There are a few methods Yuuri can use that make Victor go down in an instant. He can level his gaze at him from the other end of the couch, heavy and soft-lidded, and Victor will climb into his lap and bury his face in his neck; he can snap his fingers and point at the floor and Victor will kneel, instantly, before him. He is easy to manipulate no matter how long it’s been, but Yuuri really prefers it when he hasn’t come in a week.
It’s just so easy.
He loves seeing Victor like this, when he’s accepted that his pleasure is in Yuuri’s hands and isn’t fighting anymore, has given it to him. He’s reclining on the bed, watching Yuuri, with a finger in his own mouth to bite at his fingernail; he’s tense, but his body is loose from the stretching they’d done together earlier, his hips open with the splay of his legs. He looks adorable, so pretty against their bedspread. Yuuri is possessive on a good day, and ravenously greedy for him at times like this.
He slides his foot up a bit, feels Victor’s cock swell under the arch, and laughs softly, watching Victor reach up to bury a hand in his own hair, press the heel of his hand over his eye. “Don’t hide, baby,” Yuuri says, “don’t hide your face.”
Victor whines and drops his hand dramatically to the bed beside him with a huff. “Yuuri,” he says, his voice high and breathy, coming in shallow pants as Yuuri tucks his toes under the leg opening of his trunks and gets the ball of his foot on his hip. “Yuuri, if you keep - fuck,” and Yuuri grins as he pushes against Victor’s cock, feeling the heated flesh jump as skin brushes skin, “if you keep doing that, I’m not going to last long.”
“Oh, yes you are.” Yuuri drags his foot down Victor’s thigh and rocks forward on the bed, smiling contentedly as he grasps Victor’s waistband and pulls the sticky fabric of his trunks up and away from his body, avoiding skimming his cock as he brings them down. He lies down on his stomach and puts his chin on Victor’s hip, next to his cock, lying flushed and thick against his belly. He can feel Victor breathe like this, feel his sweat-slick skin and watch the rise and fall of his chest. “Victor,” he says, dragging his nails lightly up Victor’s side. Victor shivers in lieu of a response. For a few moments it seems as if he isn’t going to be able to speak, his teeth grit and his eyes screwed tightly shut as he swims in whatever spell Yuuri finds himself miraculously, continually able to put him under. He really is very lucky, he muses.
“You here with me?” he asks softly, slithering further up the bed to lie beside Victor and bring him close with a calf hooked behind his knee and an arm around his waist. “I’m right here, baby, right here,” he soothes, his lips on Victor’s ear. He nibbles under the lobe and can’t help grinning against his neck when Victor shudders again. “Sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t resist.”
Victor groans unhappily. “You are… indulgent to a fault, Katsuki.”
Yuuri pinches Victor’s nipple viciously and swallows the yelp he gets in return, pushing his lips to Victor’s, softer than he knows he’d prefer. He flicks his tongue against Victor’s top lip though it’s not really necessary, Victor’s mouth and body so open for him, so pliant and willing; he holds back though he wants to devour him whole. “How is it my fault you’re so cute when you’re desperate like this?” he asks when he finally pulls away, leaving Victor practically wheezing.
“Because you make me like this,” he mourns.
Yuuri snickers. “Again. Not my fault you can’t take a little tease.” He swings a leg over Victor and sits on him, admiring the way Victor’s legs bend automatically to perfectly cradle him at the hips.
Victor glares at him. It’s almost convincing. “A little… you’ve denied me for days!”
“Mm,” Yuuri says, considering, as he runs his index finger along Victor’s collarbone. “You’ll survive.”
Victor starts to settle a bit. He adjusts his shoulders against the pillows. “I’ve endured worse, I suppose. Mostly doled out by you.”
Yuuri smiles. “True.”
He comes rocking against Victor’s stomach, kissing him deep and slow. Victor doesn’t even complain about the mess.
“God, you are so fucking gorgeous. It’s like you were put on this earth to make me come.”
Victor hums to acknowledge, and the tiny vibration shrills through the base of Yuuri’s cock and tingles his spine. Victor’s got his pants unzipped, his belt open, and is mouthing down the outline of his cock with wet, plush lips and a pointed tongue.
Victor meets his eyes, blue like water, like the deep end, like drowning. Yuuri strokes his hair; when Victor bites the waistband of his briefs to tug them down he lets him do it. He’s pretty sure he’d let him do anything, if he asked nice enough. Better to not let him know that, though.
