Actions

Work Header

Esse Sui Amans

Work Text:


Yuuri rested his palm against the brick wall, feeling the aching burn in his thighs even more now that he had temporary halted his aimless running. He panted, throat scratchy and mouth dry. Yuuri swallowed, attempting to calm the heaving of his shoulders and ease his breathing. Brown eyes peered up at the inky black sky, noting the lack of moonlight before slowly falling to glance at his surroundings.

The streets were empty, of course they were. Which part of town did he end up running to?

Yuuri bit his lip, internally scolding himself for not paying attention to where he had sprinted to. These streets were unfamiliar, more so in the darkness of the night and Yuuri tried to push down the bubbling panic, focusing on what he could possibly do next. He couldn’t go back to his apartment and he certainly couldn’t ask for help.

No one would be willing to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt, not in the middle of the night and definitely not right now with the whispers of apparent foreigners – very rich foreigners. Very dangerous- roaming the town. No one here would even dare risk involving themselves with whatever matter those so-called foreigners were here for and Yuuri was as foreign to the town’s residents as those unknown men.

‘A man with silver hair?’ His aging manager had exclaimed in incredulity only hours before, after a customer had ushered in, pale and shaken as he described a group of tall men who had approached him outside. Yuuri had only started working at that particular bar a couple of months ago, was still learning his way around the town itself with the help and patience of his new co-workers.

‘Silver hair…’ His manager had shaken his head, giving the dazed customer a free double shot of vodka with lime and ice-cold soda before taking Yuuri who had been standing motionless at the side of the bar by the shoulders. ‘If I’m not mistaken… that’s the Bratva, Yuuri. The Russian Mafia. Silver hair’s the trademark of their leader. The Pakhan.’ Yuuri hadn’t uttered a word, staring at his manager with wide eyes like he hadn’t known exactly what or who the elderly man was talking about.

‘But why would the Bratva be here…? No, I suppose it doesn’t matter,’ the old man had said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘We’ll close early every night for the rest of the week. Until they’re gone, even. We’re not going to have a lot of customers if the Bratva is here, anyway. Best to stay at home as much as possible until those folks leave the town.’ His manager had patted his shoulders, speaking to him with the tone his own father would have used when Yuuri used to ask him for advice during his teenage years. ‘Stay safe, Yuuri. If anyone approaches you and you suspect, even just a little bit, that they might be part of the Bratva, you do what they say, boy. You don’t fight those men, okay Yuuri?’ Yuuri had nodded wordlessly, mechanically turning on numb legs and barely able to conceal the quivers of his fingertips when he had begun to wipe the wine glasses.

It was passed midnight now and Yuuri had spent the remainder of his shift thinking about how he would have to flee this town as soon as the first trains were running tomorrow morning. He’d planned to pack as much as possible tonight, apologise reverently through the phone to his manager for giving such a short notice tomorrow morning and then he’d leave this town to go to the next- maybe a different country- without a second glance behind him.

Just like he’d done numerous times before.

Yuuri stared at the concrete floor, eyeing the cracks on the pavement. What kind of life was this?

‘…It doesn’t matter,’ he thought to himself with a small shake of his head. ‘Anything to get away. Anything to be as close to being free as possible.’

He had ended up closing the bar on his own tonight. His manager had left in a haste following a phone-call from his wife, apologising profusely to Yuuri who had only assured the elderly man that he could handle closing the bar alone and that whatever his wife had called him about was more important.

Being the only one on shift tonight hadn’t really been too much of a hassle. Just as his manager had predicted, there really hadn’t been much customers and Yuuri did his best to finish as quick as he could, going through the routine of washing the bar-mats and glasses, wiping the tables and cleaning the bar without so much as a hitch. The last customer had been a regular, an elderly man with long, greying hair who had shaken his head in disdain at the way the rest of the locals seemed to be handling the arrival of their foreign visitors.

Every place here in this lil’ ol’ town -shops, restaurants, pubs, bars- ‘s been closing early since those men got here. Hah, like the sun’s gonna stop the Bratva from striking whenever they want to,’ the old man had said, twirling his glass of scotch on ice between his fingers. ‘Sun or no sun, they’ll be out there. No point in locking yourself up at night when they can get to you in the day if they had an itch to, right? You get me?’

