I found excuses to make small talk throughout the weeks. To help kill the time, I told myself. He’s quite sarcastic, I learned, once you got to know him. Not at all the stoic, intimidating presence he maintains. He has a sweet tooth. Will take any excuse to travel by boat, if he can help it. Each kernel of information had me hungry for more.

In his free time, I learned, he toys with automatons and functional models. When I asked why, he looked at me like I spoke a foreign language.

“To keep the spark alive,” he beamed, like it was obvious, let alone rational. “It’s been a hobby of mine since I was a child in the undercity, you know.”

The words hung in the air, and he shifted in his seat. Regret flickered in his eyes, followed by concern. I ignored the way he monitored me out of his periphery as I replied, “how did you learn?”

His shoulders relaxed. He flashed another winning smile as he teased, “curiosity?”

I wonder how he managed to stay so warm.

- - -

On the last week, I met the infamous partner. Jayce Tallis. He introduced himself to me with a polite ‘nice to meet you’ and I didn’t bother to correct him—he had been my TA in my 1st year at the academy. Back before I picked a penniless career path for the sake of passion.

“It’s a pleasure,” I said instead.

Viktor leaned against the spare desk outside the dean’s office—my desk, I supposed. He looked up at Jayce with such warmth and interest, hanging on his every word.

Jayce looked down at Viktor, just as rapt. My stomach dropped. As he placed a gentle hand on his partner’s shoulder, I found a renewed interest in the papers in front of me. Mundane correspondence—requests for extensions, funding, invitations. All better than eavesdropping.

I caught Jayce’s whisper, “I had a few ideas about our project I was hoping we’d cover over dinner. Tonight?”

“Why wait,” Viktor smiled, shifting to stand.

Jayce’s eyes darted towards the councilor’s close office door; eyebrows pinched in concern. He started, “won’t Heimer—”

It struck me—how much of a complete fool I’d been. I tucked my childish crush into my heart like crumpled laundry. I could only hope I hadn’t been too obvious.

“I’ll cover,” I cut in, “I can survive an afternoon without my safety net.”

Viktor’s answering smile was enough to make my breath catch. I tucked that feeling away, too.

- - -

My life grew stable and secure. Comfortable. In every stagnant sense of the word. My own research fell to the wayside as my role as an assistant grew. It was safe, so I didn’t mind. Most days.

As two weeks extended into two years, so did my role in society. Doors opened a little easier, invites given more readily. It’s how I found myself at yet another gala; this one a touch more interesting than the others. A celebration. For Piltover’s Men of Progress and their first Hexgate success.

Hosted by the Kiramman family, naturally. Elaborate floral arrangements lined the walls of the large space. A blanket of green, white, and turquoise. Crystal chandeliers scattered warm light throughout.

In the center of the ballroom, I remained with Nathan, my date, at my boss’ side. A glass of Ionian white at my fingertips, I mingled with the more cordial of the councilors and other benefactors throughout the night. If the honored guests had made an appearance, they had yet to cross our paths.

On cue, the click of a cane caught my attention. My head tilted, just a fraction, towards the source as my date continued to pepper Councilor Medarda with questions.

“Viktor,” the Yordle beside me exclaimed.

I turned to greet our new additions: Honeyed eyes met mine first. I attempted a smile, though it felt forced. Lips too tight, unnatural. Awkward. The next was Jayce, who was immediately sidling up to Councilor Medarda. The most interesting addition, however, was Viktor’s date: a dainty woman with kind eyes. Elena. He rested his free hand on the small of her back as he introduced her.

That old ache of mine resurfaced. Barely a pinprick.

Our group quickly split into different conversations. Heimerdinger whisked Elena to the side, eager to get to know the woman who caught his esteemed pupil’s eye. Jayce with Nathan and Medarda, who charitably pretended not to notice both men fawning over her. Viktor and I were left in a companionable silence.

Our paths had crossed over the years, of course. Our roles placed each other in the periphery of the other’s life. A perfectly cordial acquaintanceship. The silence stretched on, feeling markedly less companionable with every second. I drew shapes in the condensation of my glass, avoiding Viktor’s gaze.

“Congratulations,” I said at last.

His smile was halfhearted, distraction etching his reply. “Thank you, however, there is much work left.”

“Of course,” I nodded, uncertain where to go from there. My eyes scanned the room for a life raft. Instead, I found Nathan still engrossed in his conversation. Useless. I made a note to find a better date for my next event.

“And your research,” Viktor said, “marine life, yes? How is it going?”

“Oh,” I breathed, “it’s taken a pause. Things have been busy at the academy...”

He looked at me with understanding—sad, but without pity. “Of course,” he smiled.

It didn’t touch his eyes.

Perhaps, I’d started to resent the safety.

- - -

The days beat on. The pace picked up throughout the quarter, as usual. Free time being filled with preparations for the next. One of these days, a loud smack alerted me to a pile of textbooks unceremoniously dropped atop my desk. I snapped up, poking my head around the stack, my boss standing below them with a marked determination in his eye.

“I have a new assignment for you,” he explained, “I’d like you to review these books for the new curriculum.”

I scanned the titles, face contorting. Each textbook belonged to my field: Marine biology. “Wouldn’t Professor Haynes be more suited to this?”

The yordle scoffed, “nonsense! Our curriculum needs new blood, an outside perspective to shake things up.” Before I can reply, he’s strutting off, “I have the upmost confidence in your abilities.”

- - -

Two weeks passed by, and I had a handful of recommendations to deliver to him in his office. I waited as he reviewed my report, picking at the skin of my cuticle beneath the desk. He thumbed through the books, eyebrows shooting up at one particular title: Marine life of Zaun.

He looked at me, awaiting an explanation. “I think it’s underrepresented,” I rushed out. “The ecosystem there needs far more research and care.”

