Work Text:
“Hands,” Yuuri reminds Victor.
Victor raises his hands to waggle his fingers before letting them drop to his sides, brushing the seat of the armless chair he’s sitting on.
“Remember, keep your eyes on me always.”
“You say that like I would ever look away,” Victor purrs, sprawling in his chair. His thighs splay, his cock already hard and jutting. Yuuri is nude as well, but still soft, even with Victor’s gaze on him in the privacy of their own home’s bedroom. Performance anxiety. But as ever, Victor’s unrelenting focus is soothing, in its way, and his mind begins to flood with all the things he wants to try.
He steps forward, into the valley of Victor’s thighs and dips his fingers into the soft fall of his fine hair. Cupping the curve of Victor’s skull, he leans down to kiss a smiling Victor.
Only to stop short.
Yuuri tightens his grip on Victor’s hair. Not much, but enough to make Victor gasp.
“Hands,” Yuuri reminds him.
“Sorry!” Victor chirps. His hands fall away from Yuuri’s waist and he arches up, still expecting his kiss.
Yuuri stares blankly down at him, at the pink upturned mouth, lips slightly pursed in anticipation.
He steps back, hands dropping out of Victor’s hair. Victor whines, eyebrows furrowing in disappointed confusion.
“Yuuri?”
Yuuri climbs onto the bed and makes himself comfy right in the middle. The bottle of lube rolls into the depression in the mattress and bumps against his hip. He’d thought about pulling out a toy or two as well, but he knows he doesn’t need a toy’s help to drive Victor crazy. The thought makes him smirk.
“Wow! Eros,” Victor coos, smiling. Yuuri snorts with amused derision. Victor really doesn’t have any idea what Yuuri intends to put him through tonight. Leaning his weight on one hand, he licks his thumb with a quick flash of tongue and brushes the wet pad against a nipple.
Victor blinks, his smile wilting around the edges. His eyes track Yuuri’s hand, riveted, as it trails across to the other nipple. Yuuri scratches a gentle circle around the areola with his fingertip, then gives it the same teasing swipe he’d given the first. He switches again, but this time rubs, arching his chest outward slightly as the nipple hardens into a peak. His hands are dry; he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them in, cheeks hollowing as he laves his fingers and thumb with his tongue.
Victor’s lips part, his jaw sagging and eyes wide. No smile, now.
The bedroom is cool, and the saliva coating Yuuri’s fingers chills in the time it takes for his hand to slip from his mouth and down to his pert nipple. He breathes in sharply on contact, but arches into the touch, going down onto his elbow. His fingers rub and flick and toy with the spit-slick nub of nerves. The other nipple hardens in sympathy, and Yuuri drops onto his back to suck his other hand into his mouth, eagerly slicking it with saliva. He doesn’t bother making a show of it this time, just gets his fingers good and wet before bringing them down to play with his other nipple.
Yuuri’s toes splay and curl as his feet shift restlessly over the covers. The cool air of the bedroom chills the spit on his nipples even as his warm fingers pluck and rub. He wets his fingers again. The fresh slickness offsets the friction of his rough hands and his fingers glide over and around the sensitive nubs. His back arches, legs splaying, knees bent, his body an open invitation.
“Yuuri,” Victor chokes. “Let me-Let…”
Yuuri pinches hard, gasping with the sensation, and lets his hands fall to his sides. He’s hard, now, his cock a scorching weight on his lower belly. Should he touch it yet? Or should he do something else? (What would Chris do?)
Yuuri sits up and stretches, arms reaching up over his head, shoulders rotating back to feel the compression of his back muscles, then dropping to his sides. He leans indolently on one hand.
Victor is slouched in his chair, hands gripping the legs. He’s already flushed from forehead to chin, and his eyes drag greedily over Yuuri’s body, but Yuuri can tell he’s still more or less composed. Yuuri crawls up to the head of the bed and stacks the pillows. He knows what he looks like from behind, and keeps his knees apart and hips loose to give Victor a prime view. When the pillows are arranged to his liking, he leans back against them with a sigh.
Moments like this make Yuuri glad he’d taken a chance on contact lenses. Without them, Victor would be nothing more than a flesh-colored blur. Now, he can see Victor in detail, how his shoulders are straining toward Yuuri even as his hands grip the legs of the chair.