Yuuri had given a quiet polite hum of agreement in return, indulging the customer even while all he could think of was the quiet trek he’d have to make to return to his apartment. In the dark. Alone.

‘Hm, but thanks for indulging a drunken old man’s rambling,’ the customer had said, slipping Yuuri an extra bill as he set his empty glass down. ‘You take care of yourself, sonny.’

Yuuri had thanked the customer quietly, waiting until the elderly man left before inspecting the whole bar one last time. He’d just barely clicked the lock shut, brown eyes trained on the rusted padlock before a glint of something on the corner of his vision had made the hairs at the back of his neck stand. Yuuri had bolted without a second thought, heart leaping to his throat while he sprinted as fast as his legs could possibly go.

He hadn’t dared look back, afraid to find that it really had been a flash of silver waiting for him under the dim lights of the street lamps.

And now here he was, standing alone in a part of the town he had never even ventured to in his short time here, legs aching and lungs burning. Still finding it in himself to run and run even though deep down, he knew –he knew- there was no way he’d win this.

Yuuri shook his head vehemently, biting back a small cry. ‘I need to get away. I need to keep running. If I don’t-’ He shivered, closing his eyes momentarily and letting out a deep exhale to calm himself. ‘I got away from you… I got away from you. How do you keep finding me?’

There was a quiet shuffle behind him and brown eyes immediately snapped open, legs bursting into action as he ran once more, wasting not even a second to dash away from the noise. The houses around him and the trees and lamp posts he passed by became nothing but a blur, the quiet tap tap of his own footsteps the only sound reaching his ears. He made a left turn and then a right, pace slowing with fatigue.

‘Did I pass that mailbox before? That house with the black gate?’ Yuuri bit his lip, feeling the terror trickling down his back. Was he running in circles? He skidded to a halt by a dark alley, leaning on his knees for support as he paused to catch his breath.

He peered around cautiously, tired eyes surveying every street in front of him, eyeing the tall blocks of apartment surrounding him. 

Still alone. 

Yuuri leaned his back against the side of a building, waiting for his erratic breathing to calm. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and he wiped it away, exhaling quietly.

“You made this too easy.”

Yuuri froze. 

“It’s like you wanted me to catch you, love.”

He whipped his head to the side, staring into the shadows of the dead-end alley by the side of the building he had been leaning against. His heart dropped, knees immediately weakening in a way that had nothing to do with his sprint when his eyes zeroed in at the sight of a tall figure leaning casually against the wall of the adjacent building. 

Ice cold fear racked down Yuuri’s spine.

“You must be tired from all that running, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri shook his head, staggering back and almost tumbling in his desperation to get away. He twisted around, muscles protesting as he tensed to sprint away once more. He let out a cry of despair when strong arms immediately engulfed him, pulling him into the darkness of the small alleyway. Yuuri began to squirm, the beginning of a scream forming at the back of his throat immediately halted by a large hand covering his mouth, muffling any other sound that would escape his lips.

He continued to wriggle, trying to pull away from the arm tightly encircling his waist.

“None of that, now. Stop struggling.”

Yuuri let out a stifled cry, knowing well that there would be no one here to hear his cries or his pleas, no one to listen to any of his screams. He gripped at the other man's wrist, tugging to no avail. A warmth breath hovered over the nape of his neck, nose nuzzling against his hair and lips brushing against the back of his ear.

“I missed you.”

The sincerity behind Viktor’s words made his throat clog.

Yuuri pulled harder at the hand covering his mouth, nails digging into the fabric of the black blazer Viktor wore. The large hand slowly pulled away, fingertips caressing his skin before settling on his shoulders, the grip keeping him in place.

“Didn’t you miss me, Yuuri?”

“No!” Yuuri spat back, attempting to elbow the other man’s ribs. “No!” 

Viktor tsked behind him. “No? You hurt me,” he said, sounding anything but hurt. He pressed their bodies closer, placing a small, tender kiss at the back of Yuuri's neck.

“S-stop it! Get off!”

“Back to that again?” Viktor chastised. “I thought you’d already learned what happens when you try to fight me.”

