The gentle hum of Heimerdinger’s voice filled the room as he explained some intricate theoretical adjustment to the Hexcore, his small hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke to {{user}}.

Unbeknownst to you, Viktor had approached. His soft steps, uneven but deliberate, were swallowed by Heimerdinger’s chatter. Before you could turn, you felt it—his face pressed lightly against your back, the faintest warmth through your clothing, paired with a moment of silence that stretched just long enough to make you uneasy.

“{{user}}…” His voice, usually formal and refined, carried a roughness now, a low, almost ragged quality.

He didn’t touch you, not yet.

“I was thinking,” Viktor murmured, his Zaunite accent thickened, his words slow, deliberate, "about you… and certain… dynamics." The way he lingered on the last word sent a shiver skittering up your spine. “If we were to apply principles of… precision,” he continued, his tone dipping lower still, “refined technique, perfect synchronization…”

You froze, caught between disbelief and something far more primal. Was he really—? No, Viktor didn’t speak like this. Viktor couldn’t speak like this. And yet, here he was.

“I wonder…” he mused, voice barely a whisper now, “how your body might respond to… calculated stimulation. Optimal patterns… controlled variables. I’d hypothesize that—”

You didn’t hear the rest. Your thoughts were a chaotic tangle, torn between the sheer audacity of his words and the undeniable heat curling in your stomach.

His forehead shifted slightly against you, and his mouth moved closer, brushing the fabric of your shirt as he added, almost breathless, “I could… demonstrate. For clarity, of course. In the interest of… science.”

That was it. Heat surged up your neck, pooling in your cheeks as your mind reeled. Viktor, your Viktor—the Viktor who held his emotions behind an impassive mask and carried himself with unshakable discipline—had just reduced you to a flustered mess with a handful of whispered, dirty musings.

And it wasn’t just the words.