The ride back from the airport was silent, a melancholy Yuuri couldn't quite dispel hanging in the air between him and his coach. Their reunion had been sweet, although somewhat bitter, and it had left a guilty taste in his mouth. He hadn't realised how much he had been relying on Viktor to get him through his ice skating season. Sure, he had made it to the Grand Prix like he said he would, but only just. Only on a technicality. How could he face Viktor knowing that?
His lowered eyes flicked sideways to glance at the pensive figure at the opposite window, and the sight made his heart ache. He'd known Viktor was beautiful for a long, long time, but in those moments, when the air was still and cold, and time hung around them like a burden, the sheer wonder of his very being still took his breath away. Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek and turned away, not looking back at the other man for the rest of the ride, not even when he felt a hand slide over the seat beside him to wordlessly envelop his fingers; he simply let it happen.
They made it back to the inn by dinner time, but Yuuri was too distracted to eat much. What had gotten into him? His failure at the Rostelecom Cup? The talk of retirement between him and Viktor at the airport? Maybe he was just tired from the flight... Whatever it was, it was difficult to put aside while reuniting with his family. A sense of guilt had crept in while they praised his performance and congratulated his advancement. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve anything.
His chest tightened at the sound of his coaches voice. His heart ached even more when he looked up and saw Viktor walking towards him holding a tray laden with two steaming bowls. Katsudon. Of course. Technically, he won.
He forced a smile.
“Ah! I missed these!” it was all he could do to keep his voice light. “Oh! Viktor, did I tell you? Yurio gave me a... what was it called? A pirof... piros...”
“A pirozhki?” Viktor offered, clearly excited by the mention of something Russian.
“Yeah! But it had rice and egg and pork in it! It was a katsudon Pirozhki! His grandpa made them apparently.”
He had been stirring his chopsticks around his bowl while he talked, but hadn't been able to bring himself to take a bite. He had to though, everyone was watching him.
“What's a... pirosfiky?” Mari asked, fumbling over the foreign word. Viktor immediately perked up, and stared so hard at Yuuri that he couldn't help but imagine him with a tail, wagging around excitedly behind him. It almost made him smile.
“She's asking what a pirozhki is, but to be honest, I don't really know myself. Want me to translate for you?”
Viktor took the bait, and chatted adamantly through Yuuris translations to Yuuris family about authentic Russian cuisine, which provided the perfect cover for Yuuri to shift enough around his plate to make it look like he was slowly eating his way through his pork bowl. Every now and then, he slipped a bite to Makkachin, who had plopped himself down next to him under the table, although, truth be told, that only increased his guilt. The labradoodle had, after all, been through a food-induced ordeal not too long ago.
Finally, when Yuuris throat was starting to crack at all the talking back and forth (his mother in particular had taken a great interest in Viktors talk of Russian food, and had, in fact, promised to attempt to make something for him “in return for being such a good friend to Yuuri”) it was finally acceptable for him to call it a night. He hugged his parents, waved to his sister, and, with heavy footfalls and a thoroughly worn out heart, trudged back to the familiar comfort of his room.
His hand stopped just short of the handle, so close to freedom he could almost taste it. But, when that voice called him, there was nothing else he could do. He turned around, not bothering to hide his weariness.
Viktor stood in the hallway, a few feet back. Gone was the casual friendliness from dinner, and in its place were a furrowed brow above piercing eyes. His mouth, unsmiling, was set in a hard line, and Yuuri knew instantly the night was not over yet.
“Come take a bath with me.” it wasn't a question, and he didn't move. Yuuri, too tired to pretend, didn't drop his gaze.
“Not tonight Viktor, it was a long flight.” He went to turn back to his door, but Viktor spoke again, his voice harder than before, if by a fraction.
“If it was a long flight, you need to relax.” a casual air then, “The onsen would be perfect, no?”
Yuuri sighed, making sure it would be heard.
“Maybe in the morning Viktor, I really just want to be alo...” fuck. He turned is back on his coach, grabbing the door handle a bit too firmly. “... to sleep. I just want some rest okay?”
He hadn't even finished his sentence before Viktor had closed the gap between them. He found his fingers gripping the brass were once again covered by Viktor's slender, pale hand, and the warmth radiating from him wavered his resolve. He could feel Viktor's breath on the back of his neck, and a sadness like no other he had felt before came crashing down on him, threatening to overwhelm and consume. He felt his body shake, as Viktor's other hand came to rest gently on his waist.
