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It was snowing.
Viktor's nails pressed little pink crescents into the meat of his palms. There was a reason he kept his nails short. Perhaps he should have cut them, in anticipation of today's forecast. He'd been so foolishly sure that things would be different this time, as if he wasn't getting worse, but better. As if the cold that seeped into his bones would soothe them, like the way Jayce leaned into his cold fingers when he pressed them to his forehead after he came back from the forge. As if he was someone else, and not whatever gnarled-up remains of a man he could convince upright with cleverly crafted and meticulously placed metal rods. The only thing keeping him standing, and they were placed carefully on the dresser across the room for him to strap himself into come morning. Well, morning had come, and they were too far, now. His body would surely not allow him upright long enough to pull his braces on and get to work.
For today, he was a lost cause. Jayce could work without him. Surely, he'd put two and two together. Jayce was a smart man. Brilliant. Too good for his own good.
It was early, too early, the light outside bright only from where the sun reflected off of the blanket of white covering the city. In a few hours, children would be running in the streets, filled with joy from the first snow day of the season. Viktor would spend the day in bed, hungry and exhausted but unable to sleep through the pain. He resigned himself to the day, shuffling onto his side and curling up to try to preserve as much heat as he could. The control box for the central heating in his apartment gathered dust, untouched. He'd made do his entire life in the Undercity. Zaunites did not have central heating. He wouldn't start getting used to the cushy life now, not when he knew there were hundreds sleeping on the streets this morning, out in the cold, without so much as a blanket to keep them warm. He had it good enough.
Hours passed slowly, the light outside turning from muted grey to pink back to muted grey as more clouds blew in, and with them, more snow. Great. Just wonderful. So there was no way he was going to get out of bed today, then.
The universe had other plans for him. Or, rather, Jayce did.
The knocking at his door startled him from his reverie, as he stared at the wall, thinking about the work he could be getting done if only his stupid traitorous body could just function. Who the hell would be knocking? Well, who else but his partner, deep voice echoing down the hallway, muffled by two closed doors.
“Viktor? Viktor, I'm coming in. I don't even know if you're in there. But I'm… announcing my presence. Please don't hit me with your crutch again.”
He snickered despite himself, remembering the first time Jayce had let himself in with the spare key Viktor had given him, spooking Viktor so badly as he came out of the shower that he'd nearly taken out a kneecap. The door creaked open, Jayce clearly peeking around it, and then closed a little quicker.
“V?”
There was a knock at his bedroom door. Quiet, but not hesitant.
“You in there?”
“Yes, Jayce. You can come in.” Good gods, even his voice sounded weak. How annoying.
The door burst open to Jayce, flecks of snow still settled in his hair, arms full of things.
“Viktor! I thought you might– the pain, right? From the cold. I brought some things. Tea. A pastry– well, two. Medicine. I'm here to help!”
Viktor sighed a little.
“I don't need help, Jayce. I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”
“I know you are,” Jayce's shoulders drooped, and he came forward, putting the things down carefully on the nightstand as he spoke, “but you don't have to do everything alone. We're partners. I know I don't need to help, but I want to. Just a massage, that's all.”
Viktor sighed again.
“A massage.”
“I'll be gentle,” Jayce said, earnestly, holding up a fancy looking jar of something that Viktor didn't recognize, “and I brought this. It's supposed to ease muscle aches. Come on, Viktor. It's worth a try. Please?”
He had quite a hard time saying no to that face.
“Help me up, then,” and Jayce’s handsome face twisted.
“You should stay-”
“To take my shirt off, Jayce.”
“Oh- oh, yeah. Right.” Jayce’s cheeks darkened, but he scooted over, ever so gently helping Viktor sit up, wincing sympathetically when he hissed in pain.
“You will hurt me, Jayce. What you are suggesting, it will hurt. You will have to do it anyway,” Viktor warned, tugging his shirt off over his head and suppressing a frown at the cold air. “I will stop you if it becomes too much.”
“Okay,” Jayce said, sounding very resolute. That was good. Maybe he would actually be able to do it. Viktor did not miss the way his eyes dropped to the soft swell of his chest, usually compressed by his back brace, but Jayce's manners and tact took over and he didn't say anything. That was good. He shuffled around, lying down on his front with his head pillowed on his arms. He heard Jayce take a deep breath, steadying, and then felt him rearrange the blankets over his legs and unscrew the cap of the little jar. A sharp minty smell filled the room, and Viktor smiled.
“Menthol, then?”
“Amongst other things. It's an analgesic, apparently the best one on the market.” He sounded proud of himself.
“And when did you procure such a thing?” Viktor asked, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of his voice as he heard Jayce fumble with the jar.
“I– well, a while ago, and I never got a chance to use it, never… never needed to,” he answered, entirely unconvincingly. Viktor smiled wider. He did so love to tease Jayce.
“I see- oh.”
Jayce's hands were warm against his frigid skin, and he'd clearly warmed the gel between them before pressing it to his back in a long sweeping motion that dragged it up and around his shoulder blades. At first it felt like nothing, but then as it settled in, the tingling began. He could hardly focus on it, though, with Jayce pressing his thumbs into the horrendously tight muscles of his back, gently but with intent. He was right, it hurt. But between the tingling feeling of whatever Jayce was massaging into his muscles and the warmth of his big hands, he found he didn't care. It was all he could do to focus on not groaning outright. As it was, poor Jayce would have to just tolerate the little soft sounds that slipped out now and again.
