Getting Yuuri to bed the second time was more difficult than the first, Victor muses in the early morning as Yuuri sleeps beside him, completely out for the count. He’s on his stomach and Victor lifts the blanket gently, draws it slightly down to get a good look at Yuuri’s back. Slender, muscled, lean.
It’s the thought that he could do anything to Yuuri right now that hits him the hardest.
The first time they had sex was the night just before they left China, where Yuuri said they wouldn’t have that much privacy when they got back to Hasetsu, and then had proceeded to completely take all Victor’s functioning braincells offline. Victor wishes he could remember everything about that night crystal clear, but what he does remember is sensations. Overwhelming. He’d been overwhelmed by Yuuri and that’s the simplest way of saying it.
Yuuri, so suddenly out of the blue secure in his sensuality, he’d been Eros sent to the unsuspecting human, a deity sent from above, then as the lights dimmed, he’d been Yuuri to Victor, soft and edged in equal measures, yielding and solid beneath Victor’s fingers.
It’d been over far quicker than they’d wanted, but that was alright, too.
Victor remembers sensations, a heart so full it felt like bursting, sighs and whispers and dizziness, kissing until he couldn’t breathe. Yuuri’s cries in the dark, his curiosity and clever fingers. Far from worldly, Victor couldn’t remember sex ever feeling like that. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another person.
In Hasetsu there are moments where Victor feels too full. Full of Yuuri, of love, of serenity.
He reaches for Yuuri because he’s allowed, presses him into corners, into nooks, kisses him when it feels like he can’t breathe without.
The second time of coming to sex was more difficult than the first.
Yuuri, worn out from skating, exhausted from running and sore from weights, is rigid under Victor’s hands.
He says, “It’s not that I don’t want to,” and his eyes are large and dark and open to him. He says, “I think too much,” and runs his hands up Victor’s arms, slides them around his shoulders. He says, “Sometimes I need a push, sometimes I need to be held back.”
Victor has always been helpless when it comes to Yuuri.
“Nothing you don’t want,” Victor breathes. “Promise me.”
And Yuuri says, “I promise,” and kisses him, open and wet.
Victor falls into him and spends the night worshipping him, overwhelming Yuuri the way Yuuri had overwhelmed him that night in China. Chasing Yuuri’s retreating mouth, following his hands, spreading his thighs and kissing every inch of skin Yuuri will let him.
Not so much Eros now but Yuuri, caught by Aphrodite and sent to Victor to hold and keep.
Self-conscious but not wanting to be, Yuuri does his best for him, meeting him when he can, in any way he can. When insecure, Victor pushes, listens to every minute reaction and Yuuri bends beautifully, submissive to Victor’s demands for relaxation and pleasure. All he wants is for Yuuri to stop thinking and forget himself and only ever remember Victor and his greediness. Victor won’t settle for less.
His hands on Yuuri’s beautiful hips, scratches on his chest and stark, possessive marks on the column of his throat. Victor has never known himself to be so greedy.
He can’t stop. Yuuri in the morning, asleep and trusting and so stunning in the early light, marked up by Victor’s nails, his mouth, his selfish hands. The knowledge sates something primal in his belly, Yuuri in his lap or Yuuri beneath him, kept safe boxed in by Victor, all his attention where it should be. He’s consumed, weak for Yuuri in any way he can have him. They do this to each other.
Yuuri, asleep next to him in a complete surrender.
He presses his mouth to Yuuri’s naked shoulder and his heart flutters when Yuuri’s smile twitches to life in his sleep.
For all that Victor wants all of Yuuri to himself, they both know this, subconsciously or acknowledged:
Victor surrendered first.