[ a crumbling man one moment— when viktor does more than reciprocate, he is a man who falls apart. i have always believed in you breaks his heart and melts it into a pool of adoration too fractured to look anywhere near composed. he still feels like he doesn't deserve this so soon the voices he repeated in the dark, he remembers them— remembers the two times he'd lost viktor. the first when he died. the second when he saw all of jayce's atrocities against him. not ill meaning, but. broken promises were broken promises. ]
I'm sorry—
[ he sobs out, wet and violent. the blubbering of words are weaved heavy with turbulence, and the falls of his tears camoflauged by the running water. he could still see the look on viktor's face from that day. anger. betrayed resentment. a destructive disloyalty born from love; the one thing that would make someone do something unimaginable.
he holds viktor in the position he was in the way that he could, the size of his arms allowing only brief reprieve before he wanted to glue himself to the closeness of their bodies and never separate. it's so cherished. it's so wanted and always needed but not as sought as he would've liked, even from his perspective. jayce was always so tactile with viktor: rubbing his back, either on the slightly broader slab or at the small, kneading or clasping his shoulders. he could've done— so much more. instead he betrayed every one of their principles. he became someone he wasn't in his pursuit to please, and to fit into a role that was not kind to his shape.
he never asked for it, but he never said no, either. he still had fault in his choices, always feeling cornered by the possible results or pressure to play the game when there was always a choice. he was too weak to keep sturdy, too pliable to say no. like iridescent iron. he has gone cold too late.
the whines he relents is mixed with an ugly mess of fluids, but he still coils into himself like a broken spring, makes himself smaller, and allows viktor's slender arms to feel so much bigger than him. jayce holds viktor's arm, places a hand on top of his, squeezes both—
he wants to make a crevice within viktor and huddle there. he can't push him away. he's wanted this so much, and he needs it even more, now. ]
I was so selfish— I couldn't—
[ i couldn't do the right thing. i couldn't block them out. i couldn't keep my word. i betrayed you. i betrayed our work— and so much more goes unsaid, but not unknown. jayce turns his head, bows his forehead, and knocks it sideways to feel the pressure, to feel warmth of skin and bone, and not a dusty chalkboard. it makes him gasp, press in— and surrender himself completely.
no subject
I'm sorry—
[ he sobs out, wet and violent. the blubbering of words are weaved heavy with turbulence, and the falls of his tears camoflauged by the running water. he could still see the look on viktor's face from that day. anger. betrayed resentment. a destructive disloyalty born from love; the one thing that would make someone do something unimaginable.
he holds viktor in the position he was in the way that he could, the size of his arms allowing only brief reprieve before he wanted to glue himself to the closeness of their bodies and never separate. it's so cherished. it's so wanted and always needed but not as sought as he would've liked, even from his perspective. jayce was always so tactile with viktor: rubbing his back, either on the slightly broader slab or at the small, kneading or clasping his shoulders. he could've done— so much more. instead he betrayed every one of their principles. he became someone he wasn't in his pursuit to please, and to fit into a role that was not kind to his shape.
he never asked for it, but he never said no, either. he still had fault in his choices, always feeling cornered by the possible results or pressure to play the game when there was always a choice. he was too weak to keep sturdy, too pliable to say no. like iridescent iron. he has gone cold too late.
the whines he relents is mixed with an ugly mess of fluids, but he still coils into himself like a broken spring, makes himself smaller, and allows viktor's slender arms to feel so much bigger than him. jayce holds viktor's arm, places a hand on top of his, squeezes both—
he wants to make a crevice within viktor and huddle there. he can't push him away. he's wanted this so much, and he needs it even more, now. ]
I was so selfish— I couldn't—
[ i couldn't do the right thing. i couldn't block them out. i couldn't keep my word. i betrayed you. i betrayed our work— and so much more goes unsaid, but not unknown. jayce turns his head, bows his forehead, and knocks it sideways to feel the pressure, to feel warmth of skin and bone, and not a dusty chalkboard. it makes him gasp, press in— and surrender himself completely.
he would never hurt him again, and whispers: ]
I'm so sorry— I swear it. I s-swear, on my life.