Chapter Text
The lock gave a soft click. You cracked the door and leaned against it, lips already tugged into a smirk. Just a sliver, just enough to tease him with the view—oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder, bare legs, the faint edge of black lace peeking beneath the hem.
Viktor looked exhausted. Wind-cut stubble on his jaw, a faint ache behind his eyes, but the second he saw you, that edge softened.
His voice was rough. “Hey, doll.”
“Long day?” you asked, stepping back to let him in.
He entered with a quiet grunt, already toeing off his boots one at a time. “Four clients, two implants, one blown-out cyberarm. And the damn supplier delayed another shipment.”
But his eyes never left you. The white tank under his half-buttoned blue shirt clung to his chest, tucked tight into worn jeans cinched with two belts—one functional, the other burdened with tools. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled high, baring the ink on his right arm, and the left—mottled with faint injection marks, small scars where the skin had weathered years of stims.
You shut the door, locked it, and turned just in time for him to drop his tool belt to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Didn’t even shower,” he muttered.
“Don’t care,” you said, walking backward toward the couch, hips swaying. “I just want you to fuck me.”
Vik stepped in fast, grabbing your jaw and kissing you like he’d been holding back all day. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in harder. Your arms slid beneath his open shirt, fingers grazing warm skin over hard muscle, then down to unbuckle his belt.
“Fuck,” he hissed as you palmed him through his jeans. Already thick and heavy, twitching under your touch.
He groaned, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t get me started if you’re not ready to finish this, sweetheart.”
You grinned. “Bed. Now.”
He grinned, his hands rough and sure as he pulled your shirt over your head. His eyes swept over every inch of ink on your skin, pupils blown wide.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, sliding a hand down your spine, gripping your ass through your panties. “Look at you.”
You helped him strip—shirt, tank, belts, jeans. He dropped his glasses on the nightstand before leaning in, nose brushing your temple.
Then the two of you were tangled in bed, heat and skin and noise.
His body was heavy and perfect over you. He pinned your wrists above your head, his mouth on your neck, biting gently, tongue following the trail of your collarbone before he shifted to suck your nipple deep into his mouth. You arched into him, a needy gasp tumbling free.
When he finally lined up—his cock hot, thick, rubbing against your soaked slit—you nearly whined.
“Please,” you whispered, already breathless.
“Shit, baby,” he muttered, and then he sank into you slow, inch by inch, dragging a desperate cry from your throat.
He didn’t stop. Deep, slow strokes that built until your legs were shaking around his waist. You clawed at his back, moaning into his shoulder, and when he shifted your hips just right—angle perfect—you shattered.
Your orgasm hit like a live wire. You clenched around him, eyes fluttering shut as your body arched beneath his.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Vik groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re so tight when you come.”
But he didn’t stop. He pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach and slid back in from behind, one arm snaking around your waist, the other braced against the mattress. He drove into you hard now—deep and relentless, every thrust punching a moan out of you.
Your next climax rushed over you sharp and sudden. Your nails dug into the sheets as you bucked beneath him, crying out his name like a prayer.
Vik kept going, sweat dripping down his temple, his breath hot against your back.
“Almost there, baby,” he growled. “You got one more for me?”
You nodded, wrecked. “Y-yeah. Fuck, Vik, yes.”
He grabbed your hips, pulled you upright, then dragged you into his lap with one smooth motion—chest to chest, face to face, legs spread wide around him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissed him hard, teeth clashing.
This time, he fucked you like he meant it. Raw. Unfiltered.
You bounced on him, bodies slapping together, the room echoing with panting breath and filth. He grunted your name, hands gripping your ass, mouth devouring yours.
Then his rhythm faltered. You clenched again. That spark flared hot between your legs—tightening, burning.
And when you came again—even harder—Vik cursed, low and guttural, and spilled deep inside you.
You didn’t move right away. Just stayed tangled together in the sheets, still straddling his lap, your forehead against his, both of you coated in sweat and heat and satisfaction.
His hands had softened from their earlier grip—now they just wandered lazily along your back, up and down your spine, fingertips tracing every inked line like he was memorizing you all over again.
“Mm,” you mumbled, nuzzling into his neck. “Think I’m gonna melt.”
“You already did,” he rumbled, lips twitching into a faint grin as his arms wrapped fully around you. “Right around the second one.”
You chuckled against his skin, pressing a kiss just beneath his ear. “Shut up.”
But you didn’t mean it. You could feel him smiling.
Vik shifted slightly, leaning back until he was stretched out on the bed with you sprawled over him. You tucked your face against his shoulder, one leg still looped over his, fingers idly playing with the curls at the base of his neck.
His chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and slow. You could hear his heartbeat through the skin, feel the warm thrum of it where your bodies met.
“I ever tell you how fuckin’ good this feels?” he murmured, voice low with that post-orgasm rasp, half-asleep but too content to drift off. “You. Here. Like this.”
You hummed softly. “Not in words.”
“Well,” he said, squeezing your hip gently, “consider it said.”
He tilted his head down, brushing his lips over your hairline, then the bridge of your nose, then your lips—slow, unrushed, like he was sealing something in.
You didn’t speak again for a while. Just breathed. Warm limbs tangled together in the quiet hum of your apartment, the city murmuring faintly through the windows, neon glow casting soft colors across the walls.
Eventually, Vik exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh.
“Next time,” he murmured, eyes closed, “we’re doing this with a tub of that overpriced curry you like. And no clothes. Just food and fuckin’.”
You grinned against his chest.
“Romantic.”
“Always am.”