Yuuri tilts his head to the side and smirks. He absently tweaks a nipple, then lets his hand slide down his chest and belly to lift his cock and point it toward Victor.
“Do you want it?” he asks, eyes hooded.
“Yes! Can I-”
“No,” Yuuri interrupts. “You get to stay there and keep your eyes on me.”
“Okay,” Victor says, nodding fiercely. “Yes. Okay.”
Yuuri lets his fingers curl around the shaft and gives it a single, slow pump, his index finger dipping into the foreskin at the top before pulling it back on the way down to reveal the pink head of his cock.
“Can you do that, Victor? Just look and don’t touch?”
“Yes, Yuuri! Anything.”
Yuuri squeezes the base of his cock. Victor’s eyes are trained on it, his mouth open, tongue forward, starved. Yuuri releases it to fall back onto his belly with a dull smack.
“Promise?”
“Yes!”
“Promise what?” Yuuri asks, reaching for the bottle of lube. He toys with the cap, flicking it open and clicking it shut.
Victor’s mouth moves soundlessly. Yuuri can see his brain grinding into motion, desperately trying to switch gears. “Hands! And watch!”
Yuuri smiles at how thick Victor’s accent has become. He climbs off the bed to stand in front of Victor. His shoulders are hot under Yuuri’s roving hands. So are his back, nape, and scalp. Yuuri turns Victor’s face up to his, cupping his angular jaw and enjoying the way Victor melts into the touch, his glazed eyes going hooded, then shutting.
Yuuri flicks him on the forehead.
Victor’s eyes blink open in surprise and his hand comes up to touch his abused forehead.
“Eyes open,” Yuuri chides. “You can’t watch me with your eyes closed.”
Yuuri steps back, and Victor’s expression transforms into a rictus of grief.
“Kiss?” Victor asks.
Yuuri taps him on the nose, aquatic blue eyes crossing to catch it.
“Maybe once you’ve earned it,” Yuuri says, chin tilting up. He climbs back onto the bed to relax against the pillows. Victor’s mournful pout follows him. Yuuri smirks.
He lazes against the pillows for a while, his hands resting benignly on his thighs. Victor fidgets. His hips squirm in the chair, flushed cock bobbing with the movement. Yuuri watches him patiently until he settles down before beginning his next assault.
He slides his hands down his thighs toward his knees, cupping the bony kneecaps before sliding back up and in. The insides of his thighs have always been soft with fat that only ever disappears when he gets down to his lowest, most practice honed body weight. Now that he’s retired, his thighs are plush and full, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pulls his legs apart and up, curling his spine to reveal the shadowed crevice between.
Victor is getting that dazed look on his face again. Yuuri smiles. Good. He hoists a leg higher with one hand, bringing it up to his chest. Yuuri has always been grateful for a lifetime of ballet lessons, but never more so than in bed with Victor. It gives him enough flexibility to hold up his leg to show off his hole while simultaneously uncapping the lube to slowly drip it down his spread crack, the cold liquid slipping over his sensitive pucker making him hiss. He clicks down the cap of the bottle and drops it at his side.
Victor’s cock is twitching, red and thick and untouched, per Yuuri’s orders. Yuuri watches Victor’s gaze rove over his body, returning again and again to the slick, shiny pucker of muscle between Yuuri’s cheeks. The gaze never goes somewhere Yuuri is not.
His undivided attention deserves a reward, Yuuri decides.
“Victor,” he says. Victor’s eyes make their way eventually to Yuuri’s face. Once their eyes lock, Yuuri slowly brings his hand to his mouth and kisses his ring. Victor relinquishes his grip on the chair leg. His hand flexes, stretching out the soreness from his tight grip, and he brings his ring to his lips for a reverent kiss. “Now, watch.”
He slides his hand down his chest, past his cock, his thumb brushing over his balls, down to where he’s slippery and sensitive, to the pucker of muscle that twitches under his fingers, echoes of sensation settling deep in his pelvis. He rubs. Doesn’t press, just rubs. Up and down, in tight circles, in spirals, firmly with the pad of his fingers, lightly with the nails, spreading lube around. Pleasure coils like a snake in anticipation of the strike. Victor gapes, mouth hanging open. He whines.