Whiskey brown eyes began to water.

“I can’t hurt you, love. Never.” Viktor’s hand travelled to his hair, briefly brushing through the dark strands. “So every time you fight me,” fingers gripped his hair, pushing his face against the brick wall – hard enough to make it clear that Viktor was angry but not quite hard enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. “Every time you make me mad,” the Russian pressed their bodies further into the wall. “And every time you decide to leave me,” Viktor growled, “it’s other people who get hurt.”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. Whose death had he inadvertently caused this time?

“Don’t fret about it too much. I made sure your manager’s death was as quick and painless as possible. He and his wife didn’t even have time to scream.”

His knees buckled, body sagging and stomach twisting.

‘Not again…’

“Why do you keep doing this…?” He rasped out, throat dry and constricted. “I don’t…I never wanted-” Yuuri released a shuddering breath. “I just want to be free again…”

Viktor’s hand left his hair, travelling down to lightly grasp at his jaw.

“I can give you anything you want, Yuuri.” The older man guided Yuuri’s head and Yuuri complied, craning his head to the side, blearily opening his eyes. “Anything and everything. You just have to stay with me.” Yuuri stared into the depths of the azure eyes, wondering, not for the first time, how he could have missed that cold, ruthless glint that had always, always been playing behind the warmth of the blue eyes he had come to love. “You just have to give me you.”

Yuuri’s face crumpled. “I don’t want-”

Viktor crushed their lips together, silencing any further words.

Their first meeting hadn’t been all that interesting. Not exactly magical or enchanting, not like the beginnings of a fairy tale or some romance film. Just a quick smile and a simple ‘Hello, is it okay if I sit here?’ in that small café near Yuuri's campus during his last year at university in Detroit. Viktor had only been a stranger then - a well-dressed stranger whose clothes and face had looked far too good to be sitting in that quiet, old café.

Yuuri had let his curiosity get the best of him - had started a conversation he never could have known would seal his future.

If he had decided to keep to himself that first time his eyes had collided with blue, would he be here now? Still drowning in this life of crime and blood that Viktor had chosen for him? Would their lives still have found a way to intertwine?

‘No, it’s my first time in Detroit actually. I’m visiting for some family business,’ Viktor had told him then, smile just as enrapturing as the rest of him after Yuuri had asked if he came there often.

Yuuri hadn’t known who Viktor was when they had first met in that small, quiet café – hadn’t really known who it was he had conversed with, whose invitation for a coffee he had shyly accepted. Yuuri didn’t know a lot about Viktor then. But in the following months they had spent together, talking and texting and calling, smiling and laughing and enjoying each other’s company, Yuuri had learned a lot about the other man – had thought he learned enough to know it was safe to fall for that kind smile and those warm, warm eyes.

How had he meant to know any better?

Yuuri pushed away his trail of thoughts, scratching at Viktor’s arms instead of wallowing on the pointless what-ifs resounding in his head.

The what-ifs didn’t matter. He was here now. He couldn’t change that.

The Russian’s grip was unyielding, the smaller man’s protest only tightening the hold on Yuuri’s jaw until the resisting lips finally parted with a gasp. Yuuri mewled as Viktor’s tongue invaded his mouth, knocking his breath away the same way it always had every time Viktor kissed him. He shivered at the hard length pressing against his hips, thrashing when fingers began to crawl underneath the white polo shirt he wore as a uniform, brushing teasingly on the taut muscles of his abdomen.

Yuuri breathed heavily through his nose, gasping out a breath when Viktor finally pulled away, lips glistening. They stared at each other, brown eyes glassy with unshed tears, blue eyes heavy with arousal. 

“Viktor, please,” Yuuri whispered shakily, “let me go… please, let me go.”

Cerulean eyes darkened at that.

The Russian stepped back and Yuuri almost stumbled down at the sudden loss of support. Viktor immediately caught him, twisting him around and shoving him against the side of the building, back pressed roughly against the brick wall.

Fingers brushed against Yuuri’s throat, trailing up to cradle his cheek.