His stare was assessing before he spoke once more, “perhaps you should follow that instinct.”

I blushed, flummoxed. “It’s much too busy now to— “

“Nonsense! We are scientists, not office workers.” He said, hopping off his chair, “find a focus, and I will carve time out of your schedule to pursue it.”

I sighed, resigning myself to his scheming.

Heimerdinger was pleased with my proposal: preliminary research on habitat restoration for the upper waterways of Zaun. It took a day to complete.

“You’ll have to go there to collect samples,” he warned, scanning the contents of the page.

I stamped down the urge to roll my eyes. 300 plus years and still a patroni—

“Speak with Viktor, you’ll need a guide.” Any remaining snark rattling around my head died out with his words.

“Viktor?” I questioned, “I imagine he’s too busy. “

“Always worth a try!” He dismissed. His ever-cheery demeanor maintained. Oblivious.

- - -

The Start

I stall as long as I can before taking his advice. The halls of the academy bustle with throngs of students and scientists as I make my way to the Hextech lab. I pause before the door, smoothing my uniform down. Two knocks on the door are answered by a distant call: enter!

I slip in, shutting the door behind me, hovering in the entry. “Viktor?”

A mop of brown waves pop up from behind a prototype in the center of the room. His hands falter, sliding away from the workbench as he says with a teasing lilt, “I see Heimerdinger still sends his Assistant to spy on the innocent.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Viktor,” I scoff, stepping further into the room. “Actually, I was sent to enlist your help.”

He cocks his head, finally looking up to reveal eyes framed by a pair of goggles. Dork.

I rush out my prepared words before the remnants of my confidence evaporate. “I’m hoping to gather samples at a few spots along the undercity’s river,” I explain, “They’ll need to be at different depths. I have a couple of spots in mind, in theory, but would appreciate your insight on the safest routes.”

He blinks up at me owlishly, peeling the goggles from his head, “what is the intent? For your research.”

“Renewal. I believe its somewhere I can have a measurable impact.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, eyes falling to the corner of the room as he considers. “Of course,” he exhales at last, “I’d be happy to assist.”

“Oh, good,” I breathe. My eyes flicker around the empty lab, searching for whatever answer he found tucked away in the shelves. It evades me. “I understand if you don’t have time—”

“—when would you like to go?” He leans towards me now, elbow propped atop his knee. Casual, with a keen interest.  

I tilt my head, blinking. Despite myself, my eyes land on his cane as I speak, “I was just hoping you could point a few places out.”

His face is stern as he replies, “you intend to collect these samples yourself, correct?”

I nod once, swallowing my mortification down. A dip in the river itself sounds quite nice, actually. I glance at the exit, perhaps—

He huffs, snapping me from my thoughts as he stands. A few sure steps and he’s towering before me. “And you’ve been to the undercity before?”

“No,” I cringe.

“Stay, please.”

I keep my visits short. Brief bursts of self-indulgence. In part, because each second of this made the temptation all to great.

My fingers carded through wavy hair, drawing a contented hum from the man kneeled before me, head resting on my lap. His hands snaked their way up my ankle, to my calves, only stopping to rest along my thigh. Fingers pressed in, soft.

One strand between my finger and thumb. I could never resist the urge to marvel at the gentle transition to grey. Would that be what it was like? A soft ease into nothingness.

“Zayka,” he murmured, “when will you let me take the hurt away?”

“I won’t,” I whispered back, “you know that.”

It was a conversation we’ve had before. Often, even. He lifted his head, grey eyes burning into my own. Sometimes, in just the right light, at just the right angle, I’d catch a glimpse of honeyed gold. It’s what kept me coming back.

“You’re always in such pain.”

I nodded. It was true. It’s why I came, in truth—not for the solitude, but for the hurt. To mourn the man before me. I placed my hands against his face, fingertips running along the lines of his cool skin where he was reformed.

A smile played at my lips, “there’s pleasure in it, too.”

There it was—that flash of gold. Ever so briefly before his eyes darkened. His head dipped, pressing a kiss to my knee. My breath hitched.

“I could show you greater pleasure,” he continued, placing another kiss just above my knee. My legs parted easily beneath his touch. “If you’d let me.”

“I can’t, Viktor,” I breathed, “not like that.”

My fingers slotted back in his hair, my hands guided him higher. Nerves aflame, the fabric of my pants barely dampening the feeling of his lips ghosting their way along the inside of my thigh. That flash of gold once more. Before he smirked, teeth sinking into my skin.

His hand toyed with the clasp of my pants. He pressed a quick kiss to my clothed sex, whispering up at me, “is this what you want?”

I nodded, desperate. Doubling forward, I pulled him towards me until my lips slotted against his. His breath hitched, and I smiled against his lips in reply. My teeth grazed his bottom lip. A growl tore from his throat, and cool hands roughly peeled my pants over my hips, down my legs. I shuddered as his hand guided one foot out of the leg, the tender touch contrasting the frenzied kiss.

“I do not understand,” he murmured against my lips as his hand trailed its way up my thigh. “Why you are always so intent on returning to Piltover. After all they’ve done.”

His lips ghost along my jaw, to the soft spot below my ear. He pressed a kiss there, tongue darting out to taste my skin. “I have to, Vik,” I struggle to gasp out, “it’s where my home is.”

“You could find home here, you know. With me,” he urges, teeth scraping along my ear lobe. His fingers slide along the waistband of my underwear, and I cant my hips upward. Desperate.

“So needy,” he murmurs, hands sliding beneath. His fingers are teasing—pressing between my folds, touching everywhere except where I need. “So wet for me.”

“Please, Vik,” my voice is a pathetic whine.

“You wouldn’t need to ask for anything, you realize.” His mouth is hovering over my own again, eyes glinting as he drinks in my reactions like a man starved. “But perhaps that’s what you enjoy, hm? The begging.”