Yuuri’s head goes back against the wall with a dull thunk as Victor starts in with his little kitten-licks at the underside. Victor is too fucking good at this, too aware of his own skill, too smug. He’s wearing this self-satisfied little smirk and he hasn’t even gotten started yet.
Yuuri yanks Victor back by a firm grip at his crown and does his best to make his expression intense. He allows himself to enjoy the energy pulsing between them, daring Victor to struggle against his hold. Victor’s lips are parted, his cheeks flushed; he looks a treat and as Yuuri pushes his cock forward again, now fully hard, he doesn’t drop his eyes, just lets them blow a little wider as his lips open for Yuuri.
“Good boy,” Yuuri sighs. “Good, good boy.” His left hand joins his right in Victor’s hair, smoothing it back over and over again to ground himself as he lets out a long, shallow breath. No matter how much he tries to put on a convincing harsh demeanor, he can never help praising his husband when he’s like this. There’s no reason to be cruel to him now, anyway; he’s already on his knees with Yuuri’s tie looped around his wrists, binding them behind his own back. Victor’s cheeks go impossibly pinker and he does shut his eyes, now, concentrating on applying the barest, teasing hint of suction as he flicks his tongue through the precome at the slit. Yuuri sucks in another sharp breath and hums as he releases it. Victor’s smile is back, even with his lips stretched as they are.
“You look pleased with yourself,” he points out, amused, and follows it with a breathless chuckle when Victor proves his point for him by sinking smoothly down. Yuuri’s cock hits his throat and he slackens his grip to allow Victor a little room, but Victor doesn’t let up, and Yuuri has learned above all else to trust him, so he tugs in a gentle pulse at the overgrown, silky hair at the nape of Victor's neck. It's amazing, how easily Victor gets his way even when he's actively and eagerly submitting like this; Yuuri supposes he is just too soft, too sweet on him, to let him suffer altogether too much.
Victor is in for a long few days, after all.
The roiling pleasure in Yuuri's gut churns itself into a tight, scorching coil. It uncurls gradually out into his skin from underneath, searching desperately for some kind of relief, but it only meets more heat as it gets to the surface, mingling with his sweat to draw Yuuri up higher into the feeling, going up on his toes, his shoulders practically pinned against the wall behind him with the sheer force of want pressing down on him. He trails the fingers of one hand lightly over his own chest, groans as he tugs frantically at his hair with the other. He grits his teeth, trying to hold off, trying to make this last just a few more minutes, if only because the feeling of Victor's tight throat pulsing around him is so endlessly incredible, but he can't stave it off any longer. He laces his fingers tight into Victor's hair and pulls him off, stroking himself roughly with his free hand. Victor purrs, turns his face up, his lashes laying soft against his cheeks, his mouth open; Yuuri would be a fool not to hit that target. His release shocks through him, galvanic, and flows out with the fluid motion of his hips. He watches his come paint across Victor's lips, two streaks on his right cheek that drip together and smear easily as he rubs his thumb through them, studying the way the thick milky white sheens off of Victor's skin in the dim light of their hallway.
Victor flutters his eyes open. His sharp tongue darts out along his top lip, tasting Yuuri's spend. Yuuri moans at the sight, possible aftershock coursing through him, a dragging sort of slow-motion ghost of his pleasure. Like ESPN showing an instant replay of an attempted jump, the way the skater's toe pick digs into the ice as their other foot leaves the ground with their momentum, so the audience can really appreciate the height they get in the air. Stroking at Victor's hair and holding tightly to his shoulder, Yuuri feels as if he hasn't come down yet.
Victor is smiling up at him, patient but still with that hint of smug condescension. He leans forward a bit to press his cheek to Yuuri's hip and Yuuri winces. "Don't get any on my clothes," he says, but doesn't make an effort to move away.
"Mm." Victor responds by nuzzling in closer as Yuuri bemoans it weakly. "Are you taking me out to dinner? That was a nice appetizer."
"Give me a fucking moment." Yuuri lets his head hit the wall again. There will be a bruise there in the morning. "You're way too much, you know that?"
"And I deserve dinner." Victor rocks back and curls his knees under him. His hair is a bit unkempt, and there's the issue of the semen drying all over his face, but you wouldn't know otherwise that he'd just blown Yuuri in the entryway; his suit isn't the least bit rumpled as he works his hands loose. "The sooner you feed me, the sooner you can get me home and have dessert." He follows this up with a wink as he stands and loops the tie around Yuuri's neck; Yuuri gets himself tucked back in. After sliding the four-in-hand up into place, Victor grins when Yuuri plants a quick peck on his cheek. "Too much," Yuuri repeats, lips hovering over his skin. Victor snickers, and Yuuri feels it in his ribcage, thrumming around his heart.
