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Slave to the Rhythm

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This is it, then; the end of one dream, and perhaps, the beginning of another?  Victor’s fingers tremble against the skin of Yuuri’s neck when he clasps the collar around his throat, and Yuuri swallows, nervous, against the unfamiliar and cool touch of the metal.  The collar makes a clicking noise when it’s fastened, a small sound completely at odds with the life-changing nature it signals.  There’s no going back now; in order to slave out, Yuuri has given up a year of skating, he’s given up his freedom.

It could have been worse.  His contract could have been bought by some completely unknown person.  It could have been someone Yuuri finds either mentally or physically unattractive.  He would have spent all year trying to hide his reactions to that, to comply with his contract gracefully, all the while dying inside.

Instead, Victor Nikiforov has bought out his contract.  He’s not sure how that happened; maybe fate finally gave him a break. 

Back home in Hasetsu, the cherry blossoms will be falling from the trees in a wave of blinding pink, a storm of petals that overwhelm the senses.  Here, in St. Petersburg, the world is still frozen, the promise of spring storms distant on the horizon. 

Yuuri doesn’t care.  Victor is made of the ice, born on it, like Yuuri.  Spring can wait.

So here Yuuri is; observing his reflection in the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall of Victor’s ridiculously plush bathroom suite.  What he sees is unnerving; not the shy failure from Sochi a few months ago, the man that walked away from Victor Nikiforov because he didn’t feel deserving of a commemorative photo.  Instead he sees a man shackled – wearing a thin gold collar around his neck and matching cuffs around his wrists, engraved in beautiful Cyrillic writing with Victor’s name.  He sees a man that has willing signed a contract, made a pact with his own devils in order to save his family from financial ruin and hardship.  He’s signed a year of his life away so that his idol can spend it fucking Yuuri in any varied and creative way he chooses.  Victor had paid a ridiculous sum for the honor, too, beaten out a number of others who viewed Yuuri’s athletic body and virginal status as a prize to be fought over. 

And here Yuuri stands, trying to get up the nerve to walk out of Victor’s bathroom, to take the first step toward paying off his side of the debt.  Yuuri has no idea how Victor found out about Yuuri’s contract when it went up for sale; he doesn’t seem like the type to have time for these sorts of distractions.  Regardless, it’s done now.  Victor owns Yuuri, and Yuuri should feel disgust for the nature of his predicament, but instead, surprisingly, Yuuri can feel his heart race with a sort of pseudo-excitement at the thought that he belongs to Victor now, that within the bounds of the contract, Victor can do whatever he wants with Yuuri’s body, whatever dirty fantasy he’s ever entertained.  Yuuri has enough of those for both of them; he’s spent a decade thinking of all the depraved and exciting things he would do with Victor if he ever got the opportunity.  Except there’s one difference between the fantasy and the reality: this is Victor’s will at play, not Yuuri’s, and even knowing that, Yuuri will submit.

Yuuri swallows down his nervousness, because he's spent years imagining the push-pull slick-slide of Victor's skin against his, his weight above Yuuri, pressing him down into the mattress. He's imagined Victor's thick cock, his body adjusting to take it in, how overwhelming it must feel. Yuuri is wholly Victor's creature; to do with him what he wants. Victor may not realize it yet, but he's always owned Yuuri, even before he paid for the pleasure.

He touches the warm gold that wraps around his throat.  When Victor had first placed it around Yuuri’s neck, it was cool to the touch, heavy, just like the cuffs.  Now the metal is warm, has absorbed his body heat, and he can feel the weight of them, enough to remind him he belongs to Victor.  And that’s the strange thing, isn’t it?  That the thought of belonging to Victor actually makes Yuuri’s pulse race a little faster than normal, his cheeks heat with a tell-tale flush that makes him look delicate, breakable.  He can feel the familiar feeling of desire and want pool in his gut.  He watches as his cock starts to fill in the white lace panties he’s wearing; a gift from Victor, the first of many.  With the collar and cuffs he looks both innocent and a tease, a pleasing dichotomy.  He hopes he looks good enough to devour whole; he wants Victor to want to eat him alive, to sully his virginity, to mark him and take him and make him his.  He wants Victor to be as hungry as he is for this, he wants to wake tomorrow with his body sore, a reminder of his ownership.

