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Slave to the Rhythm

Chapter Text


This is it, then; the end of one dream, and perhaps, the beginning of another?  Victor’s fingers tremble against the skin of Yuuri’s neck when he clasps the collar around his throat, and Yuuri swallows, nervous, against the unfamiliar and cool touch of the metal.  The collar makes a clicking noise when it’s fastened, a small sound completely at odds with the life-changing nature it signals.  There’s no going back now; in order to slave out, Yuuri has given up a year of skating, he’s given up his freedom.

It could have been worse.  His contract could have been bought by some completely unknown person.  It could have been someone Yuuri finds either mentally or physically unattractive.  He would have spent all year trying to hide his reactions to that, to comply with his contract gracefully, all the while dying inside.

Instead, Victor Nikiforov has bought out his contract.  He’s not sure how that happened; maybe fate finally gave him a break. 

Back home in Hasetsu, the cherry blossoms will be falling from the trees in a wave of blinding pink, a storm of petals that overwhelm the senses.  Here, in St. Petersburg, the world is still frozen, the promise of spring storms distant on the horizon. 

Yuuri doesn’t care.  Victor is made of the ice, born on it, like Yuuri.  Spring can wait.

So here Yuuri is; observing his reflection in the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall of Victor’s ridiculously plush bathroom suite.  What he sees is unnerving; not the shy failure from Sochi a few months ago, the man that walked away from Victor Nikiforov because he didn’t feel deserving of a commemorative photo.  Instead he sees a man shackled – wearing a thin gold collar around his neck and matching cuffs around his wrists, engraved in beautiful Cyrillic writing with Victor’s name.  He sees a man that has willing signed a contract, made a pact with his own devils in order to save his family from financial ruin and hardship.  He’s signed a year of his life away so that his idol can spend it fucking Yuuri in any varied and creative way he chooses.  Victor had paid a ridiculous sum for the honor, too, beaten out a number of others who viewed Yuuri’s athletic body and virginal status as a prize to be fought over. 

And here Yuuri stands, trying to get up the nerve to walk out of Victor’s bathroom, to take the first step toward paying off his side of the debt.  Yuuri has no idea how Victor found out about Yuuri’s contract when it went up for sale; he doesn’t seem like the type to have time for these sorts of distractions.  Regardless, it’s done now.  Victor owns Yuuri, and Yuuri should feel disgust for the nature of his predicament, but instead, surprisingly, Yuuri can feel his heart race with a sort of pseudo-excitement at the thought that he belongs to Victor now, that within the bounds of the contract, Victor can do whatever he wants with Yuuri’s body, whatever dirty fantasy he’s ever entertained.  Yuuri has enough of those for both of them; he’s spent a decade thinking of all the depraved and exciting things he would do with Victor if he ever got the opportunity.  Except there’s one difference between the fantasy and the reality: this is Victor’s will at play, not Yuuri’s, and even knowing that, Yuuri will submit.

Yuuri swallows down his nervousness, because he's spent years imagining the push-pull slick-slide of Victor's skin against his, his weight above Yuuri, pressing him down into the mattress. He's imagined Victor's thick cock, his body adjusting to take it in, how overwhelming it must feel. Yuuri is wholly Victor's creature; to do with him what he wants. Victor may not realize it yet, but he's always owned Yuuri, even before he paid for the pleasure.

He touches the warm gold that wraps around his throat.  When Victor had first placed it around Yuuri’s neck, it was cool to the touch, heavy, just like the cuffs.  Now the metal is warm, has absorbed his body heat, and he can feel the weight of them, enough to remind him he belongs to Victor.  And that’s the strange thing, isn’t it?  That the thought of belonging to Victor actually makes Yuuri’s pulse race a little faster than normal, his cheeks heat with a tell-tale flush that makes him look delicate, breakable.  He can feel the familiar feeling of desire and want pool in his gut.  He watches as his cock starts to fill in the white lace panties he’s wearing; a gift from Victor, the first of many.  With the collar and cuffs he looks both innocent and a tease, a pleasing dichotomy.  He hopes he looks good enough to devour whole; he wants Victor to want to eat him alive, to sully his virginity, to mark him and take him and make him his.  He wants Victor to be as hungry as he is for this, he wants to wake tomorrow with his body sore, a reminder of his ownership.

Yuuri is selfish and, in the end, he wants it all.

He pads out of the bathroom on bare feet, pausing in the hallway.  Victor’s apartment is still unfamiliar to him, but the bedroom is just across the corridor.  When he slips inside and shuts the door, Victor is stripping off.  He’s half naked when he turns around, hair tousled from pulling his shirt off, pants slipping dangerously low on his sharp hipbones.  Yuuri bites his lip at the sight; mouth dry in anticipation.  Victor sweeps his gaze over Yuuri and smiles, tossing his shirt to the side as he walks toward Yuuri.  “You look exquisite,” he breathes, reaching for Yuuri’s hand.

The touch is shocking; until now the only physical contact he’s had with Victor has been the gentle touch of his fingertips around Yuuri’s neck and wrists when he’d formally bound him with the collar and cuffs.  The firm grip of his hand in Yuuri’s is electrifying, and Yuuri lets out a small involuntary sound of longing.  Victor’s expression changes, becomes hungry, and when he drops his gaze down Yuuri’s body, his eyes linger on the panties Yuuri’s wearing, and his half-hard cock.

There’s no point hiding his want, Yuuri decides.  He takes a hesitant step forward, closer to Victor, and Victor’s hand tightens in his grip.  Victor’s other hand slides around his waist, tugging him closer, fitting Yuuri within his embrace.  Yuuri can feel every long, lean line of Victor’s body against his, and notes the way he can lean in, lips dangerously close to Victor’s collarbone.  Yuuri’s whole body strains toward Victor’s touch, greedy for it now.  He’s more predator than prey at this moment, poised on the cusp of overstepping his bounds.  Victor’s arms tighten around his waist, and he releases Yuuri’s hand in favour of wrapping the other around his back, pulling him closer until Yuuri can feel his warm skin against his own.  Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, because he can feel Victor’s length, hard against his hip now, a reminder of what’s to come. This isn’t romance, this is a transaction, and Victor is clearly eager to get to the prize.

Victor leans down to nuzzle gently against his neck, just above the gold collar, and Yuuri wants him to leave a mark, another visible sign of ownership. He tilts his head in invitation, because he might be a virgin but it’s not like he’s never made out with anyone.  He knows he likes the sting of a love bite, the way the pain dulls over time but returns sharp and clear at the first press of fingertips against bruised skin. 

One of Victor’s hands smooths up his spine, palm flat, cupping the nape of Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri’s eyes slide closed at the first gentle touch of Victor’s lips against his pulse.  Yuuri arches into Victor, fingers gripping at his shoulders as if to ground himself.  Victor makes a noise, rolls his hips, and Yuuri gasps, because damn, it feels good.  Victor starts to walk Yuuri backward toward the bed, and he goes willingly under Victor’s direction.  It’s where he wants to be, after all.

Victor gives him a gentle push when Yuuri’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and he follows Yuuri down, slipping a knee between Yuuri’s.  Yuuri shifts backward and Victor crawls toward him, eyes alight with hunger.  He wraps a hand around Yuuri’s ankle, stopping him from going much further up the bed, and then strokes his palm up Yuuri’s calf to his knee.  Yuuri’s panting now, anticipation and nervousness creating a heady buzz in his head and his body.  Until this point, Yuuri had no idea that fear of a new situation could be a turn-on.  “Victor…” he says, spreading his legs.  This is what Victor paid for; this is what Yuuri will give him without reservation, willingly.

“Look at you,” Victor says.  “Incredible.  So beautiful.”

Victor’s words shift something in Yuuri, and he wants to hear more of that praise fall from Victor’s lips.  He lays back and puts his hands over his head, crosses his wrists loosely.  He arches his back, offering himself to Victor like he’s a sacrifice on his god’s altar.  Victor has always been Yuuri’s god, after all.

Yuuri watches as Victor settles between his legs, palm caressing his inner thigh, teasing.  “What do you want, sweetheart?” Victor asks, and in response Yuuri rolls his hips, a half-whispered please falling from his lips because Yuuri doesn’t know what he wants yet, other than everything, and that seems like a broad request for a slave to ask for.

Victor laughs softly and leans down to nuzzle into Yuuri’s neck once more, at the same time palming Yuuri through his panties, sliding his fingers beneath the thin lace.  At the first touch of Victor’s hand on Yuuri’s cock, Yuuri inhales a sharp breath.  It almost makes him lightheaded, even more so when Victor strokes his hand up, forming a loose fist for Yuuri to thrust into.  He throws his head back, tries to bite back a moan as Victor works him over slowly, like he has all the time in the world to take Yuuri apart.  The pleasant ache that has been present in his belly all evening turns hard and sharp and Yuuri rocks up, finding a familiar rhythm.  Then, in a split second between one breath and the next, Yuuri freezes, he panics.  He’s not even sure if he’s allowed to respond.  Should he just lay here like a good little toy, there only for his master’s pleasure?  He never asked.

“Don’t you dare,” Victor says, voice rough against Yuuri’s ear.  “I want to see you come apart, Yuuri.  I want to see what my touch does to you. I want to hear you.”  He beings to stroke Yuuri again, and Yuuri relaxes into the movement now he has permission, fucking into Victor’s fist.  This is nothing like he expected; he’s spent years getting himself off to the thought of this, the slide of Victor’s hand around his cock, but the reality is so much better.  Yuuri’s panting now, his mind spiraling pleasantly out of control while his body can only react to the stimulus around him. 

And then – and then that magical touch is suddenly gone, leaving Yuuri on a plateau of pleasure, gasping for it, wanting it even as it recedes.

“Turn over,” Victor commands, sitting back on his heels.  “On your hands and knees for me.”