In the morning, Yuuri only allows himself to watch Victor snuffle and mumble contentedly in his sleep for a few minutes before he gets out of bed. It's Saturday, which means they have the whole day to themselves, no workout, no plans.
He's just finished laying out his array of chopped fruit on the cutting board when Victor walks into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He mumbles at him, something totally incoherent as usual for this time of morning, and pours himself a glass of water, and then he comes over to where Yuuri is working on breakfast and hoists himself up onto the counter.
Victor eyes the spread - frying pan poised and ready on the stove, pancake batter mixed to a perfect consistency in a bowl, the bananas and strawberries and green apples Yuuri has cut up - and smiles, then he wraps Yuuri up in his arms and presses a sleepy kiss to the corner of his mouth. Yuuri mourns his clean counter only briefly before bringing his hands to Victor's lean sides to trace over the ridged muscles of his abdomen with the pads of his thumbs. Victor is wearing a zip-up hoodie, open, and a pair of navy blue snap-away warm-ups, riding low on his hips. Yuuri laces his own fingers behind Victor's back and pulls him closer, relishing the little gasp and chuckle he gives at the jolt, and then he pushes his hands down his back. He grins at Victor as he squeezes what he can reach of his ass.
"You're insatiable lately," Victor whines, his head falling to Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri cuddles into him, easing off a bit to a less heated touch.
"And you can't get enough," he counters, but it's gentle, not pushy. "You want to?"
"Always," Victor breathes against his neck. His teeth graze lightly over the thin skin just behind Yuuri's earlobe. "I always want you."
Yuuri pulls back a bit to tap his index finger on the tip of Victor's nose. "Corny," he says. "But you're cute anyway." Victor smiles. Yuuri plucks a piece of strawberry from the cutting board and drops it in his own mouth, then repeats the action, this time feeding it to Victor; he pushes his two middle fingers forward just in time to feel him swallow. Victor's eyes go soft, docile, and he lets his lips and tongue go slack, letting Yuuri thrust his fingers in and out of his mouth as they watch each other. He goes slow, drawing it out, making it last; he wants Victor to need him desperately. The truth is, he still gets off on the idea of being able to wrap his husband around his little finger, still loves the way he'll beg for him if he's driven close enough to the edge. It's something he doesn't think will ever lose its novelty, the great Victor Nikiforov, reduced to something that runs off need, and all of that for Yuuri. He hadn't been lying; Victor is cute in the morning, and as they settle, ever more comfortable in their life together, Yuuri finds that his desire for him is not distracted by the affection but driven further by it.
Yuuri follows the strawberry with another, and then with a kiss, and Victor swoons into it, his hand coming to circle Yuuri's wrist where his free hand rests at Victor's hip. Yuuri chuckles as he tilts his head a bit more to slot their faces closer, his hand sliding with Victor's on top of it along his stomach, back around to his side to feel his warmed skin beneath the hoodie. Victor lets Yuuri lead the kiss, breathing quicker and quicker into it through his nose, and Yuuri can feel him heating up; when he pulls back to touch their foreheads together, Victor's cheeks are flushed pink. Yuuri fumbles with the things on the counter beside them, the bottle of maple syrup which he tips over to pour out slowly onto his fingers. "I used to practically drink syrup when I craved sugar," he tells Victor, who laughs and nips at Yuuri's nose. "So sweet…" he continues, trailing off, and he licks up the back of his hand after the tiny trail of syrup. Victor's piercing eyes trail the movement like a hawk tracking its prey on the ground.
"Come here," Yuuri says. He pulls Victor off the counter and sinks them both to their knees on the tile, pushing Victor back by the shoulder until he lies down. His hoodie rides up; in a flash of wild, blinding genius, Yuuri reaches back and swipes the syrup bottle from the counter. Victor gasps as the stuff hits his belly, and Yuuri yanks the waist of his pants down a few more inches to free up more skin. Once he's satisfied with the coverage, he leans down on his elbows and looms over Victor. He presses a kiss to Victor's hipbone and then licks up a bit of the syrup, blowing over the skin he's now wet twice.
It makes Victor gasp all over again. "What are you doing?" he asks, incredulous and a bit late, breathless as he is.
"You're lucky I didn't get the whipped cream out yet," Yuuri counters, grinning as he places a few more kisses at Victor's side.
"Am I lucky? I think this is messier. It's certainly stickier."
"Are you complaining?" Yuuri cups his hand and brings it down with a smack to Victor's hip.