Even after spending so much time together, even after giving himself whole-heartedly to this man in-front of him, Yuuri hadn’t known who Viktor truly was at the time, not really. He hadn’t known who it was that had kissed him in that outdoor ice-rink during their first and only Christmas together, hadn’t known who it was he had given his body and his heart to in a way that he had never given himself to anyone before.  

“Let you go…” A thumb caressed his lips and Yuuri’s chin trembled, wanting to turn away as Viktor pressed closer, leaning down until their foreheads touched. “How many times do we have to go through this, Yuuri? This game of cat and mouse.” 

Hands tore at his shirt, ripping it open and sending buttons flying into the air and onto the concrete floor.

“How many people do I have to kill for you to understand that you’re not leaving me?” The heat from Viktor's palms travelled across his torso, beginning to explore his body, touching and admiring the lean form with knowing hands.

In the early days that Yuuri had spent with Viktor, in those warm, happy moments of their time together– lost and long gone - Yuuri had come to know someone with a heart-shaped smile, a tender man with soft, ivory skin and a voice that spoke as though Yuuri was all he could have ever wanted.

“How many times do I have to fuck you for you to understand where your place is? Surely you already know.” Fingers tugged at his belt, unbuttoning the black slacks and letting them fall to his knees. “Why won’t you accept it?”

But that man was not all Viktor was and Yuuri was a fool to believe someone so good and so perfect could possibly exist.

Yuuri stared at the other man through pleading eyes, gripping the broad shoulders and pushing away. Viktor didn’t budge, didn’t even react, only leaned down further until his lips brushed against the side of the smaller man’s throat.

“I can’t… Viktor I can’t live like that,” Yuuri whispered. “I never wanted this, Viktor. I never wanted…I never-”

Yuuri never wanted the Pakhan. He only wanted his Viktor. 

What a tragedy it was that they ended up being the same person.

Above him, the Russian suddenly stilled. Yuuri swallowed, knowing his unfinished words were a mistake. Running away again had been a mistake. Involving himself with Viktor in the first place had been a mistake.

Yuuri tensed, fear prickling at the back of his neck as he waited for Viktor's next move.

But it was true - what Viktor said about hurting him. Despite the things he could do, the things he’d already done, Viktor had never hurt Yuuri. He’d never laid his hands on him with the intent to cause physical pain, had only ever gripped hard enough to subdue him and keep him in place, had bitten and bruised him with the intent to mark and claim, never to cause any deliberate damage.

No, Viktor didn’t hurt Yuuri.

He’d make Yuuri feel good - would make Yuuri writhe and gasp under him, would make his mind go blank while he pushed him over the edge into blinding, white, white pleasure.

And that?

That was worse than what Viktor’s fists and his bullets and blades could ever possibly make him feel.

“…I think,” Viktor started, the baritone tone of his voice sending tremors down Yuuri’s spine, “you need a reminder of exactly where you belong, Yuuri.”

Viktor’s mouth was on his once again, hot and wet, dominating and suffocating. Brown eyes clenched shut, thighs trembling as his trousers and boxers were torn away to be thrown carelessly on the floor, his tattered shirt the only article of clothing left on his body.

It had been a quiet night like this, so dark without the moonlight but peaceful and calm, when Yuuri had learned exactly who it was he had held hands with, whose bed it was he had willingly laid on.

He could remember that night so vividly, even to this day – from the complete terror that had choked him when he had been snatched from the streets, to the uncomfortable press of the ropes that had bound his wrists and ankles and how those had dug into his skin hard enough to make him bleed.

One of the Pakhan’s whore,’ one of his kidnappers had spat. Yuuri didn’t even know what the word Pakhan had meant then. 

Nikiforov’s? You’re sure?’ 

‘Yes. Boss said Nikiforov’s gonna cave for this one. That he’d give anything for this boy’s life. Drugs, money, turf - you fucking name it.’

‘Heh, he’d give all that for this pretty little thing?’ The barrel of a gun had been pressed to his temple and Yuuri could do nothing but sit there, listening to his kidnappers’ conversation, mouth taped and limbs bound. ‘What an expensive whor-’ 

That had been those men’s last words.

Sudden chaos had erupted around him then, disrupting the otherwise quiet night with deafening explosions and a storm of bullets. 

That had been the first time Yuuri saw the Pakhan.