Victor’s cheeks are flushed, and Yuuri is fascinated with the the way he licks his lips as he watches Yuuri in return.  Yuuri stares, lets his gaze wander further, over the hard muscles of Victor’s shoulders, tight abs, the obvious arousal he has, confined within his sweatpants.  Yuuri’s never sucked cock before but his mouth waters anyway at the thought of the weight of Victor on his tongue, filling his mouth as he struggles to take him in all the way.  Yuuri catches Victor’s eye after a moment when he finally drags his gaze upward. Victor winks at Yuuri, a quick flash of humor that tells Yuuri that Victor is human after all, with his own wants and needs. 

Yuuri flushes now with nervous embarrassment at being caught staring, and he hurries to flip over onto his knees.  His fingers grip against the bedsheets, and he suddenly feels very exposed like this; ass on display, cock heavy between his legs, trapped by the white lace.  He hangs his head, because he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now.  He feels out of control, but that’s ridiculous; he never had control of the situation even to begin with.

And then he can hear Victor move up behind him, placing a hand on his lower back, stroking softly.  He’s whispering something in Russian, Yuuri can’t make it out, but it’s soft and calming, and Yuuri relaxes a fraction, just enough.  Victor rewards him by smoothing his warm palms, fingers spread, over the lace of the panties and then the swell of Yuuri’s ass, stroking down his thighs.  Yuuri trembles beneath Victor’s touch, and he stares at the sheets, at the thin bands of gold metal around his wrists.  Victor’s thumbs travel across his inner thighs, Yuuri’s skin sensitive to the touch as Victor returns along the same path, back up over his ass.  “I want to eat you alive,” Victor says conversationally, and Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, shock mingling with want in a heady mix.  “I’ve wanted this since Sochi, Yuuri.”

And now Victor’s slowly peeling down those damn lace panties he gifted Yuuri with, pulling them down just enough to lean in and mouth at the base of his spine, then across his bare ass.  His fingers kneed into the muscles of Yuuri’s bottom, gripping and releasing, and then he’s parting Yuuri’s cheeks, breath hot against Yuuri’s hole as his thumb traces a delicate path over the sensitive skin there.  Yuuri sucks in another breath, turns a little to look over his shoulder, and –

Yuuri lets out a noise he’s not sure he’s ever made before; a mixture of both shock and desire.  His body freezes at the first swipe of Victor’s tongue over his hole, because he’s imagined this before, deep in the darkness of night when he can afford to let his most depraved fantasies out to play, when he knows he’s alone and no one will hear the sounds he makes.  He drops down onto his elbows, resting his forehead against the sheets, and lets Victor have his way, to slowly work him open with his tongue, spreading him wide with his hands while he drops kisses against Yuuri’s twitching hole.  His body is caught between two opposite desires; to pull away or to fuck backward onto Victor’s tongue, but in the end, he’ll gladly take whatever Victor wants to give him. 

Yuuri looses himself to the sensations, eyes sliding shut as the pleasure starts to overwhelm him.  Victor takes him apart, fucking him deeper as Yuuri relaxes into it.  He changes it up a little, a slick finger circling Yuuri’s hole before pressing in carefully alongside his tongue.  Yuuri tries to swallow back a moan, but a sharp tap to his bottom reminds him that Victor wants to hear him. Yuuri doesn’t try to hide the second moan he makes.  Victor makes a similar noise then, like he’s half-wrecked already, and it goes straight to Yuuri’s cock, a frisson of tight desire settling behind his balls. 

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes out, and it’s a mixture of pleading coupled with a whine, a request for more. 

Victor pulls back, adds a second finger, and presses back in.  Yuuri’s full now, the stretch a pleasant burn that fades into a deeper want as Victor pushes in to the second knuckle and curls his fingers, brushing deep inside Yuuri as he finds his prostate.  Yuuri’s breath hitches, and then Victor slides past that spot again, and the pleasure is sharp, all-encompassing, addictive.  His body shudders, curling in on itself, and only the hard dig of Victor’s fingers into his hip stops him from moving further.  “Oh god,” Yuuri bites out, and Victor chuckles, a dark, pleased sound like he’s sharing a dirty secret.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Victor asks, and Yuuri thinks he could get used to the endearment, falling carelessly as it does from Victor’s lips.

Yuuri’s rocking back mindlessly onto Victor’s fingers now, body tightening and releasing, thighs trembling as his knees slide apart on the sheets.  He’s close, the pleasure building relentlessly between Victor’s fingers and tongue.  He arches his back, presenting himself, and he can hear his voice, rough with need, a constant litany of please, more, don’t stop, Victor, don’t stopdon’tstopdon’t

And that’s exactly what Victor does.  He stops.  He pushes deep with his fingers, and Yuuri lets out a keening, frustrated moan, riding a wave of pleasure that plateaus but doesn’t break.  Slowly it recedes, fading back to a manageable level, while Yuuri shudders beneath Victor’s touch, unfulfilled and wanting.  Beneath Yuuri’s frustration, and trying to catch his breath, he barely notices Victor move away.

The world shifts suddenly, and Yuuri snaps his eyes open as Victor manhandles him onto his back, like he weighs nothing.

“Look at you,” Victor says, expression hungry as he watches Yuuri.  His voice sounds reverent, and his touch echoes that as he strokes his hands up Yuuri’s spread thighs.  He tugs at the panties, pulling them down Yuuri’s legs to his ankles and then off.  Now Yuuri feels completely exposed, but Victor seems to like what he sees.  “Look at you, all flushed and wanting.  Do you want it, Yuuri?  Do you want me?”

It’s pretty much the stupidest question Yuuri’s ever heard, but he’s too worked up to voice it.  Instead, he says, “Come here,” reaching up to tug at Victor’s sweatpants.  Yuuri wants them off; wants to see what if the reality matches up with the fantasy.

Victor grins, cocks his head to the side, and starts shimmying off his pants.  Eventually he stands up at the end of the bed, hooks his thumbs into the waistband, and slides them down.  Yuuri licks his lips; Victor’s cut, his cock standing proud and flushed, reaching almost to his navel, the tip glistening with pre-come.  He’s thick, thicker than Yuuri had thought, imagining Victor’s cock to be slender, but he likes this better.  Likes the idea of Victor pushing into him, spreading him wide, carving a space just for himself out of Yuuri, marking Yuuri as his from the inside out. 

Victor climbs back onto the bed, crawling toward Yuuri, gaze intense as he settles between Yuuri’s thighs.  That quick moment of nervousness is back now that Yuuri is spread beneath him, a slight hesitation, because this it; the moment of no return.  Victor reaches past Yuuri, fumbling under the pillow by Yuuri’s head as he retrieves a bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers.  Yuuri startles when he feels the cool brush of the lube against his ass; Victor’s clearly impatient enough not to wait for it warm.  The first finger slides in easily enough; Yuuri’s still worked up, and Victor wastes no time pushing a second in alongside.  That makes Yuuri arch up when Victor brushes against his prostate again, sweat breaking out at his nape and the small of his back, his nipples tightening, the anticipation eating at him.  Victor leans down, lips brushing against Yuuri’s straining erection, nuzzling into the crease of his hip, murmured words falling like praise against his skin. 

Yuuri reaches for Victor without thought, fingers sliding through soft, silver hair.  Victor twists his fingers, pushing deep, and Yuuri bends to Victor’s will, head thrown back on a surprised cry.  It doesn’t take long for Yuuri’s body to find that same urgent plateau of pleasure from before, and his cock twitches, brushing against Victor’s lips, sending another racing thrill through him.  He wonders briefly how long Victor is going to play with him, teasing him, pushing him to the edge only to retreat, and when Victor huffs out a laugh against his hip, Yuuri realizes he must have said that out loud.

“Impatient, hmm?” Victor says, working his way up Yuuri’s body, scattering kisses until he reaches Yuuri’s golden collar. The kisses stop there, and Yuuri bites out a frustrated moan, because he wants nothing more than to lose himself in the taste of Victor on his tongue.  That’s one hard, fast rule neither can break however, short of ending the contract: no kissing on the lips.  Despite everything Yuuri wants Victor to do to him, despite everything Victor will do to Yuuri, this is the one line they cannot cross.  They are not lovers, or friends; Yuuri is a slave and Victor’s contract, and Victor has paid to fuck Yuuri, not kiss him.

Yuuri funnels that frustration into his body and lets it speak for him.  He arches up under Victor, his erection brushing against Victor’s hip, rocking into his body and then down on Victor’s fingers.  “Fuck me,” Yuuri bites out, because he wants to say, kiss me, and can’t.

Victor slides his fingers free and kneels up long enough to slick up his cock.  Yuuri watches hungrily, impatiently, breath coming fast.  His body aches with longing, his skin itching for Victor’s touch.  Too soon is still too long to wait. Until, at least, he feels Victor shift, and the blunt press of the head of his cock against Yuuri’s virgin hole.  Yuuri pauses, and Victor’s eyes meet his in a split second of understanding; long enough for Victor to murmur, “Push out, sweetheart,” and Yuuri obeys.  This is easier; his body resists the intrusion for a moment, and then parts, letting Victor in, one slow inch at a time.  Victor’s cock is thick, but oh my god, it’s a completely different matter to have it inside of him.  His hands fist on the sheets, unprepared for how big it feels to a body unused to such things.  Fingers are one thing, dildos another, but Yuuri can control those and how much he can take at one time.  This – this he can’t control.  He has to take what Victor wants to give him, because Victor’s paid for his inexperience and his virginity, and he’s paid for Yuuri’s surrender.