I nod, frantic. “Yes, Viktor, please—“

He’s quick to reward me. Fingertips drawing light circles on my clit, my head falls forward as I cry out. I grind against his hand, pressing wet kisses against his neck. I pull him closer, feeling him shudder as my teeth scrape along his changed skin.

It’s almost shameful, how close he has me already. It seems he agrees, as his hand withdraws, held aloft between us. The slick covering his purple skin altogether indecent. He held my eyes as he licked them clean, before bringing the same fingers to my mouth.

“Open,” he instructed.

Two long fingers came to rest against my tongue, pressing in as far as he knew I could handle. His skin tasted faintly of salt and metal.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked, watching his fingers slowly thrusting into my mouth. “I’ve missed this.”

There’s a pang in my stomach, a flash of longing that’s quickly contrasted by his fingers withdrawing with an indecent pop. “Please Vik,” I whisper.

“My sweet girl, what do you need?” His hands wrap around my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the stone bench with a sharp tug. He sits back on his ankles, pressing my thighs further apart. I squirm beneath his gaze.

“I need you,” I gasp, hips moving of their own accord. He’s much stronger now, a single hand enough to keep me held in place.

He presses a torturous kiss to the inside of my thigh, breath cool against my skin. “You can have me,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to form at my eyes. “You know what I mean you—ah!”

He nips at the soft skin, whispering a warning agaisnt my skin. “Be good.”

“Fuck, please, your mouth—your fingers, anything. I just want you, Viktor,” I beg.

“Good girl,” he says, before pressing a featherlight kiss where I need.

I whine, and he smiles, eyes burning into mine as he licks a slow stripe up my sex. More for show than pleasure. My fingers card into his hair once more and I tug, eliciting a groan from his as his eyes flit closed. One hand wraps around my thigh, holding me open, as his other finds its way to my entrance. Two fingers fill me without warning as his tongue works against my clit.

His fingers curl inside me, and I cry out as I feel his gold-tipped finger his that spot without effort. I pull at his hair on instinct, hips rolling forward as he growls.

“So perfect,” he groans into my sex. My hips grind against his hand, and I’m begging, a litany of pleas falling easily from my lips.

He sits back on his heels, eyes warm as he watches me, and his tongue is replaced with his thumb, working perfect circles against my clit.

“My perfect girl,” he says, “come for me.”

I fall apart at his command, crying out as his fingers slow inside me. He drinks it all in, both of us savoring it as if it’s the last time. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to my shaking thigh. Then, he’s pulling me into his lap, arms tightly enveloping me. I take a deep, shaky breath in, committing his scent to memory. Tea, currant, smoke, and steel. His cheek presses against the top of my head.

Half-dressed, perched cross-legged atop his desk. Your eyes scanned the pages for the umpteenth time as he paced across the room in front of you.

“I still don’t understand,” you groaned, the telltale crunch of paper resounding in the quiet room as you shoved them to the desk.

“Tell me,” he stopped in his paces, eyes narrowing and pinning you in place, “what have you read?”

You sighed, “negotiation points. A shipping lane for discounted iridium. We provide land development support for food. Luxury goods. Wine, fabric, Zedra flower—Whatever the hell that last one is—In return for gold? I don’t know what you expect me to find here, it’s all so boring.”

“Read it again.”

You groaned, “for fucks sake I won’t see anything different than the first 13 times I read the damn—”

Your words died in your throat as a hand wrapped around your ankle, spinning you around to face the chair. He spoke as he sat in front of you, “pick up the papers.”

You complied, holding them in front of you as you eyed him wearily.

“We’re going to try a different strategy.” Eyes darkened, looking up at you like you were his prey. “You seem to respond well enough to rewards.”

A hand at your ankle nudged your legs apart, holding one aloft. A tentative kiss pressed against you calf had your breath hitching as you tried to muster up an ounce of the annoyance you had in your voice before. “You’re blurring the lines again,” you sighed.

A chuckle at your skin, and a nip at the soft skin below your knee. “I can stop if you’d like.”

“Don’t you dare,” you gritted out. Legs parting further in anticipation.

“Read,” he ordered, “If you want any more from me you’d better start now.”

Shaking hands were raising the papers again. You’d read them so many times there shouldn’t have been a need. But your mind was drawing blank, each word looking foreign to you as you struggled to focus past the mouth against your thigh.

“A shipping— fuck,” you already broke at the feeling of teeth followed by that wicked tongue. “A shipping lane from Jennisek to the, the neighboring system.”

“For?” He smirked, drawing another wet stripe up the length of your leg, so tantalizingly close to where you needed him.

“In return for…” lips closing down on that sensitive patch of skin on your thighs. “Ah.. for iridium. For… 3.8 thousand less per unit. Oh, gods..”

He chuckled, tongue dipping out to follow the divot where your thigh met your body. Then teeth, leaving you with stinging skin. “Go on.”

“L-land development. Please, I swear to god if you don’t—“ a puff of air against your clit causing you to jolt, he looked up at you with black eyes as he waited. “Building two processing centers—fuck.. please—with accompanying roads to the nearest towns.”

You rocked your hips forward, silently begging for him to give you what you needed. His hand came to rest on your hips, pinning you down. “In exchange for what,” you could feel the heat from his breath fanning out over your sex, lips just barely ghosting against you as he spoke. Setting every nerve of yours on fire.

“I-in exchange for food—” tongue flattening against your heat, licking a stripe up to your clit, “fucking food. T-thirty three percent and… and first pick of the harvest.”

You collapsed onto your elbows, barely managing to maintain your hold on the paper in your shuddering fingers. He lapped at you with languid, broad strokes. Just enough to have you squirming against him, voice coming out in a sustained whine as you continued to read. “Luxury goods. Wine. F-fabric. Zedra flower… gemstones. All for a specific price— fuck. Please don’t make me read the full list.”

