sowwy this is a month late but i rewrote it like three times!!
“You love this, hmm?” Viktor rasps, his teeth grazing over your jaw, “Royalty being taken apart by some lowlife from the Undercity?”
His teeth bite down right below your jaw, hard enough that you know it will bruise. Your brow creases in frustration.
“I find that talk deeply unattractive, Viktor,” you tell him, your posh accent never wavering, “You’re a son of Zaun, and you’re going to save my people after your own.”
Thats how it began, truly, as something much more noble and innocent. You had shown up to the council room draped in silver a newly crowned young queen from a far off land, shimmering as your quiet voice asked for representatives of Zaun. As it turns out, your father had let innovation move too quickly, and factory smoke now choked yourself and your people. Your downfall is your own, unlike the downfall Piltover had thrust upon Zaun. No one had spoken up at first, and some councillors had even averted their gaze. But all it took was one look, and Jayce had quickly volunteered his partner, whether he wanted to be brought forth or not.
An hour later, he found himself in the lab, you folded up sitting on top of one of the tables with your legs under you and your dress bunched up on your knees as you picked his brain about how Hextech could be used in air purification, and the topic of Zaun and your kingdom’s survival would be intertwined as you’d throw any supplies or funds needed their way without a thought. You promised them the world, a flirty smile thrown Viktor’s way as you did so.
Another hour later, he finds himself here. Snug between your thighs with the material of your dress now wrinkled against his waist, his hands in your hair and a ridiculous amount of silver jewelry discarded in a pile beside you on the table as his cane rests precariously on the back of his chair.
“Ah yes, you wish to see things as you want to, not as they are,” he teases, “Of course, your Majesty.”
This only further infuriates you, as you dig your heel into his ass to pull him even closer to you, grinding down onto him as your lips reclaim his own. You bite, two can play at that game, and drag your hands across the back of his vest.
“I see you as you are,” you say, exasperation and annoyance not hidden in your tone, but anything you were about to say gets cut off, a moan interrupting your thoughts. Viktor seizes the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth, silencing anything besides the pretty moans that he licks from you.
He cannot pinpoint what started this: your lingering looks as your honeyed words dripped silver onto him, or the hunger that sparked in his fingers with the way you spoke of Zaun in reverence and hope. Maybe it was him, actually, with the way you had practically pounced on him the moment there was quiet in your otherwise very spirited conversation.
But he can’t think about that right now, not when you’re licking his pulse point and your deft fingers are working at the buttons of his shirt.
Until Jayce opens the door, and you pick yourself up off of his lap and back into your own chair. If his partner was surprised by this turn of events, he doesn’t show it.
Viktor doesn’t miss the mischief in your eyes when your eyes meet his again.
Days pass in the lab, but the fire between the two of you never subsides. It’s everything, the way he runs his fingers through his hair, the way he gets so engrossed in a logistical issue, the way he and Jayce work so fluidly with one another. Everything about the Zaunite drives you wild.
It makes you almost preen with pride, the way the two of them look at you every time you up their budget or tell them to try it. You know Piltover’s council has a budget for them, but with no limits? They are working harder and working faster than they have in years, as they’ve told you. It’s easily intoxicating, the enthusiasm and pure joy between the two of them, the way they share it with you, the way it wafts through the room. Mel Medarda floats in and out, and she too is drawn in by the excitement. Your reserved penthouse is neglected, as you spend most of your time here, your royal guards and servants given time off with a budget to explore the city as you become more and more enraptured into their work.
“And different alloys, they affect how the hexgems output energy, yes?” you ask, and the men respond in turn, “I’ll figure out how cheap I can make a workable alloy so that Zaunites and my people alike can all afford it.”
You say it so easily, because it is easy for you. You’re glad your brother stepped aside. Raised as the Infanta, you expected your only aptitude to be valued in a marriage bed. Your crown prince brother a gambler and cruel hearted, but not stupid, realized quickly the crown was not for him. His crown for a lifetime salary was an easy choice. You had always excelled in lessons, had always been the messenger and wine pourer during your father’s meetings with his council. You had been raised a sharp politician despite the fact that it was never meant for you. To think, had he been selfish in another way, you would have never seen this.
Now you’re excited, a real opportunity to change things within your grasp. Your partnership with Hextech is clearly advantageous for your kingdom, however thats not the part of it that excites you the most.
Viktor’s hand falls upon your thigh, his calloused palm against the lace of your dress. The movement is absentminded, as if he’d done it a million times, as if the movement is natural. Oh! Your cheeks heat up in a way that feels immature, only worsened by the way that he only smirks and goes back to the conversation with Jayce, as if his action is commonplace. All thoughts are silenced besides this feeling.
The more you get to know the men of progress, the more you struggle to understand why they are so underutilized. Piltover and Zaun could be at peace in literal hours with their ideas. But you know politics, and you know no one spoke for them before Jayce. He doesn’t belong on the council, you think, not because he isn’t worth the merit but because he is wasted there when he can do this here. Viktor is a mad genius, wild but subdued, fanatic but contained, chaos wrapped in a soft tone.
The days run long, and you bring Viktor back to your penthouse with the promise of sleep.
Sleep does not come, at least not before you do.
“I’m only a twelve hour ride away in an airship,” you tell him, his lips dragging across your bare back. He kisses along every inch of skin he can reach, the moonlight the only source to illuminate his path.
“And when do I go on this royal journey?” he teases, his hand firm as he drags it up your hip to settle at your waist.
“Whenever it suits you,” you whisper, now closer as you claim a kiss from him.
“When it suits me,” he repeats, his tone hard to decipher.
“Viktor,” you start, sitting up. Viktor shifts instantly with you, hanging off of your shoulder now as his arms circle your waist and pull you in.
“I am not making you,” you mumble, confidence fading away with each passing second that Viktor doesn’t speak. His head falls to rest against yours, lets out a deep sigh you feel more than hear.
“I want to come visit you, often if possible,” he admits, his lips close to your ear. Warmth blooms in your chest as you turn in his grasp, your noses bumping together as you meet his gaze.
“Come into my lap,” he tells you, and you crawl over his frame to straddle his thin thighs. The sheets pool around your hips, exposing you to the moonlight. It feels a lot like the first night, all unsure and needing hands, all limbs feeling numb and weird and wanting.
Viktor’s lips find yours, warm and pressing and harsh and clumsy. He kisses into your mouth with fervor and ferocity. His teeth graze and bump your lips, bruising and biting and sure to leave scarring and you return it in kind. It is less a dance of mouths, more an awkward sparring, but it fills you with heat just the same. His hands move down your body, pulling and grasping and squeezing at your hips, your thighs, your ass.
“Be careful,” you whisper, pressing your chest to his, “I may just try and keep you.”
Viktor chuckles, and lays back against the mattress. You follow him enthusiastically.