Victor pauses once he’s inside, lets Yuuri adjust to how it feels.  The muscles in Yuuri’s ass strain and burn, and he clenches around Victor’s cock.  Victor lets out a strangled moan, closing his eyes for a moment, paused on his hands above Yuuri.  Victor’s body trembles with the effort to hold back, and for some reason, that eases some of Yuuri’s nerves.  He allows himself to relax, and Victor slides in another inch with a shaky sigh. 

It’s overwhelming, having Victor inside him.  Yuuri has always wanted this, dreamt of it, but now… he feels like he’s full, so full, Victor’s cock reaching deep inside him, and when Yuuri clenches around Victor’s cock, it’s even better than before.  Victor shifts, pulling back a little and then nudging forward, pressing deeper and it feels amazing.  Yuuri rolls his hips, and every movement is a little easier, his body getting used to it.  Victor rocks forward again and Yuuri cries out, because god, Victor’s so deep and Yuuri can feel everything, every inch of him.

And just when he thinks he’s gotten used to this, Victor leans down, slides a hand under the small of Yuuri’s back, rolls his hips and then thrusts, setting a smooth rhythm.  This time Yuuri gasps; it doesn’t hurt but it’s surprising.  His body has to work for it now, work to let Victor in, and he wraps his legs around Victor’s hips, head thrown back, blunt nails biting into the skin of Victor’s shoulders as Yuuri fights to stay sane because this is overwhelming; so much sensation that his brain blanks out, other than to feel the pleasure, building in waves.  Victor’s breath is hot against his ear, his skin damp with the prickle of sweat between them.  It makes the glide of Yuuri’s hard cock against Victor’s abs easier, and Yuuri chases pleasure, caught between Victor’s cock and the weight of his body.  This is what he needs, what he was craving; Victor over him, pushing him down, fucking into him with all the strength and control that he possesses. 

Victor shifts, reaching for Yuuri’s hands fisted in the sheets.  He pulls Yuuri’s hands above his head, fingers grasping Yuuri’s gold-cuffed wrists, and bears down.  It changes the angle inside Yuuri, and it’s just like the beginning again, Yuuri’s body struggling to adjust to Victor’s cock in a new way.  Yuuri feels a hard thrill in his belly at the thought of Victor holding him down, manhandling him, bending him to his will like he’s doing.  Victor’s gaze is intense as he looks down at Yuuri, mouth parted slightly, eyes fixed on Yuuri’s face.  Yuuri has nowhere to go; he can’t look away, he’s completely exposed, body and soul. Yuuri’s a mess; every thrust Victor makes strips him barer, strikes another chord of pleasure through his soul. His body isn’t used to being worked like this, and in the end, he gives in, lets Victor fuck him hard and relentless at his own pace.  Yuuri’s thighs tremble as he grinds up against Victor’s body, the urgency of pleasure driving him forward. 

Victor releases one of Yuuri’s wrists and wraps his other hand around Yuuri’s cock.  Yuuri whimpers; it’s too much, oh god, he can’t take it – can’t take any more - 

And then he hears Victor; “That’s it sweetheart, let it happen.”

It’s only then Yuuri’s realizes how on edge he is, balancing on the precipice of something shattering.  The world takes a breath; pauses, and Yuuri’s orgasm rips through him. He pulses in Victor’s hand; his body clenches around Victor’s thick cock as his back bows from the intensity of release, a cry torn from his throat.

Victor shudders above him, thrusting a final time, cursing in Russian.  Yuuri can’t parse the words, can only lie there, drifting, as Victor comes.  Yuuri’s wrists hurt, his ass aches, body tired, but he feels good.  Beyond good; he feels complete at last, finally whole.

At some point, Victor pulls away, taking care not to jostle Yuuri too much.  Yuuri feels the comforting warmth of a wash cloth, wiping away the sweat and exertion from his body.  He should move, he thinks.  Should probably return to his room, slide into the cool sheets of his own bed and rest.

It takes him a moment to realise Victor is getting back into bed, pressing his body up against Yuuri.  Tucking Yuuri close, until they are cuddling, Yuuri’s back against Victor’s front. 

“Rest,” Victor whispers into Yuuri’s ear.  There’s a pause, and then; “You’ll need it, sweetheart.  I have lots of plans for you later.”

Yuuri’s exhausted, but he can’t hide the small smile that blossoms on his lips.  He’s Victor’s now, and he’ll do whatever Victor wants until the contract expires and he’s paid his debt in full.

Chapter Text

Victor is living the dream. He’s won the lottery.  He’s in heaven. 

Except for right now: this is hell.  He’s in his apartment building’s elevator, impatiently tapping his foot as he leans against the mirrored wall, watching the display announce his floor as he climbs higher.  Six stories have never taken so long, he thinks.  He could have walked up the stairs faster.  Unfortunately, it would have been nigh on impossible to climb six flights of stairs with a raging hard-on, but hey, needs must when the devil drives or so the saying goes.

Victor has never been so desperate to get home.  Because he knows, waiting inside, is Katsuki Yuuri: Victor’s slave. 

Yuuri is everything Victor needs. Sure, society’s unofficial guideline for those who slave out is Be everything your Master needs.  In reality, its more tongue-in-cheek wishful thinking aimed at slaves – a sort of reminder to make sure your master gets what they paid for, and then some.  The truth is, Victor would gladly take everything Yuuri has for free.  Before Yuuri and his family got into monetary difficulties, Victor had hoped Yuuri would contact him and follow up on his request at the banquet to have Victor be his coach.  Instead, reality came crashing down on the Katsuki’s heads, and with it, Victor’s dreams. 

But, in this last month, Victor’s dreams have rebuilt themselves.  Now, he knows when he steps off this elevator and into his apartment, Yuuri will be waiting for him.  The truth is, Victor has no idea what to expect when he walks through the door.  Will he find bashful Yuuri – the Yuuri that waits for Victor’s guidance, soft and welcoming – or will he find the fatale, the Yuuri that loves to tease, to goad him into action?  Victor loves surprises, and Yuuri loves to surprise him.  Just like this morning, when Victor had stepped out of the shower, to be confronted with Yuuri, on his knees.  That was the enthralling fatale at play; with a teasing smirk, Yuuri had dropped to the floor, he’d fed Victor’s hardening cock between his lips without a word spoken and moaned like Victor was feeding him ambrosia.  Victor’s fingers, tangling in his hair and guiding him, had only seemed to spur Yuuri on, his slender fingers digging into Victor’s hips as Victor had fucked into his mouth, slow and measured, finally spilling down Yuuri’s golden-collared throat.  And Yuuri? He’d looked at Victor, licked his lips like a cat with cream, and winked at Victor.

Victor is going to expire, death by orgasm, before Yuuri’s contracted year is up.

He can’t wait.

Instead, he manages to keep it together long enough for the pre-soviet elevator to shudder its way up to the last story.  He waits patiently for the doors to open, stepping through. He will not rush down the corridor, no; he’s going to stroll like a normal adult would.

Fuck it. Yuuri’s waiting inside and Victor wants in.  In so many more ways than one.

Victor does not fumble the keys.  He manages to keep his shit together long enough to call out and get the door shut and locked.  Yuuri appears around the corner of the bedroom door, a smile on his face.  He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and one of Victor’s shirts, which is of course too big for him, the neck on it gaping and falling over one shoulder, exposing bare skin and Victor’s golden collar.  Yuuri’s also got the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and the gold cuffs around his wrists look like matching bracelets from a distance.

“Okaeri, Victor,” Yuuri says as he walks towards Victor.  His voice is rough, a little hoarse, and Victor realizes that’s from this morning’s activities; from swallowing his cock.  It makes his dick twitch with further interest, especially since he knows Yuuri’s been out today at ballet and at the local rink for practice, and it’s likely someone would have asked him about his strained voice.

“How was your day?” Victor asks.

“Okay. Ballet went well, and I did some figures at the rink.”

Victor wants nothing more than to see Yuuri return to skating next year; he’ll do whatever it takes to see that happen.  Yuuri’s not skating professionally this year; he can’t skate at Victor’s rink, but Victor is more than happen to buy Yuuri private ice time at another rink and provide him with ballet lessons and whatever he needs to keep up his conditioning.  “Just figures?” Victor asks.

Yuuri looks a little shifty.  “Ah, maybe? It’s a surprise?” he says, glancing at Victor out of the corner of his eyelashes.

“Hmm, can’t wait.”  Victor steps closer, placing his hands on Yuuri’s hips.  He nuzzles into Yuuri’s neck, waiting until he’s below the stark line of the collar before placing an open-mouthed kiss to Yuuri’s shoulder.  He feels Yuuri’s breath hitch slightly, and Yuuri’s hands come to rest on his arms, fingers tightening as Victor drags kisses along his collarbone, in place of the ones he wants to place on Yuuri’s lips.  Yuuri sighs; melts into his touch, and Victor knows which Yuuri he has possession of tonight; the soft, accommodating side that will give him want he wants without complaint, the Yuuri that will come with a quiet, hitched cry, the one that will hold Victor till he falls asleep, fingers stroking through his hair. 

The thing is, Victor loves both sides of Yuuri.  He’s just as happy to take the shy, demure version as he is the version that will writhe beneath him, thighs locked around his waist and blunt nails scoring into his back.  He just hasn’t found a way yet to tell Yuuri that.  But that’s a problem for another night, he thinks, backing Yuuri toward the bedroom.


Victor loves buying Yuuri things.  Whether it’s new clothes or a slice of his favourite cake, Victor will go out of his way to provide what he can.  It’s Yuuri’s job to be a willing vessel for Victor’s lust, but Victor considers it his job to help Yuuri enjoy the year he’s spending with Victor.  He promised himself when he offered for Yuuri’s contact he’d do just that, so it was a wonderful surprise that Yuuri had seemed to step wholeheartedly into his role. 