"No, ahh… just…" Victor goes quiet as Yuuri licks up the little river made between the lower abdominal muscles closest to him, flicking his tongue in the ridges between them. He's inches above where Victor's cock is stirring in his pants, and he brings his hand over him to knead the flesh into responding faster. Victor's back arches, ever graceful, as Yuuri massages his shaft, an imprecise, allover squeezing that he knows won't offer nearly enough stimulation for him to really get anywhere. He wants Victor writhing on this floor, wants to make a mess of it and of him, because it's all his, because they're married, because he can.
Yuuri loves an opportunity to explore Victor's body, an excuse to savor and take his time; he has never liked being rushed, particularly not when there's something beautiful to be taken in. He swirls his tongue over every inch of his stomach, sketching little pictures into his skin, relishing the way Victor gasps when his saliva runs a bit dry and the drag is rough through the very topmost curls of his pubic hair. He feels his tongue drag slower as the remaining syrup gets stickier, sets into Victor's skin; and even though he's so entranced by the moment he's egged on by the idea of cleaning up together later, Victor bent over in the shower, droplets of scalding water tracing the same muscles the syrup clings onto now.
"Turn over," he says with another smack to Victor's flank, this time light and with the tips of his fingers. Victor obliges him easily, rolling over with a groan and going up to his knees so his ass is pushed up into the air. Yuuri runs his hands down Victor's back and then yanks his pants down, gasping when he sees what he's wearing underneath - those mesh trunks, completely transparent over the considerable curve of his pert butt and hugging tightly at the thighs. Completely taken by the sight, he lets out a low growl and smacks the soft flesh at the back of Victor's thigh. He watches the skin light up, fading to pink to match the blush on Victor's face, and brings his hand down again just to see it darken. Victor yelps and rocks his hips back and forth.
"These are really not fair," Yuuri says, leaning down to press a couple kisses to the small of Victor's back. He feels Victor's laughter vibrate through his spine. "You shouldn't be allowed to look so good," he continues, and sinks his teeth into the bright white contrasting waistband. "It's like torture." His mouth is full of the elastic but he says it through his teeth.
"Fight fire with fire," Victor shoots back. His arms are stretched out in front of him, his chest practically on the floor with the deep arch of his back. "You're up to a week of this. I have to try to convince you somehow."
Yuuri gets the trunks down his knees, his teeth skimming along the taut muscle of his thigh as he drags them down. He's rather pleased with himself, getting them off hands-free. "The only thing you're convincing me of is how bad you are," he says, and feels a thrill run through him at his own words - he has never felt particularly comfortable throwing out dirty talk, but it gets Victor going and he'd do pretty much anything to see him undone.
"So punish me," Victor says without missing a beat, and his voice is low, dangerous. Yuuri can't argue with his reasoning, but he also can't help bending down to lick greedily at him; if Victor wants a little rough treatment, he can give that to him in creative ways. Maybe he's expecting more spanking, and Yuuri isn't opposed to it, even giving him a dull slap and an immediate squeeze in the same place to emphasize as he buries his face between Victor's cheeks. But he wants him shocked, and if the way his back bows even more dramatically and his thighs tighten up is any indication, he's on the right track.
"Yuuri!" Victor's clawing at the tile, his hands seeking something to hold onto. Yuuri reaches forward and takes one of his hands in his own. He pulls it back, letting Victor hold his own weight up with his cheek pressed down to the floor. The way his body bends is always unbelievable to Yuuri, elegant through all his athletic training even in the increasing urgency of his need, his blood hot through his skin beneath Yuuri's fingers. It courses in a rush that syncs their heartbeats as easy as anything as Yuuri licks into Victor's ass, opening him up skillfully with his hot tongue. He is patient with this, happy to taste him as he waits for Victor to relax and let him in. It’s so rewarding when he is able to work his tongue in at last; Victor’s moan is loud and broken. Yuuri holds him up by a tight grip at his thighs.
Victor's whispering little prayers, pleas, whimpering softly by the time Yuuri slides a hand up and sinks a finger into him. His body offers him no resistance, rendered helpless under his touch. He hooks his finger up in a come-hither motion to seek out his prostate and lets himself enjoy the way Victor's thighs shake when he finds it; it's like a reflex, so utterly reliable. He thinks of how he feels when Victor does this for him, when his long fingers scissor him open, soaking wet with lube, to get him prepared; Yuuri doesn't bottom often, but he does enjoy riding him, and every once in a while he likes to tease Victor up into a frenzy and lay out for him for a night, gets that caveman urge to make Victor into an animal, howling and pining for him before he lets him dick him down hard.