“Again,” he growled.

He continued, working you to the precipice of abject desperation before backing off again. You read the damned list three more times before cracking.

“L-land development: two processing centers… please, please. This isn’t.. this is torture. I need you.”

You sighed in relief as he pulled away, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand as he stood up. He made quick work of his trousers, lining his cock up against your entrance as he looked at you with lidded, stern eyes. “Continue.”

You whined, hips squirming in search of what you needed. “Please, roads leading into the nearest town… in exchange for, fuck, please, food—”

He buried himself into you, filling you entirely in a single stroke. And somehow, despite the intoxicating stretch the answer came to you clear as day.

“Ah! It’s the food, the fucking food,” you whined, papers slipping from your fingers to scatter across the floor.

He hitched your legs higher as he drove into you, leaning down to hover his mouth above your own. “Good girl,” he growled, descending on you, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.

He buried himself into you at an unrelenting pace, leaving you crying out with each thrust. You were vaguely aware that you should at least try to keep your voice down, lest anyone walking past his office hear. But, with the way he had you teetering on the edge already, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Your fingers snaked beneath his shirt, searching for purchase in the muscles of his back. A sharp gasp tore from him as your nails raked against the textured skin, pulling back to look at you with wild eyes.

“Again,” he commanded, punctuated by a harsh snap of his hips.

You complied, dragging down against the ridged scars along the length of his spine. His eyes slipped shut, hair falling to his forehead as he let out a pleased groan.

“I’m close…” you whined, hips squirming to meet his thrusts.

“Don’t you dare,” he gritted out.

Your eyes glazed over, sliding across the room to search for something, anything to buy you more time. Push back the inevitable snap of the tightened coil just a little longer.

“Look at me,” he ordered, “stay present or you won’t come at all.”

Your face burned beneath his gaze, flushing red as he drank in your every expression. You cried, “I can’t.”

“Then beg.”

You gaped up at him, words refusing to leave your lips. And how could they, when you were so busy blinking back tears, focusing on anything but the feel of him filling you with each torturous thrust.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” he smirked, “ask nicely.”

His thumb pressed to your clit, adding another layer of torturous pleasure. And you were writhing, only vaguely aware of your voice as you babbled, “please, fuck— I’ll do anything just let me come.. please, I can’t—”

His his stuttering, he leaned forward, ragged breaths filling your ear as he panted out, “oh, you good girl, come.”

You clenched around him with a cry, nails raking the length of his back until he was falling apart alongside you, cock filling you with one last harsh thrust.

He groaned, slumping forward until his face was buried in your neck, the full weight of him pressing you into the wood beneath you.

You could lay like this forever, you decided, feeling his heart beat against your chest, in time with the hot breaths painting your skin. But soon he propped himself up, sliding out of you with a soft gasp, hands sliding beneath the small of your back—bringing you down with him as he collapsed back on his chair.

“Have you worked out why the food?”

You hummed, head resting on his shoulder. “Hard to think when you were doing that. Give me a moment.”

He waited, pants slowly morphing into steadier breaths. Your lips pulled into a coy smile against his chest as you spoke again, “It’s because we don’t produce anything, we need it. And it’s their biggest bargaining chip.”

“Precisely,” he breathed, hand coming to brush through your hair, taming it into submission. “Would you like to see how we’ll use this information?”

“Am I allowed?”

“It requires another social engagement. You’ll have to pretend to like me, if you can manage it.” A wry smile tugging at the corners of his eyes.

You hummed, “I suppose. Though if I’m to be treated like a prop again, I’ll expect compensation.”

A low chuckle reverberated through his chest, nose pressing into your hair. “That can be arranged.”

His hand ran up the length of your thigh, causing your breath to hitch. “Now?”

Legs pressed apart, continuing to travel further. “I like to make my payments in parcels. Half before,” fingers connecting with your center, thighs twitching from the overstimulation, “half after.”

—

Another fine dress pilfered from another fine home. The banquet hall was equally as ostentatious as the fine room before. At least you felt just a little more at ease this time. You wondered if you would ever reach the same level of cool, comfortable confidence in these spaces as the man beside you.

“Do they know,” you whispered as you made your way to the table, eyes flitting across the three that made up the empire.

“They prefer to be made aware of only the higher level aspects,” he hummed, “and to be honest, this is a bit of fun.”

“You don’t bring dates to these engagements as a rule?”

“Never had an excuse before,” he replied.

He clocked the way you worried at your lip, jealousy prickling it’s ugly little way through your stomach, nudging you as he spoke again, “don’t get green on me now.”

“Ah, Jerril, you brought your lovely guest again,” Dusk called across the room.

When the two of you reached him, he was turning to you with a conspiratorial voice, “I’m surprised you stuck around.”

“Oh, I think he’s quite the catch,” you smiled. This was one thing you could say without playing pretend. And you would’ve left it there, he he not looked at you with pity in his eyes once again.

But, he had, and so you were unthinkingly holding you hand out, offering your name unbidden.

Understanding dawned on his features as he took your hand, and it took every fiber of your good sense not to let your smug self satisfaction show. Jerril was quickly stepping in, excusing the both of you before leading you across the dining room with his hand clasped firmly at the back of your neck.

“You like playing with fire,” he seethed beneath his breath as he lead you to the table.

You batted your lashes, speaking with a taunt, “you’re just realizing this now?”

The table was long, imposing. Filled to the brim with seats, and soon filled with dozens of foreign faces. Invested parties, you supposed. The two of you sat at the other ends of the table, far from the prominent three seats and the two, less ornately decorated, meant for the empire’s guests.

