The walk all the way up to the top floor where there Presidential Suite could be found was exhausting, yet necessary as the fewer people to see the Yakuza’s face the better. To Yuri’s advantage, no one seemed to be trolling the halls on the top floor; his way from the stairway exit down the corridor was uneventful. Upon rounding the last corner to where the suite’s double doors were found, the man stopped short, almost dropping the vase.
The double French doors to the suite were wide open.
A huff escaped the irritated man, followed by, “What the fuck?” and more expletives under his breath. There was nothing he could do but go forward and find out what was going on. The woman at the front desk made no mention of Victor having checked out of the hotel already. Yuri smoothed his hair back and righted himself, proceeding forward with extreme caution in case thugs were hiding behind the open doors.
Peeking his head in the foyer, he saw no one and heard nothing but a faint hum, almost like someone—singing. Yuri ventured further into the gorgeous multi-thousand dollar a night room, making sure to glance all around for possible attacks. When nothing seemed amiss in the main area, he proceeded to follow the humming sound and came to a large master suite. A woman was inside, facing away from him, tidying up the four-poster king-size bed. Yuri cleared his throat loudly, trying to announce his presence delicately, but moved to tap the woman on the shoulder when she didn’t respond. He noticed why as he glanced at the back of her head—she was wearing wireless ear buds as she worked.
“Um, excuse me ma…” he started as he reached for the maid. She suddenly turned before he could finish and let out a small yelp. She was obviously not expecting someone to be directly behind her as she smoothed the sheets down.
The woman clutched her chest. “Oh! You scared me! Sorry, sir…I just wasn’t expecting anyone right there.” She patted his arm lightly in apology.
“No, I’m sorry I scared you.” Yuri looked down sheepishly, drumming his fingers on the crystal in his hand. “Has Mr. Nikiforov checked out already?”
“Oh, no sir; he just went to grab a drink at the bar. He said I could gather the towels and turn down the bed while he was out. If you have a delivery, I can put it on the table and make sure he gets it.” She smiled genuinely.
Yuri gave the maid the most charming look he could and replied, “I need to have him sign for this personally as requested from the sender. Do you mind if I wait here?”
The maid shrugged, “You can wait if you’d like, as long as you don’t mind me dusting around you.”
Yuri didn’t mind that one bit and told the young woman to dust all she wanted, noting that he appreciated her allowing him to wait so he wouldn’t get in trouble with his boss. While the maid went room to room to do a quick dusting, Yuri glanced as inconspicuously as he could for any signs of an ambush. He found none.
The woman almost bumped into him after leaving the master bathroom with a massive load of linens in her hands. “Oops, sorry, hon. This guest uses a lot of towels! Sheesh, I need to drop these off in the laundry room and pick up more soaps, okay? I’ll be right back!” she said as she carefully navigated her way to the exit, shutting the doors behind her.
“Not a problem. I’ll be here,” Yuri called out as he set the vase on the dining table.
The maid stopped at the laundry chute down the hall, but instead of dropping them off and going back, she continued to the stairs. She leaned against the wall upon entering the stairwell and rummaged in her pocket. A shaky breath left her lips as she held the wad of cash in her nervous hands. She began to count softly out loud, “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred. Shit, five hundred US Dollars just to leave the room when a guest’s visitor arrives!?” She couldn’t believe the amount of money she held in her hands. It would be a great help to paying off some of her bills. She wondered what the big deal was, thinking the guest just wanted a secret fling or something. The woman closed her eyes and thanked God that she was so fortunate.
While the maid was gone, Yuri took his time to check out each of the rooms in the small mansion-like guest suite. The place was so “Victor,” with fancy bottles of water and room service galore. The Yakuza was on the lookout for any traps or god-forbid, bombs, but he didn’t find anything odd or anyone hiding in any of the rooms. It looked as if Victor truly was downstairs getting shit-faced at the bar.
Yuri let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “Damn,” he whispered as he pushed himself off the chair he was leaning against to make his way to leave. The man didn’t get very far as a few steps into the stride he felt the bite of cold steel press against the back of his head. He stopped moving instantly.
“Gun?” the voice behind demanded.
Yuri was silent. The steel of the pistol dug deeper into his skull. “Gun! Now!” the voice commanded again.
“Back,” was the only reply he received.
A hand quickly pushed up Yuri’s shirt and retrieved the Glock. The magazine thumped on the door as the Russian released it with a click; tossing the weapon across the room—far out of the Yakuza’s reach.
“Hands,” was the second demand.
In one swift movement, Yuri’s hands were looped together behind his back using a thick cable tie. “Turn.” The assailant barked. The Yakuza did as he was told and turned toward the voice.
The pair locked eyes in a hate-filled glare. Yuri was the first to make a move, hacking up and spewing a huge glob of spit directly onto Victor’s smirking face.
The Russian calmly wiped the spittle—grinning, then reared back and punched Yuri as hard as he could in the jaw. The Japanese man’s neck whipped back with so much force a few cracks echoed throughout the space.
“Charming you little fuck,” Victor said while the other turned back around and spat blood on the pristine carpet.
A knee to the gut was next, causing the bloodied man to double over and almost fall to the ground if it wasn’t for the hand that captured a mass of his black hair, pulling upwards. Yuri hissed at the pain coursing throughout his body.
The Yakuza spat more blood in Victor’s direction upon speaking. “How did you know I was coming?” It was hard for him to catch is breath, but he continued after a few coughs. “You were hiding on the other balcony and came in…you shit…fuck…”
Victor just grunted and pulled the other’s head back even farther with his ebony anchor. “Shhh…Yuri, enough. Use your mouth for more entertaining things than cursing. You lost, dear. Your pathetic attempt at trying to ambush me failed. But I guess I can’t think too poorly of you—you did bring me flowers after all.”
