﹫ soberbyler︰☆꒰꒰

they/them, lesbian, 19 years old, theology major

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"if the rain comes, they run and hide their heads; they might as well be dead!"

Hear me out: Jayce discovers his degradation/pity kink due to an insistant boner, and a very inconvenienced Viktor.

Viktor and him are some place public, so he excuses himself to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Viktor gets a very apologetic and desprate text.

"Fuck, I- can't, Viktor-"

"Aww, you can't? What else were we gonna do about it, hm?" Viktor is mad. Viktor is mad, and Jayce is under the mercy of his hands, being jerked off very quickly. Not that he's complaining, of course.

They had places to be. They had time constraints, Jayce knew.

"But you just couldn't help it, could you?"

The ghost of his words filled the restroom. Jayce knew, too, that Viktor wasn't really upset with him. He knew that the only anger that he ever expressed to Jayce was from a place of frustration, not resentment. However, Viktor did always hate when his plans were interrupted.

It was stern but not constricting (which Jayce isn't sure he'd mind either). The lilt in his voice became much more prominent, almost pitying. Mocking him in a way that could have been funny, but in this case, it got Jayce so close to shouting for him. So that everyone outside could hear. His groans had gotten higher in pitch as time went on, revealing more and more that he was just so pathetic, just for Viktor.

"You didn't seem to feel that way when you got so needy for me. Obviously, you just had to. Don't tell me that you can't."

Jayce was losing the assured cadence of his moaning, which was (at this point) borderline whining. His breathing was rapid and chaotic. He held onto Viktors shoulders, something they both knew wasnt for physical stability, but more so a reflex caused by aggressive amounts of pleasure.

"I know you can."

That's what did it. Jayce shook with orgasm, reveling in the sarcasm of the remark, as erotic as it was. He wasn't at all shameful, no. Just in need of more Viktor. More Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

He's tired. Regulus is so tired. Tired of work, tired of socializing, and tired of his own body betraying itself. His chest feels like its caving and his feet and calves are heavy. The moment he gets home he stops worrying about his balance, bouncing into the sheets as they consume him, almost like he's falling into a cloud. Now, he doesnt have to pay any mind to anything but his mind. But his mind has other plans.