Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9684053.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Katsuki_Yuuri/Victor_Nikiforov/Yuri_Plisetsky, Katsuki_Yuuri/Victor
      Nikiforov
  Character:
      Katsuki_Yuuri, Victor_Nikiforov, Yuri_Plisetsky
  Additional Tags:
      Porn_with_Feelings, First_Time, Kink_Discovery, Explicit_Consent, Dom/
      sub, Discipline, Spanking, Impact_Play, Masochism, Begging, BDSM_as_an
      honesty_exercise, Orgasm_Delay
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-13 Words: 16814
****** Use your words to surrender ******
by Farasha
Summary
     The confrontation between Victor and Yuri at the end of episode 10
     goes a little differently, as Victor decides it's time for Yuri to
     own up to the things he says to people.
     Yuri thought the worst part about having a stupid crush on both his
     mentor and his idol-slash-rival was watching them get lost together
     in their own little world. Then he thought the worst part was
     standing at the edge of that, too afraid to ask if he was welcome.
     Yuuri and Victor show him the best part can happen when you learn to
     ask for what you want.
Victor's fingers were tight around Yuri's jaw, but even though his hand is
shook, the grip wasn't enough to bruise. Even when he was angry, he couldn't
take Yuri seriously.
"The ring you got from that pig is garbage." The words fell out of his mouth
before Yuri could think better of them. "I'll win just to prove how incompetent
his owner is."
There was less than a foot of space between them, close enough for Yuri to feel
Victor's breath on his lips. Close enough that Yuri saw when the words hit from
the way the last thread of amused tolerance vanished from Victor's eyes. They
went cold like mirrored glass.
The grip on his face shifted to the back of his neck so fast Yuri couldn't even
manage half a step away before he was yanked back, Victor's fingers in his hair
now, pulling sharp against his scalp. Yuri's throat felt like it would scrape
together when he swallowed.
He knew this feeling, the curl of frustrated want and arousal, distracting and
always happening at the most annoying times. It wasn't that he didn't want
Victor. He'd wanted Victor as soon as he knew what want was, and wanted to beat
him, too. It was only that he was fucking mad right now, and all his body could
do was feel the pain in his scalp and send it straight to his dick.
He didn't pull away, still in Victor's grasp, staring him down. More than half
his bravado had waned, replaced with an off-balance feeling that sat wrong in
the pit of his stomach.
Victor's eyes didn't leave Yuri's, but it felt like he saw everything from that
piercing, unblinking look, from the way Yuri's hands were also shaking to the
inconvenient and completely fucking unwanted boner he was developing.
"You're coming with me," Victor said finally. He started walking without
anything further, but he didn't let go of Yuri, pulling him in the wake of his
long strides. Victor was walking with a purpose, Yuri's hair caught in his fist
like it was a completely normal thing to do.
"Let me go!" Yuri grabbed for Victor's wrist, digging in his heels. The pull in
his hair got worse, stinging, and he felt one or two hairs give. "Victor! Let
me go, shithead!"
"You aren't very good at judging where the line is, are you?" Victor asked, his
tone as cold and blank as his eyes. Yuri felt like he'd been dropped in the
winter ocean, chills prickling over his skin. He'd never seen Victor angry, but
here it was.
"You can't just drag me off like this!"
"And you can't run your mouth without any consequences. It's time you learned
to own up to your behavior."
Yuri swore at him, colorfully, in Russian and English and in a couple other
languages he couldn't remember how he learned. Victor didn't even break stride,
though he did move his hand from Yuri's hair to the back of his hoodie.
He pulled Yuri across the street, down the sidewalk, and into the hotel lobby,
and the worst part of it was, Yuri had an out right there and didn't take it.
Legend or no, if he'd yelled that Victor was assaulting him, hotel security
would be all over them.
He didn't, and it pissed him off because he couldn't even say why he didn't. He
still squirmed in Victor's grip and spat profanity at him and glared whenever
he caught Victor looking at him, but he didn't make any real effort to get
away.
Victor shoved him into the elevator, finally releasing his grip. Yuri stumbled,
catching himself on the far wall. When he turned around the doors were closing,
and Victor had already punched the floor, holding the door close button to get
them moving faster.
"What, are you going to tattle to Yakov on me?" Yuri sneered, tugging his
hoodie down. Victor pulling on it had bunched it up.
"No." Victor was still calm and frigid, his eyes flat in the reflection from
the elevator doors. They opened, and Victor looked back at Yuri with raised
eyebrows. It was a look Yuri had seen on the face of too many teachers and
coaches, a look of expectation, one that said, Well, are you going to behave
yourself?
"Tch," Yuri said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Victor's mouth thinned. He grabbed Yuri again, by the back of the neck this
time, like he was scruffing Makkachin. He pulled, and Yuri stumbled out of the
elevator after him, his chest still a tangle of fury and resentment and that
bullshit turned-on feeling that got worse every time Victor shoved him around.
When Victor pulled a key card out of his pocket and swiped them into the hotel
room, Yuri's fury stuttered to an abrupt halt, doused with another cold chill
snaking down his spine. The room was dark, and the rustle of blankets and a
soft voice asking, "Victor?" made the bottom fall out of Yuri's stomach.
"I'm turning on the lights," Victor said, and did.
Yuuri sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, blinking sleep out of his
eyes. Yuri's throat didn't want to work. Dread was trickling into him from the
hollow place in his gut, and when Victor spoke again, Yuri felt his throat go
dry and frozen.
"Tell Yuuri what you said." Victor's hand tightened around the nape of his
neck, hard enough that Yuri felt his blood beating against Victor's fingertips.
Yuuri hadn't even put his glasses on. His hair was tousled and sticking out
around his ears. He squinted at them, leaning forward. "Yurio?"
Yuri didn't give himself permission to drop his gaze away from Yuuri's face
like he couldn't stand to meet those sleepy brown eyes. He did it anyway, teeth
clenching together, shoulders hunching up around his ears.
Victor used the grip on his neck to shake him, making Yuri stumble forward a
step. "You could say it to me so boldly. What's the matter?"
"Stop it." Yuri wrenched out of Victor's grip on the back of his neck, feeling
like he was going to shake apart. What he'd said was just talking shit, it
didn't mean anything. Victor was making a big stupid deal out of it.
He hit a solid wall of body heat as Victor stepped up behind him, one hand
locking around his arm like a vise and the other cupping his chin, forcing his
head up to look at Yuuri, who had finally put his glasses on. Yuuri ran his
fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face for a moment like when he
slicked it back to skate. He was looking over Yuri's shoulder at Victor, like
Yuri wasn't there at all.
"I said Victor Nikiforov is dead, and he should just disappear," he spat. Yuuri
looked at him then, his eyebrows raised over his glasses. Yuri's fingernails
dug into his palms, arms stiff by his sides.
"You know that's not what I meant." Victor's fingers tightened on his arm. Yuri
hoped his costume would cover it if the grip bruised.
"Let go of me," Yuri said. Victor's hand on his chin forced him to look at
Yuuri, whose face had gone still and blank in a different way than Victor's had
by the water. Yuuri didn't look angry. There was something worse there. Yuri
wished he could bring himself to close his eyes, but it would be too cowardly.
Yuri was still cowardly enough to say it in Russian first. It wasn't
technically disobeying what he'd been told, but the way Victor shook him and
snapped "Yuri" made it clear he didn't think much of the technicality.
"The ring- the ring you got from that pig is garbage. I'll win just to prove
how incompetent his owner is." Yuri started the sentence out defiantly,
practically spitting the words, but by the time he got to the end his voice was
nearly a whisper.
Yuuri's eyes sharpened behind his glasses. The horribly hollow feeling
returned, his gut a mix of curdling shame and infuriating lust. Victor's body
was too hot against his back, and Yuuri's gaze so controlled behind the frames
of his glasses.
"I see," Yuuri said. His hands tightened in the blankets, and Yuri's eyes
darted down at a wink of light off his finger. He'd slept with the ring on. Of
course he had. Yuri's tongue felt stuck in his mouth again. He stared at
Yuuri's ring and couldn't explain to himself why he'd said it, or why it felt
so terrible now, or why Victor hauling him down the street by his hair had left
him hard.
A long sigh came from the bed. Yuri looked up through his lashes, and could
finally place the emotion on Yuuri's face - disappointment, which was worse
than Victor's anger. Yuuri adjusted his glasses and threw the covers back.
There was a strip of bare skin between his shirt and his sweatpants, sitting
low on his hips. His stomach was leaner and harder than it had been when Yuri
was in Hasetsu. Yuri's heart pounded in his chest and he found himself stepping
back, running into Victor's solid form.
Yuuri crossed the hotel room to them on bare feet. He laid a hand on Victor's
wrist, once he was close enough, and the grip Victor had on him fell away
instantly. Yuri felt like he was strung tight as a wire, leaning away from
Yuuri even if it meant he had to shrink back against Victor to do it. Victor
didn't move, staying right where Yuuri had put him.
Yuuri's fingers replaced Victor's, gentle instead of firm, tipping Yuri's face
up. His hair was still messy from the bed, but his eyes were dark and
relentless.
"I wonder why you'd say something so mean when we were just becoming closer,"
he said. His voice was mild, almost placid, like nothing Yuri had said could
affect him at all, but there was a tightness around his mouth that made Yuri's
throat feel like it was squeezing shut.
"You're making a big deal out of nothing because you know I'm going to beat
you," he forced out, hating how choked he sounded. His eyes kept falling away
from Yuuri's even when he tried to glare.
"You're still underestimating me," Yuuri murmured, tipping his head to the
side. The corner of his mouth pulled up, echoing his smirk from Eros, and Yuri
suddenly couldn't breathe. His face felt feverish, and he was certain he was
red, and there was no hiding it now. Yuuri's eyes widened behind his glasses,
and his thumb slid along Yuri's cheek like he was trying to smudge the blush
and prove it wasn't real. "Yurio, were you jealous?"
"Jealous?" Yuri spat, furious. "Jealous of what, being gross on national
television? Treating the gold medal like a fucking engagement present? You've
got to be kidding me. Like I'd be jealous of a joke like Victor."
Yuuri looked over Yuri's shoulder at Victor again, silent for a long moment
while they exchanged some kind of wordless discussion. Yuri felt like something
vicious and hungry was clawing at the inside of his chest.
"We have the short program today," Yuuri finally said, neutral and controlled,
his accent softening the words. "Otherwise you would need to apologize now."
"I'm not going to apologize to you," Yuri snapped. The fingers on the line of
his jaw had him in such a light hold he could have broken away with no effort
at all, but it felt like Yuuri had him as firmly as Victor had. Yuuri hadn't
even reacted to his tantrum.