The Pakhan with silver hair and cold, blue eyes – the Pakhan who wore his Viktor’s face and growled with the timbre of his Viktor’s voice.

Yuuri didn’t really know what had been worse – the thunderous booms of gun shots or the eventual slick sound of sharp, sharp blades cutting into flesh. Maybe the screams.

“You’re going to spread those pretty legs for me, Yuuri.” A strong hand gripped the base of his length, warm and firm and so, so familiar. “And you’re going to let me fuck you.” Viktor’s hand slowly glided up, coaxing him to harden as he swiped a thumb at the tip, teasing the slit and caressing under the head – just like how he knew Yuuri liked.

“You’re going to moan so beautifully with my mouth on your lips.”

Yuuri shook his head weakly, biting his bottom lip hard when Viktor began to slowly pump him.

“You’re going to whimper so sweetly when I open you with my fingers.”

Viktor's other hand that had been holding his hip shifted, moving further back and Yuuri jerked as a finger dipped between his thighs, brushing against the flesh between the rounded cheeks. 

“And you’re going to come so hard while I’m fucking you – with my cock buried so deep inside you.”

Viktor pushed forward, grinding his arousal, hot and hard, against Yuuri’s hip. He nipped at the younger man’s bottom lip, tugging gently before placing a soft kiss on the pink lips.

“Exactly the way you always do, Yuuri.” 

The pads of the Russian’s fingers brushed against one of his nipple and Yuuri’s back arched away from the wall when Viktor’s tongue ran across the other one, mouth so warm and so wet as it danced in hypnotic circles that pre-come dripped out of his cock without permission, slicking and easing every glide of the hand that was pumping him.

“…And that-” 

His kidnappers had been wrong. 

“-is how it’s always going to be.”

Yuuri wasn’t the Pakhan’s whore.

Viktor’s lips covered his own once again, the kiss thorough and deep, so wrong and so filthy –so, so good- and Yuuri couldn’t stop the stifled moan from escaping his throat at a particular upward twist of Viktor’s wrist. His eyelashes dampened, grip on the broad shoulders tightening and his shame rising at the feel of Viktor’s lips tilting upwards in a small, knowing smile. 

Yuuri tore his mouth away with a gasp as the hand suddenly began a vigorous pace.

“S-stop,” Yuuri gritted out, brown eyes clenching shut. Viktor’s hand was unrelenting, his hold and his pace just right, sending sparks of heated pleasure down the smaller man’s spine. “I don’t…I can’t-” his thigh’s began to quake, “Viktor, I…I’m-”

Viktor immediately pulled away, leaving his cock hard and throbbing. Yuuri panted, head falling back against the brick wall, brown eyes staring hazily at the black, cloudless sky as Viktor began to suck marks on his neck. Fingers trailed across his lips and Yuuri bit his tongue, pressing his mouth tightly together.

“I don’t have anything with me,” Viktor nosed at his cheek, sounding almost apologetic. “This will have to do, I’m afraid.” 

The younger man smothered down a noise of despair as the fingers traced his mouth, gentle and alluring even while they pressed forward, seeking entry.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, love, so…” 

‘Why are you still fighting?’ That sad, helpless part of him questioned. ‘What’s there left to fight for? You’re right where he wants you to be.’ And Yuuri knew that - he knew that very well. Just like how he knew that if he didn’t comply, Viktor would end up doing it himself – would use his own mouth and tongue and spit to prepare him. And Yuuri didn’t want that nearly as much as he didn’t want Viktor’s cock in him. He wanted as little of Viktor in him as possible.

“Get them nice and wet, Yuuri.”

Yuuri couldn’t contain his tears any longer at that. He closed his eyes, letting them trickle down his face as the fingers pushed forward, passing his lips and entering his mouth. He didn’t have to look to know that Viktor’s heated gaze was trained on him. Viktor was always, always watching him, after all. He let the digits rest on his tongue, refusing to actively participate in this, remaining static even as Viktor began to slowly pump his fingers. In and out, slow and tantalising and so very arousing no matter how much Yuuri wanted to deny that. 