Yuuri is selfish and, in the end, he wants it all.

He pads out of the bathroom on bare feet, pausing in the hallway.  Victor’s apartment is still unfamiliar to him, but the bedroom is just across the corridor.  When he slips inside and shuts the door, Victor is stripping off.  He’s half naked when he turns around, hair tousled from pulling his shirt off, pants slipping dangerously low on his sharp hipbones.  Yuuri bites his lip at the sight; mouth dry in anticipation.  Victor sweeps his gaze over Yuuri and smiles, tossing his shirt to the side as he walks toward Yuuri.  “You look exquisite,” he breathes, reaching for Yuuri’s hand.

The touch is shocking; until now the only physical contact he’s had with Victor has been the gentle touch of his fingertips around Yuuri’s neck and wrists when he’d formally bound him with the collar and cuffs.  The firm grip of his hand in Yuuri’s is electrifying, and Yuuri lets out a small involuntary sound of longing.  Victor’s expression changes, becomes hungry, and when he drops his gaze down Yuuri’s body, his eyes linger on the panties Yuuri’s wearing, and his half-hard cock.

There’s no point hiding his want, Yuuri decides.  He takes a hesitant step forward, closer to Victor, and Victor’s hand tightens in his grip.  Victor’s other hand slides around his waist, tugging him closer, fitting Yuuri within his embrace.  Yuuri can feel every long, lean line of Victor’s body against his, and notes the way he can lean in, lips dangerously close to Victor’s collarbone.  Yuuri’s whole body strains toward Victor’s touch, greedy for it now.  He’s more predator than prey at this moment, poised on the cusp of overstepping his bounds.  Victor’s arms tighten around his waist, and he releases Yuuri’s hand in favour of wrapping the other around his back, pulling him closer until Yuuri can feel his warm skin against his own.  Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, because he can feel Victor’s length, hard against his hip now, a reminder of what’s to come. This isn’t romance, this is a transaction, and Victor is clearly eager to get to the prize.

Victor leans down to nuzzle gently against his neck, just above the gold collar, and Yuuri wants him to leave a mark, another visible sign of ownership. He tilts his head in invitation, because he might be a virgin but it’s not like he’s never made out with anyone.  He knows he likes the sting of a love bite, the way the pain dulls over time but returns sharp and clear at the first press of fingertips against bruised skin. 

One of Victor’s hands smooths up his spine, palm flat, cupping the nape of Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri’s eyes slide closed at the first gentle touch of Victor’s lips against his pulse.  Yuuri arches into Victor, fingers gripping at his shoulders as if to ground himself.  Victor makes a noise, rolls his hips, and Yuuri gasps, because damn, it feels good.  Victor starts to walk Yuuri backward toward the bed, and he goes willingly under Victor’s direction.  It’s where he wants to be, after all.

Victor gives him a gentle push when Yuuri’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and he follows Yuuri down, slipping a knee between Yuuri’s.  Yuuri shifts backward and Victor crawls toward him, eyes alight with hunger.  He wraps a hand around Yuuri’s ankle, stopping him from going much further up the bed, and then strokes his palm up Yuuri’s calf to his knee.  Yuuri’s panting now, anticipation and nervousness creating a heady buzz in his head and his body.  Until this point, Yuuri had no idea that fear of a new situation could be a turn-on.  “Victor…” he says, spreading his legs.  This is what Victor paid for; this is what Yuuri will give him without reservation, willingly.

“Look at you,” Victor says.  “Incredible.  So beautiful.”

Victor’s words shift something in Yuuri, and he wants to hear more of that praise fall from Victor’s lips.  He lays back and puts his hands over his head, crosses his wrists loosely.  He arches his back, offering himself to Victor like he’s a sacrifice on his god’s altar.  Victor has always been Yuuri’s god, after all.

