Chapter Text
Spring was the loveliest time of year.
Perhaps Yuuri’s bias was based in the memory of meeting Victor the previous spring, his master-to-be immodest and unorganized yet charming beyond fault. He should have known from the moment Victor—clad only in knickers and an unbuttoned undershirt—greeted and asked him to lace up a corset that their relationship would be unconventional.
Though, even if he’d known then, he would have never guessed just how unconventional their next spring would be.
The noon sun shone brightly upon the Nikiforov Estate, bathing the garden in warmth. Of late, Victor had taken to working in the garden around midday, letting Makkachin chase butterflies outside while he brought his sketchbooks and design samples into the greenhouse where the most fragrant of his flowers bloomed. His latest line of summer dresses and parlor suits were all inspired by blossoms, their pastel colors creating a clamour of demand.
Yuuri carried a pitcher of iced tea and a plate of finger sandwiches from the house to the garden, neglecting to call out his arrival as he slipped past the glass doors of the greenhouse. Inside, it was warmer than the gardens, but not unbearably so.
Victor stood at the center, bathed in the soft light filtering through colored glass and greenery. His jacket and vest lay discarded on the garden table beside him, with papers full of sketches and notes scattered over the top. Two days prior, Victor had dragged a dress form out to the garden, insisting he could better visualize his new idea if all of his work were amongst the flowers. At the moment, a fine, hydrangea-pink fabric draped the form. The design had, however, yet to take shape.
“Does inspiration escape you?” Yuuri asked, a light smile pulled across his lips. He walked around the table and gently pushed aside the assorted evidence of Victor’s turmoil, making space for the refreshments.
“None of these are the right pink.”
More samples of variously colored pink fabrics littered the ground surrounding the dress form. A quick count gave Yuuri a sum of seven. Directly behind the form, rose bushes of matching tints stretched their faces toward the sun.
“What is the right pink?” Yuuri poured out a glass of tea and handed it, along with one of the sandwiches, to Victor. His master drank and ate obediently, despite the scowl still writ across his face.
“I believe it to be ‘Japanese cherry blossom.’”
But of course.
As Yuuri cast a pointed glance at his master, Victor’s scowl turned into a pout, his lips pursed around the sandwich. The combination of the puff to his cheeks and the pleading in his eyes was as endearing as it was comical.
“Regrettably, I’ve yet to find a sapling,” Yuuri answered. It wasn’t what Victor meant and he knew it, but his answer was honest. He had reached out to all of his contacts and beyond, but thus far no one could produce a Japanese sakura tree. He had been offered a growing plum tree, promised to produce pink flowers, but Victor deserved the genuine article.
“A tragedy,” Victor lamented, sitting down at the table. He rested an elbow on folds of fabric, his gaze flickering between the dress form and the surrounding flowers. “Perhaps I should base it on another pink. Like the one that paints your face so beautifully whenever I press my lips to yours.”
As if to prove Victor’s point, Yuuri’s cheeks warmed. “That’s a bit too personal, is it not?”
“I wouldn’t confess. Did you see the latest romance in that periodical Mila brought by the other day?” Victor asked, crossing one elegant leg over the other. His expression turned smug and with good reason.
“I caught a glimpse,” Yuuri admitted.
Victor was not a subtle individual. It was not long into their courting that rumors of “relations” between him and his valet spread. Though, Yuuri did suppose he was partially to blame. Containing his fond glances and sweet words grew to be a genuine challenge once he came to realize just how deeply his affection was appreciated and returned. And while he attempted to give diplomatic responses when prodded and questioned, his master had no qualms with honesty. As a result, their romance was the worst kept secret from the day it began.
It had, however, set off something of a trend.
At Mister Giacometti put it, a servant falling for their master was the highest of compliments. Who would not want a right-hand man or woman who would care for them out of love, rather than obligation?
The romance periodicals rapidly filled with tales of master-servant courtships—each more fanciful than the last. And according to the gossip in town, Jean-Jacques was throwing a party at which half the guests would play the role of valet or handmaiden, giving everyone the thrill of such a fantasy for one night. All in all, Yuuri’s concerns about how their relationship would reflect on Victor were unfounded. Despite his surprise, he would lodge no complaints.
“I hope you know I love you far more dearly than the heroines love their partners in those vapid stories.” Victor set down his tea glass. “Love at first sight, a focus on looks… That wasn’t at all how it went, was it?”
“Are you saying you didn’t consider me attractive at first?” Yuuri teased, chuckling when Victor gasped.
“Hush, my dear. I did find you unbearably darling on the eyes, but that wasn’t the only reason I fell straight in love with you.”
“Of course not. That would be because I let you get away with everything.”
“Precisely.”