The thing is, it seems Yuuri doesn’t view this as a job either.  Chris has made a few comments in the past month or so, grinning like a Cheshire cat when he asks after Yuuri and how’s he’s doing.  Victor knows he’s missing an important piece of the puzzle, and maybe it’s something he’ll ask Yuuri about later.

Later being the word, because right now Victor’s standing in the middle of an expensive lingerie shop, surrounded by more lace and ribbon accents than even the most outlandish 80’s figure skating costume could manage, and he’s seen some of Yakov’s old competition outfits.

Yuuri’s been in the change room for ten minutes.  Victor had watched him circumnavigate the store when they first arrived; a blush permanently etched onto his cheekbones, eyes darting nervously to the side, all the while biting at his lip.  Victor would cheerfully pay for the contract over again just to feel what one kiss from Yuuri’s lips might be like, but he knows it would immediately void the contract. The authorities would be called automatically via the chip in Yuuri’s collar, and the man of Victor’s dreams would be ushered out of the door and Victor fined for breaking the contract.  No, as much as he wants to, Victor will not break this one rule.  It’s there to protect the slave as much as the master who holds the contract. 

Victor had chatted with one of the associates while Yuuri completed a second turn around the store, and Victor had made to note what seemed to catch Yuuri’s eye, even if he was too embarrassed to actually approach certain displays.  Eventually, he’d disappeared into one of the change rooms with a bundle of frothy white and peach fabric in his hands that has Victor beyond curious.

“Is that your slave?” the associate asks. 

Victor pauses, but can detect no judgement from her, only curiosity.  There are a fair number of people calling for an end to the slavery practice, claiming it barbaric to own another person, to have control of them, even for a contracted year.  Victor thinks privately that Yuuri is probably the one wielding most of the power, even if he is the one wearing the collar and cuffs. 

“Yes, he is,” Victor answers after a moment.

The associate smiles.  “You’re very lucky; he’s beautiful.”

“He is.”  Victor glances toward the change rooms, but Yuuri must still be inside.  The thought of Yuuri, mostly naked in there, trying on all that lace and satin has Victor swallowing hard.  He tries to take his mind off the vision in his head, glancing down at the display case by the register.  The associate seems to notice his interest, and steps closer.  “Would you like to see anything from the display?”

Oh god, does Victor ever.  He points at the double strand of long gold chain he can see, studded every inch or so with what looks like a small diamond.  He clears his throat.  “That, please?”

“Ah, the belly chain.  Let me get it out for you.”  The woman spends a minute unlocking the case.  Nothing in this case is cheap, or fake but Victor really couldn’t care less.  She plucks up the chain, and it falls like a waterfall through her fingers, the diamonds catching the light as it moves.

She drops the chain into Victor’s palm, and all he can think about is Yuuri wearing this, spread out beneath him.  Of Yuuri dancing for him, the diamonds catching the light against his soft, warm skin.  It would match the gold of the collar and cuffs, Victor reasons.  He knows full well he’s going to buy it; not only will he get the benefit out of it, but he’ll gift it to Yuuri so that when the contract is done, Yuuri can sell it if he wants and pocket the money.

“I’ll take it,” he says, handing it back.  “Keep it as a surprise, please.”

The associate nods, and pulls out a long velvet box to arrange it in.  She pulls off the tag and puts the box in a bag, so that Yuuri won’t know what it is.  Speaking of…

Yuuri exits the change room.  He still has the pile of peach satin and lace with him, and interestingly enough he’s wearing what Victor has come to recognize as Yuuri’s determined face – his Eros face (since that’s a program Victor’s toying with for this season and it seems apt) – and along with that determined look he’s blushing softly, eyes alight with mischief. 

Yuuri is up to something, and Victor loves it when Yuuri is being secretive and devious.  Because when it comes down to it, Katsuki Yuuri is alluring; equal parts innocence and sin, wrapped up in a single tempting package designed to test both Victor’s patience and his morals. 

And that look on Yuuri’s face has just put Victor’s libido through the roof.

Yuuri makes his way up to the counter and smiles shyly at the associate, and then at Victor.  “Um, I’d like to have this if that’s okay?” he asks.

“Anything, Yuuri,” Victor replies, and he means it.  Anything.

“Okay, good.” Yuuri pauses for a moment.  “Oh, I forgot.”  He turns slightly, reaching around across his hip, and slides his fingers below the waistband of his jeans.  He makes a tugging motion and comes up with a tag.  “Sorry, I forgot this.  I’m wearing it.”

Yuuri hands the tag over, glancing at Victor out of the corner of his eye.  Victor smirks at Yuuri.  “Are you going to tell me what it is your wearing?” he asks.  Christ, he wants his hands on Yuuri now, wants to bend him over and tug those jeans down and see what exactly Yuuri is hiding that is making him blush so hard.  And then after that, maybe fuck his perfect ass.

“It’s a surprise,” Yuuri replies evasively. 

Okay, Victor thinks, I can play along for now.  Clearly Victor is currently in possession of the seductive coquette, the fatale, and the rest of the day promises to get very interesting.  He’s going to bring Yuuri shopping more often if this is the kind of results he’s going to get.

“Do you want anything else, Yuuri?” he asks.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”  Yuuri waits patiently by the register while the associate rings through Yuuri’s lingerie, Victor’s secret tag, and Yuuri’s tag.  It occurs to Victor they are both doing the same thing – playing with each other – and Yuuri raises a silent eyebrow at Victor as the associate hands Victor’s bag over to him, and then Yuuri his.

Victor ushers Yuuri out of the store and down the street toward the car.  “Aren’t you going to show me?” he asks.

“Not unless you show me what’s in your bag, Victor.”  There’s that raised eyebrow again. 

“Hmm, we should go home,” Victor suggests. 

“You said you would buy me cake,” Yuuri pouts, leaning into Victor’s side, enough that Victor becomes aware of the hot press of Yuuri’s body against him. 

Now Victor knows Yuuri is playing with him.  Teasing him, trying to rile him up.  It’s working, but Victor is damned if he’s going to let Yuuri see he’s winning.  No, he’s going to gather his determination, stop thinking about Yuuri’s ass and what he’s maybe wearing under those jeans, and make Yuuri pay for it all later – with interest.

“The cake shop is around the corner, yes? Let’s go.”

Yuuri slows down for a moment, eyes wide, as if he can’t believe Victor is going along with it.  “Really?”

Victor nods.  “Yes, really.  Coming?”  He takes Yuuri’s hand in his, tugging gently.  “Your wish is my command… for now,” he says with a wink.

Yuuri blushes again and it’s absolutely divine to watch.  Victor thinks they are going to have to play more of these games in the future if this is the result.


Victor manages to keep his shit together long enough to get Yuuri and their purchases back to the apartment.  As soon as the door is shut, Victor drops his bag on the side table, watching Yuuri do the same.  He backs Yuuri into the kitchen slowly, excitement and anticipation rising quickly.  He doesn’t touch; instead he lets his intent guide Yuuri’s movements.  Yuuri must feel a little like prey right now, caught by a predator.  It’s only a matter of time before Victor makes his move, and Yuuri knows it, has probably been anticipating it.

He watches as Yuuri swallows nervously, that beautiful blush staining his cheeks again.  Yuuri’s breathing is shallow and quick, and he picks absently at one of the cuffs at his wrist as he steps backward, glancing behind him to place himself in the room.  His bottom bumps against the breakfast table and, judging by the way he looks up at Victor, he knows he’s caught.

“Take. The. Jeans. Off,” Victor says, voice rough, the desire leaking through and into his words.

“I – “ Yuuri takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes for a moment.

“Now.”  Victor takes a step forward, and now he can see how wound up Yuuri is; as Yuuri lifts the edge of his shirt he can see the outline of Yuuri’s erection pressing against the buttons of his jeans.  He’s trembling; minute shudders of his frame, his fingers shaking just a little as he pulls his shirt over his head, putting his glasses to the side.  His fingers curl in the waist band of his jeans, popping the first button, and then the next.  The bottom two part easily; the denim well-loved.  Then he shimmies his hips, pulling the fabric down until he can kick the rest off easily and to the side.  He stands there, watching Victor’s reaction, hands at his side passively as he waits.

Victor thinks he might die of blood loss to the brain.  Yuuri’s erection presses against the outline of his virgin-white panties, a damp spot at the head already marking the fabric, evidence of Yuuri’s arousal.  They’re women’s panties; plain satin with a thin band of frilly lace that goes up and over the slight curve of his hips.  His nipples are sharp, aroused peaks, and as Victor devours him with his gaze Yuuri lets out a quiet, bitten-off moan.

That noise snaps Victor’s thin thread on sanity.  He surges forward, hands tightening on Yuuri’s hips, pressing him against the solid wood of the breakfast table hard enough that the table squeaks against the floorboards.  Yuuri grips at Victor’s biceps, tilting his head in submission and for a split second, Victor almost forgets he can’t kiss Yuuri above the collar.  Almost.  He keeps it together long enough to nip below the collar, to remind himself to not be an idiot.

Ahhh.”  Yuuri lets out a little noise of approval and parts his thighs, enough for Victor to slip one leg between Yuuri’s.  Yuuri bucks forward, hips rolling restlessly against Victor’s, cock to cock. 

Victor’s grip tightens on Yuuri’s hips, slowing the almost frantic pace Yuuri wants to set, and places kisses along the line of Yuuri’s collarbone.  His hands slide over the soft skin and lean muscle of Yuuri’s hips, pressing against his bottom.  Victor stills for a delighted, shocked moment, and then he pulls back until his lips are close to Yuuri’s ear.  “Ohh, Yuuri, you naughty boy,” he purrs, palms pressing against Yuuri’s bare, plump backside.  “Did you choose backless panties?” he asks, already knowing the answer.  He just wants to hear Yuuri admit it.