And yet, despite the distance that should have been comfortable, you felt a pair of eyes piercing you throughout the night. Glancing up from your meal, you confirmed your suspicions—a frigid glare pointed your way by the very same man as the night before. You could practically smell the soot and sea wafting across the table.

Pressing a napkin to your lips, you spoke quietly, “I seem to have underestimated the dagger.”

Your lovers eyes held a confirmation as they briefly met yours before he snapped into action. Deft fingers tucked into the food at his plate, rising towards your mouth. You pinched your nose at the action, eyes flitting between fork and his amused expression, before you reluctantly opening your lips.

He set the fork down, hand gliding down to rest atop your bare knee as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “best to convince him we have eyes only for each other, then. Look amorous, devoted.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

You lightly slapped his arm, giggling for show as if he had told some private joke. “I’m not sure I can manage that,” you laughed.

“Oh, I’ve seen both already,” he teased, hand dipping higher.

A rush hit you. Fear, anticipation. It was a terrible idea, but your legs parted for him nonetheless. He held your gaze as he spoke, so lowly only the two of you could hear.

“Hmm, closer already, but not quite what I’m looking for,” he taunted, hand gliding further until his fingers met your bare sex. That wiped the smirk right off of him—Mouth parting, eyes growing darker. He hadn’t expected that. “Oh, good girl,” he purred.

It was your turn for your mouth to fall open at the feeling of deft fingers making the first languid stroke from your entrance to your clit. Your hand came up to grasp at his wrist, searching for stability. The concern was evident in his eyes, hand automatically moving to pull away. Like he’d realized too late that he had crossed a line. You held his wrist firmly in place, not ready to lose the delicious warmth that had already found it’s way to your core.

You licked your lips, hips shifting to press yourself against the fingers that had now stilled. He got the message—quickly, too. Skilled hands immediately snapping into action, working tight circles against your nub.

“Ah, there’s the devotion I was looking for,” he teased.

A familiar, booming voice broke you both from your bubble.

“Jerril, about how many trees do we have on the grounds now?”

“Around 6000, sir. As for species we have fought 352 different varieties—“ he continued on, but you all but tuned him out. Dedicating all your resources to maintaining composure under the spotlight you found yourself in. You watched his lips move as he continued. So carefree, confident. Without any distraction despite the way he was touching you beneath the table.

A single finger dipped in past your entrance, sending you sputtering to cover up the needy whine you wanted to let out.

“Are you alright, love?” His face held concern, but the way he crooked his finger inside you on the word love told you a different story altogether.

Your face was burning with the awareness that every eye at the table was trained on you. “Yes, just dry is all,” you spoke with as smooth a voice as you could muster as you reached for your glass of wine. He hummed, nearly slipping his mask at your choice of words. A second finger joining the other to prove his point. No, you were certainly anything but dry.

You allowed your eyes to slip shut for the tenuous seconds you sipped from the glass, and by the time it had return to the table, he was off on a tangent once again. Back to the same bumbling, overly-talkative character he seemed to default to.

When the tangent was over, he was leaning over to whisper into your ear. “Do you understand what that was about?”

You shook your head. Of course you didn’t, you couldn’t even think of your own name with the way his fingers were filling you, thumb working you closer to the edge with every stroke against your clit.

“Concentrate,” he chided, “how am I supposed to teach you if you don’t listen?”

Your fingernails dug into his wrist, bringing the napkin up to your mouth to try to appear somewhat composed. And as the tension coiled inside you, just a hair’s breadth from your peak—his hand left you at once.

You balked up at him with pleading eyes, watching as he brought those same fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. He eyed you with a conspiratorial smirk. “Concentrate, now.”

But it was no easier to pay attention with his hands so far from you. Only catching vague snippets of the conversation as you watched his every move. He knew it, too, looking at you with no small amount of amusement throughout the rest of the night.

When the meal was over, his hands were finally on you again. A gentle touch at the small of your back, guiding you towards the exit. The last to leave.

“Jerril, may I speak with you for a moment?” Day called from the head of the table.

With the guests gone, he allowed his ruse to slip away. Cool, confident and ever-calculating man replacing the bumbling fool from earlier. “Of course, empire.”

“We can arrange for transportation home for you,” Dusk spoke to you now, “this moment may prove to be rather long.”

“Thank you, empire, but that won’t be necessary,” you replied, smooth smile gracing your lips. Though you were a little disappointed to be dismissed so swiftly, you knew Jerril would fill you in as much as he could later. You pressed a quick kiss to Jerril’s cheek, grateful for once that he had kept up the charade of bringing you as a date, before slipping out of his reach. You wouldn’t be going home.

His bed was cold without him. But it was worthwhile, seeing the surprise on his face when he crossed through the door.

“I’d like to collect now, please,” you simpered, reciting the canned line you’d cooked up in the hour it had taken him to arrive. You’d grill him about that later. For now, you were sliding your way from beneath the covers. Relishing the way his mouth hung slightly parted as he raked over your legs—barely covered by the shirt of his you’d fished from the drawer.

“I was looking forward to taking that dress of yours off, you know,” he said.

“Next time,” you waved him off, “now, my payment?”

“What did you have in mind?” He eyed you wearily, watching as your hands came to the lapels of his jacket.

Brambles whipped at your legs as you followed, somewhere between a jog and a walk. The pace was sustainable, but after an hour or so of it you began to tire. And you only imagined he was worse off. You called his name, tugging at the hand clasped around yours.

“Stop, we need to take a minute,” you panted.

He acquiesced, sagging against a nearby tree as he caught his own breath. He eyed you wearily as you approached him, pressing the hand from his side to peel back his shirt. Bandage still clean. At least the stitches held.

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

“Just checking,” you replied, “how did they find us?”