“Victor, should I put it in?” Yuuri asks with feigned innocence.
“YES,” Victor shouts.
Yuuri curls his raised leg in tighter, hiding a smile behind his knee. Watching Victor over the length of his calf, he dips a single fingertip in before pulling it back out.
“Yuuri, please! ” Victor begs, straining forward in his chair.
“Are you sure, Victor?” Yuuri asks, raising his eyebrows.
Victor lurches forward, rattling the chair, and spits something in Russian. A swear word, and one that Yuuri remembers Yurio using on more than one occasion.
“Okay, Victor, if you’re sure.”
Yuri dips two fingers in, this time, toes curling at the slight burn of the stretch. He sighs as he pumps them in and out, to the first joint, to the second, to the knuckle, his other fingers crushed against the inside of his cheek.
“Feels good,” Yuuri moans. He shifts his grip on his thigh to open his legs up further. “Victor…”
He looks down between his legs at Victor, who is leaning forward, fingertips digging white divots into his thighs.
“Hands,” Yuuri snaps.
Victor flinches, but obediently lowers his hands to his sides, gripping the edges of the seat cushion.
“Better. Are you watching?”
“Да,” Victor mumbles. His eyes are wide, staring at where Yuuri has sunk two fingers into himself like there is nothing else in the world.
Yuuri slowly glides his fingers in and out, scissoring them as he withdraws and toying with his slippery rim. He teases at a third finger, then withdraws it at the last second, pressing the two fingers deep. He presses harder, fingers curling inside, searching for--
“Ah!” Yuuri’s body shudders as his fingertips dig into his prostate, his cock jumping and spitting out a drop of precome. He grinds his fingers down on it and his whole body convulses with pleasure, head knocking back against the pillow cushioned headboard. He releases his grip on his thigh to grip his cock and strokes it in time with the grinding pressure of his fingertips on his prostate. If he wanted, he could come just like this, two fingers in his ass and his hand around his cock.
But.
He squints his eyes open and peers past the length of his body to Victor, who is thoroughly red in the face, now, and a little shiny with sweat. His mouth is gaping open, tongue moving, desperate to be filled with Yuuri’s cock, or to dive between Yuuri’s cheeks to feast on his stretched opening.
Yuuri relaxes his hands, easing up on his prostate and cock.
“Yuuri,” Victor whines. “Yuuri, пожалуйста!”
Yuuri, please!
Victor repeats it in a mantra. Yuuri watches him, the muscles bulging in his shoulders as he fights against his own grip on the chair, his cock twitching in time with his heartbeat.
Yuuri rolls off the side of the bed, hips loose and swaying as he strolls to where Victor is watching him. He circles around to the back of Victor’s chair and drapes himself over Victor’s shoulders, arms wrapping loosely around Victor’s neck.
“Victor,” he murmurs against the shell of Victor’s ear. Victor shudders and strains deeper into his embrace. “You’ve been so good, Victor.”
Victor arches his neck and mashes his cheek against Yuuri’s, more desperate for mere contact than even kisses. Yuuri slides a hand down to tweak a hard nipple. Victor’s entire body jerks, his breath escaping him in a grunt. His hands stay where they are. Yuuri presses his smile into the arched column of Victor’s throat.
“I like it when you watch me, Victor,” Yuuri purrs. “Do you like watching me?”
Victor nods desperately.
“When you watch me, I feel like I can do anything. Having your eyes on me and only me makes me feel like you belong to me. Like you’re mine .” Yuuri’s embrace tightens, and Victor whines, nuzzling into Yuuri’s throat. “Are you mine?”
“Да. Yes. Yes , Yuuri. Yours. Only yours,” Victor moans.
Yuuri gently scrapes a nail across the tip of Victor’s nipple. “All mine, to do with as I like? To play with how I want?”
“Yes, Yuuri,” Victor sobs. “Yes.”
Yuuri slides his hand down Victor’s abdomen, stopping just shy of Victor’s cock. The short hairs of his pubes are coarse under Yuuri’s fingers. Yuuri watches it bob and twitch, clear precome beading at the slit and dripping down. Victor whines and begs. Yuuri listens with half an ear, more interested in petting the coarse silver hair and watching Victor’s cock weep drops of precome.