Yuuri makes a little embarrassed noise, pressing forward and then back into Victor’s palms, tightening the muscles in his ass enough that Victor can feel it.  Victor feels a surge of lust cloud his mind.  “I am going to wreck you,” Victor vows, voice dark with lust.  He feels Yuuri shudder in his arms, but he doesn’t make any movement Victor can construe as a lack of consent.  “Is that what you want?”

“Please,” Yuuri whispers, as if he can’t quite make himself admit it out loud.  “Please, Victor, yes.”

Victor steps back a moment, long enough to rake his gaze over Yuuri’s flushed face, his heaving chest, his hard cock pressed against the panties, and using his hold on Yuuri’s hips, turns him around.  He pushes Yuuri forward until he’s pressed up against the edge of the table again, and with a firm grip on the nape of Yuuri’s neck below the collar, pushes him down until Yuuri’s chest is flush against the tabletop.  He crowds into Yuuri’s space, hips nudging against Yuuri’s bottom.  He watches as Yuuri bucks upward, more for show, and he presses down with his hand again firmly until Yuuri surrenders, for the moment going pliant.

Victor strokes his hand down from Yuuri’s nape, along his spine, until he reaches the strip of lace that runs across his lower back.  Beneath that, Yuuri’s ass is completely bare, other than two single strips of lace that frame either side of his bottom, running from between his legs and over his hips.  The stark white of the lace highlights the color of his skin perfectly, and Victor has to pause for a moment just to admire it.

Victor strips off his shirt and leans over Yuuri, pressing down, chest to back for a moment.  “Were you thinking about this when you decided to get these?” Victor asks, stroking a hand down Yuuri’s flank and sliding his fingers under the thin band of lace, letting it snap.  “What were you thinking about? Me fucking you hard, making you scream? Or were you hoping I’d eat out your ass? You like that, don’t you?”

Like would be an understatement, Victor thinks.  Yuuri can come just from being eaten out, and it’s one thing Victor loves to do; to watch Yuuri unravel just from Victor’s tongue and mouth.

“Please,” Yuuri begs, fingers curling against the table top.  The gold of his cuffs make a dull clanking sound against the wood as he scrambles to find purchase, something to ground himself with.

Victor stands up, hands sweeping down Yuuri’s sides, over his hips and the swell of Yuuri’s ass, parting his cheeks until he can see Yuuri’s hole.  Yuuri shivers delicately, breath stuttering, and rolls his hips, begging with his body.  It’s not going to take much to make Yuuri come, not with how wound up he is.  Victor crouches down, breath close enough to wash over Yuuri’s heated skin, and he smirks as Yuuri makes another one of those needy noises he loves so much.  He runs his hands over Yuuri’s muscled thighs, watches as Yuuri parts them enough that Victor can see the outline of his balls pressed against the fabric between his legs.  He ducks forward, kissing at one of Yuuri’s trembling thighs, then mouthing at his balls, getting the fabric damp as he takes his time, prolonging the anticipation.  He lets his hands roam over Yuuri’s ass, promising but not delivering, until Yuuri is quivering with need.  He parts Yuuri’s ass cheeks with his hands, slides his thumb up the crease to Yuuri’s hole, and then replaces his thumb with his tongue. 

The reaction is electric; Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath and bucks under him, going up on his tiptoes.  Victor grips him by the hips, fingers digging into the soft skin as he flattens his tongue and gets to work.  Yuuri fights him as he always does to start with; like he’s still not sure if he should love this or if it should be taboo.  He moves restlessly under Victor’s tongue, short, sharp gasps for breath echoing in the room, punctuated with shivering moans when Victor stiffens his tongue and starts to fuck into Yuuri’s loosening hole with abandon.  He loves the noises Yuuri makes, and from the beginning had told Yuuri he didn’t want him to hold back.  Now he doubts Yuuri could be silent even if he tried.  Maybe that’s something they’ll have to try, just to see how well Yuuri can follow instruction.  Victor smirks and thrusts his tongue deeper, fingers kneading at Yuuri’s ass.  Yuuri seems to love that too; and now he’s bucking upward, fucking himself on Victor’s tongue, arching his back, and Victor can barely keep him still.  He can feel the trembles in Yuuri’s thighs now, the way his hips stiffen, and Victor knows he’s going to come.  He kisses at Yuuri’s hole like he’d kiss Yuuri on the lips; wet and deep, open-mouthed, letting out a moan of his own because he loves this just as much as Yuuri does.

Yuuri locks up suddenly with a cry, and Victor snakes a hand between his legs, sliding up Yuuri’s erection just as he comes.  He presses hard with his palm against the damp fabric, and Yuuri bucks again, caught between his hand and his mouth. 

Victor places a few final licks over Yuuri’s hole and stands up slowly, admiring his handywork.  Yuuri is a wet dream made reality; sweat pinpricking his lower back, between his shoulders, strands of damp hair against his forehead.  He’s pulling in heavy breaths, eyes closed, utterly pliant against the hard wood of the table top.  Victor kisses his way up Yuuri’s spine until he can nuzzle at Yuuri’s nape below the collar. 

Uhh, Victor.” Yuuri drags out his name, wet and weak, sounding like he’s been thoroughly used.  His eyelashes flutter, like he’s unable to focus properly.  Victor’s cock twitches in his jeans, and the desire he’s been holding back pushes forward with a vengeance, hammering at him with the need for completion.

Victor places another kiss at Yuuri’s shoulder, and reaches to the side, fumbling for the lube he always keeps handy in the kitchen.  Yuuri shifts a little, attempting to push up on one hand.  Victor places his palm between Yuuri’s shoulder blades, pushing firmly.  “You didn’t think we were done, did you, sweetheart?” he murmurs.  “You should know better.”

A blush colors Yuuri’s face as he focuses on Victor and he licks his lips, biting at the bottom one, plump and tempting.  He lets out another shuddering breath but doesn’t try to get up again.  Victor has him; he knows he does.  Yuuri will comply, simply because he wants Victor to fuck him, even if he can’t vocalize that.

Victor pushes his pants and underwear down, just enough to free his aching cock.  He palms himself, working lube over his cock, squeezing at the base to stave off the need to come.  Then he presses a slick finger into Yuuri’s hole, marveling at how tight he still is despite being eaten out.  Yuuri seems to have recovered a little; he rolls his hips, spreading his legs further so Victor can step between his thighs.  He slides in another finger and this time Yuuri lets out a thin moan laced with anticipation.  “That’s it, sweetheart, let me hear you,” Victor coaxes.  “I want to hear how much you like it.”

He twists his fingers, brushing against Yuuri’s prostate, and Yuuri bucks beneath him, fingers scrabbling at the table top.  His back bows, and Victor pulls back a little, knowing how sensitive Yuuri must be after coming.  He can’t wait any longer.  He pulls his fingers free and parts Yuuri’s cheeks with his hands, rolling his hips until he can slide his cock along the crease of Yuuri’s ass, tease at his hole with the promise of more.

Yuuri’s breath is coming faster again, and he glances at Victor over his shoulder, mouth parted.  Yuuri’s knows what’s coming next, and Victor thinks this might his favourite part.  Yuuri is a professional athlete but the fact of it is that his build is slighter than Victor’s is in comparison.  Victor’s cock is thick and long, and Yuuri always struggles to take him in at first.  Victor loves to watch Yuuri writhe on his cock, to work for the pleasure, and with Yuuri in these backless panties, it’s going to be worth every second to watch.

He nudges forward, putting pressure against Yuuri’s hole, and feels Yuuri push out.  Victor doesn’t get off on pain, and doesn’t like giving it, so he lets Yuuri push back until the thick head of his cock pops inside. Yuuri clamps down around him with a moan, and Victor’s waits it out, stroking a hand up Yuuri’s spine.  He nudges forward again and listens for the trembling breath Yuuri makes.  “You want my cock?” he asks. “Work for it, Yuuri.  You can take every inch, I know you can.”

Yuuri lets out a moan, relaxing slightly, allowing Victor to gain another inch.  He keeps stroking over Yuuri’s skin, soothing, kneading at the swell of his bottom, coaxing another inch out of him, then rocking back in for more. 

“Oh god,” Yuuri cries, grabbing at the table edge.  “Victor, fuck, too big. I can’t - ”

“That’s it, love.” Victor’s breath is hammering in his chest, and he has to squeeze at the base of his erection before the need to come is overwhelming.  Every time he fucks Yuuri it’s like the first time he took Yuuri’s virginity.  And every time it’s worth the patient wait, to work through this, because Yuuri is something else when he gets really into it.

With a final slide of his hips, Yuuri relaxes, and Victor bottoms out, balls deep, hips pressed against Yuuri’s ass.  He gives a couple of shallow experimental thrusts, rolling his hips, and then rocks forward in earnest, setting a punishing pace.  Yuuri lets out another guttural moan, trying to thrust back onto Victor’s cock but finding no leverage.  Victor wraps a hand around Yuuri’s wrist, over the cuff, pulling it above his head, while he grips at Yuuri’s hip with the other, fingers tangling in the lace of Yuuri’s panties.

Yuuri’s letting out a steady stream of commentary, his expression blissed out, words tumbling from his lips: oh god Victor too much too big, can’t take it please don’t stop, fuck me, fuck me hard, fuck fuck fuck.

Yuuri has a dirty, filthy mouth when he forgets himself, and Victor loves it.  He angles his hips so he can brush against Yuuri’s prostate occasionally, watching as Yuuri bucks up into him.  He fights Victor for control the whole way, wrist twisting in Victor’s grip, Victor’s fingers digging into his hip bone to keep him in place.  Yuuri wants Victor to force him to surrender; it’s one of the things Victor discovered very quickly early on.  He wonders how that would translate if he asked Yuuri to fuck him; would Yuuri take complete control?  The thought makes Victor grit his teeth against the need to come, to come hard.  He wants to unravel Yuuri completely, totally, watch him surrender to Victor’s will first.