Yuuri laughed. Perhaps a good valet would be stricter with his master’s indiscretions and flights of fancy, but it wasn’t as if Victor did any better with Yuuri. Ever since their relationship blossomed like the roses of the greenhouse, Victor had taken to spoiling his valet at every opportunity. Yuuri did not want for much, but on the rare days when the city grew a little too loud and his head grew a little too crowded, it was a relief knowing that his beloved master could ensure their rapid escape and provide needed rest to them both.
“If only you’d do that for my current plight.” Victor sighed. “An entire garden full of flowers and yet my darling valet won’t permit me to go see the ones that’ll spark my gift…”
If Victor spoiled him, it was only because Yuuri did the same in return. He smiled and leaned across the table, skimming his fingertips across one of Victor’s hands. “How is a gentleman meant to plan a surprise when his beloved refuses to give him the chance?”
Victor blinked, and then a smile overtook his fair features. “Do you mean to say…”
It had taken a considerable amount of time and effort, but Yuuri had finalized the arrangements that morning. Their travel documents were prepared, tickets purchased, and Victor’s social calendar cleared. “We leave next week.”
Victor leapt to his feet and whirled around the table, grabbing hold of his valet. His fingers pressed firmly into Yuuri’s biceps, squeezing with excitement. “You’re not bullying me, are you? We’re going? Truly?”
“Young Master Plisetsky volunteered to look after Makkachin. He’ll stay here with her while we’re away, to make sure she’s comfortable. I would’ve asked, but I presumed you’d be fine with that.”
Beaming stronger than the sun, Victor cupped Yuuri’s face in his hands and kissed his lips. His plush lips were cool from the ice in his drink, but they warmed Yuuri nonetheless.
“Perfect. That’s perfect,” Victor said, scattering kisses across Yuuri’s cheeks and jaw. “Oh, I can’t wait. What of your family? Will I get to meet them? Do they know about me? You’ll have to help me pick out gifts for them. Does your mother wear traditional clothes? Would she accept a dress if I made her one? What about your father? Do you think he’d enjoy a suit?”
Yuuri had expected all of those questions, though he didn’t think they’d come all at once. “I’ve written to them and, yes, they’re expecting us. They can’t wait to meet you. And I’m certain they’ll be thrilled with anything you bring, so don’t strain yourself.”
“My darling, my love…” Victor tipped his forehead against Yuuri’s and dropped his hands so he could find Yuuri’s, winding their fingers together. “My Yuuri.”
“Yes?”
“You treat me too well.”
“Such is the misfortune of love.”
Chuckling, Victor sought out another sweet kiss. “And yet, could I ask for more?”
As he had since the day they’d met, Yuuri could only say yes. “Ask away.”
“We’ve been coming into this greenhouse for weeks now, and every day I’ve been waiting for you to ravish me in it.”
Ah. That would explain the discarded vest, the increasingly loose buttons, and the rolled-up sleeves. Yuuri had assumed it was for private comfort, due to the warmth of the greenhouse, despite his own wandering thoughts about how he wanted to kiss the pale insides of Victor’s wrists and steal his breath away amongst the azaleas.
Clearing his throat, Yuuri took a step back. “Pardon me for one moment.”
As Victor watched him, perplexed, Yuuri set about clearing the table. He sorted Victor’s notes, folded the scattered fabrics, then stacked the sandwiches plates and tea glasses. Muttering another apology, he swept from the greenhouse, hot under the collar as he took the china and utensils back to the manor. He was quick, bursting through the kitchen and then dipping into the master bedroom before returning to the greenhouse.
He was met with confusion from Victor, but erased it by sweeping him into his arms. He nudged Victor back against the slightly more organized table, sitting him on the edge. If his master wanted to be ravished, Yuuri was more than happy to comply.
Their first night together had been filled with nerves and trembling fingers, with uncertain whispers and too many words of affirmation. As had the following morning when they rolled into each other, framed by the soft dawn light, and chased kisses with smiles. Yuuri was less nervous now.
He’d learned what Victor liked—which spots made him sing and which made his knees grow weak. Yuuri touched his lips to the curve of Victor’s jaw, ghosting kisses down the sharp line of his face. He reached up, slowly undoing the knot of Victor’s cravat and slipping off the fabric, exposing the long and delicate line of his throat.
Despite the warmer weather, Victor’s use of cravats and tall collars persisted, concealing the fading marks Yuuri scattered along his skin during nights in their shared bed. If Yuuri were to be more cautious, then it would hardly be a ravishing.
He kissed down Victor’s neck, determined to leave no millimeter of skin untouched. When Victor’s hands drifted to his chest, Yuuri pushed them back down, maintaining control. The loose buttons of Victor’s shirt came undone easily, and Yuuri chuckled when he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric to find undergarments lacking. He explicitly remembered dressing Victor in full that morning, after they’d risen together. “You were determined.”
