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Viktor can think of no other way to describe this feeling besides blissful torture, and if he could live in it forever, he would do so happily.
He’s sure it’s been hours. The sun’s probably changed positions across the sky, hanging low through his window since they didn’t even bother to close the curtains, but it’s impossible to tell with the blindfold across his eyes and his brain a puddle of mush. It’s stuck to his face with sweat, and he’s never felt like more of a mess in his life.
He’s panting and groaning like an animal, chest heaving as the salty tang of both sweat and tears drips into his mouth and across his tongue. His cock aches and his wrists burn.
“You’re doing so well, Vitya,” the other man praises. “Just a little longer—hold on for me just a little longer.”
Viktor keens and leans his head back against the pillows, flexing the bound wrists above his head until the sting makes him moan. He’s got a silicone cocksleeve working him root to tip and two fingers fucking him deliciously slow, clad in a pair of elbow-length leather gloves; the result is a pleasure-pain so sweet he damn near falls apart.
“Oh, listen to you,” Yuuri coos, almost whispering. “I don’t know if I want to stop when you sound so pretty.”
The statement fills him with agony and ecstasy. They’ve already been going and stopping for what feels like forever, and the praise makes his cock leak into the puddle already dribbled across his stomach. He bucks his hips without thinking, fucking desperately into the slick, rubbery heat, but Yuuri’s quick to adjust his arm and pin him down, restricting his movement. Viktor’s certainly tasting tears.
“I can’t,” he sobs, practically writhing against the mattress. He’s never heard his own voice like this before. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?” Yuuri repeats, verging on condescending. He squeezes his hand tighter around Viktor’s cock and twists on the way up, then shoves his fingers deep enough to press his leather palm against Viktor’s perineum.
Viktor weeps, “I can’t.”
Yuuri releases him and smooths his hand up Viktor’s abs in an easy glide, uncaring of the mess of pre-cum and sweat, moving himself upward until Viktor can feel them nose to nose. The hand on his chest makes him hyper aware of his shaky breaths.
“You want me to stop?” Yuuri asks softly. “Just say the word.”
It may have been what he said, but it’s not what he meant. This is everything. This is exactly what Viktor’s been searching for for ages—exactly what he’s paying for. To be pushed to the brink in a way completely separate from his real life; to give up control and just feel. Until it’s so much, too much, that he can finally break in a space that’s safe to shatter.
Yuuri knows exactly what he’s doing, a deity of sensuality that knows just how to bring Viktor to his knees, and Viktor would gladly stay there and worship him for all of eternity.
“No, I—” Yuuri drags the sullied glove across his jaw and brings it up his mouth, and Viktor opens it unconsciously, lets Yuuri smear his cum into his bottom teeth. It’s so, so filthy. “Don’t stop,” he whimpers.
Yuuri hums in contemplation and slowly withdraws the fingers inside him, leaving Viktor bereft and whining. He wants Yuuri to fill him up, in every possible way—consume him mind, body, and soul, until Viktor can think of nothing but him. Feel nothing but him. He’s already half-way there, all his senses heightened with the blindfold still on. He feels Yuuri’s breath on his face, tastes the words on his lips. His whispers tickle Viktor’s ears and the lean body pressed against his own is making him delirious. Yuuri surrounds him.
The man shifts to straddle him fully, and Viktor relishes in the scratchy feeling of thigh-highs dragging up his naked sides, and a plush ass against the head of his dick. Yuuri brings both hands up to gently caress his face and applies more pressure as the seconds pass, until Viktor feels the press of those talented fingers right up against his teeth.
“I think you might be my favorite,” Yuuri says, and that, more than anything else, has Viktor almost cumming untouched. “I think you already know that.”
He’s so close Viktor feels the movement of his lips against his own, speaking the highest praises a man could ever receive directly into him, so he has no choice but to take it all in. Viktor’s been aware for some time now that their relationship has likely expanded beyond what most people have in any sort of sexual contract. He’s not sure many professional dominants actually fuck their clients, but, well… they’ve been doing that for some time now. Viktor’s always been a hopeless romantic, and likes to fantasize in the privacy of his own mind that any of this means something at all; his heart leaps in his chest at the thought of Yuuri possibly feeling the same. They’ll have to discuss it later, though. After. At the moment, it feels impossible to form more than two words at a time.
Yuuri lifts up slightly and traps Viktor’s cock beneath him, ruts back and forth until Viktor can feel the warm outline of his sex through his silk panties, rubbing against him with every grind forward. The toy still sheathed around him moves with every motion. Viktor takes ragged breaths through his nose and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth—he’s been making too much noise; his neighbors probably hate him—but he can only hold it in for so long.