Thinking about his endgame makes Yuuri realize how insistent his own arousal's become, and he reaches down to push down his own flannel pants and wrap a hand around his cock, soothing the heat with a few loose, slow strokes. Just enough to take the edge off and focus on the clues Victor's body is giving him, the tiny but constant quake in his legs, the twitch of his hole when Yuuri pulls back for breath, the way his fist is clenched between Yuuri's own hand and the floor. Yuuri stoops a bit lower to nuzzle at his balls; sure enough, they're drawn up tight. Victor shudders deeply when Yuuri touches him there, dragging his finger along the seam and up his perineum to push his finger back into his ass again.
"Naughty," he reiterates. Victor's body clutches tight around him in response and Yuuri chuckles and pushes another finger past the rings of muscle at his entrance. He stretches him open, still working at him slowly, refusing to zero in on his prostate; he just wants Victor open, as open as the rest of him is right now. He spits messily on his hole and pulls out to the rim to push the saliva in between his fingers; Victor jerks and rocks back to him.
Yuuri slaps his ass, twice, quickly, and then once more after letting the sting sink in. "You know better," he reminds him, and Victor slowly inches away from him again, rolling his shoulders in an effort to stay relaxed. "Yes," he says, nonsensically, probably a method for focus, a way to direct his energy into his own voice, which is rough and gravelly in his arousal.
"You're all ready for me," Yuuri whispers, kissing the back of Victor's thigh where he's left a faint handprint. "Wanna fuck you in the shower."
Victor groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He rolls over at length, his legs splayed out as wide as they'll go while they're constrained by his underwear. Yuuri runs his hands over his strong hips as he gazes down at him, watches him come down from the edge as he continues his soft, rhythmic stroking along his skin. "I thought you were making breakfast," he says, blinking as if the fluorescent light on the kitchen ceiling is suddenly too bright. Yuuri barks a laugh.
"It can wait. Come on. I'll bring it to you in bed after." He leans down over Victor and takes his lips in a sweet kiss, pulling away slowly to hover over him. "You deserve some spoiling."
"I thought I was naughty." Victor shoves playfully at Yuuri's shoulder as he rises to push off his pants and underwear, leaving him in just his hoodie.
Yuuri is waiting for him with a sharp swat to his ass when he stands. Victor jumps, and Yuuri snickers. "Let's just say I'm giving you the chance to endear yourself to me again."
"Victor, you do… you actually like this, don't you? Because if you weren't into it, if you really wanted to come, all you'd have to do is ask. This is longer than you've ever gone… without…"
Victor exhales hard against Yuuri's lips as Yuuri's hand wraps around his cock, not pumping him, just holding. They're sitting on the long edge of their bed, one of Victor's legs wrapped up between both of Yuuri's, nude except for Victor's bathrobe and Yuuri's boxers. He pushes Yuuri's hand away and looks him in the eye, brushes a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. In the dusklight, Yuuri's features are blurred, but his brown eyes are bright and focused, and as Victor trails his hand down his face he realizes his brow is furrowed in concentration. He smiles sweetly, hoping to calm Yuuri's rising nerves. "Nothing makes me happier than making you happy," he assures him. He captures Yuuri's hand and brings it to his own waist, then down his stomach, and finally back to his cock. He lets Yuuri close his fingers around him and feel how hard he is as he leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Pleasing you pleases me," he breathes.
"And besides," he continues, releasing Yuuri's hand so he can bring both of his own around Yuuri's body to cradle his waist and then slip down to his ass, "who else can take care of you the way I can?"
Yuuri laughs, his head collapsing on Victor's shoulder. "That's pretty presumptuous of you," he tells him. "Luckily for you, it's also true. I guess I'll have to make do for one more night, though." He lies back and plants his feet on the bed with his knees bent. Victor moans, closing his eyes; as much as he genuinely wants to please Yuuri, he's already feeling hot and bothered and Yuuri is not likely to go easy on him.
He never does.
"Go pick out a toy for me," he says, already pushing his shorts down. "A glass one. Dealer's choice."
Victor scampers off the bed to the box in the closet. It's sturdy and decorative, matching the rest of the ones stacked on the top shelf which hold beanies and earmuffs and gloves. Hidden in plain sight. Yuuri always was practical; when he'd lived alone, Victor had a habit of burying his toys in elaborate, paranoid hiding places, as if anyone would even be looking for them or care. Yuuri likes easy access to his things, and he likes a clean, organized house to facilitate it. The more deviant purchases are no exception.
