The View From 3B - Elevator Debacle Part 2
CW - 3.1k words, sick j/ayce, descriptions of mess (not in depth, but they’re included throughout the fic), snz kink vik, trans vik (and language like “t-dick” & “clit”), brief mentions of chronic pain
~ also shoutout to the wonderful @stifledfreek for beta reading the fic :3 it got 10 times better after i swear, so thank you! ~
Part One here
Part Two below the cut
Jayce pauses for a moment, his fever-addled brain trying to process Viktor’s words before he asks, “You speagk Russian?”
He assumes it was Russian at least, given Viktor’s heavy accent and, well, his name. Viktor nods, watching as Jayce folds the sodden handkerchief over his nose, doing his best to hide its continuous running.
“I do,” Viktor answers simply, not offering any further details about himself. Jayce doesn’t entirely mind, though he’s itching to learn more about Viktor.
“Is it your firsd language?” Jayce asks. He’s almost certain that the answer will be yes. It might be a stupid question, or too personal to some, but Jayce doesn’t have the energy to think things through fully right now.
“It is. Although I learned English when I was very young,” Viktor answers, seemingly unoffended by Jayce’s question.
Jayce listens intently, the simple answer only spurring more questions, but he settles for, “I did the same. Budt I learned Spanish firsd.”
Viktor looks at Jayce curiously, bluntly saying, “Not many people speak Spanish in Piltover.”
“Nodt many people speagk Russian,” Jayce counters with a grin, feeling a silent sense of understanding between himself and Viktor. It’s not easy being multi-lingual in Piltover, where there’s a neatly pruned standard of what it means to be presentable (wealthy, fluent in English, able-bodied, blah blah blah).
“This is true,” Viktor concedes, folding his hands in his lap and shifting again as he sits. It’s obvious that he’s in some amount of pain or discomfort, but Jayce knows it’s not his place to mention it. Afterall, they’re still newly-acquainted strangers.
Jayce runs a hand through his hair, trying to ignore how hot he suddenly feels. He’d pulled on a hoodie despite it being relatively warm outside (a last ditch effort to hide how miserably sick he was), and now he’s paying the consequences. The elevator has become significantly warmer since stalling out – surely not because of his fever, that would be absurd – and Jayce can practically feel the heat radiating off of his skin.
Realistically, he’s having a heat flash as a result of the 101+ degree fever he’s had all day, but he’s reluctant to admit that to himself. He sits forward, slipping his arms out of the sweatshirt sleeves and tugging it off over his head. Even that small movement makes the room spin, leaving fuzzy dark blotches in his vision for a second.
Once the hoodie’s off, a shiver immediately racks his frame, though he continues to feel overheated. He adds it to the mental list of ‘things my body is doing to spite me’. Viktor glances over wordlessly as he notices the shiver, his eyes lingering on Jayce’s biceps beneath his tight black T-shirt (this goes unnoticed by the sick man).
Viktor diverts his attention to his wristwatch; Jayce mirrors the action, checking the time and groaning internally as he realizes they’ve been stuck for less than an hour and he’s already completely soiled the handkerchief that Viktor lent him. Not to mention he can feel his meds starting to wear off.
He’d planned on taking Nyquil right when he got home and passing out for the rest of the night (despite it barely being past 6PM), but clearly that wasn’t happening any time soon. Jayce shivers again, regretting the decision to take off the hoodie, but decides he can’t put it back on just yet. It’s barely been off for a minute, and he’d look like an idiot immediately putting it back on. Because Viktor is scrutinizing every miniscule action he makes, obviously. There’s no way it could be Jayce’s anxious fever riddled mind overthinking; that’s just not a possibility.
The two of them sit in silence for a couple of minutes before the elevator starts creaking again, a quiet mechanical whine sounding from somewhere above them. Jayce clears his throat before asking, “That’s… probably fide, righd?”
“Probably,” Viktor answers skeptically, not wanting to stress Jayce out any more than necessary. “It could be an emergency system resetting.” He bites his tongue to refrain from adding, “or the cords fraying.”
Jayce nods, swiping his wrist under his nose as it starts to run again, “Yeah… maybe id’s a good sign. Maybe we’ll – snNDFf – ged oud of here soon…”
The creaking continues, and Jayce starts fidgeting anxiously with his fingers, doing his best to occupy his mind. Noticing his rising anxiety, Viktor asks, “How long have you lived here?”