"You will," Yuuri said, so assured that Yuri felt his breath stutter, was
immediately aware again of how fucking turned on he was. Yuuri's thumb moved on
the line of his jaw, a tiny movement that still made the hair on the back of
Yuri's neck prickle with goosebumps. "If you're still sorry after the final,
we'll take care of that."
"What does that mean?" Yuri tried to make it sound challenging, but it came out
wavering. His skin felt hot, his pulse felt like it was beating so hard Victor
could feel it even through all the layers of clothes. His breath was still
unsteady, even more now when he was pinned between the both of them, held still
by Victor's solid bulk and Yuuri's uncompromising gaze. He gritted his teeth,
knowing Yuuri could feel it. There was no way he was letting Katsudon
intimidate him.
Yuuri pulled his hand away from Yuri's face, his fingers trailing like fire
over his skin, and stepped back. "Let him go, Vitya. I wouldn't even think
about sabotaging the competition right before the final."
Victor's weight was gone before the words really sank in, and Yuri swayed,
feeling abruptly cold and vulnerable, the weight of both their gazes on him.
Victor's jaw was still tight, but he'd let Yuri go without a single word of
protest. Yuri realized he hadn't even spoken since Yuuri had gotten out of bed
and practically ordered him to turn Yuri over without saying a word. Yuuri's
expression was entirely unreadable, even as his eyes tracked from Yuri's face -
red, he was blushing and hated it - down his body to where Yuri's hands were
clenched around the hem of his hoodie, trying to pull it down without being
obvious about what he was trying to cover.
"I'm still going to win," he said, yanking his hood back up over his head and
turning toward the door. He had it open and was about to step out when Yuuri's
voice made him stop in his tracks again, his heart still beating in his ears.
"We'll see you after the final, Yura."
Yuri flung himself out the door and down the hall, fumbling for his own key
card. They had put all the skaters on the same floor, and Yuri's room was only
a few doors down. The key card shook in his hand, and he barely got the door
shoved open far enough to slip through it before he slammed it behind him,
falling back against it.
Yuuri's face. He could still see those cool brown eyes behind his glasses, the
way he'd gone from soft and half-asleep to aware and controlled in an instant.
He yanked at the button to his jeans, pushing them down around his thighs, and
had his hand around his cock with the feeling of Yuuri's fingers still tingling
on his jaw.
He hadn't meant to follow Yuuri's career. It had just happened - mostly because
jumps and technicality were never something Yuri had a problem with, but
artistry was different. Artistry was what Yuuri Katsuki had, and Yuri Plisetsky
didn't. Even though Yuuri was inconsistent and prone to nerves, he was always
beautiful on the ice.
He was beautiful off the ice, too. Somewhere between doing hours of sit-ups
beside him until they were both sweaty and exhausted and spending so much time
naked in the onsen, Yuri's frustrated admiration of Yuuri's talent had turned
into noticing how pretty Yuuri was. The way he moved on the ice was like the
music was driving his body, and he had a resilience to him that Yuri hadn't
ever expected to see after the incident in the bathroom at Sochi.
Eros had been the last straw. Yuuri shot that smirk out to the audience, and
Yuri still remembered how he'd gone bright red, his eyes drawn to Yuri's mouth
for the rest of the program.
It wasn't the first time Yuri had a stupid crush on someone he shouldn't have a
stupid crush on, but it was the first time jerking off didn't get it out of his
system. The first crush he could remember had been on Victor, silver and
perfect like starlight. Yuri had jerked off over Victor Nikiforov more times
than he could count, and his attraction was like low-level background noise by
now.
Every time he saw Yuuri skate, or saw the hard glint of determination in his
eye on camera, or watched him go for a jump he knew he couldn't land, it was
just as bad or worse than the first time.
Yuri's hand moved quick and tight over his cock, his hips rolling into it, eyes
closed, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth. Yakov and Lilia would
be here soon to take him to breakfast, then warm-ups, then the Final- but he
couldn't think of anything else but Yuuri's touch and the choking intensity
that had filled their hotel room. He could still see Yuuri's eyes boring into
him, and it only made him think of what Yuuri would do if he saw him now. Would
he tell Yuri how to touch himself, or would he watch, an impassive look on his
face like he was waiting for Yuri to break?
What would he and Victor do if he came back to them after the Final?
Fuck, Victor. Victor's hands had been so strong when they held him in place. He
was so much bigger than Yuri. That much had been clear when he lifted Yuri up
on his toes by the grip on his face. How easily would Victor be able to put him
wherever Yuuri wanted? Because, yeah, after the way Victor acted, it was pretty
clear which one of them was in charge there.
His knees shook, and behind his closed eyelids was painted an image of Victor
pressing Yuri down into the mattress with a hand around the back of his neck
while Yuuri fucked him, slow and deep and unstoppable. Yuri moaned, cupping his
palm around the head of his dick, and came sticky and wet into his hand.
Panting, he kept his eyes closed as he went soft, the shaking in his limbs
lessening, his breathing returning to normal. Fucking Victor. Fucking Katsudon.
The fact that he was even thinking about it was ridiculous. He was going to win
the gold anyway, and then he was going to rub it in both of their faces.
He ignored the insidious whisper in the back of his mind that they'd only
punish him more for gloating, however they were planning on doing it.
Agape went better than he expected. Much better - from the moment he skated out
onto the ice, it was like everything else fell away. He didn't think about that
morning. It was only his body and the ice, in a way it never had been before.
Putting up the world record made him feel like he was floating, giddy and high
on his own success.
Maybe that was what made him push his luck, propping his feet up on the seat
next to Yuuri's head. He realized his mistake when Yuuri turned to look at him.
His hair was slicked back, his face still flushed from his skate, and on top of
it all, he was wearing his glasses. Yuri stared at him, only half aware his
lips were parted, much longer than he should have without snapping off some
kind of taunt. Yuuri shook his head and turned back around, dismissing Yuri
like a misbehaving child.
Yuri slumped back in the chair, pulling his hood down over his face to hide how
red he'd gone. He forced himself to focus on the rink. If he let himself get
distracted by Yuuri now, he would embarrass himself trying to get back to his
hotel room. Otabek was taking the ice. He called out to him for luck, and tried
to put stupid Katsudon's stupid attractive face completely out of his mind.
He should have known it couldn't last. He slept restlessly that night, couldn't
remember his dreams, but had a pretty good idea of what they were given the
state of his sheets when he woke up. He spent the morning halfway in a daze,
barely able to believe his own spot on the leaderboard and trying not to spend
the whole time looking for Yuuri.
It was hard not to look for Yuuri. He'd gotten used to training, then
practicing, then competing beside him. Yuuri being missing from morning
practice before the free skate got under his skin, even when he didn't mean it
to. He skated back to the boards, distracted, to find Yakov frowning at him.
"Wherever your mind is, put it on the competition. You can't count on the rest
to fall apart like Leroy."
"I'm fine," Yuri said, irritated. He did not want to talk about this with
Yakov.
"You were sloppy. If this were training I would make you repeat that spin until
you dropped." Yakov scowled, his lined face stern as it had always been.
"I'll get it right," Yuri insisted, fitting on his skate guards and shrugging
into his hoodie. Katsudon would get here when he was ready, even if that meant
right before his free skate. Not that Yuri cared when he showed up.
He did, though, and it was impossible to deny just how much he did care when
Victor and Yuuri finally walked into the staging area, a foot between them,
Victor stopping for a brief interview while Yuuri kept walking without missing
a beat. Yuri was supposed to be stretching, keeping his muscles warm for his
turn on the ice, but he paused with his foot propped against the wall at eye
level to watch Victor.
The fake smile was back - the one Yuri hadn't realized was fake until he saw
Victor smile for real in Hasetsu. His heart tripped in his chest. Did they have
a fight? If Victor had done something and Yuuri was off his game, it would ruin
the whole thing. Or maybe Yuuri was still caught in his head about touching
down yesterday - the rest of his program had been flawless, but his score was
still lower than expected. There had been something lacking in his artistry,
usually his strongest point.
Yuri came out of his stretch and walked to the boards, far enough away from the
kiss & cry that Yuuri wouldn't notice him watching.
Yuuri looked different as he stepped onto the ice. There was determination
written all over his face, like he knew he had something to prove and was going
to do it no matter what. Victor took his hand, their lips moving as they spoke
to each other. Yuri wasn't close enough to hear them. Yuuri threw his arms
around Victor and buried his face in Victor's shoulder, shaking. Yuri gnawed on
the side of his tongue. What was going on with those two?
Whatever it was, Yuuri didn't look upset as he skated out and took his
position. Instead, he looked serene, calm and poised like he had been in the
hotel, but without the undercurrent that had made the air hot and tense.
By the time Yuuri skated into his first jump, beautiful and flawless, Yuri
couldn't take his eyes away. And isn't that what Yuuri always wants - for
people to not be able to look away? This was the Yuuri Katsuki he'd wanted to
see from the first time he'd watched Yuuri skate. This was Katsuki rising to
meet the demands of one of Victor's hellishly difficult routines, and believing
he could do it. Yuuri sailed into his combination like there was no pressure on
him at all, his body one with the music, and Yuri was mesmerized. This was the
Yuuri Katsuki he wanted to compete against - someone who could be as
technically proficient as Victor and give Yuri a run for his money on artistry.
Everything Yuuri had been holding back during Eros came pouring out of him onto
the ice. It was a love letter - and, Yuri realized with a jolt, maybe a
farewell. There was something bittersweet in Yuuri's face, like he thought this
was the last time he would skate this program.
Yuri wondered if Victor was seeing that, too.
He stayed long enough to watch the last pose, Yuuri reaching out to Victor with
yearning written all over his face, and turned away from the boards to stalk
back into the prep area. The scores came over the PA, the cool announcement
that Yuuri Katsuki's score was the new world record, and Yuri stuffed his ear
buds back in his ears.
Yakov and Lilia were watching him, practically hovering. Yuri's back itched
with their gazes. Unease crawled all over his skin, and he had to shake it
before his skate. He stretched to keep limber, music blasting through the ear
buds, blocking out the rink and the sounds of the crowd.
He was going for the difficult version of his program again. The jumps in the
second half would be what he needed to kick Yuuri out of first place - after
all, he wasn't just going to hand Katsudon the medal. This was his debut, and
he would make everyone look at him.
Yakov tapped him on the crown of the head while he was folded down into a low
lunge, hands stretched out in front of his bent front leg. He couldn't hear
what his coach said, but he didn't need to. Time to go.