Before Victor, he had never understood how much one person could need another. The desperation of couples in movies and television shows had always seemed exaggerated to him, like the actors were making drama out of nothing. But he’s learned otherwise, since then. People can need each other as desperately as the movies say.
Yuuri needs Victor. And intoxicatingly, Victor needs Yuuri .
Yuuri is around the chair in a flash. The first press of mouths is sloppy, Victor’s mouth slack and panting against his. The next is better, Victor gathering enough wits about him to kiss Yuuri properly, lips pressing and pursing, tongues slipping out to greet and tease. Yuuri kisses him fiercely, pouring all his emotion into it, all the love and greed and need and possessiveness that he feels in this moment. Victor takes it all, receives it like he’s dying of thirst and determined to swallow the ocean.
Yuuri’s hands slip down Victor’s arms to touch the hands clenched around the edge of the seat. Squeezing them, he gentles the kiss, pulling back so their foreheads are pressed together, their heaving breaths trading air between them. Even now, Victor is looking at him, eyes darting over Yuuri’s face like he has only a handful of moments to memorize it rather than the rest of their lives.
“Yuuri,” Victor breathes, as reverently as a priest to their god. Some days Yuuri still wonders what he’s done to deserve Victor’s agape , but he’s long since stopped trying to evade it. It’s Yuuri’s now, as real as the rings on their fingers, and Yuuri laughs in the face of anyone who would try to take it from him. After all, there is nobody else in the world who can satisfy Victor like Yuuri can. Who can inspire him and drive him to the brink of insanity with their eros .
Yuuri rubs a fingertip over Victor’s kiss-swollen bottom lip and stands upright, looming over Victor.
This time, when he gets on the bed, he stays at the foot, close enough that he could put his foot in Victor’s lap if he straightens his leg.
“How many? Two?” Yuuri asks as he drips more lube onto his sphincter. The hand holding his thigh to his chest is slippery with lube and sweat. Victor nods fiercely. “Three?”
Victor nods even more fiercely.
Yuuri obliges him, slowly sliding three fingers in. He’s tightened up a little since before, and the burn is a little sharper, but Yuuri craves it enough to push through, sinking three fingers in up to the knuckle. He sighs and breathes until the burn subsides before pumping his fingers in and out.
Victor is murmuring in Russian, barely audible over the slick sounds of Yuuri’s fingers moving. Yuuri recognizes them as pet names that Victor likes to call him, interspersed with his own name laden with Russian diminutives.
Yuuri squeezes his pinky finger in alongside the rest and, coyly, sighs, “Vitenka…”
Victor groans, loud and long, his head bowing briefly only to snap back up, too quickly for Yuuri to scold him.
“I’m sorry,” Victor gasps, his accent so thick as to make the English nearly incomprehensible. “I didn’t mean to look away. I’m sorry!”
“I know,” Yuuri says gently. He extends his free leg and presses the heel against Victor’s hip. A bare inch from Victor’s cock. “You’ve been following the rules so well.”
Victor nods eagerly. “Hands. And watching.” His eyes slip from Yuuri’s face down to the red ring of muscle stretched taut around Yuuri’s four fingers. His mouth sags a little, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Yuuri slowly pushes his four fingers in, groaning as he’s stretched further. He pants, withdraws, and then pushes again, searching out his prostate. His cock jerks and spits precome onto his abdomen as he presses in on the gland, fingers sliding deeper a fraction of an inch at a time until he finally reaches his knuckles. It’s the first time he’s gone this deep with four fingers and the stretch is intense, verging on pain but melding into the pleasure of his fingers rubbing his prostate gland from within.
“Vitya--!” he chokes. “Vitya!”
Victor is leaning forward, grinding his hip bone against Yuuri’s heel, pinned like a butterfly by his own volition. He calls Yuuri’s name, babbling in Russian too fast and lust-drunk for Yuuri to decipher, as distracted as he is.