“Then, at least, come to my room.”
His voice. Not hard, but soft. Not angry, but heavy. In it, Yuuri heard the same loneliness he had been suppressing ever since Viktor had flown back to Japan from Russia, mere days ago. It was a connection, a promise, he simply could not deny.
Wordless, he gave a nod, and allowed himself to be lead by Viktor back down the hall, towards the guest room Viktor had claimed as his own. He had given in under the pressure of needing to be close to him again, but with each step he took, the reality of his failure of a free skate came back to him, and the anxiety of needing to explain himself began building back up, ten times, a hundred times, more intense than before. He was going to be alone with Viktor, and for the first time, the thought terrified him.
They reached the room, and Yuuri stepped through, his body shaking, his mind a messed up mix of desperation and apathy. He stood silent, listening to the doors slide shut behind him, and waited for the reign of retribution to wash over him from his coach. The seconds ticked by, accompanied only by the sound of uneven breaths in the darkness. It occurred to Yuuri that Viktor hadn't turned on the light, and the realisation that maybe things weren't as they seemed slowly crept up on him.
Ten seconds. Still neither of them moved.
Twenty seconds. Yuuri slowly turned his head, just a bit, his eyes straining to see behind him in the dark while also trying not to give him away.
Thirty seconds passed. Viktor was silent.
He couldn't take it any more. He started to turn.
A hand shot out in the dimness and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him on his heels.
His cry was muffled by fabric as he found himself wrapped deeply within his coaches arms. Viktor's scent filled his lungs, dizzying him. Had it really been so long? They had embraced at the airport, so why did this moment feel like coming up for air?
His own arms clung to Viktor without Yuuri even realising. He felt Viktor's hand around his nape, holding him closer, and he was overcome with the feeling that if Viktor ever let him go, he would simply fall, and fall, and fall. He turned his face into Viktor's neck, and the skin there was warm against his lips. He gasped in a desperate breath, soaking his lungs with Viktor, and felt the grip around his body tighten in response.
Had it really been so long?
A moment. Two. The tension was fading, but the passion smoldered, deep, unwavering. Slowly, the two relaxed their grips, allowing enough room for them to part just enough to be face to face, without having to drop their arms. Yuuri decided he was never, never, letting go of this man.
“Yuuri,” had his voice always been so sweet? “I missed you.”
The room was dark, but there was no mistaking the light in his eyes. Yuuri gazed into him, not knowing what Viktor was choosing to see as he looked back. Like the shattering of glass, the memory of who he really was spread cracks across his vision. He didn't deserve this. He wasn't enough for Viktor. He never would be.
Breaking his grip, he took a step back. Viktor, taken by surprise, stumbled forward as his hands became empty and his eyes became wide. A hesitation? But he reached for him again.
Yuuri dodged, the bitterness back on his tongue. He had to get out of here.
“I'm tired Viktor. Please, let me go back to my room.”
He made for the door, but Viktor blocked him. Was he angry? He didn't really care.
“Is this because of your free skate?” Viktor's voice sounded harsh, harsher than it ever had before. He cut right to the center of Yuuri, no holding back. “Because you messed it up, and only just made it through the the Grand Prix?”
Yuuri was momentarily stunned. And then. Anguish. He had been right. Of course Viktor saw right to the point. Of course Viktor had been thinking about it. He was his coach. How can he not have realised the instant he saw the results? Yuuri's chest ached, so bad he thought he might die right there.
“Viktor, move.” He couldn't do this. Not tonight.
He tried to step around Viktor, but he was blocked. He tried the other side, but he was blocked. He gritted his teeth against the frustration, against the bitter bile rising in his throat, and tried again. Blocked. Why? Why was Viktor doing this? Why couldn't he let him sleep?
Goddamn it. He decided to just force his way through, and crashed his weight into Viktor with everything he had, only to find his wrists captured and his feet stumbling backwards as the bigger man forced him further back into the room.
“Let me go! Viktor!” he struggled, to no avail. But really, did he even want to? His resolve was fading fast. What did he want? To not be there? To not exist.
He felt his legs hit the side of the bed, and he was forced to sit on the edge, with Viktor leaning over him, his wrists still held above his head. A moon beam filtered in through the half open window, and cut across Viktor's pale face, and for the second time that night, Yuuri was taken by the serene beauty he saw there.