“Please,” Viktor cries. “Please.”
“I love when you beg,” Yuuri teases, sliding his nails down the column of Viktor’s throat, hard enough to leave marks even through the gloves. “You want it bad, huh, Vitya?”
“Yes—anything.” He sounds like he’s choking, a drowning man saved and taking those first frenzied inhales above water.
“You want to fuck me?”
“So bad,” he gasps. “So fucking bad.”
“You want to cum inside me?”
“Yuuri.”
He wouldn’t let Viktor do that, at least not with their current situation, but the thought of it drives him crazy. He pictures Yuuri splayed out on the bed, thighs spread wide with Viktor’s seed dripping out of him and staining the sheets; or bent over a table, the thick mess of it trickling onto the floor. Maybe Yuuri would even let him do it in public, and be forced to walk around for the rest of the day with a part of Viktor still inside him.
Yuuri just laughs, a playful, giddy sound, because he knows. He knows exactly what’s playing through Viktor’s mind right now, exactly what his words do to him. And the fact that Viktor’s lying here, helpless and blind to the world, pathetic and whimpering at the thought of pumping Yuuri full, and all Yuuri can do is laugh… it makes him shiver. Makes his gut twist in the best way. He’s ruined for anyone else.
“You’re so easy to rile up,” Yuuri chuckles. He presses a kiss against Viktor’s cheek, then his forehead, his brow bone, his nose. “But you’re so good,” he says. “Always so good for me, hm?”
He strokes the sides of Viktor’s face with his knuckles and Viktor hums wordlessly, incapable of a proper response, but Yuuri clearly doesn’t expect one. He leans in for only their second kiss since the session started, and Viktor melts. The slide of their tongues and the tugging of lips between teeth, the taste of him, is somehow more intimate than anything they’ve done so far. It’s intoxicating, and maybe he’s stupid for thinking it—but it almost makes Viktor feel loved.
Yuuri eventually pulls away, and Viktor has to try his hardest not to chase after him. Yuuri must sense it, and gently cards his fingers through Viktor’s dampened hair. “You think you deserve a reward?” he asks, and all Viktor can do is nod, basking in the sweet touch. “I think so too.”
Viktor swears he hears angels singing at the sound of that. His cock still throbs where it’s nestled snugly between them and he grunts as the brunette leans over to rifle around in his bag on the nightstand. When he seemingly finds what he was searching for, he scoots back to straddle Viktor’s thighs instead, and slowly pulls the sleeve off him. The loss of contact is both a disappointment and relief.
He immediately tenses back up at the sound of a wrapper opening, some sort of erotic pavlovian response, and groans appreciatively as Yuuri rolls the condom down with one hand and massages his thigh with the other. Finally, he’s going to get the release he’s been begging for all afternoon.
“Close your eyes,” Yuuri mumbles, and Viktor obliges as he feels him thumbing along the fabric still obscuring his vision. He pushes it up ever so slowly until he can tug it off Viktor’s head altogether, tossing it to the floor, and the light hitting his face isn’t as jarring as it would’ve been if his eyes were open.
He can tell Yuuri’s hovering above him. He’s got one hand stretched behind him to hold Viktor’s cock in place, and the other lightly rubbing across his eyelids to help adjust them. It’s such a tender gesture, Viktor’s lips quirk into a smile despite him feeling like an absolute wreck.
“Alright, open them.”
Viktor does as he’s told and his eyes squint against warm sunlight. He’s greeted by the ethereal sight of pale skin and a shock of dark hair, two shimmering pink scars and the rich brown of a smoldering gaze. His vision is still slightly unfocused, but it’s a beautiful image regardless.
“There you are,” Yuuri replies, and his smile is downright predatory.
His reason for removing the blindfold soon becomes clear: it’s so he can look at the stupid face Viktor must make when Yuuri finally sinks down onto him.
Head thrown back, Viktor moans like the sound is being ripped out of his throat, and he already knows he’s not going to last very long. Yuuri probably expects it—probably relishes in the fact. The satisfied hum Yuuri makes right along with him is music to his ears, and Viktor takes great pleasure in finally being able to see him. The way his stockings dig into his thighs, making the soft flesh spill over the edges; the way he didn’t even bother to take his underwear off and simply pulled them to the side; the way his rosy lips part around a gasp. He’s an absolute vision.
