pave the way

❝ —most everyone he met had heard the stories of his legendary hammer and his unyielding heroism. they expected grandeur. they expected humility. they expected him to not be a massive jerk.

                                    jayce inevitably disappointed them. ❞                        

❝ —most everyone he met had heard the stories of his legendary hammer and his unyielding heroism. they expected grandeur. they expected humility. they expected him to not be a massive jerk.

                                    jayce inevitably disappointed them. ❞                        

Commission for @queenyharnam and @propugnatori of Viktor and Jayce!

Manhandling Prompts || Accepting

♨ - rub my muse down with a sponge/wet cloth

Warm water and warmer hands around Swain’s waist, teasing lips and a familiar voice at his ear; when this had become routine, Jericho wasn’t quite sure, but he could hardly bring himself to mind.  

Swain has one arm braced against the cool porcelain lip of the tub, and the other rests along Jayce’s thigh, his hand idly stroking meandering patterns just above the younger man’s knee.  They speak in low voices of the mission Jayce is due to be dispatched on in the morning, of the delicate and dreaded meeting with several noble houses that Swain is due for the following evening, enjoying each other’s company as they recover from the night’s exertions.

Swain has let his eyes drift shut as he rests against the Demacian’s broad chest, and for a moment he’s a rare picture of relaxation and of trust.  The warm brush of damp fabric sweeps across his chest, and the grand general raises an inquisitive brow, craning his neck and slowly opening his eyes to look back at Jayce.  “I hardly require assistance,” he reminds the annuller, one corner of his scarred mouth twisting in the beginnings of a wry smile.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to give it,” Jayce counters with a grin of his own, voice even and light.  His hand is steady as he runs the cloth over the grand general’s shoulder, along his collarbones, down towards his stomach.  “You looked pretty comfortable, and I figured there was no point ruining a good thing. C’mon, close your eyes again and leave it to me - let me pamper you, for once.”

Jericho barks out a rough laugh at that, and he eyes his lover incredulously.  “How curious - I seem to recall you indulging me quite often recently,” he says, but the muscles in his back are already beginning to relax once more.  “I’m no invalid, Jayce - I’m perfectly capable of caring for this myself.”

The grand general raises his hand from where it rests against the edge of the tub, but before he can reach for the washcloth, Jayce’s other hand has already shifted from Swain’s waist to intercept it, twining their fingers together and dragging it back beneath the water to wind around Swain’s waist once more.  “Not an invalid,” Jayce agrees, and Jericho feels the Demacian’s nose nuzzle into the side of his neck, feels his lips brush against the junction of his shoulder.  “A lover, and a hard-working one, at that.  One that deserves to be cared for, every now and again.”

For a moment, it seems as though Jericho might argue, but Jayce’s fingers squeeze his beneath the water as the washcloth comes to rest at his hip, and Swain can all but sense those doe eyes turned pitiful and pleading, even before he looks. Another coarse chuckle rumbles through Swain’s chest, and he shakes his head.  “You are… impossible, at times.”