They were halfway down the hallway when Yakov stopped. He had his Victor scowl
on when he turned. Yuri pulled one of his headphones free and turned as well -
there he was, the idiot. Running up to them like the only thing that mattered
was what he was doing.
"Sorry, but can I talk to you about something?" Victor sounded strange when he
asked, not like his usual self. It took a moment to realize Victor was speaking
Russian. Yuri had gotten so used to hearing him in English.
"Yuri is about to go on. Can't it wait?"
Victor's face was strangely motionless, fixed in the same cheerful expression
he'd had with the press - the one Yuri hadn't seen in a year.
"I've decided I'll be competing at Nationals. I wanted to ask if you would be
my coach again."
Yuri felt like ice chased through his veins, his chest going cold and tight.
Yakov was yelling, his usual bluster, and Victor's face still hadn't changed.
Yuri's hand shot out, locking around his arm, squeezing too tight and unable to
help it.
"Does that mean the Katsudon is retiring?"
He didn't mean for his voice to break on it, didn't mean to sound like he was
upset about it. He wasn't upset, he was fucking mad, because Yuuri had finally
skated the flawless program he'd always wanted to see, and because Victor was
looking at him like Yuri was the only person who could understand how terrible
this was.
Victor folded down over him like he couldn't bear to stand anymore, his head
going to the crook of Yuri's shoulder. He smelled like hotel shampoo. His arms
were warm and tight - too tight, like Yuri's fingers clamped around his bicep.
Yuri couldn't breathe, and he couldn't move, wrapped up in the embrace. Victor
was shaking like he'd fall apart if Yuri let him go.
Yuri might have imagined it, because it was breathed out against his neck and
he was concentrating on clenching his teeth to keep from shivering, but he
thought Victor said, "You have to win."
Cheers rang out from the crowd above them. Yakov pulled at his sleeve. "Vitya,
let him go. He has to skate."
Yuri flushed, wondering if he could blame it on anger or embarrassment or
whatever the hell was going on in his head right now - none of which he could
take the time to handle. It was too close to what Yuuri had said in the hotel
room yesterday morning.
Okay. So I'll win and I'll have something else to apologize to him for, he
thought, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from letting out a
burst of incredulous laughter.
Victor released him, stepping back, but it was all right there in his face to
see - Yuuri had hurt him, wounded him, and because he was Victor he'd never say
a word about it. Yuri didn't feel cold anymore - a hot surge of protectiveness
washed over him, seeing the desperate plea in Victor's face. Maybe they should
make the stupid Katsudon apologize instead, for making them both feel
ridiculous.
"I'll do it," he said, and went with Yakov's pull on his arm, Victor trailing
along behind them like a lost puppy.
"Skate for yourself, Yurachka. Don't let him lay his mistakes on you," Yakov
rumbled, his grip on Yuri's arm moving to a pat on his shoulder.
Yuri bristled at it, and he wasn't sure why until he pulled his skate guards
off and stepped out onto the ice to see Victor's eyes following him, still
pleading. Yuuri wasn't a mistake. He was fucking infuriating and couldn't seem
to understand that people wanted him, just him, just as he was - but Yuri
couldn't watch Victor go back to fake smiles and living for the audience. Not
when it was so clear it would shatter him.
The opening bars of his music stripped everything away. His body moved into his
routine before his mind caught up with it.
He fell on his first jump in the second half.
Yuri pushed himself up from the ice, rolling to his feet, and skated on like
nothing had happened - exactly what he was supposed to do, but his breath
whistled between his clenched teeth and he threw himself into his next jump. He
felt driven by fury, curling up through his body from the pain in his hip from
the fall and the ache in his feet every time he landed.
Fucking Katsudon. Fucking Victor. They'd both gotten in his head, so much that
he imagined Yuuri watching him. It made his movements sharp, beautiful like the
cold blades of his skates. How dare Yuuri think he could retire like this? Just
win and then give up? Hell with that. Yuri was going to beat him. He had to
beat him.
Yuuri had to stay.
Yuri ended his skate with his arms outstretched and his chest heaving. He'd
fallen. Yuuri had skated a technically perfect program with even more than his
usual artistry, and Yuri came out here and fell trying to beat him.
The realization sank in - he'd lost, come away with silver instead of gold.
He'd failed what Victor had asked him to do, and now the stupid Katsudon was
going to leave both of them.
Yuri covered his face, furious at the thought of his tears being caught on
camera. He had to leave the ice, but his legs wouldn't hold him anymore, and he
sank down to his knees, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Yuuri was
retiring, Victor was returning. It was the opposite of everything he'd wanted.
He finally dragged himself to his feet and skated to the kiss and cry, vision
blurry. He didn't want to even see the scores, but Yakov and Lilia would skin
him if he didn't.
Yuuri was waiting for him at the gap in the boards with Victor's stupid
Makkachin tissue box. He had the nerve to look like he cared, pulling a tissue
and handing it to him.
Yuri knocked his hand away. "You don't get to leave and then act all
supportive," he spat, feeling like he was choking on it.
Yuuri blinked at him, his eyes round and surprised behind his glasses. He
looked so different than his cool control in the hotel room.
"Leave?"
"I don't even care. Take your stupid gold medal and get married." Yuri stormed
to the bench between Yakov and Lilia, wiping his eyes furiously. He'd cried
again, talking to Yuuri. Pathetic.
"You were brilliant," Yakov said, a smile cracking his lined face.
"You've made us proud," Lilia added.
Yuri stared into the cameras like he had blinders on, ignoring them both, his
throat still tight.
The scores for Yuri Plisetsky. In the free program, the score is 200.97. The
total score is 319.53. The results of the Grand Prix Final are: Yuri Plisetsky,
gold medalist. Yuuri Katsuki, silver medalist. Jean Jacques Leroy, bronze
medalist.
Yuri stared. Next to him, Yakov yelled, almost as exuberantly as he had when
Yuri broke the record. Lilia, in a rare show of emotion other than sadism,
dabbed her eyes on a handkerchief and patted him on the shoulder. It all buzzed
in Yuri's ears, because it had to be a dream, a break with reality caused by
too much stress.
It was Victor who snapped him out of it. He was waiting when Yuri got up from
the bench, still staring blindly at the scoreboard and the medal podium they
were wheeling out onto the ice. It was Victor who wrapped him up in an
enveloping, rib-squeezing hug, who whispered, "I knew you could do it, Yura.
Gold in your debut - even I didn't do that."
Yuri surprised himself by hugging back, fingers digging into Victor's coat. "I
did the hard work, old man. Now you convince him to stay."
When he pulled back, he caught Yuuri watching them. He was too far away to hear
what they had said, and he didn't approach, either. The announcer called for
the medalists to take the podium, and Yuuri slipped out of his jacket and
skated onto the ice.
They hung the gold medal around Yuri's neck at the top of the podium, the
announcer talking about Men's Figure Skating history. Still, Yuri couldn't wipe
the scowl from his face. He kept glancing down at Yuuri beside him, seeing the
honest, pleased expression on Yuuri's face, and feeling like the bottom was
going to drop out of his stomach. Even beating JJ was no satisfaction. What if
Yuuri was happy with silver, for some ungodly reason? It was his first time on
the podium at the Finals.
Yuri hoped, after everything Yuuri had shown him of himself in the past few
months, that he wasn't about to be disappointed after all.
The press conference was a blur. He talked on autopilot, hyper aware of Yuuri
seated on his right. His skin felt hot and too tight, his medal heavy around
his neck. Anticipation and uncertainty warred in the back of his mind. Was the
invitation he'd been given still open, or had whatever happened between Victor
and Yuuri messed that up?
Why was he even still considering it? He didn't feel bad - well, he felt a
little bad. He knew he wouldn't have said that if Yuuri had been in front of
him, and repeating it to him in the hotel room had been excruciating. And Yuuri
hadn't forgiven him for it.
Not that the stupid Katsudon's forgiveness mattered to him. He just wanted to
make sure Yuuri wasn't retiring like an idiot.
It was that thought that had him waiting for them at the elevator bank in the
hotel, arms crossed and hood pulled low over his face. He'd ditched Yakov and
Lilia and ignored everyone else who tried to talk to him, staring down at his
shoes and trying to figure out what was going on in his head.
"Yurio."
Yuri looked up. Victor and Yuuri were there. Yuuri sounded surprised to see
him, just as he had looked surprised when Yuri pushed him away after the free
skate.
"Upstairs." Yuri jammed the call button for the elevator, turning around so he
didn't have to look at the knowing expression on Victor's face.
The elevator doors closed behind them, and Yuri whirled around, backing a
startled Yuuri up against the wall. "What's this shit I hear about you not
skating the rest of the season?"
"Ah," Yuuri said, ducking his head with a sheepish smile pulling at his mouth.
"Victor told you?"
"Victor begged me to win so you'd keep going," Yuri snarled. "It was gross and
pathetic."
"I didn't beg," Victor protested, mildly indignant.
Yuuri looked at Victor over Yuri's shoulder, his face soft and full of regret.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said. "Either of you. I didn't realize-"
"I wasn't upset," Yuri said. He stepped back, aware of how close together they
were standing. "I just can't have my only real competition being that old
geezer. He'll probably blow out a knee at Nationals, and then who do I have to
compete against at Worlds? JJ?" Yuri scoffed.
"Oh, you think you'll beat me so easily?" Victor asked, his hands settling on
Yuri's shoulders. "You think I'll let you win?"
"You don't have to let me win," Yuri said. His heart started to beat faster at
the feel of Victor's hands on him. "I beat Yuuri. I'll beat you too."
Yuuri made a strangled noise, turning red from his cheeks to his forehead.
Stupid Katsudon still hadn't realized he was just as good as Victor. It made
Yuri furious.
The elevator doors opened. They all stared at each other for a moment, the air
between them tense and charged.
"Yura, are you coming?" Victor asked, stepping out of the elevator. After a
moment Yuuri followed him, which left Yuri to make his decision.
It wasn't about apologies or paying for what he said, Yuri realized. That was
an excuse, and he didn't like to hide behind excuses. The truth was he wanted
it - wanted them. Both.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get impatient." Yuri slid through the closing doors of the
elevator, his hands shoved in his pockets.
The walk down the hallway seemed interminable. Yuri hung back behind Yuuri and
Victor, trying to tell himself he wasn't nervous. He guessed he probably had a
right to be - he'd never done anything like this before. Kissing, sure. Some
groping and half-clothed grinding after a competition, yeah. Juniors was full
of horny kids in close quarters and too much spandex.
But mutual handjobs didn't really count as sex, and he'd never gone back to
someone's room. He'd never gotten naked in front of another person. Thinking
about standing in front of Yuuri and Victor nude and vulnerable made his breath
come faster, and he couldn't decide whether it was excitement or anxiety.