Yuuri watches as Victor settles between his legs, palm caressing his inner thigh, teasing.  “What do you want, sweetheart?” Victor asks, and in response Yuuri rolls his hips, a half-whispered please falling from his lips because Yuuri doesn’t know what he wants yet, other than everything, and that seems like a broad request for a slave to ask for.

Victor laughs softly and leans down to nuzzle into Yuuri’s neck once more, at the same time palming Yuuri through his panties, sliding his fingers beneath the thin lace.  At the first touch of Victor’s hand on Yuuri’s cock, Yuuri inhales a sharp breath.  It almost makes him lightheaded, even more so when Victor strokes his hand up, forming a loose fist for Yuuri to thrust into.  He throws his head back, tries to bite back a moan as Victor works him over slowly, like he has all the time in the world to take Yuuri apart.  The pleasant ache that has been present in his belly all evening turns hard and sharp and Yuuri rocks up, finding a familiar rhythm.  Then, in a split second between one breath and the next, Yuuri freezes, he panics.  He’s not even sure if he’s allowed to respond.  Should he just lay here like a good little toy, there only for his master’s pleasure?  He never asked.

“Don’t you dare,” Victor says, voice rough against Yuuri’s ear.  “I want to see you come apart, Yuuri.  I want to see what my touch does to you. I want to hear you.”  He beings to stroke Yuuri again, and Yuuri relaxes into the movement now he has permission, fucking into Victor’s fist.  This is nothing like he expected; he’s spent years getting himself off to the thought of this, the slide of Victor’s hand around his cock, but the reality is so much better.  Yuuri’s panting now, his mind spiraling pleasantly out of control while his body can only react to the stimulus around him. 

And then – and then that magical touch is suddenly gone, leaving Yuuri on a plateau of pleasure, gasping for it, wanting it even as it recedes.

“Turn over,” Victor commands, sitting back on his heels.  “On your hands and knees for me.”

Victor’s cheeks are flushed, and Yuuri is fascinated with the the way he licks his lips as he watches Yuuri in return.  Yuuri stares, lets his gaze wander further, over the hard muscles of Victor’s shoulders, tight abs, the obvious arousal he has, confined within his sweatpants.  Yuuri’s never sucked cock before but his mouth waters anyway at the thought of the weight of Victor on his tongue, filling his mouth as he struggles to take him in all the way.  Yuuri catches Victor’s eye after a moment when he finally drags his gaze upward. Victor winks at Yuuri, a quick flash of humor that tells Yuuri that Victor is human after all, with his own wants and needs. 

Yuuri flushes now with nervous embarrassment at being caught staring, and he hurries to flip over onto his knees.  His fingers grip against the bedsheets, and he suddenly feels very exposed like this; ass on display, cock heavy between his legs, trapped by the white lace.  He hangs his head, because he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now.  He feels out of control, but that’s ridiculous; he never had control of the situation even to begin with.

And then he can hear Victor move up behind him, placing a hand on his lower back, stroking softly.  He’s whispering something in Russian, Yuuri can’t make it out, but it’s soft and calming, and Yuuri relaxes a fraction, just enough.  Victor rewards him by smoothing his warm palms, fingers spread, over the lace of the panties and then the swell of Yuuri’s ass, stroking down his thighs.  Yuuri trembles beneath Victor’s touch, and he stares at the sheets, at the thin bands of gold metal around his wrists.  Victor’s thumbs travel across his inner thighs, Yuuri’s skin sensitive to the touch as Victor returns along the same path, back up over his ass.  “I want to eat you alive,” Victor says conversationally, and Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, shock mingling with want in a heady mix.  “I’ve wanted this since Sochi, Yuuri.”