The thing about being a professional skater is that you have to learn to love the pain, at least a little bit. And Yuuri, who spent more time in skates and ballet flats than in regular shoes, grew up with pain as a constant companion. He pushes harder with his fingers, the muscles of his entrance screaming just as loudly as the rest of his body is singing with pleasure. It tangles deep within him, echoing up his spine, burning like a firestorm. He’s going to come. He wants to come. But even more than that--
Yuuri kicks Victor’s hip, hard enough to jolt the chair back an inch. Victor grunts.
“Bed,” Yuuri snarls.
Victor is up on the bed in a flash, the chair toppling onto its side. Yuuri tackles him onto his back. Victor’s hips buck and he keens as his cock grinds against Yuuri’s belly.
Yuuri gets to his knees and catches Victor’s wrists, pinning them up above his head.
“Don’t come,” he says, slinging a leg over Victor’s waist. Victor’s cock is dark red at the tip, the veins standing out in sharp relief. It twitches when Yuuri wraps a hand around it to guide it to his waiting hole.
“Wait, Yuuri! Wait, just wait!”
Yuuri very deliberately unclenches his hand from around Victor’s cock, struggling against the need to have it in him right this very moment . He drops onto his elbows and presses his sweaty forehead to Victor’s equally sweaty shoulder. The muscles under his forehead tense, then relax, as Victor fights to keep his arms above his head.
“ごめんなさい,” Yuuri mumbles. Sorry .
“No apologies,” Victor says, kissing the crown of Yuuri’s head. “I’m too close. You’re too powerful, Yuuri. You drive me mad.”
Yuuri’s toes curl at the compliment, his hips shifting with the temptation to just grind against Victor until they both come. But his ass aches with a cavernous emptiness, begging to be filled.
“Victor, I need you inside me. Please,” Yuuri whines, kissing and nipping up the side of Victor’s neck.
Victor groans. “I will die, Yuuri. Surely your eros will kill me. May I please have a ring?”
“No!” Yuuri snaps, before he even realizes he’s saying it. Truthfully, it’s not a bad idea, but he’d planned to do this without any toys, and his habitual stubbornness rejects compromising on his original plan. He wracks his lust-clouded brain for an alternative.
Yuuri sits up and guides one of Victor’s hands down from where he’d pinned them, wrapping his thumb and index finger around the base and squeezing. “Will that do?”
Victor sighs. “Death by eros. Chris will cry bitter tears of envy at my funeral. Yes, Yuuri, it will have to do.”
Yuuri smiles and drops a kiss on Victor’s answering smile. He lines up Victor’s cock and sinks down to the base with a deep, satisfied sigh. Under his bottom, he feels Victor’s hand clench tight and Victor hisses out another Russian expletive.
“Yuuri, please be gentle,” Victor begs.
Yuuri plants one hand on Victor’s chest and pushes his messy bangs back with the other hand, the sweat slicking his hair back. He licks his lips. “I won’t let you off easy, Vitya. That’s my way of showing my love.”
Victor sobs as Yuuri begins to move, angling his hips so Victor’s cock glances over his prostate on each stroke. Beneath him, Victor moans and squirms, but his other hand never moves from where Yuuri put it, and his eyes never shut for longer than it takes to blink. Sweat beads on their skin and drips down their bodies. The room fills with the sounds of their moans and the slap of slick flesh on flesh.
Yuuri rubs and plucks at his nipples with one hand while the other strips his cock, smearing lube, sweat, and precome down the length of it. “Don’t come, Vitenka. Don’t come yet.”
Victor keens but grips his cock tighter as Yuuri speeds up, leaning back on one hand to get that perfect angle and pressure against where he wants it the most.
“Victor!” Yuuri gasps, his accent lapsing into Japanese, “いく, いく!”
Yuuri’s hand is a blur on his cock until it isn’t, white streaks of come jetting out to stripe his chest and belly. Yuuri clenches around Victor’s cock as he comes, timed perfectly with the spurts of come and the clench of his abdomen. Victor groans at the sight, one hand strangling the base of his cock while the other maintains a death grip on the pillows above his head. His cock throbs with how close he is; if he just let go, he would surely come in an instant, milked to completion by Yuuri’s slick, grasping body.
He maintains his grip on his cock.
Yuuri squeezes the last drops of come from his cock onto Victor’s belly, smearing them idly up the plane of his stomach. He slumps down onto his elbows to kiss Victor.