Yuuri must have noticed how wild around the eyes he looked. Once they all
stepped into the hotel room, the door clicking shut with a quiet whirr from the
electronic lock, he looked to Yuri with concern softening his face.
"Are you sure? We moved a little fast, the other day. You are-" Yuuri cut
himself off before he finished his sentence, teeth catching his lip. Yuri's
eyes fixated there, on delicate pink skin worried by white, even teeth.
Yuri could hear the word young hanging in the air. Yeah, he was. He knew that.
He knew he was in completely over his head, because contrary to what a lot of
people probably thought, he wasn't a fucking idiot.
He realized he'd been taking short breaths, trying to figure out a way to
answer what Yuuri was asking but always trailing off into nothing. He made a
frustrated sound through his teeth and rolled his shoulders under his hoodie.
"Yurio," Yuuri said.
Yuri could look at him when he was pissed off. That didn't make his tongue go
numb in his mouth. "Shut up, don't call me that."
Yuuri's mouth pulled down, his eyes going tight around the corners. Yuri
swallowed - he had this fucking habit of snapping back, his mouth running off
without input from his brain. He hadn't meant it to sound so harsh.
Then Yuuri's face smoothed out, like he'd figured something out.
"Yura," he said softly.
Yuri felt himself turning red, hot from his ears all the way down his neck.
He'd been called that his whole life, most often by Victor, and he couldn't say
why hearing Yuuri say it made him go hot all over.
"I haven't had sex with anyone, whatever," Yuri said, his gaze flickering down
to Yuuri's shoes for a second before he forced himself to look back up. "I'm
here because I want to be. If you don't want me, I'll go."
"Did Victor tell you why he dragged you here, instead of just ignoring you like
usual?" Yuuri tipped his head at Victor.
Yuri looked. Victor's hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. He had
the same unreadable, blank look on his face he'd had by the ocean. Yuri stared
him down, feeling like his insides were twisting around on themselves.
"If you wanted our attention, all you had to do was ask," Victor said. "Trying
to make someone angry because you don't know how to talk to them is a bad way
to try and climb into their bed."
Yuri felt like he was going to choke on his tongue. "I wasn't trying to crawl
in bed with you!"
"Vitya," Yuuri said. It was faintly scolding. Victor licked his lips and
flicked his eyes up, looking at Yuuri through his lashes. Yuri had never seen
Victor trying to make himself look smaller, before. It occurred to him again
how so, so wrong he'd been about that 'owner' comment.
"I wasn't. I wasn't even thinking about what I was saying." Yuri scowled. "I
told you I wasn't going to apologize."
"But you're here," Yuuri said, his lips curling up into a dangerous smirk.
"Victor told me he brought you here because it was so plain you were jealous."
"I'm not-"
"Of him," Yuuri continued, like Yuri hadn't protested at all. Yuuri was ruining
the illusion a little by blushing, a warm pink glow lighting up his cheeks.
"You want Yuuri, don't you?" Victor asked. Yuri felt cornered again. It was
overwhelming to have both of them teaming up on him like this.
"Why are we still talking about this? You pulled me down the street by the
hair, and now you're trying to be a gentleman? Too late, you already tipped
your hand." Yuri's heart was pounding in his chest. This would be so much
easier if they would skip ahead to the images he'd jerked off to with his back
against the door and his pants around his knees.
"I'm not going to force you into anything unless you can admit what you want,"
Victor said. "You're not going to throw yourself into something like this
unless you're sure."
"Why?" Yuri challenged, feeling like he wanted to spit it. "Because I'm too
young? Because you're just fucking humoring me?"
"Because it's your first time, Yura," Victor said. He didn't sound upset at
Yuri's outburst, entirely earnest.
His eyes were so blue. Yuri had always noticed how beautiful he was, it was
only that he'd never seemed like he could be reached. He was untouchable, back
in St. Petersburg, under Yakov's control. He was different with Yuuri - and
Yuuri was different with him.
"It's not like it has to be a big deal or anything," Yuri said. He was trying
not to be embarrassed. The only other time he'd talked about sex with anyone
was when Yakov decided he was old enough to know about how everything worked.
That had been excruciating. This was, too, though for different reasons. "We
don't even have to-"
Yuri blushed bright red, realizing what he'd been about to say. The image
flashed in his mind's eye again, of Yuuri fucking him while Victor held him
down. Yuri clenched his fists in the hem of his hoodie. This was stupid. He
wanted to be here. He'd come here himself, nobody had forced him.
"What do you want to do?" Yuuri asked. He came closer slowly, reaching out to
catch Yuuri's hands. "Your pace."
"Aren't you still mad?" That was what was wrong with all of this. Yuuri had
been so disappointed the other morning, so cold and distant, holding himself in
reserve. This kind, open Yuuri was something Yuri didn't know what to do with.
He'd been prepared for the other thing - for them to pin him down and make him
pay. That wouldn't have thrown him so off balance.
"Do you want me to be?" Yuuri asked. He was so calm. It had been infuriating
the other morning, but now it was just unsettling. Yuri felt like there was a
storm in his chest with nowhere to go, and he didn't know what to do with it.
"I keep saying I'm not going to apologize," Yuri said. His fingers felt too
warm in Yuuri's grasp. They were only touching a little bit, it shouldn't be
enough to make him dizzy. "You aren't going to do anything about that?"
"You're worse than Yuuri." Victor stepped closer to them, warm against Yuri's
back again. Yuri was beginning to like him there. "You talk sideways about what
you want."
"I've never done this before," Yuri protested. "All I'm saying is if you want
me to apologize, you're going to have to make me."
Yuuri looked him steadily in the eye, like he was watching Yuri for any sign of
uncertainty. Yuri swallowed. Victor was solid and there to lean on, so he did.
Victor's hands, bare of his usual gloves and warm even through Yuri's clothes,
settled on his upper arms. He felt pinned between the two of them, especially
as Yuuri stepped closer, dropping Yuri's hands to lay gentle fingers on the
soft curve of Yuri's cheekbone.
He wanted them to make him so bad, but how did you even ask for something like
that?
"If you're not ready to take responsibility for the things you say, you'll have
to deal with the consequence." Yuuri's voice was so steady it was grounding. He
was more confident than Yuri would have expected. Something in him couldn't
help but push.
"I won." Yuri tipped his chin up, defiance in every line.
"A fraction of a point's difference. And I got the record."
"I got one too. You want to kiss my medal, Katsudon? I brought it with me."
Yuuri's eyes sharpened on Yuri's neck, and his fingers followed the path of his
gaze. Yuri shifted from one foot to the other. He'd been hard since Yuuri said
his name, and it only got worse when Yuuri teased the ribbon of his medal out
from under his jacket. Yuri had hoped he'd unzip it.
"I'm going to beat you at Worlds, so don't get arrogant," Yuuri said, rubbing
the ribbon between his fingers for a moment before letting it go.
"You've only won against me once," Yuri shot back. "And that was before my
coach got ahold of my program. I'm not going to lose to you again."
"You're not even a little bit sorry," Yuuri murmured. "We're going to have to
do something about that."
Yuri swallowed. There was the cool control he'd had all over his face when he
told Yuri so certainly he would apologize. It had sent Yuri's heart racing
then, and it did again now. He felt like his pulse was pounding in his ears.
"What are you going to do?" Yuri licked his lips, watching Yuuri's eyes dip
down to his mouth for a split second. "Spank me?"
Yuuri settled the tips of his fingers on his lips, a considering light coming
into his eyes.
"I'm going to go sit. Come over to me when you're ready." Yuuri backed up,
then, going to sit on the bed. Yuri felt strangely like his breath had been
pulled out of his lungs in Yuuri's wake. Even with Victor's grip on his arms,
anchoring and solid, he felt like his heart was in his mouth.
His fingers were shaking when he unzipped his hoodie. Victor teased his fingers
underneath and ran his hands down Yuri's arms, pushing the hoodie off. He
caught it before it could fall on the floor and draped it over the hotel room
chair. Yuri had seen his apartment in St. Petersburg and knew immediately it
was a habit he'd picked up from Yuuri. The sour feeling bit at Yuuri's chest
again - he recognized it as jealousy, now that he knew what he was looking for.
Victor's hands under the hem of his shirt made him jump. Victor stilled. When
Yuri looked up at him, Victor's eyes were only on Yuuri, perched on the edge of
the bed with all his clothes still on.
"Yura?" Yuuri asked. The concern was back, and Yuri wanted to scream.
"I'm fine, fuck." To prove it, he stripped his shirt off over his head. The
medal thumped against his breastbone, warm from being trapped beneath the
layers of his clothing. He reached for the ribbon.
"Keep your medal on," Yuuri said lightly. "You earned it."
Yuri let go of the ribbon. He leaned back against Victor for balance while he
pulled his sneakers off, his feet twinging each time he shifted his weight.
Yakov was going to kill him for skipping his post-competition regimen, but he
didn't care right now. This was too much to walk away from. He needed to know
why he couldn't stop thinking about it. He needed to get it out of his system.
He might only get one opportunity to touch Yuuri like he'd thought about for
all these months, and like hell was he going to turn around and leave before it
could happen. He looked up at Yuuri, suddenly wanting to make sure he was
watching.
Yuuri's placid mask had cracked a little, the blush back on his cheeks. He
looked a little startled, like maybe he hadn't expected Yuri to look so good.
That look made Yuri bold, made him yank his track pants down to his knees.
There was a rustle of cloth, Victor's warm bulk suddenly gone from his back. It
was only because he'd gone to his knees, Yuri realized, tugging Yuri's track
pants down the rest of the way, lifting his feet to step out of them. Victor
peeled his socks away from his bruised, bloodied feet as well. Yuri would have
left them on, but apparently he was going to be completely naked for this.
Well, fine, that was what he had expected, right?
"Still okay?" Victor asked, his voice coming from next to Yuri's hip. Yuri
twisted to look down at him.
"Getting a nice eyeful back there?" Yuri's fingers plucked at the waistband of
his underwear. He was one piece of clothing away from being completely naked -
not that it wasn't obvious how hard he was.
"You're beautiful," Victor said, his fingers curling loosely around Yuri's
hips. Yuri swallowed, dry-mouthed, at how utterly sincere it was. He must look
like an idiot, staring down at Victor with his mouth open just from one stupid
compliment.
"Tch, whatever."
"Tell him again," Yuuri said softly from the bed.
"You're beautiful, Yura." This time Victor kissed his hip, a light brush of
lips that burned on Yuri's skin like a brand. His thumbs slipped under the
waistband of Yuri's underwear, smoothing over his skin.