And now Victor’s slowly peeling down those damn lace panties he gifted Yuuri with, pulling them down just enough to lean in and mouth at the base of his spine, then across his bare ass.  His fingers kneed into the muscles of Yuuri’s bottom, gripping and releasing, and then he’s parting Yuuri’s cheeks, breath hot against Yuuri’s hole as his thumb traces a delicate path over the sensitive skin there.  Yuuri sucks in another breath, turns a little to look over his shoulder, and –

Yuuri lets out a noise he’s not sure he’s ever made before; a mixture of both shock and desire.  His body freezes at the first swipe of Victor’s tongue over his hole, because he’s imagined this before, deep in the darkness of night when he can afford to let his most depraved fantasies out to play, when he knows he’s alone and no one will hear the sounds he makes.  He drops down onto his elbows, resting his forehead against the sheets, and lets Victor have his way, to slowly work him open with his tongue, spreading him wide with his hands while he drops kisses against Yuuri’s twitching hole.  His body is caught between two opposite desires; to pull away or to fuck backward onto Victor’s tongue, but in the end, he’ll gladly take whatever Victor wants to give him. 

Yuuri looses himself to the sensations, eyes sliding shut as the pleasure starts to overwhelm him.  Victor takes him apart, fucking him deeper as Yuuri relaxes into it.  He changes it up a little, a slick finger circling Yuuri’s hole before pressing in carefully alongside his tongue.  Yuuri tries to swallow back a moan, but a sharp tap to his bottom reminds him that Victor wants to hear him. Yuuri doesn’t try to hide the second moan he makes.  Victor makes a similar noise then, like he’s half-wrecked already, and it goes straight to Yuuri’s cock, a frisson of tight desire settling behind his balls. 

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes out, and it’s a mixture of pleading coupled with a whine, a request for more. 

Victor pulls back, adds a second finger, and presses back in.  Yuuri’s full now, the stretch a pleasant burn that fades into a deeper want as Victor pushes in to the second knuckle and curls his fingers, brushing deep inside Yuuri as he finds his prostate.  Yuuri’s breath hitches, and then Victor slides past that spot again, and the pleasure is sharp, all-encompassing, addictive.  His body shudders, curling in on itself, and only the hard dig of Victor’s fingers into his hip stops him from moving further.  “Oh god,” Yuuri bites out, and Victor chuckles, a dark, pleased sound like he’s sharing a dirty secret.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Victor asks, and Yuuri thinks he could get used to the endearment, falling carelessly as it does from Victor’s lips.

Yuuri’s rocking back mindlessly onto Victor’s fingers now, body tightening and releasing, thighs trembling as his knees slide apart on the sheets.  He’s close, the pleasure building relentlessly between Victor’s fingers and tongue.  He arches his back, presenting himself, and he can hear his voice, rough with need, a constant litany of please, more, don’t stop, Victor, don’t stopdon’tstopdon’t

And that’s exactly what Victor does.  He stops.  He pushes deep with his fingers, and Yuuri lets out a keening, frustrated moan, riding a wave of pleasure that plateaus but doesn’t break.  Slowly it recedes, fading back to a manageable level, while Yuuri shudders beneath Victor’s touch, unfulfilled and wanting.  Beneath Yuuri’s frustration, and trying to catch his breath, he barely notices Victor move away.

The world shifts suddenly, and Yuuri snaps his eyes open as Victor manhandles him onto his back, like he weighs nothing.

“Look at you,” Victor says, expression hungry as he watches Yuuri.  His voice sounds reverent, and his touch echoes that as he strokes his hands up Yuuri’s spread thighs.  He tugs at the panties, pulling them down Yuuri’s legs to his ankles and then off.  Now Yuuri feels completely exposed, but Victor seems to like what he sees.  “Look at you, all flushed and wanting.  Do you want it, Yuuri?  Do you want me?”

It’s pretty much the stupidest question Yuuri’s ever heard, but he’s too worked up to voice it.  Instead, he says, “Come here,” reaching up to tug at Victor’s sweatpants.  Yuuri wants them off; wants to see what if the reality matches up with the fantasy.