He wasn’t complying, no. But resisting was always futile because this… this was always inevitable.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ Yuuri thought, turning his head as soon as the fingers fully retreated, leaving his mouth with a soft ‘pop’. Viktor nuzzled his cheek, kissing away the tears as glistening fingers trailed downwards with intent. One of the slick digits flitted over his entrance and the younger man breathed deeply through his nose, the helplessness bubbling in his chest all over again. ‘Stupidstupid-’

His breath hitched at the first press of Viktor’s finger, instinctively clenching around the intrusion. Above him, Viktor groaned, momentarily pausing as though to relish the familiar, burning heat of Yuuri’s body. The finger pressed on and Yuuri’s head fell on Viktor’s shoulder, not knowing how his legs were still keeping him up.

The older man continued his ministrations, carefully pulling out and pressing back in, thorough and languid in his pace as he began to thrust. Yuuri buried his face further onto the fabric of Viktor’s blazer, shaking fingers wrapped around the other man’s upper arms as he was gradually stretched once more. A sound of discomfort escaped his lips when the second finger began to press in, the spit nowhere near enough to ease the entry and Viktor seemed to know that too, judging from the way he retracted his hand away.

Brown eyes cracked open just in time to catch Viktor spitting on his own palm, the sight and the sound making Yuuri shiver. He bit his cheek when the wet digits rubbed between the flesh of his ass once again, whining quietly when two fingers pressed inside him.

“Shh, there you go…” Viktor murmured, “opening so well for me.”

Yuuri bit his cheek harder, Viktor’s voice sounding so distant when all he could focus on were the fingers fucking him open. He squirmed when the Russian’s hand began to speed up, wrist twisting and the pads of his fingers rubbing so sensually against his walls.

“Let me hear you, Yuuri. It’s okay.”

The digits curled inside him and Yuuri whimpered as they pressed against his prostate, deliberately pushing against it in firm, measured thrusts.

“V-Viktor,” Yuuri groaned, “stop…c-can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” -you always do- “Take it, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri panted at the jolts of hot, hot pleasure, mewling quietly as a third digit forced itself in to stretch him even more. He sagged against the wall, knees on the verge of collapsing when the fingers finally pulled away. Lips brushed against his temple, descending to his mouth before he was suddenly hoisted up. Yuuri scrabbled at the wall behind him, heart leaping when his legs left the ground. He clutched at Viktor’s shoulders, having no choice but to wrap his legs around the larger man's waist to keep his balance.

Viktor had no trouble holding him up at all, supporting his body like the smaller man weighed nothing as he encircled his arms around the base of Yuuri’s back. The quiet sound of Viktor’s zip opening filled the otherwise eerie silence of the night and Yuuri could do nothing but avert his head to the side when the heated flesh of Viktor’s cock brushed against his inner thighs. The Russian’s gaze drifted down, one of his hands wrapping around his own arousal to spread the copious amount of pre-come along his throbbing member. Yuuri flinched when Viktor spat on his hand again, twitching as the other man continued to pump his cock, slicking and preparing it for what was to come. 

Viktor gripped the base of his length, guiding the swollen head to Yuuri’s loosened entrance.

“…Your place has always been beside me, Yuuri.”

Blue eyes slowly shifted up, clashing with wide, brown ones.

“With me. Always,” Viktor continued, voice low and dark. “Remember?”

Yuuri’s stifled cry resounded in the empty darkness of the alleyway as Viktor’s hip snapped up, impaling the younger man half-way on his cock. Black locks thrashed against the wall, the rough texture of the bricks scraping against his cheeks as Yuuri turned his head away, contracting around the thick cock splitting him open. Soft lips danced along the juncture of his neck and collarbone soothingly, tracing the marks that had already been left there.

“Just like this…” Viktor whispered breathlessly.

“N-ngh… Viktor…” 

Viktor’s thighs tensed, knees lowering ever so slightly before he was surging up, burying his pulsing member completely into those perfect, scorching walls. He watched with ever-growing hunger as Yuuri threw his head back, burning blue eyes absorbing everything the younger man had to give him.

Viktor leaned forward, lips brushing against the shell of Yuuri’s ear.

“Wrapped around my cock,” he continued, words ending in a growl as he drew his hips back, driving forward once again in the start of a brutal rhythm that made blinding, white dots flash behind Yuuri's eyelids. “Filled with my come.”