Hands brushing back his hair, smearing the moisture that had collected on his brow into his tangled bangs. “Either Mr.Kold is more of a rat than I suspected, or he has an unexpectedly excellent grasp on the area.”

“The latter, then.” The more likely of the two.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. He has the resources. But, for our sakes, let’s hope he just has a very good map.” Pressing off of the tree, his fingers threaded through yours again before taking off. A slower pace this time, thankfully.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place,” he supplied, letting out a chuckle as he continued, “unfortunately it’s a bit less furnished.”

The understatement of the millennium. A handful of stones scattered into the black void before you, as you waited with baited breath. When nothing came scurrying, he motioned for you to follow.

“A cave? Surely the empire must be able to afford better.”

A dry huff of a laugh exited through his nose as he took a few steps into the darkness, “just for the night.”

You didn’t care, really. Couldn’t bring yourself to begin. As long as you got to sit down—you’d sleep in a creek if you had to at this point. Thankfully, the cave was drier than you expected. It felt somewhat insulated, too. Maybe he hadn’t gone completely mad.

You slumped down against the nearest wall, tugging at his sleeve to urge him to follow. But instead he towered above you, looking down at you with tired eyes and a touch of longing.

“Stay here,” he ordered, sending you to scramble to your knees after him. A hand at your shoulder kept you in place.

You shook your head, “no, I’m coming with.”

He crouched down, hand cupping your cheek as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes slid closed for a breath, before pulling you into a soft kiss that had your already delirious mind swimming. “I want to make sure we don’t starve tonight, and you’re too loud.”

How could you argue with that? Not with the taste of him on your lips still. You remained still, dumbly nodding once. Thumb trailing along your lower lip before he stood, leaving you alone with a dagger in the dark.

And you listened. For an hour, at least. But as your stupor faded, defiance took it’s place. He’d kissed you on purpose, the manipulative bastard, well aware of how pliant you became at his touch. So you set out to make preparations of your own.

And by the time he returned, you had cobbled together a place to spend the night that would be slightly more comfortable than the cold, hard ground. The brief irritation that flashed in his eyes was quickly replaced with amusement as you flopped back onto the haphazard bed of leaves.

“You’ve been busy,” he huffed, collapsing beside you.

You hummed, “any luck?”

He eyed you from his peripheral, reaching into the deep pockets of his coat before fishing out a strange, nearly iridescent fruit. “The planet is a barren wasteland,” He sighed, flopping back to lay down fully as soon as you took it from his hands.

Taking a bite, the muscles in your face responded before your brain caught up—twisting and scrunching amidst the horribly bitter taste of the skin.

“You peel it,” he laughed, demonstrating with his own.

You pouted, working the skin away in delicate little flakes. “Could’ve warned me.” You steeled yourself, taking a tentative bite when enough of the fruit itself was free.

It wasn’t bad, per-say. Not remarkable either. Just a flavour you couldn’t hope to describe. A mix of sweet, savory, and something else. Tossing the scraps into the depths of the cave, you slid down beside him, head tucking against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He only hummed, cheek coming to rest against your head.

“How did you find this place?”

“A mission, a long time ago… I actually hoped to take you here, under better circumstances.”

“You hoped to take me to a cave?”

He chuckled, exhaustion clear as day with how half-hearted it was, barely reverberating through his chest. “A view, nearby.”

You hummed, “let’s go tomorrow. Stay another night… you need more rest, and we need to plan.”

He breathed deeply, arm pulling you closer. “We should talk tomorrow. Rest, now.”

Sleep came and went throughout the night. Sometimes from an errant branch poking at your spine, others from pure paranoia. Until finally, a cool chill ripped you entirely from your dreams.

His coat was draped over the both of you, and you would press closer if you didn’t already feel every inch of him tucked against your back. You shifted your hips, trying anyways.

He hummed, arm pressing into the space between your breasts, a languid movement with enough pressure to know he was awake, too.

“Cold,” you whined.

He hummed, voice thick. “Are you sure you want to stay another night?”

“Shut up,” you sighed, feeling his warm hand slide beneath your shirt, “you’re warm. My personal furnace.”

A light kiss pressed to your neck. And then that same hand was traveling south, dipping beneath the waistband of your pants.

“What are you—” your breath hitched, legs automatically widening as his digit parted your folds.

“You wanted to warm up,” he teased, hooking his leg around yours, using his ankle to spread your knees open entirely. You sighed as his fingers made their way home.

“Always so wet for me,” he praised, his tongue darting out to tease at your ear.

He made slow, soft touches against you. Just enough to bring you to the brink, have you writhing against him with small whines spilling from your lips. When you finally had enough, you reached behind to palm at him.

“No energy to fuck you like I’d want to,” he murmured a warning, “I’m a tired old man.” But the way his breathing turned ragged in your ear gave his hunger away.

“Don’t care—” your voice broke as his fingers picked up their pace ever so slightly, “you don’t even have to move.. just want you inside.”

His touch left you, spurring you to let out a keening whine. But those same deft fingers made quick work of your pants as well as his own, and soon he was lining himself up with you—sliding home. A quiet sigh left your lips at the comfortable stretch, mixing into a low moan as he resumed those slow circles against your clit.

“You’re right, much warmer,” his husky voice whispered into your ear between open mouthed kisses at your skin. Close enough to hear the hitch in his breath as you clenched around him. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Not a bad way to die,” you hummed, working your hips in small circles, countering the motion of his fingers. His other arm slid beneath you, barring across you until you were flush with his chest.

That hazy, delicious warmth was only heightened with the way his head fell forward, face buried into the crook of your neck as he let out moans beneath his breath.

You clenched down around him again, whining, “wanna hear you.”

A low chuckle reverberated through his chest, “words or sounds, my love?”

“Don’t care, just— fuck. Let me hear.”