Victor grins, cocks his head to the side, and starts shimmying off his pants.  Eventually he stands up at the end of the bed, hooks his thumbs into the waistband, and slides them down.  Yuuri licks his lips; Victor’s cut, his cock standing proud and flushed, reaching almost to his navel, the tip glistening with pre-come.  He’s thick, thicker than Yuuri had thought, imagining Victor’s cock to be slender, but he likes this better.  Likes the idea of Victor pushing into him, spreading him wide, carving a space just for himself out of Yuuri, marking Yuuri as his from the inside out. 

Victor climbs back onto the bed, crawling toward Yuuri, gaze intense as he settles between Yuuri’s thighs.  That quick moment of nervousness is back now that Yuuri is spread beneath him, a slight hesitation, because this it; the moment of no return.  Victor reaches past Yuuri, fumbling under the pillow by Yuuri’s head as he retrieves a bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers.  Yuuri startles when he feels the cool brush of the lube against his ass; Victor’s clearly impatient enough not to wait for it warm.  The first finger slides in easily enough; Yuuri’s still worked up, and Victor wastes no time pushing a second in alongside.  That makes Yuuri arch up when Victor brushes against his prostate again, sweat breaking out at his nape and the small of his back, his nipples tightening, the anticipation eating at him.  Victor leans down, lips brushing against Yuuri’s straining erection, nuzzling into the crease of his hip, murmured words falling like praise against his skin. 

Yuuri reaches for Victor without thought, fingers sliding through soft, silver hair.  Victor twists his fingers, pushing deep, and Yuuri bends to Victor’s will, head thrown back on a surprised cry.  It doesn’t take long for Yuuri’s body to find that same urgent plateau of pleasure from before, and his cock twitches, brushing against Victor’s lips, sending another racing thrill through him.  He wonders briefly how long Victor is going to play with him, teasing him, pushing him to the edge only to retreat, and when Victor huffs out a laugh against his hip, Yuuri realizes he must have said that out loud.

“Impatient, hmm?” Victor says, working his way up Yuuri’s body, scattering kisses until he reaches Yuuri’s golden collar. The kisses stop there, and Yuuri bites out a frustrated moan, because he wants nothing more than to lose himself in the taste of Victor on his tongue.  That’s one hard, fast rule neither can break however, short of ending the contract: no kissing on the lips.  Despite everything Yuuri wants Victor to do to him, despite everything Victor will do to Yuuri, this is the one line they cannot cross.  They are not lovers, or friends; Yuuri is a slave and Victor’s contract, and Victor has paid to fuck Yuuri, not kiss him.

Yuuri funnels that frustration into his body and lets it speak for him.  He arches up under Victor, his erection brushing against Victor’s hip, rocking into his body and then down on Victor’s fingers.  “Fuck me,” Yuuri bites out, because he wants to say, kiss me, and can’t.

Victor slides his fingers free and kneels up long enough to slick up his cock.  Yuuri watches hungrily, impatiently, breath coming fast.  His body aches with longing, his skin itching for Victor’s touch.  Too soon is still too long to wait. Until, at least, he feels Victor shift, and the blunt press of the head of his cock against Yuuri’s virgin hole.  Yuuri pauses, and Victor’s eyes meet his in a split second of understanding; long enough for Victor to murmur, “Push out, sweetheart,” and Yuuri obeys.  This is easier; his body resists the intrusion for a moment, and then parts, letting Victor in, one slow inch at a time.  Victor’s cock is thick, but oh my god, it’s a completely different matter to have it inside of him.  His hands fist on the sheets, unprepared for how big it feels to a body unused to such things.  Fingers are one thing, dildos another, but Yuuri can control those and how much he can take at one time.  This – this he can’t control.  He has to take what Victor wants to give him, because Victor’s paid for his inexperience and his virginity, and he’s paid for Yuuri’s surrender.

Victor pauses once he’s inside, lets Yuuri adjust to how it feels.  The muscles in Yuuri’s ass strain and burn, and he clenches around Victor’s cock.  Victor lets out a strangled moan, closing his eyes for a moment, paused on his hands above Yuuri.  Victor’s body trembles with the effort to hold back, and for some reason, that eases some of Yuuri’s nerves.  He allows himself to relax, and Victor slides in another inch with a shaky sigh. 