Jayce’s nervous rumination is temporarily sidebarred. “Aboud two years, and this–” he gestures to the elevator, “–has never hapbened.” He pauses to grab the handkerchief, rubbing his nose with an audible squelch.
“You’d think that with the expense of our rent, the building’s mechanics would function, would you not?” Viktor asks, trying to find some common ground through complaining. Jayce nods, though he’s rarely given the cost of rent second thought – the Kiramman family pays the majority of it. Clearly he and Viktor are different in that sense, but he still agrees, “Yeah, you’d thingk so.”
Jayce is about to continue the conversation when a sharp itch swells through his sinuses, burning up to the tip of his nose and forcing out a sudden, “hH’ISzZCHHshew!” He barely raises his arm in time to half cover, and without the protection of his sweater sleeve, he wets both the air and his wrist with a sheen of spray. Before he can even draw a breath, another, “Hhh’gGZSCHhhuehh!!” snaps him forwards.
The second sneeze causes significantly more damage than the first, and mess strings loosely from Jayce’s septum to his forearm. He fumbles to grab the handkerchief, turns away from Viktor as best he can and quickly tends to the clear string that’s now threatening to drip onto his lap. He can feel his face burning crimson up to his ears, and his heart pounds in his chest in utter embarrassment.
He’s never had a cold manifest in his nose like this. He always gets sneezier when he’s sick, but usually it’s manageable with a couple hankies and some tea. This, however, is far from manageable. Every time he has some semblance of control, his body snaps him forwards with a harsh, throat-grating, messy expulsion.
Once again, Viktor politely feigns interest in the loose thread on his sleeve, though he steals a few glances at Jayce.
Humiliated is the understatement of the year. Jayce wipes at the spray on his wrist with the handkerchief, but it’s too sodden to help, leaving his skin just as damp as before. He has to fold the cloth in two to hide the mess from the previous sneeze – not that there’s any point in doing that, since Viktor already saw it.
“Bless you,” Viktor offers. Jayce just nods, snuffling into the handkerchief in an attempt to hide himself away from Viktor.
—
Switch to Viktor’s POV
Viktor does his best not to stare at Jayce. It’s difficult, especially when there’s a light speckling of spray cast across his T-shirt – which, he notes, Jayce doesn’t seem to notice. He shifts, ignoring the pain that’s been ebbing and flowing through his hip since the elevator first malfunctioned. It lingers, slowing to a dull ache, like a wave receding gently along a shore, only to crash down in a sharp throb whenever he moves.
Surprisingly, Jayce notices this. As out of it as he is, he seems attentive to Viktor’s movements, to his pain. It’s almost as if he’s more attentive to Viktor’s body than he is to his own – the slick wetness beneath his nostrils is evidence to that. Viktor’s certain that Jayce would wipe it away if he knew it was there.
Luckily, Jayce’s observation doesn’t go as far as Viktor’s arousal. It hadn’t taken long for the reaction to grow from a stirring in his lower abdomen to the hard-on he’s now sporting – one of the many benefits of being a few years on T is that his bottom growth is significant enough for him to get boners. Another benefit is that there’s no physical evidence of his arousal. It’s imperceptible, and besides, Jayce has no reason to believe his sneezes would inspire that response in Viktor.
The elevator creaks, the quiet whine resuming. This time, it seems as if the sound is coming from above the two of them somewhere in the shaft. As little as Viktor knows about elevators, he can safely assume that the sound isn’t a good sign.
Jayce seems to make the same assumption, his nervous fidgeting beginning again. Viktor almost finds it endearing that the other man seems incapable of hiding these responses, although that could be attributed to his fever.
He’s practically strangers with Jayce, but he finds himself wanting to console his neighbor – the same neighbor he’d spent many nights despising. He can’t exactly place why. It could be pity, but Viktor finds that unlikely. It could be his appearance, that’s a much more likely explanation. It could be his sneezes, a voice suggests in the back of his mind, to which Viktor mentally agrees it certainly could be.
Or it could be something else entirely. Something that Viktor had neglected to let himself feel for a long time.
A congested ‘snDRGck!’ breaks Viktor from his dwellings, and he glances at Jayce again. He’s shivering now, both arms wrapped tightly around his frame. Whether Jayce has forgotten about his sweatshirt or he’s stubbornly resigned himself to further misery, Viktor isn’t entirely sure.