“What do you want from me?” the words were out before he knew he was talking, his voice so small even he could barely hear it. “Viktor... what do you want from me?”
A beat was all it took. Viktor's face was so close, it took his breath away. His eyes, hooded but sharp, pierced right through him, and saw into his very soul. The word he whispered, the single word, washed over him, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.
He had tasted Viktor's lips once before, but he was too shocked by it at the time to have really felt it. This time however, Viktor's mouth became Yuuri's entire universe. There was only Viktor, and his sweetness, and his softness, and the undeniable wanting that pressed in on him, and forced his lips to part. A need like no other completely enveloped Yuuri as he pushed back against him, gasping, needing, already moaning as the weight of his mind turned to passion in his body. That's right. This man was his. Viktor Nikiforov was his.
His wrists were still being held above him in a grip too strong for him to break. So he arched his back, throwing his weight onto Viktor, forcing him to either let go, or tumble forward. He chose the latter, and the two of them crashed onto the mattress, breaking apart as Viktor let go of his wrists, and fell down on his chest.
Frustrated, Yuuri sat up on his elbows, reaching one hand down to Viktor, knotting his fingers in his hair and dragging him back up to his mouth. He saw Viktor very slightly wince at the pain before scrambling desperately over the sheets to reach him, and a jolt went through his body in the instant before they were kissing again.
He felt Viktor bring his knees up to straddle him, felt the weight of his hips press into his navel, and was thrilled. It definitely hadn't passed his notice that he had grown hard under Viktor's relentless assault, and he found himself desperate to know if it was mutual. Almost unconsciously, he bucked his hips, and grabbed Viktor's lapel, forcing him to lay flush against his chest.
There! He felt Viktor's excitement pressing hard into his stomach, and it sent a shiver down his spine. A moan escaped his lips around Viktor's tongue, and he arched his back off the mattress in a semi-conscious bid to rub their bodies together. He needed to feel him. He needed it so badly.
“Vik... tor...” he didn't want to break away, so the words were slurred around their mouths. “Want... to tou..ch... you...”
He felt Viktor's whole body shiver as he broke away with an audible gasp. Even just in the pale moonlight Yuuri could see the wetness shining on his swollen lips, the flush across his shining cheeks. He looked so beautiful.
As one, they rose off the bed, Viktor sitting back in Yuuri's lap, an arm around his shoulders for support. They were both breathing heavy as Yuuri's hands fumbled over the strap of Viktors belt. Of course neither of them had changed since coming back from the airport, he was still in his casual day clothes. The metal gave a satisfying click, and within seconds the button was popped, and Yuuri's fingers were tracing the outline of Viktor's mass over the thin fabric of his underwear.
Even over the fabric, Yuuri's touch was enough to pull quiet gasps from Viktors throat. Yuuri stared, captivated, at the eroticism playing over his Russian features as he ran his fingers up and down, lightly massaging here and there to draw out the sweetest of moans. What the hell was he doing? It didn't matter, Viktor was looking at him, with those hooded, lustful eyes, and that wet, open mouth. Viktor was looking at him. That's all that mattered.
Yet he wanted more.
He pressed his face closer, touching their foreheads together, making it so Viktor could look no where else but directly into his eyes. His quiet, panting breaths washed over his skin, coating his lips and lungs in honeyed glory. He drank it in as his fingers nimbly pulled the thin fabric aside, before wrapping around Viktors now exposed arousal. He saw Viktors eyes widen at the contact, and felt a rush of joyous power flow through him. His own hips ached, but more than anything he wanted Viktor to feel him. He wanted Viktor to know that he was possessed.
His voice hit him like a landslide. His own name had never sounded so sweet, and he instantly wanted to hear nothing else.
Viktor's pre-come was already coating his hand, making his movements, his squeezing, his sliding, slick and warm. He could feel Viktor throbbing and twitching in his palm, and with every stroke he heard his breathing grow heavier, his voice lovelier. He forced Viktor to hold his gaze, and was completely enraptured by the emotion he saw in his eyes. Wide, almost fearful, to hooded, and desperate. He tried to turn his head away, but Yuuri chased him, forcing him back. He tried to close his eyes, but Yuuri squeezed him harder, and ran his free hand up Viktor's back to knot his fingers hard in his hair, making him gasp and shiver. The sheer wildness his actions invoked in the man were enough to drive Yuuri mad.
