Victor couldn’t figure out whether Yuuri Katsuki was utterly dense, truly not interested, or if he was in fact the biggest tease to ever skate the ice.
Two months had passed since he’d found this charming portside town called Hasetsu, two months since that one video made him throw it all to the spring time wind littered with cherry blossoms and the scent of fresh inspiration.
Things had leveled out after the initial tumult of his arrival, people no longer gushed and gaped when he appeared somewhere, the Katsuki family no longer doted on him hand and foot, he’d found this happy medium of coaching Yuuri and exploring the town, and, Victor could admit he adored this place a little too much.
The only person he hadn’t found his niche with was Yuuri, who drove Victor to the heights of amazement and then the pits of insanity every day, who Victor was sure wasn’t as innocent as he let on, Yuuri, who seemed to be an expert at leaving himself unmistakably open to Victor’s advances, at inviting them, and the master of cutting him off before things could get any where at all. Victor didn’t know if he wanted to punch him or fuck him anymore, both.
This chemistry they had was almost nauseating, the butterflies ensnared in your ribcage kind of deal, the rutting into your closed fist at night with visions in his head of what he wanted to do Yuuri kind of deal.
It was push and pull with them. Yuuri would pull, he would pull and Victor would be so close, so close to self combusting, and then just like that Yuuri would push away, and Victor could see the smile on his face, the tease in his eyes and the want written on his face, and all Victor wanted to do was mess him up so fucking bad so that he couldn’t skate the next day.
It was that split second they’d nearly come to making out after Yuuri landed his first quad salchow at precisely 4:27 pm on a Wednesday, 33 minutes before they wouldn’t have the place to themselves anymore, the way he flew across the ice with his smile for only Victor to see, the way their bodies met with the muted whisper of skates underfoot, the euphoric laughter as Victor’s hands found Yuuri’s hips and their sweaty foreheads bumped clumsily as they struggled to breathe, that split second where Victor knew they both craved this, where Yuuri just winked at him with pure mischief in his gaze and then flung himself across the ice with the filthy wiggle of his hips to try another quad salchow.
Yuuri had well and truly thrown away his flighty instincts. The way he’d lean into Victor’s touch now was sinful; it lit his hands on fire, and was slowly burning his self-restraint to a crisp.
It was how Yuuri let Victor sleep in his room, how Victor was sure Yuuri wore his old oversized sweaters with pictures of Dragon Ball Z characters on them that showed a perfect amount of collarbone and nothing else on purpose. How he’d end up kicking his blankets down in the night, and Victor would wake up to the sight of Yuuri’s bare legs with his calloused feet and that old silver scar on the inside of his left ankle, that sweater had inevitably ridden up in the night, and Victor could only long over the tantalizing amount of ass on display before it was time to get up and start the push and pull all over again.
It was when they took a weekend off and went to Kyoto to find Yuuri a new pair of skates, where Yuuri had no trouble resting his head with his messed up hair and skewed glasses on Victor’s shoulder as the bullet train sped past the scenery that Victor was too distracted to marvel at. It was the way Yuuri ate at a raucous yakitori bar a few doors down from their ryokan that weekend, looking him right in the eye as he put his chopsticks to his mouth, and then he’d licked at his lips afterwards like he was hungry for something else that wasn't food at all.
It was falling onto the futon in Kyoto, as drunk as they’d ever been, laughing at nothing and everything until their stomachs hurt, close enough to breathe the same air but not close enough for Victor anymore because at that point in time he would have rather smothered Yuuri’s mouth with his and not breathed at all, how Yuuri wound his drunk-clumsy fingers through Victor’s hair as they lay on top of the puffy feather down blanket and tightened his grip in a surge of lust before he backed off and pretended to play with the fuzz of Victor’s undercut instead. Victor had fallen asleep aching in all the wrong places that night.
Victor was at a loss, if Yuuri kept up with this touch and go, then he might really start to believe that Yuuri didn’t want him, which would be about the place where Victor went utterly fucking insane.
So here he was two months after his arrival in Hasetsu, lounging in his green bathrobe following a much-needed soak after time on the ice with Yuuri, though it couldn’t be considered relaxing when he shared the same hot spring with Yuuri too - bath times were always the hardest, nearly literally.
He thought about the times where he could see Yuuri lose himself for an instant, the time he’d poked Victor’s hair at the rink, seconds from carding his nervous fingers through Victor’s fringe before he snapped out of it.
The time they got caught out in a spring downpour on an afternoon run, clothes soaked through - he remembered clearly that Yuuri’s t-shirt was white that day - their hair had plastered to their heads, dripped down the backs of their necks, and Yuuri had pulled them under a bus stop for shelter even though it was already too late, he’d reached out and brushed Victor’s hair back with a touch like it was the first and last time, the only time. It damn near broke Victor’s heart.