“It's alright? I'm not going too hard?” he finally asked, clearly unable to stop himself.
“It is alright, Jayce,” he managed, lungs tight with pain. Pain that was… lessening, maybe. Jayce's talented hands pressing in relief and pressing out pain, slowly but surely. Minutes passed, the room quiet but for Jayce's steady breathing and Viktor's own soft sounds.
“Viktor,” Jayce asked, pausing with both hands flat on the small of his back, and god, they could almost reach all the way around, couldn't they?
“Your hips, too? And your leg?” He sounded hesitant, like he didn't want to overstep, but they were already here, weren't they? There was no going back now, was there? Viktor lifted his head, looking back at him, and sighed.
“I suppose you're right.”
He reached down, tugging the leg of his boxers up a bit to expose the slight curve of his ass– not enough to provide much padding when he sat in the hard chairs of the lab, but still there– and gestured before putting his head back down.
“You may,” he said, because Jayce did well with verbal permission, and felt him shift back to smooth more of the gel over his hands and up the backs of his thighs to his hips.
It hurt.
Of course it hurt. Jayce's hands were strong, his fingers insistent, rubbing circles into the all-but-permanent knots in his glutes, trying to force them to let go of the tension they'd been holding for years. And Viktor was determined, determined to withstand it for as long as he could, even if it meant biting his lip until it bled to keep quiet. He'd be better for it, once it was all said and done. But that didn't make it any less painful.
Just as it was seeming like he would need to tap out, the warmth of Jayce's hands moved away, down the backs of his thighs, pressing long arcs into his skin there. One leg less painful, the other more. Shockingly, not the way he'd have imagined. His bad leg wasn't nearly as tight as the good one, years of overcompensating taking their toll. Jayce had asked once why he didn't use two crutches. He'd just held up his hands, letting it fall to the ground without his grip holding it in place, and said “no hands, Jayce.” It had taken him a moment, but he'd given him a long “oooh” of comprehension and hadn't asked again.
Another ten quiet minutes passed before Jayce spoke up again.
“Viktor, can you turn over? I want to get the front of your leg.”
He considered.
“I want my shirt back,” he responded finally. He didn't need to get analgesic all over his sheets. Jayce agreed immediately, helping him sit up and handing over his shirt without looking at him. He appreciated the gesture, futile as it was. With a bit of pained shuffling, he ended up leaning back against the headboard, surrounded by pillows, with his legs over Jayce's lap. It was…. Comfortable. Warm. Jayce's hands worked through the muscles on his thigh, twisted from the malformation of his bones, down to his knee, his calf, his foot. Viktor watched. Watched the way Jayce's hands could nearly circle his leg, the determined set to his brow, the soft look in his eye as he sighed and nearly tutted over the state of his muscles.
“It won't help me get better,” Viktor said, to say something.
“Will it hurt less?” Jayce replied, eyes flickering to his face for a moment.
“For a while. But it won't fix–”
“It doesn't have to. I don't care if you don't walk right, I just want you to be more comfortable. That's all.”
He looked a little angry. He always did, when Viktor spoke disparagingly about his illness. It came few and far between, but there was only so much radical acceptance he could take before he needed to rage and yell and throw things because it wasn't fair. And then, once it was out of his system, he went back to not caring, to taking life a day at a time, to being a cripple from Zaun who made a life in the City of Progress despite it all. Jayce always let him yell, let him pound his fists against his chest and throw his crutch at the wall, but didn't let him pull at his own hair or scratch the backs of his hands, pulling them away before he could do harm. Let him calm down out of his episode before releasing his hands. It was for the better.
“I suppose so,” Viktor relented. He always did, when it came to Jayce.
Slowly, the tingling numbness sank into his leg, over the rings of bruising from his brace, down to his nearly-useless foot. As much as he didn't want to get the gel onto his sheets, he wanted to be warm more.
“I think I'm done,” Jayce said, just as Viktor said “Jayce, come here.” He blinked at him, a little surprised, then jumped to it.
“Right. Where–”
“Here next to me. It's cold.”
One of Jayce's arms around his shoulders, the other across his waist, draped hesitantly over his slight form, Viktor found himself very warm. He shifted a little, trying to keep his back from twisting, and Jayce tugged him against his chest, splayed out in a surprisingly comfortable hug.
“Better, V?” he asked softly, and Viktor just nodded. It wasn't unusual for him to be pulled into an excited hug from Jayce, who didn't seem to know how not to touch him when he got too worked up. This felt different. Cradled to his chest, held like something precious… Viktor huffed, stretching back a little to press a kiss to Jayce's cheek, watching as his cheeks darkened and his eyes darted down to Viktor's face.
“Viktor?” he asked quietly, eyes wide and innocently curious.
“Thank you, Jayce,” he replied by way of answer, settling back down against his chest. He felt him take a breath, as if to respond, and then let it out, choosing to doodle aimlessly on the span of his back. Viktor fell asleep that way, thoroughly exhausted from his early morning and lulled by the easy, even beat off Jayce's heart.
The snow fell on, outside.