“Yuu...ri” that voice, so soft, so drenched in pleasure, he never wanted to hear another sound again. “Yuu...ri... You... you too...”
Viktors free hand had found its way to the waist band of Yuuri's pants. He had only worn sweats on the plane, so Viktor was easily able to hook his fingers around the elastic and tug. He couldn't make much head way however, as both Yuuri and Viktors own weight were pressing the fabric down against his thighs. Yuuri finally broke their eye contact, shifting them both just enough to drag the material of his own pants and underwear down over his thighs, exposing his own hardness before he could even think about it.
Instantly, Viktors fingers were wrapped around him, squeezing, pulling, rubbing him so intently, for a moment Yuuri was completely lost. Truth be told, he had never felt someone else's hand on him before, and he was completely unprepared for the sheer feeling of it. He felt his own warm pre-come spilling out of him and his head swam with the sensation. What was happening to him? Is this what he was making Viktor feel?
With a jolt he realised he had stopped pleasuring Viktor, and he cast his eyes upward, seeking out his face. What did his eyes say? Was he okay? He found his face as he started to move his hand again, falling into sync with the movements Viktor was making against him. With relief, he found no hint of anything other than pure ecstasy in Viktors face, and he leaned into him, pressing their mouths together again so he could taste his hot tongue, and swallow his sweet, wet moans.
Their bodies rocked against each other as their hands dragged forth desire so strong they felt they may melt. Viktors free hand knotted in Yuuri's hair, and tilted his head back so his lips could get to the soft, tender flesh of his neck as they mouthed his name over and over. Yuuri's hand ran lightly up Viktors back, under his shirt so his nails could drag slowly over his skin as his teeth tugged lightly on his lovers earlobe. His head was swimming in pleasure, the world around them melted into nothing as they rose further and further through the ebbing tide of ecstasy. The scent of their sex and sweat filled the air, invaded their senses, made it impossible to escape, even if they wanted to.
Yuuri felt himself getting close. So close. He just needed... he just wanted....
“Viktor...” his voice cracked, his own desperation too much to bear. “Viktor... please... I'm going to... Viktor...”
Viktor responded with a flurry of energy. His hand squeezed, pulled, massaged, rubbed, and Yuuri's whole body was taken in the pleasure. He returned in kind, tightening his grip on Viktor, making sure his lover was feeling everything that he was. He felt Viktors body stir, his back arch against him. He felt him throb hard in his hand, and knew that he was feeling it.
God he was so close. Where was Viktor? He needed to see him. He needed him, more than anything in the world.
“Vik...tor...” his voice was pleading, his eyes searching wildly in the dark. “Viktor look... look at me... please look at me...”
Instantly, Viktor was there, their foreheads pressed together again, their erratic and heavy breaths mixing in the tiny space between their mouths. Viktors eyes shone brighter than Yuuri had ever seen them, and he fell into him as they came, the sound of Viktors beautiful, beautiful voice forming his name as their bodies rocked together, hot, wet, shivering, satisfied.
A moment passed as the pleasure of their orgasm washed through them. The sound of their panting filled the sticky air around them as they gazed through hooded lids into each others eyes. Yuuri could feel Viktors lips trembling, and he softly closed the gap, pressing a light, wet kiss into him.
He let his arm fall back onto the mattress, a sudden fatigue casting its shadow over him like a blanket. Gently, he pulled Viktor down onto him, so they were once again laying back on the bed, Viktor on his chest, slowly rising and falling with Yuuri's evening breaths.
The minutes passed as they calmed down, their bodies cooling and their skin growing sticky. Yuuri had his fingers gently curled in Viktors hair, lightly playing with the strands distractedly as his mind tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Somehow, it felt... natural. He thought surely something inside him should be freaking out, but it was a part of him he simply couldn't find. The images of Viktor's face as he succumbed to the pleasure of Yuuri's hand flashed back in his mind, and all he found was satisfaction and admiration.
“Hey, Viktor?” it was like his voice didn't even break the silence. It was more like it belonged in the air already.
He felt Viktor stir on his chest.
See? He belonged there too. Yuuri smiled, the first genuine smile he'd felt since Russia.
“I missed you too.”