“They’re for your funeral, you dick.” The Yakuza’s face twisted with pain and aggravation.
“No, not today. But, now that you mentioned it, thinking of your funeral is making my dick hard. So…on your knees, bitch.” The Russian made sure a round was in the chamber before shoving the other to his knees, bringing him eye level with a growing bulge.
With one hand Victor unfastened his pants. “Since you’re so keen on trying my patience, you’re going to help me try my self-control.”
Yuri clamped his mouth tightly shut.
“You are going to suck my cock while I have a loaded gun to your head. Literally. Let’s see if I can control my trigger finger when I come in your mouth. Usually, I clench up as I come, so this will be a worthwhile experiment, don’t you think?”
The Yakuza’s piercing brown eyes were directly on Victor, almost daring him to do it. The barrel of the gun was pressing deeply into the side of the man’s head, but he paid no mind.
“Don’t look so mad Yuri. If I’m successful, then you’ll get a nice creamy load down your throat. If I’m not, well…at least I don’t have to clean the carpets.”
“Open your mouth. Now.”
Victor didn’t bother to wait and pinched Yuri’s nose shut with his thumb and index finger. As the other was struggling from running out of air, the Russian gave one last warning right before the need for oxygen got the better of the Yakuza.
“I’m sure you know what’ll happen if you bite. Now—suck!”
Victor shoved himself as far as he could down Yuri’s throat, making the other gasp and choke around the intrusion. The hand gripping the silky black strands grew tighter as the Bratva took a few short strokes into the wet bliss. Content sighs and gurgles bounced off the room’s walls as the man teased himself by rubbing his dick on the reddened mouth, followed by a painful deep throat dunk.
Yuri struggled and pulled away from the punishing barrage of facial fucking, but the tearing of hair from his scalp stopped him from moving as much as he wanted. The Yakuza could take some pain, but pain on sensitive areas was just too much for even the most brutish man to take. Still, he tried to wiggle and pull his hands as much as he could in the straps, attempting to loosen them.
Spit began to pool in Yuri’s mouth and run down his chin as the assault continued. The bitter taste of precum mixed with the blood from the punch was nauseating. He could feel his teeth scraping down the thick shaft in his mouth, but Victor didn’t seem to notice—the man was too engulfed in the sensation of unrestrained fucking to care about a slight scrape here or there.
The Russian let out moan after moan; his speed increased dramatically as the gun knocked against the other’s head, bruising the tender scalp. The slap of damp skin echoed; Victor’s balls swung heavily, splattering saliva and blood from Yuri’s chin through the air.
“Uh, ugh, oh god, Yuri! I’m about to come. I…I don’t know if I can…control it!” Victor half moaned and shouted at the same time.
It was almost as if time started moving slowly as the Russian started to tense up, his balls moving close to his body as they readied for release. Yuri could almost hear the other’s hand shaking on the pistol’s grip. The younger prayed that the gun didn’t have a hair trigger; he wouldn’t survive this if it did. Yuri hid his worried eyes, squeezing them so tight it hurt, making him see lights behind his eyelids. He was preparing for the worst.
His ex-coach halted his erratic thrusts for a short second, and then it happened.
A flood of warm salty liquid flooded Yuri Katsuki’s mouth and throat, followed by a song of moaning and shrieking. Spurt after spurt of the sticky come covered the younger man’s tongue and teeth. The gun was abandoned, tossed on the nearby table, so Victor could fully take advantage of the warm hole his cock was exploding into. Two strong hands threaded through Yuri’s soft hair and pushed his sore face into the other’s crotch. Victor’s orgasm was coming to a close, indicated by the weakening thrusts and lighter moans.
Suddenly the older man tore his cock from the warm cocoon, using his hands to immediately shut the other’s jaw closed. “Swallow what your gracious ex-coach gave you!” Yuri begrudgingly gulped down the fluid. It was better than leaving it sit in his mouth to accost his poor taste buds. “Good boy.” Victor padded the younger’s head like a dog.
“You suck cock wonderfully! And look, our experiment was a success! You’re still alive.” Victor tucked himself back in. “Well, maybe it was a failure then,” he reconsidered after a moment.
The Russian looked down at the bleeding man before him, taking note of the mess of blood and bodily fluids littering the expensive flooring below.
“Yuri! You ruined the carpet!” The man put his hand to his face is frustration, smoothing his hair back as he looked toward the bathroom.
“You, stay,” he commanded.
Victor walked out of the main area into the side rooms to find any spare towels to clean up.
Yuri meanwhile was wiggling as much as he could. He had been able to loosen the straps a touch with force, but being directly in Victor’s sight put him at a disadvantage. Now that he was alone for the moment, he was able to center himself and gather all the strength he had to push his arms apart break the straps. After a few frantic tries, Yuri heard the snap he wanted to hear.
“Ah, good boy! Just like Makka!” Victor cooed as he strolled into the vast room with a towel and stared at Yuri, still on his knees and face hanging down.
“Yuri?” The man asked when the other didn’t make sound. When no answer came, Victor walked closer toward the crumpled man. “Are you crying?” He stepped closer still. “Was it that good, getting a taste of a five-time gold medalist?” Now he was directly in front of the other, staring down in confusion.
Without warning, Yuri bolted up from the spot on the floor, nailing Victor right in the chin with a punishing head butt. A grab to the inner knee made the man fly backward, falling to the ground, but not before catching the corner of a chair on the way down.
The Yakuza shook his head to stop the spinning from the hit before towering over his fallen enemy. “I think you’ve gone soft, baby—in more ways than one.”
The gash from the chair corner was bleeding rather heavily; Victor just groaned at the comment.
“Just relax. It’s my turn now…” was the last thing the Russian heard before drifting into unconsciousness.