He comes back with a short, thick glass wand, straight but with textured nubs all over. Yuuri is pressing two lubed-up fingers against his own opening as Victor settles back on the bed next to him. Victor eyes Yuuri's skin, itching to touch, knowing he won't be permitted to do so. He tucks his legs up under him and settles in for the show, offering Yuuri the toy when he looks to him for it. Yuuri looks pleased with his choice; he feels his heart beat a little faster with pride.
"Don't touch yourself," Yuuri tosses at him as he tilts his hips up and sinks his fingers in together. It's so offhand, like Victor is an afterthought; his voice is gruff, impatient for his own touch. Victor wasn't concerned with it before but suddenly he aches for what Yuuri has banned him from doing, for the sounds that fill their room when they both touch, the broken moans and soft breaths against each other's skin while they slowly, patiently work themselves into a shared frenzy; the intensity of staring into each other's eyes as they do so. But Yuuri's looking down his own body, wholly focused on what he's doing to himself, and Victor supposes he's lucky to even watch.
"I wish you could feel this, Vitya, feel how I'm… ah, fuck." Yuuri's head tips back to the pillow, and Victor looks at his neck, overcome with the desire to bite, perhaps until he draws blood. He can feel it, he thinks, very faintly in his memory, the way Yuuri’s body feels from the inside, his walls so velvet-soft, constantly adjusting and accommodating even when he bores down for more of whatever he’s being given.
"You look beautiful," Victor says, and he could be imagining the way Yuuri's fingers start working faster at the praise but he doesn't really think he is. He thinks of sliding his hands over Yuuri's body, the way his skin would feel hot to the touch, slick with sweat, the way his muscles would jump under him. He licks his lips.
Yuuri soaks the little wand in lube and eagerly gets it lined up with his hole. He stares at Victor as he arches and opens up for it, a little thicker than three of his own fingers, much more textured and unyielding. His eyes are barely open but he's staring, eyes lasers through Victor's, heat fizzing and crackling between them. "Victor," he breathes, as he gets it seated to the hilt, holding tightly to the little loop at the end that functions as a handle. "Victor."
Yuuri reaches out toward him, and as his palm comes to rest on Victor's thigh Victor shivers, though the heat between them is scalding. He feels the pleasure associated with Yuuri's touch run down his spine and then back up, and it makes him go dizzy as it sinks through his head, a warm, fuzzy disorientation. He's barely able to register what's happening before Yuuri's yanked him down to press their faces together, whispering harshly, "You're going to fuck me tonight. I'm going to… gonna get off, and then I want you, all of you… want you to put your cock in me and fill me up. You've been saving it for me, right?"
"Yeah," Victor breathes, "yes. Yes, Yuuri. Just for you."
"Good," Yuuri says. "I need it. Need you to fuck me good, fuck me, yeah." He seems lost, incoherent, unable to focus between the promise he's just made of what's to come and the sensation of the toy massaging his insides. Yuuri rocks down and groans, the glass likely pressing hard into his prostate, just this side of painful.
"I can come just from this, you know," Yuuri brags, "just like this." As if to prove it, he yanks the wand out quick and shoves it back in, flicking his wrist and working himself up to an incredible rhythm. He's moaning on the drag out and gasping on the thrust in, his breathing reduced to wrecked, desperate noises, and Victor shakes himself. He figures he is allowed to touch now, given that Yuuri's already broken his own rule, so he puts a hand on his chest and feels his heart fluttering beneath his palm.
"I know," Victor says finally. He's seen Yuuri come untouched before; his cock jumping, upheld, with release is not something that can go unnoticed. Yuuri's body gets so oversensitive when he's allowed the luxury of no distractions, every touch like live wires clashing. Victor cherishes seeing him unbridled and free, getting himself to completion like this or dancing, drunk, with their friends. It's a special thing. In a way he is only himself for a select few; in some ways, he is only his whole self for Victor.
"Want you… can't wait. Want you to fuck me."
Victor is impressed by his ability to string together coherent English this close to his impending orgasm. Victor is normally reduced to a babbling mess of Russian petnames long before this point. He looks at the blush painted over Yuuri's golden-warm skin. "Just a bit longer," he tells him, assuming the role he knows he needs to, a comforting beacon in Yuuri’s fog. "You can wait for me a little longer, love, right? You can let me see you come first."
Yuuri mewls, and his back arches sharp for the idea. "Yeah," he says, sounding gruff, sounding determined, and his wrist starts working double time to get the glass wand in and out of him. "Oh, God, it's right on my… fuck, Victor," he exclaims. Victor pinches his dark nipple, already drawn up tight, and Yuuri gasps in surprise.