He considers how rude it would be to tell Jayce to put on the hoodie. Generally speaking, he’s very blunt when it comes to these sorts of things: the easiest solution to Jayce’s current discomfort is to put on the hoodie. Except his logic isn’t always appreciated, especially when it comes off as unsolicited criticism.
“hhHh,” Jayce brings the handkerchief to his nose as soon as the first hitch sounds. Viktor can’t help but watch. He can imagine Jayce’s nostrils flaring out against the fabric of his handkerchief, dampening it as the appendage twitches and writhes.
Based on Jayce’s expression, his nose must be doing exactly that.
“hnhUHh’h,” the hitch stutters to a halt midway, interrupted with a groan of displeasure. Viktor feels a pulsating heat travel from his dick and up his torso, pooling in his abdomen.
Jayce muffles another helpless half hitch, half groan into the folds of the kerchief, “hhU-’ghh.”
Damnit. As if his sneezing wasn’t enough, the build up just so happens to be one of the most arousing things Viktor has witnessed. No YouTube video or wav could compare to this, even though he’s surely going to catch whatever cold-from-hell Jayce has.
“hH’eh….hDSCHHZI’iSCXH’eiuw!”
The sneeze breaks free in three harsh, weird syllables, each of which is more breathless than the last. Viktor swallows, his fingers twisting and untwisting the thread on his sweater. Anything to keep himself from acknowledging the wetness of his clit and his too-tight pants.
“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor switches to Russian unintentionally, the blessing slipping out of its own volition.
“Th-” Jayce tries to speak, but he’s interrupted with a barking cough. It sounds nearly as bad as the cough that’s been festering in Viktor’s lungs for the past couple of months, and he cringes in sympathy. Once Jayce catches his breath, he tries again, “thangks… sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Viktor dismisses simply, watching as Jayce’s body is wracked with shivers again. “You might be more comfortable if you put on your sweatshirt.”
He decides that at the risk of coming off as rude, he should suggest the solution anyway. Jayce doesn’t seem like he’s in the mindset to think about anything aside from his troublesome nose.
Jayce blushes, and immediately fumbles to pull the hoodie back on. He lets out a little breath of relief once it’s tugged over his head. “Thangks. Agaid.”
“No problem,” Viktor responds with a little smile.
Jayce’s nostrils flare again, his expression melting into one of sheer desperation within seconds. Viktor watches intently, his fingers resuming the twist of the thread as Jayce’s eyelids flutter shut.
“h’hiighh-“ His hand comes up to cover his nose. “hHHH-“
His chest swells with a dramatic inhale, only to stutter to a halt as Jayce pinches his nose shut. A heavy, squashed sneeze grates against his throat before being stifled against his tight grip.
“hnNGD’GCKSZXHh!”
The stifle is followed by a whimper, Jayce’s brows creasing together in a pained grimace. Viktor fights the arousal stirring in his stomach, the reaction temporarily overridden by concern.
Jayce snuffles against his fingers, releasing his nose from its hold. The appendage is raw and sensitive, nostrils twitching with every inhale he takes.
To say he looks miserable wouldn’t capture his appearance in full. His disheveled, sweat slicked hair, reddened nostrils, evident fatigue, and inability to stop the shivers wracking his body all point to a rising fever. He waits wordlessly for another sneeze, but the sensation evades him after a few seconds. Viktor can’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment.
Jayce rubs at his face with both palms, forgoing his attempts to compose himself and letting out a quiet groan. When he lowers his hands, his face is blotchy. His nose is an angry shade of pink, only growing more and more irritated with each sneeze.
He slouches sideways into the corner of the cramped elevator, pulling one of his knees up to his chest and leaving his other leg extended outwards. He looks absolutely wrecked.
To anyone else, a cold-ridden, anxiety-ridden Jayce would be perceived as pathetic. Viktor, however, just finds his state… distracting, to say the least. It’s ridiculous, and he mentally scolds himself: the man is ill, and you are… what, aroused? Depraved. Utterly depraved.
Jayce’s shoulders quiver with the beginnings of an inhale only to be interrupted as he jolts forward with another sneeze, “hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!” The sound ricochets off the elevator walls. The expulsion is merciless and wet, grating against his throat with a vocal growl and expelling as much mess as it can manage.