Yuuri trembled at the ferocity of every thrust, knowing that Viktor knew exactly what those filthy words did to him – how it made him clench, how it made his own cock twitch. This was too much far too soon and he hadn’t been prepared enough but Yuuri knew his body will bear it, will accommodate and open for Viktor the same way it always had.

This didn’t hurt. It never hurt, really.

And a part of Yuuri hated that. Hated how his body had been tuned so effortlessly to Viktor’s command, detested the way their lips slotted against one another’s so naturally. He loathed himself for being able to take Viktor in like this, despised the way he fit so perfectly in Viktor’s arms, how their bodies connected so easily.

Like he had only ever been made for Viktor.

The angle of the thrusts changed, hitting even deeper than before as Viktor gripped his waist harder, his cock pounding into him faster and faster. Yuuri groaned, arching his back as his head spun at the unrelenting assault, choked gasps and cut-off moans slipping passed his lips without permission.

“Yeah,” Viktor panted, breath hot and wet. “Moan for me. Just like that. Mhm…”

Dilated azure eyes, heady with lust and dark with want, descended downward, watching himself disappear again and again into that tight, tight heat that had only ever belonged to him.

“Fuck,” Viktor grunted pressing his forehead against Yuuri’s shoulder. “… always so fucking tight.” Teeth latched on to the juncture of Yuuri's neck, biting down at the coiling molten pleasure building up at the base of his spine.

Yuuri was writhing now, no doubt close to tipping over the edge as he clawed at Viktor’s clothed back and Viktor reached down, taking hold of the younger man's arousal. Yuuri buckled at the burning touch, torn between the dual sensation of Viktor’s hand and Viktor’s cock, gripping him with every pump and punishing him with every thrust.

It didn’t take long –just a few more stokes, just a few more thrusts – before the pressure in his core exploded. Liquid warmth poured into Viktor’s hand and Viktor groaned, leaning his head back to watch Yuuri’s flushed face, taking in the scrunched brows and parted mouth, unable to resist as he swooped down to swallow Yuuri’s silent scream with his own lips.

Viktor didn’t slow his erratic thrusts, only pulling his hand away from the softening member to spread his palm onto Yuuri’s abdomen, smearing the come on the bare skin while he continued to drive his pulsating cock into Yuuri’s clenching heat. His tongue plundered into the slack mouth before pulling back, leaning his forehead against Yuuri’s, chasing the peak of his own pleasure while he stared intensely into the depths of those clouded brown eyes.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, slight tremors rocking his body at the over-sensitivity.

“Yes, love?” Viktor responded heatedly.

“P-please...”

"Please what?"

-Please, no more. Please, stop-

“Please… a-ah-

-Please. Please, let me go- 

Viktor growled, snapping his hips forward one last time and burying his throbbing cock as deep as it can go. Spurts of come pulsed into Yuuri in thick waves, spilling into him until he was overflowing, warmth trickling down his thighs. Viktor panted against his mouth, slowly coming down from his high until finally, he placed a soft, tender kiss on Yuuri’s lips, slowly pulling out of the unmoving body with a lewd squelch.

Yuuri’s legs immediately gave out without Viktor’s support, ready to collapse and fall on the concrete floor. Viktor didn’t let him, easily catching the limp form before he could even tilt forward. Yuuri closed his eyes tiredly, face resting against Viktor’s shoulders as they stood in the darkness of the dead-end alleyway.

He resisted the urge to lean into the touch of Viktor’s fingers combing through his hair, choosing to focus on the numbing ache in his limb and the cooling streaks of come on his skin. Viktor waited until the younger man could stand on his own before reaching for the discarded clothes on the floor

“Why won’t you let me go…?” Yuuri whispered hoarsely, watching as Viktor cleaned him with the torn, black slacks before letting it fall to the ground once again. 

“…I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” Viktor finally replied after a beat of silence. “How I want to keep you with me, always. How it’s only you I’d ever want to wake up to.”