Yuri felt like his face was on fire. The medal on his chest winked gold against
the pink blush of his skin. Victor's hands were epicenter of heat, the palms
warm against his hips.
"Are you going to take them off?" Yuri asked. His toes dug into the hotel
carpet. He clenched his fists at his sides, hating the nervous fluttering that
still sat in the pit of his stomach.
"Talking around what you want is no way to ask," Victor said. He kissed Yuri's
skin again, left his lips pressed against the small of Yuri's back when he
spoke. His breath was so warm. "It's not fair, either. What if the other person
guesses wrong about what you're not asking for? They could hurt you."
Yuri looked up at Yuuri in time to catch the rueful expression on his face.
"I had to learn, too," Yuuri said. "Victor is good at reading between the
lines, but it isn't fair to make him do it all the time, especially when
guessing wrong could be a disaster." The self-deprecating smile on his lips got
harder, a light of mischief in his eyes Yuri had only seen on the ice. "If you
want to be spanked for being a brat, you'll have to ask us for it."
Yuri felt like he was going to choke on his tongue.
"I'm not- I'm not going to-" Yuri felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Oh no? What do you want then?" Yuuri leaned forward, his knees and thighs
spread ever so slightly. "Do you want to kiss me?"
Need tore a rough, yearning sound out of Yuri's throat. His fingernails dug
into the palms of his hands. Victor stood up behind him, pulling Yuri back
against the warm line of his body by the grip on his hips. One of his hands
slid up Yuri's body to fit against his ribcage, his palm trapping Yuri against
his chest. The fingers of his other hand traced the bony curve of Yuri's hip
beneath his underwear. Yuri could feel Victor hard in his slacks, pressed up
against the small of Yuri's back. His fingers dipped down further, brushing the
hair around the base of his dick.
"Get them off already," Yuri snapped, wiggling his hips against Victor's.
Victor huffed a chuckle against the top of his head, stirring Yuri's hair.
"Impatient," Victor said, but he swept his hand down Yuri's flat stomach to tug
Yuri's underwear down. The waistband caught on the head of his cock, making it
slap against his belly when it popped free. Yuri shivered, completely naked,
conscious of both Yuuri and Victor looking at him.
"Yura," Yuuri said, something in his voice that was both playful and sharp.
"You're so hard."
Yuri's cheeks felt almost as hot as Victor's hands on his hips.
"It's your fault." Yuri looked down at Victor's fingers splayed out on his
hipbones so he wouldn't have to look Yuuri in the face. "So are you going to
kiss me or what?"
"Maybe," Yuuri said. "Touch him, Vitya."
"Good idea," Victor said, wrapping one arm around Yuri's waist to hold him
tight. "Maybe he'll be less of a brat if he comes."
"Hey!" Yuri craned his neck around, trying to glare, but Victor closed his hand
around Yuri's cock and the rest of the protest petered out into a long groan.
He turned his face into Victor's arm, mouth open and panting.
"So pretty," Yuuri said, and when Yuri peeled his eyes open to look, he had his
chin propped on his hand, watching openly.
Victor moved his hand, stroking slowly up to the head of Yuri's cock and back
down again. Yuri's knees shook, his hands flying up to grab at Victor's arm
around his waist.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, stop, I'm gonna- I don't, I don't want to, fuck."
"Stop," Yuuri said, and Victor's hand froze immediately. "Yuri. Do you want him
to stop touching you, or do you think this is over when you come the first
time?"
Yuri stared at him, his skin tingling where Victor had touched him, unable to
stop his hips from making little thrusting motions into Victor's hand. Yuuri's
gaze was calm and uncompromising. Yuri gasped for air, trying to get enough
breath to speak.
"I don't want to stop." His voice sounded wrecked and they'd barely touched
him.
"We aren't going to stop with just one. If you're anything like I was at your
age, you can go again." Yuuri smirked at him, the curve of his lips drawing
Yuri's eyes.
"I do want to kiss you," Yuri said, the words falling out of his mouth in a
rush.
Yuuri hummed, like Yuri had done something to please him. It made Yuri's hips
push harder into the still circle of Victor's fist.
"Let Vitya make you come first, and then you can." Yuuri leaned back on his
hands again, watching Yuri with that hot light in his eyes behind his glasses.
"I want to see what you look like when you do."
"Oh fuck," Yuri gasped, his fingers tightening on Victor's arm. Victor was
practically holding him up, his knees weak and his thighs shaking, and it only
took a couple more pulls on Yuri's cock before he was done for. He moaned,
unable to hold it back, his toes curling into the carpet as he came on Victor's
fingers, his face flaming red.
"Beautiful," Yuuri breathed. "Bring him here."
Victor let go, the solid weight of his arms disappearing so fast Yuri wavered
and nearly stumbled.
Yuri spun to face him, looking right into those terribly blue eyes, the ones
Yuri had seen looking right over him for so long. Now Victor was looking at
him, not past his shoulder at Yuuri behind him. Yuri's breath went short and
uneven under his gaze, the place between his shoulder blades prickling under
Yuuri's eyes, too.
"Yura, you're such a mess," he teased, lifting the hand Yuri had come on and
running his tongue over the palm. He sucked his fingers into his mouth one by
one, licked his hand clean, and swept his tongue over one pink lip.
Yuri clenched his teeth, but a long, hungry moan escaped him anyway. He stared
at Victor's mouth, wondering what he tasted like on Victor's tongue.
"What do you want?" Yuuri asked from behind him.
"I want." Yuri felt like he could feel his heartbeat in his cheeks. He'd never
needed to ask before. It was always just going with the flow, getting off quick
and going back to what needed to be done. This was different. This was-
"Do you want to kiss me, too?" Victor stepped close, tipping Yuri's chin up,
his thumb resting on Yuri's lip.
"Stop leading him to the answer," Yuuri said, sterner than he'd ever sounded.
Yuri and Victor both froze at it, their faces a breath apart. "If he can't tell
us what he wants, you're pushing too hard. You can't play the same games with
him that you did with me."
Concern sharpened the line of Victor's eyebrows, tensed the soft line of his
mouth. The thumb on Yuri's lip moved away.
"What do you want here, Yuri?" Victor was as serious as Yuuri, and for a
second, all of it was a little too much. He'd read this wrong. They weren't
asking because they wanted to wring the answers out of him. They were asking
because they needed to know how hard he wanted them to push.
And that made it all click into place, because Yuri had never wanted anyone to
go easy on him.
"I want you to do what you probably talked about doing to me when I ran out of
here to jerk off the other morning."
"Oh, did you?" Victor sounded delighted, his eyes flicking away from Yuri's for
just a moment. He must have seen what he wanted from Yuuri, because his hands
were back on Yuri's hips, and he slid his clothed thigh between Yuri's naked
legs, pulling Yuri in. Yuri still hadn't gone soft, because yes he did fucking
want this, and he wasn't going to stop until he showed them both he could keep
up. He let Victor's hands guide him into grinding against Victor's thigh.
"I want you to kiss me," Yuri said, and it felt like a demand this time,
especially when he pushed himself up on his toes to put his lips closer to
Victor's.
"Brat," Victor laughed, breath puffing against Yuri's mouth. One of his hands
left Yuri's hip and slapped the curve of his ass. Yuri gasped, and that was
when Victor kissed him.
Victor's lips were as soft as they looked, and his mouth tasted like bitter
salt - like his come, Yuri realized. Victor's hand rubbed over the cheek he'd
slapped, soothing the sting. Yuri ground his hips harder against Victor's
thigh, his fingers curling into the lapels of Victor's jacket.
"Oh, look at how pink he got with just one."
The admiration in Yuuri's voice was like a shock, a prickle of static in his
limbs. Yuri's breath came in short huffs through his nose, his mouth still
occupied with Victor and the taste of his own come on Victor's tongue.
Victor pulled back from the kiss, leaving Yuri gasping. His lips were pinker,
wet with spit and a little swollen from the pressure of Yuri's mouth.
"Did you like that?" Victor rubbed his palm over the spot he'd slapped, leaving
no doubt whether he meant the spanking or the kiss. He leaned in again, nosing
at Yuri's jaw and kissing the curve of his ear. "Do you want me to do it
again?"
Yuri shivered, pulling himself tight against Victor's body. He could feel
Victor through his pants, just as hard as Yuri was. Victor's hands couldn't
keep still, sliding around to Yuri's back to pull him in harder, his mouth warm
against Yuri's neck.
"You have to tell us. Otherwise this is all you get." Yuuri sounded stern
again.
"Yes." Yuri rolled his hips against Victor's thigh one more time and then went
lax in Victor's arms. It was easier to say when he didn't have to look at
either of them. "I liked it. I want it again."
There was a short pause. Then, "Vitya, I did tell you to bring him here."
"He's distracting," Victor said, breath hot on Yuri's neck. "He tastes good."
Yuri tried to choke back the sound Victor's words drew up from his chest.
"Mm, I want to taste." Yuuri's voice low and warm. This time, Yuri couldn't
hold back at all, hips hitching against Victor's thigh again as he groaned.
Victor spun him around by the shoulders. Yuri stumbled, nearly tripping over
his sore feet when Victor pushed him toward the bed - toward Yuuri.
The open appreciation on Yuuri's face was almost too much, even before Yuri
glanced down the length of his body and saw he was hard, the line of his
erection impossible to miss in his sweats. Yuri staggered forward another step.
He'd thought about this in particular, wondering what Yuuri would kiss like.
Wondering what he'd feel like. He was glad Victor had kissed him first, made
him come to take the edge off.
Yuuri reached out to touch as soon as Yuri came near enough, his hands curling
around Yuri's wrists and tugging.
"Up in my lap, Yura."
Yuri's breath came in short, excited bursts. He slid into Yuuri's lap like the
movement was practiced, borrowing on grace that usually only came naturally to
him at a barre or on the ice. His knees slid on the bedspread, coming to rest
on either side of Yuuri's hips. It made Yuri taller, just by a little, but as
Yuuri's hands settled on his cheeks, framing his face and pulling him slowly
down to Yuuri's mouth, Yuri never felt less in control.
Victor kissed with finesse, like he had been seduced and was responding in
kind. Yuuri kissed with curiosity, thorough and firm, his tongue tracing the
shape of Yuri's mouth. Yuri had to brace himself, his hands gripping Yuuri's
biceps, trying hold steady in Yuuri's lap.
Victor's hands were on him again, warm and sure as they traced over the hard
lines of Yuri's back. Victor tugged under Yuri's thighs, pulling his knees
wider. Yuri broke away from Yuuri's devouring kiss to look over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" It came out less challenging than Yuri had hoped,
especially when Victor shrugged out of his coat and his suit jacket. His mouth
went dry when Victor unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, methodically rolling
them up to his elbows.