A few things happen at once. Yuuri's eyes fall shut; his pace falters, his thrusts with the toy stuttering; one leg kicks out into the air like it's an involuntary response. The doctor hitting your kneecap with the little hammer that makes your body respond without it knowing what it’s doing. And before Victor knows it, Yuuri's release is all over his stomach and chest, his dick twitching but still hard against his hip.
Yuuri's panting, and Victor swoops in for his turn before he can recover. He licks the mess from Yuuri's belly and sucks a nipple into his mouth as he lines himself up and pushes in. Yuuri's pliant, orgasm-soft body accepts him readily, amenable to the intrusion. He buries himself easily to the base, the terrycloth of his robe scratching at Yuuri's thighs where it's bunched up between them.
"Couldn't even untie a belt, huh," Yuuri teases him once he's caught his breath, and Victor grunts, rocks into him a little. "Take it off," he says, and this time it's low and leveled at him with a glare. Victor yanks the bathrobe back and lets it slide off his shoulders; he doesn't think he's ever appreciated being naked quite this much before. The way Yuuri's skin feels against his, every inch of them bare to touch and see, is so beyond good. He loves the way their bodies look against one another, beside one another, Yuuri's stockier thighs and his own long, lanky legs, Yuuri's broad back and Victor's bony shoulders. Their hair, mixing together, contrasting pieces of black and platinum, both shiny and lustrous; their lips, Victor's pink and Yuuri's mauve, one set mashed into the other. Victor has his eyes open when they kiss more than Yuuri knows about, though he definitely knows about his penchant for it; he'll often catch Yuuri in a kiss in front of the bathroom mirror just so he can watch the way they melt into each other.
He rolls them so Yuuri is on top, but Yuuri stays close to him, not sitting up to ride him like he normally would. He wraps his legs around Victor's waist, high up, so that his knees are practically bracketing his chest. God, Yuuri is flexible. It will be the death of him.
They lie like that for a while, with Victor enjoying having a bit more than half of Yuuri's weight on him, barely moving, their hips just rocking, uncoordinated, absently seeking what their bodies drive them toward but distracted by the intimacy of being this close. Yuuri eventually growls and cranes his neck to kiss at Victor's jaw, patient but urging him to go faster, harder. Victor is under no illusions about what he wants.
But Yuuri seems determined to tell him anyway. "You gonna fill me up?" he asks between kisses, his voice sweet and laced with danger. "Fuck me, come on, baby, I know you're desperate for it. I kept you from coming for a reason, you know. Bet you have more than enough to get me pregnant now."
Low blow. Victor's hips snap up hard and Yuuri gasps, then raises his head to flash him a positively evil grin, biting his lip as he laughs. "Come on, Vitya," he goads, "wanna have your babies." He nips at Victor's lip, too, not once but twice. "Pin me down and give it to me good, it's the only way you'll get it in deep enough to knock me up."
It's Victor's turn to growl, right against Yuuri's shoulder. He rolls them again, and this time he pulls Yuuri’s hips up into his lap, supporting his weight across his thighs so he can get the angle right. All of a sudden the dimly flickering ember of want he's been sporting for the - Christ, it's nearly been two weeks - that Yuuri's been edging him is this glowing, burning thing dangling just out of his reach, and he follows it relentlessly, pounding into Yuuri with more concentrated force than any human being should be allowed to drive from their hips. Yuuri's hands are clutching the quilt, his cock leaking from the tip where it curls against his hip. Victor could reach out and touch it, or he could watch Yuuri come undone twice in one night, once on his stupid toy and once on Victor's cock, feel him shake and beg and clench around him as he rips the orgasm from Yuuri's body.
He leans down to press them together at the chest. He kisses him on the mouth - or cheek, he doesn't actually know, it's pretty approximated. His aim inside him, though, is dead-on: he can tell from the way Yuuri's whimpering as the head of his cock drags over a particular spot, and he pistons his hips faster to stimulate him there even more brutally.
"This is how it feels every single time you fuck me," he tells Yuuri, his voice barely a whisper.
Yuuri shudders. "Like I'm gonna drench your insides? Like I'm gonna make you come so hard you can't say anything but my name for the rest of your life?" Yuuri brings a shaking hand up to Victor's neck and traces his collarbone. "That's how this feels. You feel so good, Vitya, so fucking good."