His touch turned teasing, making meandering long strokes from your clit to where you two were joined, sending you into a frenzy as he whispered in your ear. “Do you want to hear what you do to me?” Another stroke grinding down against your clit, urging another needy whine from you. “How perfect you are? Like you were made for this,” his words were punctuated by his fingers pressing at your entrance. He growled, “for my cock.”

He dipped inside you just barely, the added stretch almost too much had the sweetness in his words not offset the edge. And you found yourself desperate—for him, for more, for anything he wanted to give. But they were retreating just as quickly as they came, returning their journey to you clit.

“So perfect, so wet.” But his fingers bypassed where you needed them most, sliding away from your center. You whined, all too aware of the indecently wet sound in your ear as he licked them clean. “So sweet,” and then they were pressing against your lips, a singular harsh snap of his hips sending your mouth flying open with a moan, greedy fingers dipping inside. “How do you taste?” He whispered.

More moans, muffled by his fingers pressing against your tongue. “Do you taste good?” You hollowed your cheeks as he pulled them from you, returning to where you needed.

“Not.. as good as your cum,” you panted, spurring another low growl to rumble through his chest, cock twitching deep inside you.

“Fuck, perfect girl, what did a dirty old man do to deserve such a perfect thing?”

“Not—Not old,” you gasped.

“Just Dirty?” He smirked, but was cut off by the way you ground down against him.

“And experienced,” you teased.

He groaned, and you weren’t sure if it was more from the talk or your motions. But the sound spurred you on, sentences unthinkingly pouring from you. “Want you to teach me everything you like.” Another gasp, and a twitch of his hips. Oh. Definitely the words then.

“Greedy girl.” His hand splayed at the base of your neck, using you as leverage to adjust his hips slightly—hitting you in that spot that had you gasping, heart stuttering. “Look at you, so desperate. And already thinking about the next time, is my cock not enough?”

His words had you heady and reeling, scrambling for words of your own as his hips rolled into you. You babbled, “yes— fuck.. no—I don’t—“

His smug chuckle gave way to a choked gasp as your fingers found their way into his soft hair, giving a harsh tug, guiding his mouth to all the places you wanted.

“Ah, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he grunted, movements growing erratic as he fought back his impending release.

So you spoke the words you knew would make him come undone.

“Good,” you mewled, making another harsh tug, “I want you to fill me, ruin me like you promised.”

Teeth met your shoulder, gasping out a ragged, choked mix of a moan and your name as he reached his finish. The feel of him pulsing inside you had you shattering too, arching and writhing against him with a strangled whine.

As you came down from your high you laughed, light-headed and heady. “Well that took a turn.”

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, a soft little praise you knew was meant to reassure you—not that you needed it. A smile played on his lips as he spoke, pressing a gentle kiss to soothe the spot he just sank his teeth into. “Warmer now?”

You hummed, nodding blearily as you turned to face him, leg coming to wrap around him, your face pressing into the crook of his neck. He held you tight to him as you slipped back asleep.

You woke alone.

Jolting up and out of the makeshift bed, eyes searching the dim cave to no avail. Still draped in his coat, you pulled it tighter to you, inhaling the scent to calm your nerves before you set out. He couldn’t have been far.

And he wasn’t. He sat just past the mouth of the cave, poking the coals of an old fire, face pensive and dark. Thinking about the road ahead, you were sure.

You didn’t bother announcing your entry, knowing full well he heard your footsteps a mile off. You sidled up beside him, arm looping around his and cheek pressing against his shoulder. You nodded to the strange creature, skinned and cooked, now resting above the fire. “Not such a barren wasteland after all.”

He hummed, noncommittal with a smile not quite reaching his eyes. You tried not to take it to heart.

“Do you have a plan?” You whispered.

He sighed, “I have about eight, depending entirely on variables.. and even then..”

“Let’s talk them through,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to the hollow of his cheek, relishing the feel of him pulling into a reluctant but genuine smile at your touch. “I can help. Or try, at least.”

He leaned forward, retrieving the thing from the fire, handing it to you. “Eat first.”

“Do I want to know what it is?”

He shook his head.

You would ask if he had eaten already, but it was clear he hadn’t—No traces of scraps in the area. You tore off a piece, holding it out to him. “You eat too,” you whispered.

He shook his head once more.

But you were nothing if not persistent. “Please,” you whispered again, bringing the food to his lips. He obliged, taking it from you with a smirk.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“How could I say no when you’re offering to feed me by hand,” he chuckled, “so graciously.”

You took a bite of your own, and were surprisingly pleased to find no strange flavors this time. Only poultry and smoke; and a little gaminess, which you didn’t mind. “It’s good,” you said. You didn’t miss his sheepish quirk of his lips as he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

When you both had finished with the meager, but welcome meal, you got down to business. He ran you through all the variations, which mostly hinged on one point:

If you were lucky, you would try to get back to the mansion first—so he could regroup with his men. And, if not, there were about 1000 different options and none of them were good. With this knowledge heavy on your minds, you set off.

Surprisingly, it was smooth sailing the entire way, which only set your nerves humming as you crouched alongside him in the bushes—watching and waiting. The surrounding area dead silent.

“Something’s off,” he whispered, eyes scanning the area, searching out details you had no hope of spotting yourself. You held your breath until you saw the door open, a familiar, nameless man stepping outside.

His hand met your back, ushering you upright and forward. “Quickly,” he whispered.

“Sir?” The man jolted when the two of you brushed past him.

Your guide didn’t bother to look his way, gritting out a quick order for him to follow, steps unfaltering as he practically pushed you through the door.

Your back kissed the nearest wall in the atrium, eyes wild and chest heaving. The eerie calm emanating off of him as he bolted the door behind you serving as the only thing that kept you from breaking into a full on hyperventilating panic. It was comforting, strangely enough, to see him so in his element.