He presses himself over Yuuri’s back, forcing him down with his body weight, and slides his hand over Yuuri’s hip, across the fabric of the panties.  He pushes them hurriedly to the side, stroking a palm over Yuuri’s erection.  Yuuri bucks against him; then down into his hand.

“Gonna show me that stamina, Yuuri?” he coaxes. “Can you come for me again?”

Yuuri shakes his head, and Victor thrusts deep into him and pauses, grinding his hips, until Yuuri lets out a needy sob.  Victor can feel his body trembling again; Yuuri’s close, so close.  “Come on sweetheart, once more for me, yes?”  He tightens his palm into a fist, stroking over Yuuri’s erection, starting to fuck him again, relentlessly, hard and deep.  Yuuri’s breath is ragged, he’s still sobbing his way through a litany of words, half of which Victor can’t understand – they might be Japanese.  Victor needs to come, he’s poised right on the edge, waiting for Yuuri to surrender to him finally and let go. 

“Oh god, Victor, make me come,” Yuuri whimpers.  “Make me – “ His back arches, tight hole clamping around Victor’s cock as he comes with a punched-out cry, body locking up, cock heavy and pulsing in Victor’s hand.

Victor releases Yuuri’s wrist and grips hold of Yuuri’s hips, fucking him through his orgasm, loving the way Yuuri’s body clenches around him and releases in waves.  Victor can feel his balls tightening, the slow curl of arousal in his belly morphing into something hungry, ready to snap. His body stutters and loses the rhythm, and he grinds deep into Yuuri’s delectable ass, watching his cock slide into Yuuri’s body, and then he’s coming so hard, the release making him almost lightheaded.  Yuuri makes another little noise, tightening around Victor’s cock, milking him through it.  Victor manages to keep his weight off Yuuri, resting on his hands while he comes down from the high, his cock still pulsing, little pockets of pleasure bursting inside, making him rock his hips forward to chase it.  Yuuri looks half dead, blissed out, but with a smile hovering on his lips, like he got exactly what he wanted.

Victor forces himself to stand up, stroking a hand down Yuuri’s spine, caressing the length of him, admiring.  He pulls out slowly, and Yuuri makes a disappointed noise, wriggling his hips.  Victor takes a moment to get his breath, hand still resting on Yuuri’s lower back.  He watches as his come slides from Yuuri’s ass, and for a second, he’s tempted to drop back down and eat it out of Yuuri again, see if he can really wreck him.  Maybe it’s something he’s going to have to try later.  He knows Yuuri has incredible stamina; so maybe it works the other way.  He knows Yuuri can come two or three times if he’s pressed for it, so perhaps… perhaps Victor can get him to hold off next time, see how long Yuuri can go without coming.  Victor smirks at that, leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s ass cheek.

“Victor?”  Yuuri asks, shifting a little until he can see over his shoulder.  His name comes out in two syllables: Vict – tor. Victor finds it totally endearing.

Yuuri struggles to push himself up off the table, staggering a little as he gets to his feet and Victor reaches forward, offering a steady hand.  He gives up, sweeping Yuuri up into a bridal carry.  “I think you’ve had enough of a workout for today, don’t you?” he says with a laugh.

Yuuri tilts his head to the side, eyes half-lidded in contentment and smile evident that he’s totally boneless and fucked out.  “Hmmm,” is all he manages, dropping his head against Victor’s shoulder.

It amazes (and awes Victor) at how much trust Yuuri places in him.  How he trusts Victor to know how far he can push Yuuri, when to push and when not to.  When to pamper him or just hold him.  Victor thinks that’s pretty unusual for any relationship, and probably never for a slave contract.  A contract is a gamble, a different kind of trust, but fraught with tension from what Chris has told him of his experiences.  It’s nothing like what he and Yuuri have.

Victor carries Yuuri into the bedroom and puts him carefully on the bed.  “Bath?” he asks as Yuuri flops backward into a messy starfish shape. 

“Yes, please,” Yuuri mutters, eyes sliding closed for a moment before fixing back on him with an intense gaze that’s almost startling. Yuuri looks debauched, his own come spattered across his stomach and his new panties completely ruined.

Yes, Victor thinks, I’m already in way too deep with you, Katsuki Yuuri

Yuuri doesn’t realize how much control he wields at the moment, but Victor knows it won’t take long for Yuuri to figure it out. 

He’s quite looking forward to it when Yuuri does.

Chapter Text


So, here Yuuri is; standing at the very edge of the rink, breathing in the scent of the ice like it’s the finest aphrodisiac. 

Every rink smells different, but he can never place exactly why.  He’s spent years imagining standing on this very spot inside the Sports Champions Club, years imagining being able to watch Victor skate, and now he’s actually here, it’s a little overwhelming. Outsiders simply don’t get to visit this hallowed ground, it’s off limits to the rest of the world, so Yuuri is amazed that they let him inside to wait for Victor to finish practice.

Victor hasn’t noticed Yuuri’s arrival yet; he’s still skating, running through parts of one of his programs for the upcoming season. He moves with an innate grace that can’t be taught; it’s something that comes naturally or not at all.  Yuuri grips the edge of the boards, watches in awe as Victor executes a perfect quad flip, landing gracefully before starting a step sequence that looks uncannily similar to one of Yuuri’s past programs.  Before Yuuri can fully question or digest that little piece of information, Victor’s waving at him, skating over to the edge of the rink.

“Yuuri!” he calls out, sliding to a stop and leaning over the boards.  “You made it okay?”

“I did.”  Yuuri can’t help but grin excitedly, leaning in toward Victor.  “Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see the inside of the Sports Champions Club; I’ve fantasized about it for years.”

Victor gives Yuuri a considering look, and his eyes flash with something that resembles heat – and curiosity. “Really?” Victor murmurs.

Yuuri licks his lips, suddenly nervous.  “Ah, well, what I mean –“

“Vitya!”  The bellow of annoyance from the far edge of the rink snaps Yuuri out of the moment, and Victor startles as well.  They both watch the impending doom that is Yakov Feltsman descend on them, and Yuuri can’t help but notice Victor looks a bit like a guilty child that’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.  Feltsman rips off a tirade of what sounds like angry Russian at Victor, most of which goes right over Yuuri’s head; he’s been in Russia two months and is still struggling with basic conversation.  Victor replies, waving a hand airily.

“Japanese Yuuri,” Feltsman says in somewhat passable English, turning to fix Yuuri with a glare.  “Vitya is taking care of you, yes?”

Yuuri’s not sure if that is a statement or a question.  “Ah, yes, I mean, it’s fine, Coach Feltsman,” Yuuri stammers, daring a glance at Victor, who looks amused.  “He is. Yes.”

“He will be taking you to dinner.” Feltsman frowns at Yuuri. “Make sure he is feeding you good food, not junk.  Junk is not good for a competitive skater.”

Yuuri doesn’t want to point out he’s not actually a competitive skater at the moment, and is taking a year off, but he supposes Victor’s already told his coach that. “I’m eating properly, thank you,” Yuuri says in a bemused tone.  He suspects this is an old argument between Victor and his coach, and somehow Yuuri has found himself in the middle of the latest installment.

“Good,” Feltsman says with a nod.  “See Vitya, this boy has good head on shoulders.  You should be like Japanese Yuuri.”  Feltsman pauses, then raises a finger at Victor.  “Do not break this boy.  He will be good competition next year, mark my words.”

Yuuri manages to not choke on his own spit, blushing furiously, while Victor looks both delighted and shocked at the same time.  Maybe Yakov’s English could use a little… subtlety in its execution.

Victor tries not to laugh.  “I promise not to break next year’s competition, Yakov,” he says mischievously, winking at Yuuri and putting a hand over his heart. 

Yakov spits out another avalanche of Russian at Victor, this time barely pausing for breath before he nods at Yuuri and strides off toward the rink offices.  Victor waits until the doors close and then turns to Yuuri, finally laughing out loud.  “Oh god,” Victor gasps, “that was priceless.  I think he likes you.”

“That’s good?” Yuuri’s still not quite sure what to make of the exchange, and there is no way Yuuri is going to ask what Feltsman meant by that comment, because he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Victor is smirking, eyes flashing with humor, biting his lip as he watches Yuuri.  Yuuri flushes under Victor’s gaze, mind going to all the things they’ve done in the last couple of months.  Yakov couldn’t be more wrong; Victor will never break Yuuri because Yuuri revels in all of Victor’s attention, from the discrete touches that set Yuuri’s heart racing and heat pooling in his belly, to the way he takes Yuuri apart, night after night, fulfilling every one of Yuuri’s long list of dirty fantasies.

Victor reaches out and touches Yuuri’s hand, pulling him back to the present.  “Let me go shower, and then we can go to dinner, okay?”

Yuuri nods.  “I’ll wait for you here. Don’t be too long.”

“Never,” Victor answers, skating to the edge of the rink and slipping his skate guards on.

Yuuri watches him walk towards the changing rooms, admiring the shape of his body as he moves.  Never in a million years had Yuuri ever imagined he’d be standing here, in Victor’s home rink, watching his lover.  For now, it is enough.


Victor looks divine in the candlelight; his hair taking on a golden cast, his patrician features softening, but maybe that’s just the way he’s looking at Yuuri.  He’s dressed in a bespoke suit, dark gray with a matching waistcoat, but he’s forgone a tie and left the top button of his shirt undone.  That small patch of skin just beneath his clavicle is mesmerizing; Yuuri can’t stop looking at it, his gaze drifting from Victor’s lips to that same spot, and back again.  The wine they’ve had with dinner has relaxed Yuuri; he’s gone from tense, expecting someone to recognize him, to enjoying the evening, enjoying Victor’s company. 