"You said you wanted me to spank you again," Victor said. He unbuckled his
belt.
"With that?" Yuri asked. Yuuri's fingers tightened on his jaw, but Yuri
couldn't tear his eyes away from Victor's hands on the buckle of his belt. He
would wonder what was wrong with him later, why the thought of Victor turning
his skin red with it made him lightheaded from how hard his blood pounded in
his ears.
Victor's hands stopped mid-motion. Yuri almost gloated - he'd managed to
surprise Victor Nikiforov.
"It might be too much." There was a flippant challenge in Victor's voice. It
made Yuri bristle.
"I can take anything you give me," he snapped.
Victor's belt jingled when he unbuckled it. It pulled free of his belt loops
with the soft snap of worn leather. Yuri couldn't take his eyes off it until
Yuuri forcibly turned his face back, his palms still laid on either one of
Yuri's cheeks.
"You aren't proving yourself to anyone if you push yourself beyond what you can
do." This was less stern, and more like the shade of disappointment Yuri had
heard from him that morning. Instantly, he knew Yuuri wasn't just talking about
this, but about what he'd pushed his body to do in the Final.
"Tch," Yuri said, trying to look away. Yuuri's grip on his face was unyielding,
keeping Yuri looking right at him. He squirmed in Yuuri's lap.
"You skate your free program like you're trying to hurt yourself," Yuuri said,
voice soft and full of concern that made everything in Yuri's chest feel too
tight.
"I had to beat you," he said, finally dragging his eyes up to Yuuri's again.
"You can't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere," Yuuri said, and kissed him again. Yuri strained after
his lips when he pulled away. For some reason, even though he could have broken
free of Yuuri's grip, could have grabbed Yuuri with his own hands and kissed
him over and over, he let Yuuri hold him back.
"I just want to know why you want it. It's going to hurt. Victor won't hold
back if I don't tell him to."
It took a moment for Yuri's brain to catch up and remember his taunt about
Victor's belt. He tried to lean out of Yuuri's grasp again, hide his face in
Yuuri's shoulder. It was almost impossible to talk about this stuff when Yuuri
was looking him in the eye, calm and immovable and utterly in control. Yuri had
only ever seen him like this when he skated. To have all of it turned on him
was too much.
"I don't know, fuck." Yuri shifted his hips in Yuuri's lap again. He could feel
Yuuri's dick through his pants, hard against his inner thigh. Wasn't it enough
that he was already naked? Did they have to strip him even more?
"I can hit you hard enough with my hand," Victor promised, and Yuri couldn't
help but shudder. "Why do you think you need it to hurt more?"
Yuri made a frustrated sound. "Why do we practice jumps for hours until it
feels like we've broken all our toes? It's like- it's, ugh, it's okay if it
hurts if it's for something."
"What is this for?" Yuuri asked. He let go of Yuri's face at last, sliding his
hands over Yuri's shoulders, pulling Yuri forward until his forehead rested on
Yuuri's shoulder.
Even when he didn't have to look, the answer felt like it was going to scrape
Yuri's chest raw.
"For you," he said, quiet enough that he hoped Yuuri would miss it.
Of course Yuuri didn't. He sucked in a surprised breath, his hands tightening
on Yuri's back, pulling Yuri closer.
"Yuri." He sounded stunned.
"Idiot. Didn't you figure that part out when I was on the ice?" Yuri sat up
enough to kiss Yuuri again. Without being held back, he could kiss harder,
mashing lips against teeth and bruising both of their mouths. He knew he had
none of Victor's finesse and definitely none of Yuuri's patience but he didn't
care.
Cool leather slid over his skin. Victor's hand followed, travelling from his
nape down to the small of his back, then down over the cheek he hadn't spanked.
He squeezed, and Yuri moaned into Yuuri's mouth.
Yuuri touched him, too, his fingers sliding over Yuri's stomach, up along his
ribs until he laid his palms flat on Yuri's chest and pushed a little, taking a
breath as their lips separated.
"If you're not sure-"
"Shut up, I'm sure," Yuri interrupted, trying to catch his breath.
Victor's hand moved to Yuri's back again, pressing down until he had to bend,
his face coming to rest in the crook of Yuuri's shoulder.
"I'm going to give you a couple to start with. If it's too much, we can stop."
"Just do it already!" Yuri felt like the hair on the back of his neck was
standing on end, prickling in anticipation.
Victor took him at his word. The belt hit him first on one cheek and then on
the other, a quick one-two series of blows. The initial sting made Yuri flinch
and gasp, his cock bouncing between his thighs, hard again and aching like
Victor had hit him there instead of on his ass.
It also made what they were doing inescapably clear. Being stripped and
touched, kissing Victor, even kissing Yuuri had felt like he was teetering on
the edge of having something he wanted. There had been a paranoia lurking in
the back of Yuri's mind that this was a game to them, that any minute one of
them would laugh and tell Yuri to run along.
This. This was much more than kissing and fooling around. He'd asked Victor to
hurt him and Victor had, and it felt so good Yuri could only pant into Yuuri's
shoulder and shiver. They had to keep him now. They wouldn't do this to him and
then forget about it.
"Good?" Yuuri asked, his arms creeping around Yuri slowly, like he expected
Yuri to yank away from him.
Yuri wouldn't, even if he could force himself to. He understood why they kept
asking him if it was okay. He felt dizzy just from the practice taps, and he
didn't know how many times Victor would spank him before he was done. They
needed honesty.
"Yes," Yuri panted. His fingers twisted in the fabric of Yuuri's jacket,
clinging to his shoulders.
The next two strikes fell with the same intensity, different spots than Victor
had struck before. The pain wasn't as startling this time, and Yuuri's arms
were around him, holding him close. Victor's free hand still rested on the
small of Yuri's back, a warm point of contact. It felt like they were
surrounding him.
"Remember what this is for," Yuuri murmured in his ear. "When you're ready, I'm
waiting to hear it."
Yuri shook his head a little. "I'm not that easy."
"Of course not," Victor said.
The belt slid over Yuri's skin again, worn edges catching on the sensitive
spots where it had fallen. Yuri's breath sped up, wondering how much it would
hurt when Victor was done. He'd be sore at the Gala tomorrow, and that thought
made his hips rock into empty air - Victor had pulled him up on his knees high
enough that he couldn't grind against Yuuri anymore.
"I think he's ready," Yuuri said.
"Stay still, Yura," Victor warned, and that was the only one Yuri got.
The hits still came in sets of two, one cheek and then the other, but Victor
didn't pause between them anymore. These were harder, too, than the ones Victor
had started out with. The crack of leather against his skin stung, and then the
spot Victor hit throbbed as he lifted the belt for the next blow. The pain sang
along Yuri's nerves, filling him up like the way all his muscles ached after he
skated, a satisfying ache that made him feel accomplished and alive.
Yuri's breath went ragged after four sets. After six, he winced away, pushing
his face into Yuuri's chest. Yuuri smelled like the cheap shampoo they stocked
in the locker room showers. His thighs were solid between Yuri's knees. He slid
one hand beneath the fall of Yuri's hair and grazed his fingernails over Yuri's
scalp just as the next set of hits from the belt fell on the tender backs of
his thighs.
"Fuck!" Yuri gasped, jerking in Yuuri's hold. That stung worse than his ass,
and then Victor did it again, higher, the belt wrapping around his hips at the
end of the strike.
"You're the one that makes this stop," Yuuri said, stroking over Yuri's scalp
again. "Just two little words, Yura. You don't need to be so stubborn."
"I can take- ah."
Victor cracked the belt across both cheeks with one blow, hard enough that
Yuri's back bowed, his eyes flying open wide. Catching sight of Yuuri's face
was a mistake - his bottom lip was swollen like he'd been biting it, his face
was pink, and his dark eyes never left Yuri's face. Yuri wanted to kiss him,
but instead the belt came down again across his thighs and he groaned, his face
screwing up with the sting of it.
He tried to pitch forward and hide his face in Yuuri's shoulder again, but
Yuuri's fingers tightened in his hair, a sharp bite in his scalp that made him
shiver and kept him from ducking away from Yuuri's gaze.
"You don't have to prove anything to us." Yuuri leaned in, his mouth a breath
from Yuri's own. "We know how strong you are."
The strokes from the belt stopped, but it wasn't a reprieve. Victor palmed the
cheeks of Yuri's ass, kneading, each dig of his fingers into the flesh making
the marks from the belt ache. Yuri gasped, torn between pushing back into the
touch and flinching away from the hurt. His skin felt like it was on fire, and
he was so hard, but he'd as much as told them to beat an apology out of him,
and he wasn't done yet. Yuuri's eyes never left his face, lingering on the
twist of his mouth and the wrinkle between his eyebrows.
"Let me see how Vitya is doing," Yuuri said.
All of Yuri's breath left him again. He couldn't even find the words to protest
if he could get the breath to do it. Yuuri was devastating like this, so
assured, certain that whatever he decided, Yuri and Victor would obey him.
Yuri shivered as Victor lifted his hips, helping him bend lower until Yuuri
could see what Victor had done to his ass.
"You're so red. These are going to bruise." Yuuri sounded admiring and
delighted in one. "You're doing so well, Vitya. Doesn't he look beautiful?"
Victor groaned from behind him, low and ragged. "Yes," he said, sounding like
he was in almost as bad a state as Yuri.
Yuuri hummed again, his hands on Yuri's bruised, reddened skin. How did Yuuri
stay so cool and unaffected? It should have made Yuri furious but it was so, so
hot. Every touch of his fingers made Yuri flinch, trying to huddle closer to
Yuuri's chest even if Yuuri was the one dragging his nails over Yuri's aching
flesh and digging his fingers into the long line of fire that marked Victor's
last, heavy hit with the belt.
"Fuck, oh god," Yuri groaned, twisting in Yuuri's arms. "Ohhh, fuck, fuck."
"Tell me what you want." Yuuri dug his fingers in harder.
"I need to come," Yuri said, trying to grind into Yuuri's lap and squirm away
from the touch on his oversensitive skin at the same time.
"Mmm, maybe. But you haven't told me what I need to hear yet," Yuuri said. Yuri
shuddered at how unconcerned he sounded. Yuri had seen flashes of this before,
mostly in Moscow, but this was the first time it was turned on him.
He hadn't been able to see it before, but now he knew why Victor would kneel
down in front of Yuuri.
"Enough with the belt," Yuuri said decisively. "Any more and you might break
the skin. Use your hand for the rest."