The time Yuuri thought Victor was asleep on the tatami mats in his room - where Victor slept most nights because he couldn’t help himself - when really he was just taking in the earthy smells of straw and grass tatami mats that Victor had come to know as comforting. Yuuri had reached over from his own bed and pushed his hair away from his face, twirled the lengths in his fingers and then pulled away like a lover letting go of something they so desperately wanted to keep.
All those moments had given him an idea, so he called Yuuri to his room this time, and sure enough he showed up, glasses off, wearing nothing but one of those oversized jerseys, this one with a picture of someone called Goku on the front, threadbare at the hem and coming apart at the seams like it was asking to be ripped off.
“What is it, Victor?” and Yuuri lounged against the doorframe like he knew exactly what he was doing, like Victor wasn’t sitting there in the middle of the floor, looking his legs up and down, like Yuuri wasn’t watching Victor watch him.
“Yuuuri,” Victor started with a playful drawl, “do you think you could trim my undercut? It’s been a while since I’ve had it done.” And oh, he saw Yuuri’s pupils blow out for less than a blink of time, the look of when he lost himself, and like that Victor knew this moment at least he would win.
“I don’t know how to cut hair.” Yuuri countered almost sadly, like he would if he could, like he didn’t know Victor was asking for an entirely different reason.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be easy.” Victor wasn’t talked about the haircut.
With the soft pit pat of his feet Yuuri came into the room after shutting the door behind him, and without anything else said, came to kneel behind Victor in this silly premise of trimming his hair. Victor had made a good show of things really; he’d got his electric clippers out, put a towel on the floor where he sat cross-legged, and had everything else at the ready.
But Yuuri had already bypassed all of that, he knelt way too close, his bare thighs against Victor’s back, his chest hovering behind Victor’s head and he was sure he could hear that heart beating hard enough for the both of them.
It started off as Yuuri always did, tentative, slow, careful. Fingers roughed up his undercut, pushing the hair up and then smoothing back down like this was something Yuuri had done everyday of this life. Victor already couldn’t breathe and he wasn’t even kissing Yuuri - yet.
This was all those moments multiplied and then some, this was Yuuri’s fingers growing bolder in seconds that lasted an eternity.
All Victor could do was shut his eyes and let Yuuri pull himself over the edge, and then they’d both be falling and there’d be nothing either of them could do anymore.
Soon enough, Yuuri was dragging his nails down Victor’s neck and pushing down under the collar of his robe, or trailing his touch along Victor’s restraint bound jaw and pressing his whole body maddeningly close and Victor could definitely feel the hard press of Yuuri’s want in between his shoulder blades.
Even after wanting for so long, waiting for an age, Victor felt like he still wasn’t prepared for this moment, because then Yuuri leant over his shoulder, further than the last time and ran his hands right down until they were splayed over the flush skin of Victor’s chest, until his left hand was right above his rhythm crazy heart that was beating like it wanted to jump right into Yuuri’s grasp and never come back. Warm breath tickled his scalp as a chin settled on his head, and they stayed like that, listening to the sound of each other’s heavy breathing until Victor decided that it was now or right now, and there would be no never.
“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was already rough, he grabbed Yuuri by his hands and pulled him around to straddle his lap, and Yuuri let himself be led, legs bare and jersey tented where his dick pushed against the fabric, he let himself be pulled along, gnawing at his bottom lip as he looked Victor in the eyes with blown pupils and quickened breath.
“Fuck. You’re a hot mess, Yuuri.” And all Yuuri did was bite his lip a little bit harder, breathe a little bit faster, and look at him with even more want.
Yuuri went back to playing with his hair though, from gentle tugs to a searing grip that had Victor growling under his breath, it was more than enough pulling than they both could take, it seemed, because Yuuri slowly sunk down onto Victor’s lap, right onto his achingly hard dick with the obvious dark green wet patch on light the green of Victor’s robe, inch by inch until they were a whisper apart. It was right there that Yuuri stopped, Victor felt his heart drop, because if Yuuri stopped now then he might just end up doing something really fucking stupid.
Brown eyes regarded him, and Victor couldn’t help but notice the freckle under Yuuri’s right eye, the dark and light auburn striations of his irises, the deep black of his lashes that women would kill for. “Are you sure about this, Victor?” came the hushed question spoken with far too much control that someone in this situation should have.
Despite the weight on his lap, despite how much he wanted this and how close he was to having this; Victor was genuinely surprised, “You’re asking me that?” and he was almost incredulous in his shock.
Yuuri bit his lip again before answering, trepidation in his voice as he spoke. “I… yeah.”
“Why are you asking me that?” right now the answer to that question was more important than the need swirling in his gut.
Another pause, it was short but Victor was seconds away from shaking the answer out of Yuuri nonetheless. “I wanted you to be sure.”
That’s when Victor went from simply surprised to fucking gob smacked. “I think it’s been pretty obvious how sure I am, Yuuri, you’ve driven me crazy, you know that, fucking crazy.”
“Oh…” and Yuuri said that like it was news to him, so he was a tease, but he was also dense, and that combination was endearingly adorable.