"Yeah." Victor grasps the hand he's trailing over his shoulder now, guiding it to his own cheek. "Something like that. You want it harder?"
Yuuri smiles knowingly. "You holding out on me, old man?"
Victor bites his bottom lip, and Yuuri groans; Victor can tell he's left a bruise, a little bit of blood pooling under the thin skin, darkening his pout. "You haven't seen anything yet." He grabs Yuuri's hips where they're chubby, his nails digging into the soft flesh; Yuuri is practically curled back on himself under him, and Victor marvels again at his flexibility as he drapes his arms over Victor's shoulders and threads his hands in his hair. Neither of them are going anywhere; Victor has a small range of motion, but he makes it count, ramming into Yuuri's ass so hard that the slap of his hipbones against it is louder than their shared breathing. He can vaguely feel the drag of Yuuri's cock against his stomach as he rocks back and forth with the force of Victor's thrusts, but more than that there is the feeling of him all over him, Yuuri's musk and sweat swapping from his own pores into Victor's, the silky-softness of his skin sliding over Victor's, the way he can practically feel their bodies melting together in the dark.
Yuuri starts making the little noises that indicate that Victor is doing exactly what he should be doing, so he keeps it up, uncaring that Yuuri is digging his nails into his scalp and knocking into his ass with his feet. He feels the moment Yuuri starts to let go; his toes curl against him, and his insides contract and tighten, trying to hold Victor in. He resists the hold, stroking as steadily as he can, knowing Yuuri needs the continued stimulation to make it the best for him that it can be. His eyes are fixed on Victor's one moment, intense, and the next they're rolling back into his head, his lips pressed together in a tight line, totally blissed out as he holds his core tight and emits a high-pitched whine. Victor feels the warmth covering them inside and out, the flood of Yuuri's semen where it splashes against their bellies and the heat of his ass. Victor pounds into it as hard as he needs to to finish, and Yuuri's hold on him doesn't loosen; his hands stroke his hair more gently, but his legs keep him as close as he's ever been.
Yuuri may not moan outright for his own orgasm, but he does when Victor's hits. His jaw drops open and the noises he makes are raw and wild, and they just seem to pull Victor's hips to him again and again, drawing out this peak he's hit so many times before and yet which never quite feels familiar, always feels like a total cleansing of the mind and spirit. Before he'd met Yuuri that would have been such a trite thought to have, but he finds nowadays that he doesn't care. Sex with Yuuri - being with Yuuri, in any capacity - is such a thrilling experience. He doesn't have words for it, so he settles for those cliches from the well-known romances, the books he'd grown up reading, recontextualizing again and again, wondering if those stories could come true.
Well, now he knows.
He flexes his foot and rolls his hips a few more times, eking out the last of their orgasms. His body feels loose, wrung out from the bone, and he collapses beside Yuuri as they separate. Yuuri turns into him, snuggles close; Victor studies him, a hand cupping his jaw, the texture of his skin and the sweat in his hair and the mahogany flecks in his eyes. Yuuri trails his fingertips up Victor’s arm, watching the goosebumps he raises. Victor makes a soft, happy noise and lets his eyes drift shut. He wants to fall asleep like this, maybe sleep forever, forget everything but the warmth of their bed and the smell of their home and the feel of Yuuri’s arms.
Yuuri stirs him, flicking his ear. Victor hums, questioning, and smiles as Yuuri gets a little closer and brushes their noses together. He sighs, and Yuuri sighs, and Yuuri mutters something under his breath that Victor doesn’t quite catch.
Victor clears his throat, willing his vocal cords to work. “What was that?” he says, unable to resist burying his face back in Yuuri’s hair. He breathes in his scent, his shampoo a crisp layer over the musk of sweat and sex.
Yuuri grumbles, shifting even more flush to Victor’s body. “You are too good to me,” he says against Victor’s chest. He wraps his arms around Victor’s waist and holds tight; Victor feels his heart swell, feeling so safe and content.
“I am exactly as good to you as I declare necessary,” he says. “Now be good to me in return, and go to sleep.”
He can feel Yuuri’s smile against his breastbone. “Love you, old man,” he murmurs, and Victor thinks maybe Yuuri is just as sated as he feels himself, because he’s out in an instant. With effort, Victor hovers on the ledge between wakefulness and sleep for a few more moments, savoring the soft and even puffs of breath across his chest; he kisses the top of Yuuri’s head softly and listens to the rhythms of his body as he drifts, committing them to memory as the story writes itself. There are words on Yuuri’s skin that trail off where Victor’s picks them up again, and it’s no fairy tale but it’s theirs.