“Update me,” he spoke to the man, who eyed your presence in return. Your lover sighed, “speak freely. She has a right to know.”

The man nodded, voice nervously beginning to fill you in. He didn’t have much to worry about, after all. Not with the way you were busy focusing on watching the windows, searching for any possible movement. You could only catch snippets of the rushed conversation—someone doing searches, someone fleeing, the empire anxious for an update.

You only fully checked in to the conversation when a question was directed your way. “You’ve already loaded the pieces, correct?”

You nodded, a bit dumbly.

“We leave today, then. Go collect your things, wash up. I’ll come find you when we’re ready.”

And so you did, though there wasn’t much to gather. So you soon stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash the weight of the world from your skin.

A knock at the bathroom door shook you from your reverie, followed by a quick whisper of, “it’s me.”

“Come in,” you replied, peering past the curtain to watch as he slid through the door, “ready to go already?”

He shook his head, eyes looking everywhere but at you, sheepish. “No we still have a few hours.”

You hummed, reaching a hand out. “Come in, then. We need to talk anyways.”

He hesitated, eying you with no small look of longing. You disappeared past the curtain once more.

“Tell them I forced you to wash up, if you’re worried. Wouldn’t stop bitching about your stink.”

A few seconds of silence followed by the clink of a belt buckle signaling your victory. You tried not to look too smug as he stepped in behind you, drawing you close with a tired hum.

You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“There’s too many guards around to do anything.. indecent,” he sighed.

“I am capable of being good, you know,” you teased, “can we speak freely though?”

He nodded, “nothing but the ears nearby will hear.”

“I trust we won’t be able to rest when we get back, either,” you whispered.

“We’ll likely have to brief Demerzel,” he sighed.

“And what will we say?”

“You’ll say nothing, allow me to handle it. If you’re questioned directly, say as little as possible and try not to incriminate yourself in the process.”

“That sounds like quite the task.”

“Which is why it’s best if you stay silent,” he pressed a kiss to your neck, followed by a smirk against your skin, “you’re a terrible liar.”

As the water turned cold against your skin, you stepped out, guiding him to sit atop the toilet as you rifled through the medicine cabinet. This one was much less dire, and you were grateful for the chance to give his wound the attention it deserved.

You made short work of cleaning and redressing it, silent save for the sounds of your breathing. When the bandage was secured he moved to get up, but a firm hand on his shoulder urged him to stay in place.

Taking your comb in hand, you gently worked your way through the tangles in his hair, taming it to rest in the direction he wore it most often.

“You spoil me,” he breathed, eyes sliding closed.

“Good,” you laughed, setting the comb down to continue using your fingers instead, “you deserve it.”

He looked up at you, darkened eyes peering from beneath those long lashes. A hum, and then he was leaning forward, pressing a tender kiss to your hip. Your breath hitched, fingers wrapping into his just-brushed hair as his mouth trailed lower.

“Going to make me ruin my hard work,” you gasped out as his teeth scraped against that divot where your thighs and hips meet.

He chuckled, fingers digging into your behind as he sank to the ground onto his knees, urging you backwards until your back kissed the wall.

“I thought.. I thought we couldn’t do anything indecent,” you whispered.

Pressing his forehead to your stomach, he let out a low, muffled whine. “You’re right.”

You watched, counting the strands of grey as your fingers carded through his hair, waiting for him to gather enough resolve to tear himself away. And finally, he looked up at you, exhaustion and longing swimming in his eyes. He looked pathetic in the most endearing sort of way.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you sank to his level, pressing your forehead to his with a sigh, the tip of your nose brushing against his own. “When we’re done with this, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

He hummed in agreement, fingers splaying at the back of your neck.

“Plenty of time to teach me everything about you,” you teased.

“When we get back,” he breathed, “I’m going to tie you to my bed.” A kiss at your cheek. “Drink from you until I’ve had my fill.” Lips ghosting at the corner of yours. “Worship every inch of you until I know your body better than my own.”

“Lofty promises,” you sighed.

“Ones I intend to keep. Let’s make the wait shorter, shall we?” He said, bringing you into a chaste kiss before guiding you to stand along with him.

You tried to match his smooth, confident pace as you followed him down the halls. Half-stumbling steps ringing out counter to his own. For a short man, he was rather quick on his feet.

“Kold is no longer on the planet,” he supplied as you reached the stairwell, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“That’s.. reassuring.”

“No, it’s not,” he corrected, face growing stern, “he may not be an immediate threat, but he is still an active one.”

A hand at your wrist halted your steps, and he took advantage of the small piece of privacy you had left in the cramped stairwell. Thumb caressing the length of your cheek as he whispered, “try not to worry, I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I know,” you breathed. But there was something else.. your hand lifted to his stomach, gliding up to where you knew the bandages began. “But I’m not worried about my fate alone.”

The door above clicked open, ruining any chances at a genuine reply. You hoped he’d listened, at least, as you resumed your journey.

It went like a whirlwind. Surrounded by a sea of people, passing you from location to location until you were being swallowed up by the horrid jump pods again. The experience leaving you nauseous, delirious. Though, this time, you weren’t given any time to collect yourself.

Your mind swam as you stepped into the bright light of your home planet once more, carried forward by unsteady legs. Though you regretted letting your eyes adjust the moment you caught sight of the party waiting for you.

“Welcome,” Demerzel called out, “I hear you had quite the journey.”

“Yes, we have.”

“I expect you’ll fill us in,” she said with a thin smile and a lift of her finger.

And then hands were at your shoulders, pinning you into place, slipping something around your neck. Wild eyes searched for your lover, catching a devastating little glimpse before your world went dark. He stared forward, face deadpan and unflinching, blue eyes cold as ice as he looked everywhere but you.