“You feel so good inside me,” he mumbles. Victor makes a noise of confusion, so Yuuri repeats it in English.
Victor groans into the kiss. “Yuuri, may I come? Please?”
“Mm, not yet,” Yuuri murmurs, nipping Victor’s jaw before going back for another deep, lazy kiss.
Minutes pass. Minutes of kissing, of chaste caresses, of murmured affection. The tension of Victor’s impending orgasm relaxes muscle by muscle, until Victor is an adoring puddle of aroused but happy Russian under Yuuri.
Victor’s cock, still embedded in Yuuri, doesn’t soften in the slightest. Neither does Yuuri’s. Eventually, Yuuri pushes back to upright, stretching expansively and enjoying the sensual relaxation of his body. He palms his cock and gives it an idle stroke.
“One more, Vitenka. Then you can come. Can you give me one more?” Yuuri asks, trailing his other hand down Victor’s chest.
Victor groans, eyes fluttering but never quite falling shut. His grip on his cock tightens, hand flexing under Yuuri’s weight. “Yes, Yuuri. Anything.”
Yuuri leans down to kiss him on the broad forehead and pulls off with an annoyed grunt. He touches the small of his back, fingers dipping into the top of the crease.
“I feel so empty now,” he complains, spreading fresh lube onto Victor’s cock. He straddles Victor again, lining up so that the head of Victor’s cock is just pressed against his relaxed entrance. “But my favorite thing is feeling you filling me for the first time.”
Yuuri slowly sinks down, savoring the slow but welcome stretch of Victor’s cock. He circles his hips as he bottoms out, and Victor’s cock brushes against his prostate, the burst of renewed pleasure making him gasp.
“Yuuri,” Victor moans. “So warm.”
Less desperate this time, and nowhere near as close as before, Yuuri takes his time. He alternates between bouncing on Victor’s cock and grinding. The pleasure builds slowly.
Victor is red from his hairline to his belly, skin flushed and sweaty, face contorted as he struggles to keep his eyes open and on Yuuri. He murmurs Yuuri’s name in a quiet litany without seeming to realize he’s speaking at all. As Yuuri’s pleasure continues to mount, his voice stutters into gasps, body shuddering with each slow roll of Yuuri’s hips.
Yuuri fists his cock and starts up a slow, rhythmic pull. He doesn’t have much longer before it’s too much for even Victor to endure. Fortunately, there’s still some fun he can have.
He slows to a stop, Victor’s eyes blinking in flurry of long, grey lashes, and begins to squeeze his internal muscles, clenching and bearing down in slow pulses.
Victor cries out, legs kicking as Yuuri wrings his cock, eyes slipping shut only to snap open again. The hand around his cock clenches desperately, while the other hand snatches at the pillows above his head.
Squeezing his internal muscles tightly, Yuuri begins move again, bouncing and rocking with more speed and force than before. He strips his cock in earnest now, focusing on all the most sensitive spots as he throws himself into a headlong charge toward orgasm.
“Watch me,” Yuuri gasps, feeling his body begin to tense up. The pleasure lifts him like a bird on a thermal, ramping up higher and hotter, until the ache in his overworked thighs is drowned out. Victor keens and thrashes. His abdomen ripples with convulsions as he forcefully staves off orgasm with a brutal grip around his cock. And yet his eyes never leave Yuuri, enraptured by his wanton sexuality and vicious demand for pleasure.
Yuuri barely notices, caught up in a rush of pleasure. It plateaus, the calm before the storm, but Yuuri charges through, welcoming the onslaught. He slams down onto Victor’s cock one last time, hand tight around his cock, and comes with a choked shout, head thrown back as his cock spits ropes of pearly white come onto Victor’s abdomen. His body clenches and pulses with mindless pleasure and he rides it to the very end, milking every last drop of come from his cock.
Victor gasps beneath him like he’s just sprinted a mile. Fragments of Yuuri’s name gurgle from his open, panting mouth. Yuuri wills just a little more energy into his hips, rocking slowly, internal muscles still shuddering with aftershocks.
He touches Victor’s arm gently, and with the gentle benevolence of a god bestowing a divine gift, says, “Come.”