Viktor had. Many, many times. The first time being when they had been wrapped in the white sheets of Viktor’s bed, back when Yuuri had still been so blissfully unaware of who it was he had willingly laid with. Viktor had pouted at him then, clinging to his torso and refusing to let him leave the bed. ‘Really, Viktor,’ Yuuri remembered saying in fond exasperation, ‘you’re like an octopus! How are you going to be like when I have to go back to Japan for a while after I graduate?’

“You brought something…different to my life, Yuuri.”

Viktor had repeated these words many, many times in some form or another and Yuuri can’t recall how many times it had made him smile with utter giddiness, how it had given him butterflies in his belly and made his chest feel ready to burst with how much love and affection he had to offer.

“Something I refuse to let go of.”

Viktor had always looked at him with such captivated eyes, had always touched him so affectionately and that night, when Yuuri had been abducted for the first and only time, when Viktor's involvement with the Bratva was finally revealed, had not been an exception.

Even while he had been covered in the blood of the members of that rival gang who had been foolish enough to threaten him –foolish enough to threaten Yuuri- Viktor had been as tender to Yuuri as he had always been. Yuuri could almost see and feel it all over again if he tried – the switchblade that had cut the ropes binding him, held so comfortably between Viktor’s fingertips, the phantom touch of Viktor’s thumb as he calmly wiped away the tears and the specks of blood on Yuuri’s face.

“Sentiment in my line of work -my way of life- is a hindrance. Unnecessary,” Viktor continued. “But being with you… you made it so easy to want.”

The Russian adjusted the torn white shirt on the younger man’s body, taking his own blazer off to put it around Yuuri's shoulders, leaving him in his black turtleneck top.

“I wanted to keep you happy. I never wanted that so much for someone before.”

Yuuri remained pliant as Viktor lifted him in his arms, head lolling to rest on the other man’s firm chest. 

“But you were right when you said we lived different lives. That we lived in completely different worlds. You remember the time you told me that, don’t you?”

Yuuri did. It had been a week after his abduction – a week spent dodging Viktor’s phone calls and messages in place of thoroughly searching the internet for as much information as he could. Russian Mafia. The Bratva. Drug trade. Human trafficking. Murder. Pakhan. Nikiforov.

Yuuri had decided within himself that it was a life he could never, ever be a part of. Not even for his Viktor and he had been ready to let what they had go, had told Viktor as much when he knocked into the older man’s penthouse back in Detroit on his way home one night from a late stay in the university library.

They had been sat on Viktor’s couch, a newfound distance between their knees as Yuuri quietly explained that he wanted to keep living his life how he was always suppose to live it -Graduate. A nine-to-five job. Maybe go back to Hasetsu. A normal life- without something like this -without Viktor- at the back of his mind. Viktor had been motionless, watching Yuuri with unfathomable eyes as he listened in silence. Yuuri had thanked the older man, tearing up when he told Viktor 'I love you. I do. I don't know how I could love someone so much' but saying that in the end, 'this is the best for us, right?' - this final 'goodbye.'

That had been the first time Yuuri tried to leave Viktor.

It had also been the first time Viktor had taken him without his consent, had held Yuuri down and proceeded to fuck him again and again -on his back, on his knees, on the couch, on the floor, on the table, on the bed. Over and over and over again- not stopping until the first ray of dawn had passed through the half-opened curtains. Yuuri couldn't even leave the bed after then.

“I can’t leave this life, Yuuri. It’s in my blood.” Viktor began to walk, his footsteps and his voice the only sound in the desolate stillness of the night. “But I can’t leave you behind either. So I decided to keep both.”

'Keep...'

Viktor kept very few things of sentimental value with him. A framed picture of Makkachin in the living room. That engraved switchblade that had been given to him as a present by his mentor from Russia. A customised revolver gifted by an old friend from Switzerland.

“Why won’t I let you go? Really, it’s simple, Yuuri. I can’t.

But Viktor didn’t keep whores the same way many other Mafia leaders did like his kidnappers had implied. Not a single one.

Viktor was loyal in the sickest sense.  

“There's very few things in this world I can say I love - the few, simple things that make me feel alive.” 

Yuuri slowly closed his eyes.

“And you, Yuuri…”

His kidnappers had been wrong. 

“You, I love the most.” 

Yuuri definitely wasn’t the Pakhan’s whore.