Yuri hated to admit he was grateful. His body was a confusing mix of signals
firing at once, pain only increasing his urgent, aching arousal, and he
probably would have let Victor keep going until he did bleed.
Victor hit him with his open palm. It wasn't a playful slap this time, like the
teasing strike he'd given while Yuri was still grinding on his thigh. He barely
hit lighter than the belt strokes, and his palm was broader, landing on the
places where the belt had fallen. Yuri hissed through his teeth, leaning
against the grip Yuuri had on his hair at the same time. His scalp prickled
with sharp, steady pain in contrast to the swats from Victor's hand.
Yuuri's free hand left his back and slid around his ribs, fingers trailing over
his chest. Yuri's medal swung and thumped against his sternum every time he
rocked away from one of Victor's hits. Yuuri tugged on the ribbon.
"Do you think because you win, you can do what you want?" Yuuri let go of the
medal, letting it swing again. His fingers caught and rubbed at Yuri's nipples.
Victor spanked him on the same cheek twice in a row, making him gasp and choke
on his reply. Yuuri's hand resumed its progress down Yuri's body, not waiting
for Yuri to gather the words to answer.
Yuri's moan broke into a whine when those slim fingers closed around his cock,
stroking him excruciatingly slow. He didn't bother to match his strokes with
the fall of Victor's hand, but it didn't matter. Yuri could feel his heartbeat
pounding in his ears, his body felt like he could float away at any moment, he
was there, he was there-
The noise he made when Yuuri's hand moved to his balls and squeezed was a howl
of desperate frustration.
"Fuck you!" He gasped, pulling at Yuuri's grip on his hair. Victor spanked him
again and his breath whooshed out of him, caught between two maddening
sensations.
"Two words, Yura. You know how to make this stop. Stubbornness won't get you
anywhere." Yuuri's slowly let go of his balls, the sharp pain of having them
squeezed fading into the dull, aching throb of imminent orgasm.
Yuri whimpered through his teeth when Yuuri started working his cock again,
merciless and slow. It didn't take much longer for Yuri to start squirming,
flinching away from Victor's hand when it fell, and thrusting into Yuuri's grip
on his cock, only to have Victor grab him by both hips and pull him back into
position. Yuuri pulled him up by the hair until he could look into Yuri's eyes
again. Yuri knew he probably looked a mess, his face red, hair sticking to his
neck with sweat, his mouth open on little shameful sounds he couldn't hold back
anymore.
Victor hit him right on the crease of his thigh, where the belt had landed one
of its harder strokes. It hurt, really hurt, enough that Yuri's eyes felt hot,
tears pricking at their corners. He braced for the next blow but it didn't
help, a mirror of the first stroke on his other thigh. He yelped, his grip
white-knuckled on Yuuri's shoulders. A shake started in his knees. Yuuri's hand
gripped his balls again, keeping him from coming. Yuri felt like screaming.
"Only a little more," Yuuri murmured, like he could see the cracks.
The next hit made Yuri yell outright, a shout of pain that bounced off the
hotel room walls. His eyes filled and spilled over, a purely physical response
to the burning throb in his ass. He tried to pull free of Yuuri's grasp, his
breath speeding up because they were both looking at him, watching him fall to
pieces right in front of them, and-
Victor's hand fell again, crashing down on the same spot he'd just struck. Pain
sang through Yuri's body from his toes to the roots of his hair, and Yuri
broke.
"I'm sorry!" He gasped out, blinking furiously to try and clear his vision.
"I'm sorry, fuck, it hurts."
"What are you sorry for, Yura?" Yuuri's mouth was close enough to feel his
breath again, his eyes half-lidded, but instead of kissing Yuri, his lips found
Yuri's cheek instead, brushing over the wet fall of tears over his skin. A dart
of Yuuri's tongue made Yuri suck in air like he was drowning.
"I'm sorry for being a brat." Yuri felt like he'd run a marathon. His skin was
so sensitive. When Victor touched him again he jumped, though Victor was
stroking over his back instead of touching his ass. "I'm, fuck, sorry I tried
to pick a fight, I just wanted. Please."
"Ask for what you need."
"I need to come." It wasn't just a want anymore. The pain made his whole body
feel like a live wire, charged and left to twist with nowhere to go.
"Ask," Yuuri repeated, pulling at his hair. "Nicely."
"Yuuri please, I need to come," Yuri gasped in a rush.
"Oh, that's good," Yuuri murmured. He slid his fingers gently through Yuri's
hair to cup the back of his neck. "Thank Vitya for giving you what you asked
for."
"Please, it hurts."
"Tell him he was good. He needs to hear you say it."
Yuri gasped in a shuddering breath. "Thank you for hurting me, Victor. It was
good, it was- fuck, Yuuri please."
Victor's body pressed up against Yuri's draped over his back like an oversized
living blanket. His breath was short and ragged in Yuri's ear. "You're
beautiful," he said.
Yuuri released the grip on his balls. His hand had barely wrapped around Yuri's
cock again before Yuri came. Orgasm had never felt like an out of body
experience, not when he jerked off himself and not with any of the people
jerked him off before. This felt like he'd been struck blind and deaf, his ears
ringing, his eyes rolling back, his whole body folding in on itself. He
couldn't breathe for a moment, and when finally could again it was short little
gasps, shaking between the two of them.
"Shh, you're okay. We've got you, Yura. You did so well, you took more than I
thought you could. Never let anyone go easy on you, hm?"
Yuri couldn't even answer. He wasn't sure when he would get the capacity for
language back. He finally managed to open his eyes, his vision wet and blurry,
to stare down at the white streaks he'd left on Yuuri's jacket.
"I need to take care of Vitya now," Yuuri said. "You're not still jealous of
him, are you? You can help me with that?"
His voice was so gentle, his fingernails running gently over Yuri's scalp. Yuri
would normally kick and scream about being treated like a delicate thing, but
he felt delicate. All he wanted to do was cling to Yuuri.
"If I can touch," he croaked, his throat sore and swollen.
"Of course you can. We're going to move you to the side for a minute while I
get Vitya undressed, and then you can help me hold him down."
Victor groaned loud in Yuri's ear. They lifted Yuri and settled him down on the
mattress, lying on his side and curled around Yuuri, and Yuri finally got a
chance to look at Victor's face again.
Yuri knew he probably looked worse, but Victor was as desperate as Yuri had
felt a few moments ago. His face was flushed, his eyes bright and transfixed on
Yuuri's face. Yuri intimately understood how he felt, now. Yuuri was arresting.
"Come here," Yuuri said, reaching out to tug Victor closer by his wrists.
Victor stepped into the space between Yuuri's knees, glancing down to the floor
like he wanted to fall there at Yuuri's feet.
Yuuri lifted his hands to the buttons of Victor's shirt instead, undoing the
crisp white line of them like there was no hurry. Victor groaned when he slid
his slender fingers inside the shirt, pushing it back over Victor's shoulders.
Victor pulled it off and threw it aside, his chest heaving. Yuuri let his hands
move over Victor's skin, touching until every breath Victor let out was
punctuated with a needy whine. Yuri's own breath caught, wondering if this is
what they'd been seeing from him.
"All right," Yuuri said, the corners of his mouth tilting into a small, fond
smile. He unbuttoned Victor's slacks and pulled them down over his hips,
tugging his underwear off after them. Victor stepped out of his clothes,
standing naked in front of them, his hands digging into the skin of his own
thighs. He looked like he was only barely holding onto his control.
"Poor Vitya. Look at how worked up he got giving you what you need." Yuuri
turned that warm smile on Yuri. It was pathetic how fast he melted at it,
curling closer around Yuuri's body.
"Yuuri," Victor said, rough and desperate.
"On your back on the bed," Yuuri said.
Victor practically threw himself onto the bed, rolling over onto his back, his
legs open like he was begging Yuuri to fuck him. Yuuri leaned over him, his
fingers laid delicately in the center of Victor's chest, and kissed him.
The groan that ripped its way out of Victor's throat was so raw it sounded like
it hurt. He grabbed for Yuuri, his hands clutching at Yuuri's face. Yuuri
pulled away from him, glancing over at Yuri.
"Yura, come here and make sure he keeps his hands to himself. He's terrible
about touching without permission."
"Yuuri," Victor said again, whining it this time.
It took Yuri a couple of tries to make his body move. He crawled up the bed,
hissing a little when his ass and his thighs throbbed. Yuuri handed him
Victor's wrists, and Yuri pinned them to the bed, staring down the bare expanse
of Victor's body. He was like a perfect marble sculpture made flesh, smooth,
pale skin stretched over shifting muscles. His cock was so hard it was red and
dripping at the tip, precome sliding down the shaft as Yuri watched.
Yuuri got up from the bed then, leaving both of them behind. Victor made
another desperate, longing sound, and Yuri kissed him because it seemed like
the right thing to do.
This kiss had none of the control from before. Victor arched, like he was
trying to climb inside Yuri through his mouth, pulling at the grip Yuri had on
his wrists. He panted through his nose as Yuri kissed him, his hips twisting
helplessly on the bed. Yuri wondered dizzily how he'd ever thought Victor was
the one in charge, here. It was so plain now that his every movement down to
the flutter of his eyelids was about Yuuri.
After being methodically taken apart by Yuuri's inhuman patience, Yuri knew
exactly how he felt and couldn't blame him.
The bed dipped when Yuuri returned. Yuri broke the kiss with Victor and the two
of them gasped almost on the same breath. Yuuri was naked, swinging one leg
over Victor's body to straddle him. His eyes were dark and possessive as they
raked over the two of them.
"I'm going to ride you," he told Victor. It was Yuri who moaned, because Victor
looked like his breath had stopped entirely. "You don't get to come until after
I do."
Now Victor groaned like he was dying. "Yuuri, please."
"Patience," Yuuri chided. He flicked the cap open on the little bottle of lube
he'd brought to bed with him, reaching slick fingers behind himself.
"Oh fuck," Yuri blurted out, like a punch to the gut. The look Yuuri gave him
was smug and self-satisfied as he rolled his hips back onto his own fingers.
"Oh yes," Yuuri said, breathy and deliberately seductive in a way that was
somehow hot instead of cheesy. "It's going to feel even better when it's your
cock, Vitya. Just have to keep yourself from coming until I'm done."
"I don't know if I can," Victor admitted, his cheeks red and his lips parted.
"Mm, well, if you come too soon I'll just have to use your tongue instead."
Yuuri sounded unconcerned, but Yuri saw his dick jump as he said it. The mental
image flashed through Yuri's mind of Yuuri's strong thighs bracketing Victor's
chest, Victor's face buried in his ass.
"You're both going to kill me," he said faintly.