“So why didn’t you ask me sooner?” Victor found himself asking, momentarily side tracked by Yuuri’s confused expression.
“Because, I might not have liked the answer…” Yuuri’s uncertain pout was nearly too much too take.
“I have never been so damn sure, Yuuri.” He drawled, his voice hot as his patience began to fray once more. The confused expression disappeared at that, whisked away in the span of time it took Victor to answer, and it was replaced with something that sent shivers down his fucking soul.
“Good.” Yuuri countered right back as the corner of his lip tugged itself into a smirk.
He couldn’t believe his luck, to find someone like this, someone beyond his wildest expectations, and his expectations were pretty damn wild even for a Russian. “Where did my innocent little Katsudon go?” Victor chuckled as the space started narrowing between them once again.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Yuuri intoned, moments before their lips finally met, and this time it was all pull.
He had Yuuri’s hips bearing down in an instant, his green robe pushed open and his dick grinding along the warm cleft of Yuuri’s bare ass because he really wasn’t wearing anything underneath at all.
And Yuuri moaned into his mouth, then he whispered something that Victor had only been fantasizing about until this point. “Fuck me.”
Fuck the pull; everything just fell to bits in the space of those words being spoken, Yuuri’s stupid jersey included.
He wasn’t even sure if he would last long enough to actually fuck him, it was enough just hearing Yuuri’s breath hitch into his shoulder as he fingered him open, as he curled them inside to have Yuuri arching his back at this obscene angle like he was made to be fucked right here and now. “Oh, Jesus.” Victor groaned as Yuuri began grinding on his hand, his own dick rubbing against Victor’s stomach, hot, throbbing and wet.
“Victor, don’t stop.” And that was ridiculous, because right now Victor couldn’t stop even if the world was burning.
Then it turned into urges of quickly, hurry, and that was just as ridiculous because Victor already knew this was going to be too quick anyway.
It was as if Yuuri had spent all this time pining, all this time waiting and wanting, not Victor instead, because he rose up on his knees with a frustrated grumble, looking down at Victor with an expression empty of all inhibitions, and he reached down to give Victor’s now aching dick a few teasing strokes before he positioned himself and sunk himself down, inch by burning hot inch until he was bottomed out on Victor’s lap - quivering with the stretch.
The soft heat of Yuuri’s tight insides was nothing like his fist that he’d used as a replacement for so long, the clench and spasm of Yuuri’s muscles up his length, the weight on his thighs, the stinging grip Yuuri had in his hair again – it was enough to make him short circuit.
Yuuri began to move in dirty, slow rolls of his hips, and Victor’s fingernails would leave telltale half moons on the flesh of Yuuri’s pale skin as he dug his fingers in and helped Yuuri move.
Victor was utterly fucking helpless, lost in the heat and sensation of Yuuri moving faster and faster on top of him with his controlling grip in Victor’s hair, his mouth moaning, sucking, biting on Victor’s throat, and it was Victor urging him on. “Do it harder.” Even though he was the one doing the literal fucking.
The threatening drag of Yuuri’s teeth along his pulse raised the hairs on his neck, it curled the tension in his gut impossibly tight, raised them both up in the sickening weightlessness before free fall, and then Yuuri’s mouth was sucking on his skin painfully hard, as hard as Victor had asked for. At the same time Yuuri raised himself up one last time, and then promptly sunk himself back down in a blinding flash of heat, and Victor was coming harder, faster than he had his very first time.
His toes curled onto the tatami mats, his fingers dug further into the soft flesh of Yuuri’s ass, and before his own lewd moan could no doubt wake up the rest of the house because it would be that loud; Yuuri’s mouth was on his again as he came too, in stuttered rolls of his hips and whimpers in the back of his throat that were the most addicting thing that Victor had ever tasted.
It took a while for them to both come around, still on the floor with Yuuri slumped against him in a sticky mess of bodily fluids and sex tainted sweat, they’d definitely need another bath, except this time Victor was looking forward to it. The wild, lust crazed Yuuri was no where to be seen, the Yuuri on his lap now was the unsure one he’d seen moments before they both lost it, and after what they’d just done that was the last thing he wanted to see. “Yuuri.”
“Mm.” came the tired mumble as Yuuri leant back to look at him properly.
“I’m still sure about this, just so you know, so don’t go thinking anything silly.” And he couldn’t help it, he pushed Yuuri back onto the floor, he laid him there and kissed him slow and proper this time, until Yuuri got the picture, put his hands back in Victor’s hair and smiled against his lips. “But,” Victor eventually managed to say between chaste kisses, “don’t test me like that again.”
Yuuri just laughed, the mischief back full force as he gave a mocking wiggle of his hips like how he’d done all those weeks ago on the ice.
“You little fucking tease.” Victor found himself growling, because he knew with that naughty wiggle that Yuuri would test him again, every fucking day he would test him.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Yuuri chuckled as he squirmed on the floor.
“I’ll show you what I’ll bloody do about it.” Victor said, because now he could.