The restaurant is a well hidden, an out of the way place that is only familiar to locals in the city, but it suits Yuuri perfectly.  He’s not ready to have the world know of his situation, to have his life dissected by the press and by his peers, to have them judge him for his decision to slave out.  It is his business only, along with his family and Victor, no one else’s.  In a couple of weeks, the placements for the GPF will be announced, with one exception – that of Yuuri.  Then the interrogations will start, the rumours and gossip, all wanting to know why he’s not competing, what he’s doing as Victor’s slave. 

For the short weeks left, when he’s not the target of the press, he wants to be able to belong solely to Victor, to dance only to Victor’s tune, body and soul, and let the world be damned.  The rest he’ll ride out afterwards, just like Chris did. 

“Deep thoughts, sweetheart?”

Victor’s soft voice cuts through Yuuri’s mental wanderings, bringing him gently back to the restaurant.  “Sorry, just thinking.”

Victor brushes his hand gently along Yuuri’s, then slips under the tablecloth, resting on Yuuri’s thigh.  “So, Yuuri, tell me something.”  Victor’s voice invites confidences, Yuuri thinks, and the wine invites truths, as only alcohol can.

“What would you like to know?”   Yuuri fiddles with his wineglass, taking another sip.  He shifts slightly as Victor’s hand moves a little further up his thigh, his breath hitching at the thought that Victor might want to play.  Yuuri’s never had sex anywhere outside of Victor’s apartment, and he wonders what it might be like; the risk of being discovered in public makes his pulse race just a little. 

Victor flashes Yuuri a playful grin, like he knows what Yuuri is thinking.  “Earlier at the rink, you said it had been your fantasy to see my home rink.”

Yuuri laughs softly.  “Hmm, yes.  I used to wonder what it was like – what the ice smelled like, and if it was different from Ice Castle.”

“Just the ice?” Victor raises an eyebrow and leans in closer, until his shoulder is touching Yuuri’s, their bodies pressed against each other.  Victor’s fingers tighten on Yuuri’s thigh. “You had no other reason to want to visit?”

Yuuri senses a verbal trap, but as with all things Victor, Yuuri can’t help himself.  “Um, maybe other things?”

Victor’s laughing now; teasing with words, prodding at Yuuri for a reaction.  He wants to see Yuuri flustered, off-guard, but he doesn’t realize the wine has done a good enough job all ready.  “Oh? Like what things?”

Yuuri has a sudden urge to turn the tables on Victor tonight; the alcohol and the intimate atmosphere is making him a little bold. He reaches under the table, placing his own hand on Victor’s knee, running his fingers along the seam of Victor’s pants, enjoying the feel of the tensing muscle beneath his touch.  He leans closer, until he’s inches from Victor’s ear, and whispers, “At first, when I was younger, I used to think about watching you skate.  That you’d see me watching you from the side of the rink, that you’d skate for me, only for me.”

Victor pulls in a breath, turning slightly toward Yuuri.  His slow exhale tickles the fine hair next to Yuuri’s ear, sending a shiver down Yuuri’s spine that Victor must notice.  Victor takes Yuuri’s hand beneath the table cloth, fingers slipping along the golden band around his wrist, stroking the sensitive skin there.  “At first? What about… later?” Victor’s voice sounds slightly breathless, sinfully rough.

Yuuri closes his eyes, lets his growing arousal lead him on.  “Mmm, later?” Yuuri murmurs, “When I was older, in college, my fantasies were… less innocent.” 

Victor sucks in a shuddering breath, but he doesn’t speak.  Yuuri pulls back a little, searching Victor’s face to see if he’s gone to far, but Victor is only watching him intently, waiting.  He’s silent, the moment heavy between them, a tipping point.

Yuuri leans back in, and now Victor slips an arm around his waist, pulling Yuuri closer.  “I used to think about…” Yuuri bites his lip, fingers tightening on Victor’s thigh as he remembers, “there was one picture of you in a magazine, a king upon your throne, and it was shot from below, so it looked like you were untouchable, looking down on everyone.”

“I remember that one.”  Victor’s whispered reply is soft, intimate.

“I would think about –“  Yuuri’s voice breaks a little as he remembers the fantasy, how hot it used to get him; how worked up.  He can feel the echo of that lust now, amped tenfold by having the actual object of that fantasy before him.  Yuuri clears his throat, tries again.  “I would imagine you on that throne, and me on my knees before you.”  Victor’s sharp inhaled breath is enough to tell Yuuri that Victor is just as worked up now.  To emphasize the point, Yuuri takes Victor’s hand, presses his palm to the inside of his own thigh and draws Victor’s hand upward, until he can feel how hard Yuuri is; how much Yuuri is getting off on this. Victor’s hand tightens around his waist, and his fingers brush over Yuuri’s cock teasingly, barely applying pressure.  It’s maddening, and Yuuri wants to return the favour, but they are in public.  Words will have to suffice for now.

“I would think about kneeling there, and how you’d spread your legs, tug me forward by my hair – “ Victor’s fingers tighten briefly against Yuuri’s erection, causing Yuuri’s breath to hitch – “and you’d feed me your cock, inch by inch, until I was almost choking on it.  You’d hold me in place, fucking my throat, and then you’d come, and I’d swallow it all, every last drop that you’d give me.”

“Fuck, Yuuri.” Victor’s voice sounds broken; wrecked. 

Yuuri pulls back enough to see just how much his words have affected Victor; his cheeks are flushed with arousal, eyes dilated, lips red from where Victor must have bitten them.  His breath is coming a little faster than normal, and he looks just like every fantasy Yuuri’s ever indulged in.  He really hopes Victor will drag him into the bathroom and fuck him senseless, so Yuuri really can find out what type of rush semi-public sex gives him. 

Instead, Victor calls for the check.

“Victor?” Yuuri hopes he hasn’t pushed it too far; maybe he shouldn’t have shared some of his more intimate fantasies.

“I’m taking you home,” Victor says, pulling out his wallet.

“I’m sorry, did I –“

Yuuri has barely got half the sentence out before Victor is turning back to him, cupping his cheek with his palm in a reassuring gesture.  “Yuuri, if I don’t take you home immediately, I’m going to do something wholly inappropriate to you here and then we’ll get kicked out.  My restraint only goes so far before it snaps.” 

Victor’s words are like a punch to the gut; Yuuri can only nod, manage a half-broken “okay,” before Victor is pulling him to his feet, bundling him out the door.  Yuuri should be worried he’s pushed Victor too far, but all he can think about is Victor’s dick in his ass, claiming Yuuri over and over again until he’s too fucked out to care about anything.


The ride home is tense; fraught with a heightening sexual tension that steals the breath from Yuuri’s lungs. Victor changes gears like he’s a rally car driver; all clipped, decisive movements that speak of his impatience.  Yuuri can’t find words to make conversation with; his throat is dry with nervous excitement that winds him all the tighter like a finely coiled spring.  He’s still hard; his body aching with want, his muscles tight with anticipation.  Victor looks to be no better, gaze sharp on the road ahead, sharper on Yuuri when he glances over.

He reaches out, hand leaving the gear shift to run his palm, hot and heavy, across Yuuri’s thigh.  The touch is grounding, pulling Yuuri back to earth, centering him just enough to make it home.

Victor never fails to surprise Yuuri.  He’s expecting to be pressed against the nearest flat surface, but instead Victor pulls him through the door by his hand, pausing for a moment to take off his suit jacket, and Yuuri’s as well.  Then he takes Yuuri by the hand again, leading him toward the living room.  Puzzled, Yuuri lets himself be guided, waiting for a cue from Victor. 

Victor stops just in front of one of the armchairs and reaches out to brush a stray hair behind Yuuri’s ear.  His touch is achingly gentle, fingers trembling slightly, and Yuuri bites back a moan, his eyes fluttering closed briefly.  Victor backs up, sits himself in the plush armchair. Yuuri watches as Victor slowly unbuttons his waistcoat, pushes it open, and then does the same with his shirt, exposing the lean muscle of his chest, his narrow waist, to Yuuri’s view.  He’s watching Yuuri the whole time; gauging Yuuri’s reaction. 

Sitting there, Victor looks every bit the decadent, debauched prince, relaxed and at ease, and it takes Yuuri only a split second to realize where he’s seen this before: in his posters, and later in his dreams, in his fantasies. 

Victor is giving this to him.  He’s going to give Yuuri his fantasy, the one he spoke of earlier at the restaurant.  The realization almost makes Yuuri’s knees buckle; he lets out a shuddering breath, fingers clenching at his sides.

“Take your pants off, Yuuri,” Victor instructs.  He softens the command with a smile, leaning his chin on one hand, settling into the chair.

Yuuri’s mind is fogged with lust, heavy and consuming, and he barely registers Victor’s words.  He fumbles at the belt of his pants, finally getting the clasp open so he can push his pants down and off.  He’s wearing his regular black underwear tonight and not anything sexier, because he thought they’d been simply going for dinner.  Victor licks his lips, his expression complicated and sharp. 

“Undo your shirt but leave it on.”

Yuuri obeys, his heart racing as he slowly undoes each button of his shirt, and when he reaches the last button he pushes the fabric to the side, enough that Victor can see most of his chest, his abs, his cock straining against the confines of his underwear.  He waits for Victor’s next command, sliding down his underwear and off as Victor instructs. Yuuri feels exposed, but it’s a heady feeling, to have his idol’s attention so fully focused on him, and Yuuri knows that that alone is enough to get him off most days.