“Weeks, my Yuuri.”
“I promise to be less oblivious in the future, then.”
“Or I could communicate more clearly.”
“That would be simpler.”
Grinning with triumph, Victor drew him close, lips meeting lips. Yuuri pressed in, coaxing Victor’s mouth open. The earthiness of roasted green tea met his tongue. Nipping at Victor’s full bottom lip, Yuuri dipped his fingers under the waistline of Victor’s trousers. He slipped a leg between Victor’s, letting his thigh press against his master’s groin. When Victor whimpered against his tongue, Yuuri increased the force of the contact.
No matter how many times Yuuri tasted Victor’s mouth and skin, the sweetness never lessened. He ghosted his lips down Victor’s chest, loving how his master shivered as he brushed his thumbs over rosy nipples, and felt the tightening of Victor’s abdomen when he dropped down low.
He folded Victor’s trousers and undergarments after removing them, placing them neatly on the chair beside them. Victor’s chuckle lasted only a moment, cut off by a gasp as Yuuri’s mouth found his hardening member.
Thighs trembled beneath Yuuri’s hands and, above him, Victor’s breathing turned short and ragged. Victor’s hands delved into the thickness of Yuuri’s dark hair, fingertips pressing in with gentle encouragement at the base of his skull.
“You tease…” Victor accused, arching into the heat of Yuuri’s mouth.
“Hardly a tease,” Yuuri muttered, his teeth leaving a light impression in the softness of Victor's upper thighs.
Victor trailed his hands to Yuuri’s collar, tugging aside his necktie and toying open the fastening. “As talented as your mouth is, it’s your cock I want inside me.”
In the months prior, Yuuri might have stumbled over words so direct. And yet, Victor’s boldness came as no surprise. His master approached the art of love with the same determination, vitality, and abandoned nature as he did the rest of life. Victor pulled him in by the collar and Yuuri came to him, sliding his body between Victor’s legs and hitching him to the edge of the table, so they could lean flush against one another.
Yuuri produced the vial he had taken from the bedroom and uncorked it. He coated his fingers in lavender-scented oil and pressed them into Victor without restraint. It had come to be a familiar pattern. Victor moved against him, hurriedly pushing aside the folds of Yuuri’s jacket and shirts in search of skin, helping his valet to work him open.
“Please, my Yuuri. Make love with me.”
Amongst the warmth and flowers of the greenhouse, Yuuri undid the front of his trousers and aligned himself with the wet and eager entrance to his master's hole, then pressed himself inside. He rocked in slowly, millimeter by millimeter, admiring how the part to Victor's glistening lips spread just like his body. Between them, Victor's hardness pulsed, the reddened tip smearing pearls.
“Darling. Darling, please. Bury yourself inside me.”
With the request muttered sweetly against the corner of his mouth, Yuuri sprang to motion. Moans fell from Victor's tongue in a sequence, as beautiful as a full symphony. Yuuri made a percussion of their hips, snapping his against Victor’s own and finding pleasure in the heat and clenching of his master’s body.
Victor’s hair grew unruly as Yuuri tangled his fingers within the silver strands. He kissed the moans off Victor’s tongue as he plunged in to bind them deeply. And when Victor began to tremble and beg, Yuuri dropped his touch. The fingers of one hand wrapped firmly around his master’s gorgeous cock while those of the other fondled his velvet sac, bringing bliss to both until Victor mewled and spilled his seed between them.
His master’s pleas did not stop, sweet exhales asking for Yuuri to join him, his hands trembling against Yuuri’s chest while his legs squeezed around his waist. Yuuri thrust in with force, driving the overstimulation he knew Victor so deeply relished until his orgasm flooded from him and filled his master.
Yuuri sought out yet another kiss, his cock still cradled inside Victor’s body. As he leaned back, it slipped free, leaving a dribbling of white along Victor’s thighs. Yuuri grabbed the pink fabric off the dress form, wrapping his master within the cool silk.
“Do you intend to carry me in?” Victor asked, his fingers hooked into the belt loops of Yuuri’s loose trousers.
“Would that not be treating you too well?”
Victor laughed and nodded. “Too true. Will you permit me to return the favor, after we get inside?”
Yuuri kissed Victor’s fingertips and his palm, lips skimming the gold metal band at the base of Victor’s ring finger. “Of course. Shall we then, Mister Nikiforov?”
Beaming, Victor laced his fingers with Yuuri’s and pulled him toward the greenhouse door. “By your lead, Mister Nikiforov.”
The duty of a valet was deceptively simple on the surface: his job was to wait upon his master. In truth, Yuuri’s was even simpler, for he waited upon none other than his husband.