Viktor has a way of discovering the things people rarely are ever looking for.
Maybe that's the case when they stumble inside an emptied conference room, with the overhead and fluorescent lights dimmed. Namely, Yuuri does the stumbling, after knocking his hip soundly against the doorway's frame and muffling down an embarrassed, low laugh.
Viktor leads him — he's very good at that, sometimes — from there. The adrenaline of completing his free skate and winning silver keeps Yuuri's spirits and his senses heightened.
"That was amazing, Yuuri." Viktor's suede-gloved fingers unzip Yuuri's coat, peeling it off his shoulders. Yuuri moves obediently with the wordless directions. He cranes his neck into a stretch, looking over Viktor with a furtive, interested gaze. "The audience fell in love with you."
Viktor's words come off as methodical, carefully pieced together — but dripping with honey, attempting to lure the other man in with a delicious, satisfactory compliment.
And… well, Yuuri's never been the type to give himself entirely to any of it. To whims or desires that can't be reasoned away. He may have before all of this, for the sake of being with someone — before learning Viktor's behavior, how faulted his idol truly is. That is the thing that makes Viktor desirable.
He is a man, not a god.
"I misjudged the quadruple flip," Yuuri points out, expression remaining blank.
Viktor's little, amused smile widens.
"You'll land it the next time, won't you?"
The sentence carries like a softly-spoken challenge, and Yuuri's ready to prove it. He's ready to prove his worth to the Grand Prix, and to every spectator out there. He's ready to prove what love means to him, perhaps like Viktor did for him outside the kiss and cry.
In his lifetime, Yuuri never imagined his lips ever touching Viktor's.
Nothing about Viktor ever seemed touchable to just a mere person, back when Yuuri's thoughts of him had been god-like. Viktor's lips wouldn't be crinkly and thinned like the glossy, colored magazine paper or posters. Or like the transparent, cool slide of glass inside a picture-frame.
They felt pillow-soft against Yuuri's mouth when Viktor surprised him with their first kiss, full with heat and real. They're real, at any second, at any time — Yuuri steps closer under dimmed lights, tongue running slowly, wetly over his bottom lip.
He witnesses Viktor's memorized eyes on Yuuri's own mouth before the distance closes, Yuuri's arms winding to Viktor's neck.
Viktor pulls him in tighter, locking them in an embrace, groaning happily into Yuuri's kiss. It's less jarring than their first, but less patient — Viktor's fingertips dragging up the spandex-thin material on Yuuri's back. Yuuri's hand burying into silvery locks, cupping the back of Viktor's head.
Heavy, hot breathes between open-mouthed kisses and light, teasing nibbles. That's exactly that kind of slow-burning intimacy that thunders the blood rushing in Yuuri's veins. Pooling everything straight to his cock and stirring it awake. Viktor's not his first — or second kiss, for that matter — but he's capable of sweeping up the gold.
Viktor's mouth tastes warm, sugary and faintly like the mocha in his coffee.
Yuuri quietly exhales against him, peering up through his eyelashes. He's grateful to not be flushing horrifically, and admires the light dusting of pink to Viktor's own cheeks.
He has never been able to properly name the color of Viktor's peculiar eyes, but sea-glass has an enigmatic quality behind it. Something forged in turbulence, in a flash-fire brilliance and deep waters; something frail but aware where ruination begins.
"You never imagined this, Yuuri…?" Viktor murmurs, flattening his palms against Yuuri's shoulder-blades, his thumbs stroking absent, heartfelt patterns.
"Do you mean with you?"
Yuuri's voice sounds deeper than he intends. It's an innocent enough question, but a smirk plays across Yuuri's features. He traces his reddened, puffy-feeling lips briefly to Viktor's, grinning and murmuring out with mock-concern, "Of course not."
"Of course not," Viktor repeats, grinning even bigger.
He kisses the corner of Yuuri's mouth noisily, and then does it again to the opposite side.
Yuuri's arms loosen around him, just as the other man urges them backwards, thudding comfortably against a wall. Viktor rolls up sharply against their hips, one of Viktor's hands slipping down Yuuri's waist, lowering until he can experimentally squeeze on Yuuri's ass.
They're both hard and aching underneath their clothes, guessing on how it feels with Viktor pushing up to him. Yuuri chokes out a long, shaky moan, right into Viktor's ear.
"Viktor, don't start teasing," he breathes, clutching onto Viktor's expensive, dark grey suit. Yuuri's skin flushes with a sheen of perspiration, accepting another kiss, aggressive and hurried this time.
"I won't, I promise—turn around for me?"
Yuuri doesn't know what good that's gonna do, but he humors Viktor, forearms pressing onto the wall and above Yuuri's own head. Even in the dimmed lights, the sparkles on Yuuri's two-piece costume seem to reflect dazzling. Before asking if he can do away with the first layer, Viktor's lips return, mouthing gently against the crook of Yuuri's bare neck.
Taking a moment to relax, against the sensation of Viktor's body covering him, cradling him, Yuuri closes his eyes and lets his head drop forward. This is safety to him; this is understanding how to ease him. Viktor doesn't need to ever coddle him — he just needs to meet Yuuri where he wants Viktor.
Even if it's only Viktor's fingers massaging Yuuri's cock through his dark, padded costume, attempting to jack him in rough, quick strokes.
Yuuri verbalizes his permission immediately, in a litany of "yes" that end with whines. He thrusts uncoordinated back against Viktor humping him, and fuck, Yuuri has already seen Viktor's naked cock at the onsen — but not like this. Erect and drooling pre-cum, with its foreskin pulled all the way back.
At least, Yuuri imagines it that way.
His cock feels big through Viktor's suit-pants. That stirs further arousal in Yuuri's gut, yanking him towards the teetering edge of an orgasm.
The friction is good, so good — not perfect, not until Viktor cups his whole palm on him and grinds the heel of his palm between Yuuri's legs. From there, Yuuri loses a sense of time and self, trapped within the mounting desire. He gasps out Viktor's name, sweat glistening and beading down Yuuri's throat, pulsing come inside his own clothes.
Viktor's hand doesn't stop. The grinding instead softens, lingering, like how Viktor's mouth touching to Yuuri's earlobe. Viktor's hips nudge up against Yuuri's ass, and something feels damp. In the lack of surrounding light, he wouldn't be able tell the front of Viktor's pants are.
"Is my katsudon overcooked?"
Yuuri groans out a quivery, weak laugh, thumping his forehead to the wall. "You're awful," he whispers, lacking any sincerity.
Viktor isn't offended, and that's made clearer by his saliva-slick lips leaving an affectionate, smacking kiss to Yuuri's jaw.
"Mmm, still tastes good…"
Yuri on Ice is not mine. I'M BACK WITH ANOTHER FILL FOR THE YOI KINK MEME ON TUMBLR. Someone dropped in "Yuuri/Viktor, NSFW set after Episode 7. Frottage against a wall while Yuuri is still in-costume and Viktor is still in his suit." Couldn't resist! Hope you guys loved it! Any thoughts/comments welcomed!