Victor holds out a hand, and Yuuri takes it, letting Victor pull him forward and into his lap, rather than pushing him to his knees like he expects. The armchair is more than wide enough for Yuuri to settle, his knees on either side of Victor’s hips.  He watches as Victor looks him over, reaching out to place his palm in the center of Yuuri’s chest, his tough maddeningly light as he skims his fingers across the planes of Yuuri’s stomach, stopping just before he reaches Yuuri’s cock.  Yuuri rocks his hips forward; a plea for touch, but all Victor does is grin, his hand moving to push Yuuri’s shirt to the side, exposing more of him to Victor’s gaze.

“So beautiful, sweetheart,” Victor says.  He pauses, gaze fixed on Yuuri’s body, and then he looks up, meeting Yuuri’s eyes, making Yuuri blush hotly.  “Will you show me?”

“Show you?” Yuuri is still confused, lust addling his brain. 

Victor spreads his legs slightly, allowing Yuuri to settle further onto his lap.  “Show me how you get yourself off.  I want to see what you look like when you touch yourself; when you’re thinking about me.”

Fuck, Victor,” Yuuri gasps.  His cock jerks against his stomach, sticky with pre-come.  The thought of being so exposed, of having Victor watch him, watching him come… Yuuri swallows thickly.  He’s going to do this, because he belongs to Victor; he wants Victor to see what he does to Yuuri’s control, his sanity.  He wants Victor to see how much Yuuri needs him.  “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he manages to say.

“Never.”  Victor has never looked more serious.  “Show me your Eros, Yuuri.”

Yuuri reaches out a hand, brushing it down his stomach.  He wraps his hand around his cock, watching Victor; feeling him tense with anticipation beneath him.  Victor’s hands settle on Yuuri’s spread, bare thighs, a heavy, arousing weight.

Yuuri will not disappoint; if Victor wants to watch, so be it.  He has all of Victor’s attention fixed on him, so he’ll give Victor a show he won’t forget.  Yuuri drags his hand up his length, watching Victor’s expression, the way his eyes follow the movement of Yuuri’s hand. Victor’s fingers tense against the muscle of Yuuri’s thighs, then relax, as if Victor is forcing himself to watch, rather than participate.  That thought sends a rolling heat trickling down Yuuri’s spine, and he arches his back, pushing his hips forward, into his hand.  He keeps his pace steady and slow, imagines all the times he’s jerked off, thinking about Victor, the times he’s dragged his pleasure out, slow and steady, making it last.  He twists his hand when he reaches the head, just how he likes it, squeezing a little.  He can feel pre-come beading at the tip, and he smears it over the head of his cock, pushing down, slicking himself up.  He moves his other hand down, fingers grazing along the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to Victor’s hand, before he pulls back again, cupping his balls, tugging on them gently.  He picks up the pace a little, mouth parting on a moan as he strokes himself, teasing just the head of his cock, before forming a fist and pushing into it. 

Victor’s cheeks are flushed now, his eyes half-lidded, gaze sharp as he watches.  Yuuri can see the outline of his erection against his dress pants, and Yuuri mouth waters at the thought of Victor’s cock in his mouth.  He leans back, resting his free hand on Victor’s knee behind him, balancing as he rocks into his hand.  Every thrust sounds wet now, slick with pre-come, and Yuuri’s breath is ragged in his throat.  His hips tick forward, body seeking pleasure, and Yuuri purposely slows his pace again, teasing himself and Victor.  Victor’s fingers tighten on his thighs again, his thumbs tracing a light pattern against Yuuri’s skin, maddening and arousing, making Yuuri tremble beneath his touch.

“Victor,” Yuuri breaths out, almost pleading.  He tilts his head back, exposes his neck.  His shirt slides from his shoulder, pooling at his elbow, but Yuuri doesn’t care.  The heat in his belly is growing tight, curling behind his balls, but he wants to draw this out, to prolong the pleasure, enjoy the way he’s captured Victor’s attention so thoroughly.

That plan gets shot to hell when Victor says, “Do you fuck yourself on your fingers when you get off, sweetheart?”

Yuuri lets out an unexpected, startled moan that catches him off guard, gaze snapping back to Victor’s.  In his mind he can see himself, spread out on his small bed in Hasetsu, fucking himself, two fingers deep, while looking at that damn poster of Victor on his throne.  Yuuri doesn’t offer a response, he can’t; he parts his lips, sliding first one finger, and then another, into his mouth, slicking them up nice and wet.  He makes a show of it, just to prove a point, reminding Victor what he could be doing with his mouth right now if Victor just gave him permission.

Victor looks wrecked; he’s completely focused on Yuuri, on the slow movement of his fist over his cock, the roll of his hips, the way he moves his body.  Victor hasn’t tried to touch himself even once; all his attention is fixed on Yuuri.

Yuuri pulls his fingers from his mouth and licks his lips, then moves his hand behind him.  He circles his hole, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he teases himself.  He pushes in with one finger, unable to hold back his moan, and when he pulls back, he pushes the second finger in alongside.  This, Yuuri is used to.  He’s never had a problem fucking himself open; he only seems to struggle at first when it’s someone else.  His body opens for him easily, especially since Victor’s been fucking him regularly, and he’s sliding in to the second knuckle, deep enough to make his hips snap forward, to let out a shuddering breath as his cock jerks in his hand.

“That’s it, sweetheart, show me how you like to fuck yourself,” Victor encourages. 

Yuuri’s more than happy to oblige; his body is working hard now, rocking back on his fingers, hips pushing into his fist as he strokes his cock.  He can feel the prickle of sweat at his nape, at the base of his spine.  His balls are drawn tight, aching for release.  His thighs tremble under Victor’s hands, his nipples are tight points of pleasure; Yuuri wants to be touched by the god beneath him, he wants to come under Victor’s hands, at his command.

Victor,” he bites out, and he doesn’t care that the words are a plea for anything, for everything. 

Yuuri’s movements are no longer smooth; he cannot take his eyes from Victor’s, from watching the way Victor is watching him.  Victor’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, eyes glassy with lust, his gaze dropping to Yuuri’s hand as he strokes himself faster, pushes his fingers deeper into himself with uncoordinated, jerky motions. “Oh fuck, Victor, can I –“ Yuuri’s teetering on the edge, he’s there, he just needs Victor to –

Victor shifts, fingers digging into the sensitive skin on the inside of Yuuri’s thighs.  “Come for me, sweetheart,” Victor coaxes, “mark me like you want to.”

“Oh, fuck,” Yuuri pants, because he was not – he didn’t – he can’t –

His orgasm hits him so hard it takes his breath away.  His body seizes, and he takes a shuddering gasp, watching as his come stripes across Victor’s flawless skin, across his stomach, his chest, and as Yuuri strokes himself through it, across Victor’s dress pants.  He has the presence of mind to reach out with one hand to stop himself falling forward, pressing his palm against Victor’s heaving chest, and he carefully, slowly pulls his fingers free from his ass.  Victor wraps his arm around Yuuri’s back, supporting him through the aftershocks, almost as intense as his initial orgasm.  Yuuri is panting for breath, body sparking with pleasure, but he can’t resist running his hand through his own come, pushing it into Victor’s skin, spreading the evidence of his desire and his want more deeply. 

Victor lets out a broken moan, nuzzling into Yuuri’s neck below the collar, teeth grazing over the muscle in Yuuri’s shoulder.  “Yuuri, I – I need - “ Carefully, he dislodges Yuuri, helping Yuuri down from his lap, onto his knees. 

Yuuri clenches his fist, reluctant to move, but eventually he settles between Victor’s thighs as Victor stands, towering above him.  It takes him precious seconds to realize what Victor wants, and another shudder trembles through his body at the thought.

Victor strokes a hand through Yuuri’s hair, pushing it back from his face.  Victor opens his mouth, but no words come out; he seems utterly unable to form words.

“Victor, please,” Yuuri pleads.  “Let me –“

Victor shakes his head.  “Sorry, sweetheart; you’re too enthralling for your own good.  I’ll have to owe you the rest of your fantasy later.”  He unbuckles his belt, pushes down the zipper of his dress pants and frees his cock, fisting it loosely in his hand.  Yuuri really wants Victor’s cock deep down his throat, wants to taste it for weeks afterward, choke on the fat thickness of it. 

Instead, he parts his lips, opens his mouth, and watches Victor, waiting.  Victor bites his lip, and then strokes himself more firmly, a steady rhythm that has Yuuri watching impatiently.  He tilts his head back, inviting Victor to mark him.  Victor’s hand speeds up, and he reaches out, fisting his hand in Yuuri’s hair; his grip tight but not painful.  Yuuri’s cock twitches with interest, and he lets out a moan, unable to stop himself. 

“Yuuri, I’m going to – “

“Please,” Yuuri whispers.  “Do it.”

Victor makes a strangled noise; a half bitten off swear, and the first ribbon of come lands on Yuuri’s tongue, his lips.  Victor’s taste bursts across Yuuri’s senses; he swallows, and the next stripe lands on his cheek, his neck, and then his lips again.  Victor’s fist tightens in his hair, pulling his head to the side, and Victor’s muttering to himself in Russian, hot, unintelligible words even as his come marks Yuuri’s slave collar.  Pleasure roars through Yuuri’s body, not quite an orgasm, but close enough to make him dizzy with it.  He sits there as Victor’s milks himself through his own release, rubbing his come into Yuuri’s skin, returning the favour.

Yuuri only opens his eyes when Victor releases his hair, smoothing his fingers through Yuuri’s locks in an almost apologetic gesture.  “You okay, sweetheart?”  He slumps backward, into the chair, like a puppet with his strings cut.  He looks beautifully debauched, Yuuri thinks, blissed out from orgasm, shirt and pants undone, cock softening. 

Yuuri shuffles forward, leaning his head against Victor’s thigh, content to bask for the moment.  For now, he truly belongs to Victor, marked with his come and his pleasure, bound by Victor’s golden collar and cuffs. 

He thinks he could get used to this, quite easily, if fate would only let him.