Luckily, he’d managed to bring the sodden handkerchief up to his nose in time to catch the sneeze. He wipes his nose, snorting back as much mess as he can. Once he cleans himself up, he collapses back, continuing to sniffle liquidly. His voice comes out raw as he mumbles, “I thingk mby meds wore off….”
Viktor tears his gaze away from Jayce’s twitching nose, forcing himself to focus instead on the elevator floor.“So I gathered,” he says curtly. He should say more, offer sympathy or comfort, but he can’t focus on anything but the pulsing rhythm in his clit.
Comforting people has never come naturally to him. It’s never been that big of an issue for him – sure, he’s been labelled as inconsiderate in the past, but he’s come to accept it as a flaw of his.
Still, as he sits there, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Jayce, he wishes things were different. He wishes he were different. He wants to comfort Jayce, to know the perfect antidote that will ease his evident embarrassment at his sick state.
Silence, he tells himself, is safer than saying the wrong thing.
The silence carries on for a few minutes, broken only by Jayce’s sniffles and occasional shuffling as he tries to find a more comfortable position. His eyelids droop lower, fatigue evidently catching up with him the longer the two of them are trapped.
Viktor risks a glance at the sick man: Jayce’s head keeps dipping forward on the cusp of sleep, then jerking back up as his breath catches on another half-formed sneeze. He doesn’t even seem to register the lulling of his head, and Viktor figures he’s closer to sleep than he is consciousness. The handkerchief sits half-clenched in Jayce’s hand, the fabric damp and crumpled beyond recognition.
Viktor swallows hard, dragging his gaze back down to the floor. Something unnameable blooms in his chest – a feeling that’s equal parts concern and attraction. He wants to say something, to murmur, “Rest. You’ll feel worse if you fight it,” but the words knot in his throat.
Besides, it’s not his place to say anything. Not to Jayce, who he reminds himself is a stranger aside from brief pleasantries. He has no reason to care for the other man… so why is there an unbearable pull low in his belly? It’s no longer just arousal, though that sensation certainly lingers.
He wants to step in, to smooth the crease between Jayce’s brows and shoulder some of the weight pressing down on him. But he doesn’t. He continues to fix his gaze on the scuffed elevator floor.
Wanting doesn’t make it appropriate. Wanting doesn’t make it safe.
A soft, congested sigh pulls his attention back to reality. Jayce has slumped further down the wall, his hand gone slack around the damp handkerchief. His long lashes rest heavy against flushed cheeks, sleep taking him quickly. Viktor figures he must’ve been exhausted this whole time to have fallen asleep so fast.
With Jayce asleep, Viktor doesn’t have to limit his staring. He can take in every detail he pleases, even those that the other man would surely be embarrassed by. Peaceful and defenseless, worn raw by fever and sickness, Jayce stirs ever so slightly.
Viktor’s throat tightens as he watches Jayce snuffle in his sleep, his nose twitching as if to tease him: even asleep, I’ll still bother you. Viktor forces his eyes shut, willing the heat in his chest and abdomen to quiet. This is nothing, just a stranger, an unfortunate circumstance, and a passing moment that will dissolve once the elevator lurches back to life.
He and Jayce will go back to just being neighbors. Maybe they’ll cross paths every once and a while, but they’ll have no reason to interact aside from necessary pleasantries when they bump into each other in the hallway. That should be enough.
That’s all Viktor ever wants from people, isn’t it? Distance, civility, and a buffer against the mess of feelings that never seems to end well.
But then Jayce shifts, a sluggish roll of his broad shoulders accompanied with a sleepy sigh, and suddenly the weight of his head tips sideways. It settles against Viktor’s shoulder, and he freezes. His first instinct is to pull away, to reclaim the inch of space that’s been his shield.
He takes a measured breath, careful not to let his shoulder move or jostle Jayce. The warmth radiating off the sick man keeps him still. Viktor can feel Jayce’s hair tickle the edge of his jaw; his breath, warm and uneven, ghosts against Viktor’s neck. Fuck.
The ache in Viktor’s chest sharpens, expands. It’s not the ache he’s grown accustomed to or the pain that seeks refuge in his bones and threatens to immobilize him whenever it pleases.
He bites the inside of his cheek, and against every careful, protective instinct Viktor’s developed, he lets Jayce stay.