Yuuri plants his hands firmly against Viktor’s chest, the first few drags agonizingly slow while he adjusts, but it’s obvious from the look in his eye that Yuuri doesn’t intend to keep it that way. His next move down is hard enough to make the bed shake, and Viktor grunts, instinctively trying to reach for his hips. His wrists rattle uselessly against the headboard, and Yuuri bites his lip against a devious smile.
“Yuuri, you’re killing me,” he huffs.
Yuuri grinds back against him and shrugs impishly. “Guess I better finish the job then.”
Viktor will embrace this death with open arms.
The pace he sets is brutal, and Viktor’s helpless to do anything but take it. The rope around his wrists tugs back and forth as the bed quakes and the headboard knocks against the wall, a biting sting that makes his back arch. Yuuri takes advantage of his own free hands and runs them greedily across Viktor’s tense body, increasing the feelings he can already barely handle. The textured leather against his throat, his nipples, down to his sides where Yuuri just squeezes as hard as he can—it’s heavenly. Viktor’s legs shake beneath him.
Yuuri feels like a dream, hot and slick, and the noises filling the room are beyond filthy, a soundtrack of total obscenity. He’s positively dripping around Viktor, and with every loud smack of their hips meeting he feels the sticky pool between them grow. Yuuri desperately grasps his face and turns it to the side to suck and bite at his neck. Viktor prays for bruises; prays for blood.
They’re a mess of sweat, spit, and lust. It’s dirty, messy—everything Viktor’s always wanted. They’re losing the dynamic, simply lost in the feeling of each other, and the needy sounds Yuuri makes into his mouth are a thing of beauty. Viktor groans against his lips, snapping his hips up as best he can to chase the tension slowly building inside him.
Yuuri gets there first.
He clings to Viktor’s shoulders and moans, loud and unabashed, directly into his ear, the sound sending Viktor’s brain into overdrive while Yuuri steadily tightens around his cock. It’s all he needs. The climax he’s been seeking all day finally hits him like a freight train. He gasps and moans against the softness of Yuuri’s hair, arches to feel the firm press and slide of their skin together. Tears prick the corners of his eyes once more as his skin tingles and his hips buck wildly against Yuuri’s lower half, still pushing back against him.
Viktor’s never cum so hard in his life, and he fears for a split second there’ll be enough to spill out of the condom and defeat the purpose entirely. It’s a thought that worries and electrifies him. It lasts for what feels like an entire minute, sixty seconds of pure, unadulterated pleasure like he’s never experienced before. When he finally starts to come down, Yuuri hums blissfully and guides him through it in dulcet tones.
His voice is gentle and soothing, but Viktor’s too far gone to make any sense of it. He hears bits and pieces, lovely snippets of, “so good,” and, “wish I could feel it,” that practically lull him into a trance in his post-orgasm haze.
He feels drained, like he’s sinking into the mattress and will soon disappear completely. Nothing else matters, and nothing else makes sense, besides the touch of leather running across his arms and the blankets under his back, soft and downy. This is nirvana.
Yuuri’s still talking to him, he knows, can hear it despite his ears being full of cotton, and the only thing that starts to bring his awareness back is the prickly sensation in his arms as they’re slowly lowered down to his sides. Yuuri discarded the gloves at some point, and Viktor watches, a little detached, as his bare, elegant hands carefully rub his red wrists and massage his forearms.
The ringing in his ears begins to dissipate, and the sound of the bedroom finally wafts back in.
“Hi,” Yuuri says, an amused smile on his face. He looks flushed, pink and beautiful. They’re still naked—Yuuri hasn’t even bothered getting off him yet—but Viktor can’t say he really minds.
“Hi,” he whispers. Anything louder feels like too much work.
Yuuri laughs. “Welcome back.” He reaches out to brush through Viktor’s hair, then smooths the hand down to rub a thumb along his jawline. “You did great. I’m so proud of you.”
Viktor feels full. Of warmth. Of yearning. “Thank you.”
He knows his responses are short, but he knows Yuuri understands he means more. This is how it always goes.
“I really work you hard, huh?”
Viktor nods with a smile, and responds without thinking. “That’s why I love you, though.”
Yuuri’s thumb pauses against his face. Time stands still while Viktor holds his breath. After a moment, Yuuri just huffs a laugh and shakes his head.
Viktor swallows. “I didn’t mean—”
Yuuri shuts him up with a kiss.
“It’s okay,” he replies. “Later.”
Viktor’s heart beats at rabbit speed. His arms feel foreign and heavy after being in the air so long, but he clumsily lifts them to wrap around Yuuri’s waist, holding him close. Yuuri sinks into the embrace and kisses him again.
Later is fine. Viktor is more than happy with just this.