It’s overwhelming, having Victor inside him.  Yuuri has always wanted this, dreamt of it, but now… he feels like he’s full, so full, Victor’s cock reaching deep inside him, and when Yuuri clenches around Victor’s cock, it’s even better than before.  Victor shifts, pulling back a little and then nudging forward, pressing deeper and it feels amazing.  Yuuri rolls his hips, and every movement is a little easier, his body getting used to it.  Victor rocks forward again and Yuuri cries out, because god, Victor’s so deep and Yuuri can feel everything, every inch of him.

And just when he thinks he’s gotten used to this, Victor leans down, slides a hand under the small of Yuuri’s back, rolls his hips and then thrusts, setting a smooth rhythm.  This time Yuuri gasps; it doesn’t hurt but it’s surprising.  His body has to work for it now, work to let Victor in, and he wraps his legs around Victor’s hips, head thrown back, blunt nails biting into the skin of Victor’s shoulders as Yuuri fights to stay sane because this is overwhelming; so much sensation that his brain blanks out, other than to feel the pleasure, building in waves.  Victor’s breath is hot against his ear, his skin damp with the prickle of sweat between them.  It makes the glide of Yuuri’s hard cock against Victor’s abs easier, and Yuuri chases pleasure, caught between Victor’s cock and the weight of his body.  This is what he needs, what he was craving; Victor over him, pushing him down, fucking into him with all the strength and control that he possesses. 

Victor shifts, reaching for Yuuri’s hands fisted in the sheets.  He pulls Yuuri’s hands above his head, fingers grasping Yuuri’s gold-cuffed wrists, and bears down.  It changes the angle inside Yuuri, and it’s just like the beginning again, Yuuri’s body struggling to adjust to Victor’s cock in a new way.  Yuuri feels a hard thrill in his belly at the thought of Victor holding him down, manhandling him, bending him to his will like he’s doing.  Victor’s gaze is intense as he looks down at Yuuri, mouth parted slightly, eyes fixed on Yuuri’s face.  Yuuri has nowhere to go; he can’t look away, he’s completely exposed, body and soul. Yuuri’s a mess; every thrust Victor makes strips him barer, strikes another chord of pleasure through his soul. His body isn’t used to being worked like this, and in the end, he gives in, lets Victor fuck him hard and relentless at his own pace.  Yuuri’s thighs tremble as he grinds up against Victor’s body, the urgency of pleasure driving him forward. 

Victor releases one of Yuuri’s wrists and wraps his other hand around Yuuri’s cock.  Yuuri whimpers; it’s too much, oh god, he can’t take it – can’t take any more - 

And then he hears Victor; “That’s it sweetheart, let it happen.”

It’s only then Yuuri’s realizes how on edge he is, balancing on the precipice of something shattering.  The world takes a breath; pauses, and Yuuri’s orgasm rips through him. He pulses in Victor’s hand; his body clenches around Victor’s thick cock as his back bows from the intensity of release, a cry torn from his throat.

Victor shudders above him, thrusting a final time, cursing in Russian.  Yuuri can’t parse the words, can only lie there, drifting, as Victor comes.  Yuuri’s wrists hurt, his ass aches, body tired, but he feels good.  Beyond good; he feels complete at last, finally whole.

At some point, Victor pulls away, taking care not to jostle Yuuri too much.  Yuuri feels the comforting warmth of a wash cloth, wiping away the sweat and exertion from his body.  He should move, he thinks.  Should probably return to his room, slide into the cool sheets of his own bed and rest.

It takes him a moment to realise Victor is getting back into bed, pressing his body up against Yuuri.  Tucking Yuuri close, until they are cuddling, Yuuri’s back against Victor’s front. 

“Rest,” Victor whispers into Yuuri’s ear.  There’s a pause, and then; “You’ll need it, sweetheart.  I have lots of plans for you later.”

Yuuri’s exhausted, but he can’t hide the small smile that blossoms on his lips.  He’s Victor’s now, and he’ll do whatever Victor wants until the contract expires and he’s paid his debt in full.