[ here is something that jayce can no longer turn his eyes from; the last time he had seen all of viktor's body, it was . . . changed. infused with metal and magic by the hand of his dangerous transfusion, and that was the same day he let him leave the lab. back then, he did not hide how his gaze zipped up and down, stayed down, then ran up. here, aware of the earnest thump against his ribs when he thinks viktor, or sees viktor, aware of the swelling and squeezing in his heart and why is the cause of the way his gaze witnesses the tight back brace. the one he would help notch, tweak or rub when it ached— the moles on his neck, on the dip of viktor's bony hips, within his thighs, details he would not miss even in his rudimentary chalkboard studies. his stare lingers for too long where it shouldn't, for the moment. jayce turns his face sideways, and that was all.
there's plenty of room; despite his size in height, he is not exactly a hulking piece of muscular work anymore, with what he'd previously be able to tank the width of the container with ease. his knees have tucked closer to his chest, giving him that fetal sitting as the water laps at his feet and toes, runs over his frame beneath the water's spray and already flushing away at the outermost layer of crud on him. it's . . . nice.
he manages to murmur, vulnerable and smaller than he was in the empty space between his chest and bowed legs: ]
Yes.
[ the strange, rooted scabs independant on where on the body it was may bleed tiny streams of translucent blues or greens when scrubbed or pulled away— allowing the remnants of an infection fought single-handedly to exudate and make way for steady ribbons of bright red. a good sign, really. the thick, worrying type of purulent drainage has been conquered before his arrival.
in the meantime, jayce tries to quietly busy himself. his nails could use a good cleanse, so he starts there, a slow, steady motion of cleaning the muck stuck beneath them, focusing on the sensation of warm water, and soon, viktor's hands. his back's muscles may ripple, both in anticipation as much as a reaction to actual touch, like a flinch, or a subtle startle at the reminder of how it works and feels. it is also nice. it is also viktor.
no subject
there's plenty of room; despite his size in height, he is not exactly a hulking piece of muscular work anymore, with what he'd previously be able to tank the width of the container with ease. his knees have tucked closer to his chest, giving him that fetal sitting as the water laps at his feet and toes, runs over his frame beneath the water's spray and already flushing away at the outermost layer of crud on him. it's . . . nice.
he manages to murmur, vulnerable and smaller than he was in the empty space between his chest and bowed legs: ]
Yes.
[ the strange, rooted scabs independant on where on the body it was may bleed tiny streams of translucent blues or greens when scrubbed or pulled away— allowing the remnants of an infection fought single-handedly to exudate and make way for steady ribbons of bright red. a good sign, really. the thick, worrying type of purulent drainage has been conquered before his arrival.
in the meantime, jayce tries to quietly busy himself. his nails could use a good cleanse, so he starts there, a slow, steady motion of cleaning the muck stuck beneath them, focusing on the sensation of warm water, and soon, viktor's hands. his back's muscles may ripple, both in anticipation as much as a reaction to actual touch, like a flinch, or a subtle startle at the reminder of how it works and feels. it is also nice. it is also viktor.
he hasn't been touched in what felt like eons. ]