Yuuri laughed. "I hope not. We went through all this trouble." His fingers must
have hit something good, then, because his eyelids fluttered and his head
dropped back to bare his throat.
Yuri looked down at Victor's face, swallowing hard at the naked, desperate want
painted all over it. Victor moaned, his mouth twisting like he was in pain, and
Yuri glanced back down the length of his body to see Yuuri lowering himself
slowly onto Victor's cock. If Victor was a statue, Yuuri was an impressionist
painting, his limbs graceful, the line of his back a beautiful, perfect arch.
"Eyes on me," he said softly.
Victor let out another ragged sound. His eyes fluttered open and his hips
jerked, driving himself deeper into Yuuri. He pulled against Yuri's grip on his
hands, tossed his head to the side and then turned it back like he knew what
Yuuri had told him to do and just couldn't bear it.
Yuuri lifted himself up with a flex of his powerful thighs and sinking back
down so excruciatingly slowly that Yuri, soft and spent, ached in sympathy. The
order not to look away had been for Victor, but Yuri couldn't have done it
either. Yuuri was stunning in an entirely different way than he was on the ice.
There, he was like a living embodiment of his music, a conduit for emotion to
flow through to the audience. Here, all the passion and grace and single-minded
focus was for the two of them alone, a private performance that Yuuri clearly
loved as much as skating. His dark eyes were locked on Victor's face, his
cheeks flushed, his mouth open on hot breaths of exertion.
"Yuuri," Victor groaned, and Yuri was finally able to tear his eyes away from
the gorgeous sight of Yuuri riding Victor's cock. Victor's head strained up
from the bed, the tendons in his neck standing out. His hands were twisted in
the sheets under Yuri's grip. He looked so far gone, his eyes glazing over,
whines and pleas spilling from his reddened lips.
"Almost," Yuuri said, settling all the way down on Victor's cock for the span
of a few breaths before he leaned down, bracing himself on the bed, his lips
hovering just out of Victor's reach.
"Please," Victor begged, his voice cracking on it. Yuri couldn't decide who was
hotter, Yuuri taking his pleasure like Victor's cock was his to use or Victor
coming to pieces beneath them.
"Soon, soon. You're so good to me. So good for me, for both of us. My beautiful
Vitya." Yuuri kissed Victor then, swallowing down a strangled whimper.
Yuri let out a hungry, wanting sound. Yuuri smiled against Victor's lips and
pulled away, ignoring the way Victor strained after him, and kissed Yuri, his
mouth hot and possessive. Victor cried out, his heels slipping on the sheets as
he tried to get the leverage to thrust.
"I can't," Victor gasped. "I can't, I'm going to come."
"You can," Yuuri said, speaking against Yuri's lips. The warm puff of his
breath made Yuri shiver. "Be good for me, Vitya."
Victor bit down on his lip so hard Yuri was afraid it would bleed, sucking huge
breaths of air through his nose. He was barely holding on, right on the edge of
shattering under Yuuri's hands just as Yuri had under them both.
Yuuri's back arched again, drawing him away from Yuri's lips so he could brace
himself against Victor's chest, lifting almost all the way off his dick before
grinding back down. It only took two like that before he made a soft, almost
surprised sound and gasped, "Come," before his cock jerked and he came
untouched on Victor's stomach.
Victor's feet scrabbled at the sheets. He planted them wide and thrust up,
jolting Yuuri's body. He yanked mightily at Yuri's grip on his wrists, turning
his pleading blue eyes to Yuri.
"I need to touch him."
Yuri looked to Yuuri for permission. Yuuri smiled like he'd gotten exactly what
he wanted and said, "You can let him go."
As soon as Yuri's hands left Victor's wrists, he jolted up and grabbed for one
of Yuuri's shoulders, his other hand braced on the bed. He could thrust so much
harder like that, the muscles in his back and arms flexed. Yuri watched the
play of them under the pale skin of Victor's lower back, where his spine dipped
into the cleft of his stupidly perfect ass, and wondered what it would feel
like to be in Yuuri's place.
Victor's whole body tensed up when he came. Yuri found himself sliding closer,
flinching again at the drag of the sheets over his sensitized skin, until he
was leaning over Victor's shoulder to see his face. His eyes were closed, his
forehead pressed against Yuuri's, his lip caught between his teeth. Yuuri
murmured something soft and appreciative, stroking his fingers through Victor's
hair the same as he'd done to Yuri.
Nobody seemed to have the wind to speak right away. Yuri shifted around
uncomfortably until he finally gave up and rolled onto his side again. Yuuri
and Victor untangled themselves. Victor fell to the bed beside Yuri, scooting
closer until he had Yuri wrapped up in his limbs like a clingy octopus. Yuuri
got up and picked his way across the room to the bathroom.
"So," Yuri said, watching Yuuri go. Victor cracked his eyes open, post-orgasmic
and sleepy.
"Yuuri really is something special, isn't he?" Victor asked.
Yuuri glanced back at them when Victor said it, pink in the face, the cool
confidence cracking into his regular unassuming demeanor again.
"Where does all of that come from?" Yuri looked back to Victor, watching his
lips, red from biting, curve into a smile.
"You know just as much as I do, there's so much more to Yuuri than what
everyone sees."
Victor said it fondly, propping his head up on his hand so he could watch Yuuri
walk back and forth across the room, collecting their clothes and their
discarded shoes. He didn't seem conscious of his nakedness. He glanced up at
the bed, his eyes finding Yuri and Victor in turn, and he smiled.
A sneaking curl of doubt twisted around Yuri's chest. Seeing them look at each
other was starting to scrape across his skin again. He sat up, groaning when
his ass throbbed, and raked his fingers through his hair.
"That was fucking hot," he said. He could hear the bravado in his own voice and
nearly cringed at it. It was like shrugging on a second skin, walling himself
off again, but it didn't feel good. "I'm going to skate like shit at the gala
tomorrow, but it's not like that matters. Can I use your shower?"
Yuuri stopped, Yuri's hoodie dangling from his fingers. His smile had vanished,
the corners of his mouth pulling tight again. He looked at Victor, past Yuri's
shoulder.
Victor's arm snaked around Yuri's middle, pulling him back down to the bed.
"Hey!" Yuri yelled, twisting in Victor's grip. "What the hell?"
"We just had a long conversation about asking for what you want. You're not
going to forget, are you?" Victor rubbed his face against Yuri's neck like an
overgrown cat, his hands creeping down to squeeze the bruises he'd left with
his belt.
Yuri gasped, heat flooding his body again. "Stop that."
"You sounded like you were going to run away," Yuuri said. He settled on the
bed in front of Yuri, pushing some of Yuri's hair out of his face. "We haven't
even congratulated you on your gold medal yet. Will you kiss this one, Vitya?"
Yuuri lifted Yuri's gold medal up from his chest. It winked in the light,
dangling from his fingers. Victor leaned over Yuri's shoulder and pressed his
lips to it.
"Congratulations, Yura," he said, and kissed Yuri, too.
Yuri went tense, startled all over again. He'd thought they were done. Yuuri
and Victor had gotten what they wanted to hear, Yuri had gotten what he wanted
from them, wasn't this the part where they shoved him back to his own room?
Victor had a mischievous smile on his lips. "I think we're going to have to
push a little."
"Isn't that what we just were doing?" Yuuri shook his head. "He's going to be a
handful."
"Isn't he always?"
"Stop talking about me like I'm your pet plaything!" Yuri said, yanking himself
out of their arms and scooting to the end of the bed. "We had fun, and now the
two of you go off and do whatever and I leave. That's how it works."
Yuuri's face looked like it had when Yuri knocked his hand aside at the kiss &
cry - confused and a little hurt. Victor only sighed.
"Is that what you want?"
Yuri meant to say yes. His eyes fell to the matching rings on their fingers,
and he meant to tell them he didn't need them, didn't need what they were
offering if he was even reading it right at all. He meant to say he was fine on
his own.
What he said was, "No."
He didn't notice Yuuri's fingers were twisted in the sheets until they relaxed.
He didn't notice Victor's shoulders were tight until they slumped. They'd been
worried about what he was going to say. Ridiculous.
"Let us take you to dinner," Yuuri said suddenly. "We have a lot we should
probably talk about."
Yuri laughed. "You want to talk now? Isn't that a little backward?"
"We seem to do a lot of things backward, between the three of us." Victor
bumped Yuuri with his elbow, and Yuuri grinned.
It didn't make Yuri's chest hurt anymore. Now he just felt warm.
"I'm still going to use your shower," Yuri said. "And my feet are killing me,
you'll have to wait for me to tape up."
"I'll help you," Yuuri said, wiggling his own toes. "I haven't done mine
either. And I've got some aloe for, um." He blushed red, his eyes trailing down
Yuri's body to his ass.
Some of the belt strokes were a darker red than the surrounding skin. They
would bruise purple, not like the light blue-and-green that would stretch from
his thigh up his hip from his fall on the ice. He would ache for days, well
past the gala. He'd have to sit in a plane seat like this for the flight back
to St. Petersburg.
"Yeah," he said, staring at the marks himself with a dry mouth. "Didn't even
realize I was into that."
"It's not all the time," Yuuri said, like he was trying to be reassuring.
"Just, sometimes I feel a little out of control. Or Victor gets frustrated, but
he has to stay so gracious all the time for the public. Or, you know, someone
has trouble feeling like they can say what they want if they haven't earned
it."
Yuri felt like it was hard to breathe again. "Did I? Earn it?"
Yuuri's mouth curved in that hot, seductive smirk again. He leaned forward to
catch Yuri's mouth with his, kissing filthy slow, his tongue sliding over
Yuri's, the breath from his nose warm on Yuri's cheek.
"Does it feel like you can ask for what you want?" Victor asked, and Yuuri
pulled away so he could answer.
Yuri didn't feel anymore like they were demanding something from him, or like
they were stripping him bare, or like it was hard to force the words from his
chest. The air wasn't drawn tight with tension or vibrating with desperation.
It was easy.
"I want to go to dinner. I'm fucking starving. You'd better treat me to
something good, since I'm going to have to sit on a pillow for a week."
"You asked for it," Yuuri said.
"Yeah, I did," Yuri said. It came out softer than he intended. He slid off the
edge of the bed and walked shakily to the bathroom, still unsteady on his feet.
His steps hesitated as he went through the doorway. He looked back at the bed,
expecting them to be lost in each other now that he'd left.
They weren't. Both pairs of eyes, Yuuri's soft brown and Victor's calm blue,
were on him. Yuri turned back around quickly to hide the blush that crept up
over his cheeks and the little smile that pulled at his lips.
Maybe by the end of dinner, he'd get used to the idea that they were willing to
give him what he asked for.
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