Yuuri could hear him, the soft tinkling down the hallway as Viktor padded barefoot down the hall. He stopped in the doorway. That small moment of hesitation told Yuuri a great deal. He was nervous, but pretending not to be. Then one, two short raps on the door in quarter time. Viktor was like a human metronome. He breathed in tempo. His rapid patter rose and fell with his breath in perfect time. He was never late and never early.
Except now. That one pause in his footstep outside the door had halted and hitched. A swallowed gasp in the back of the throat. A single foot out of place in a dance.
Yuuri didn’t wait, he opened the door. He once would have hid. Put his pillow over his ears until those footsteps continued down the hall like a shuffling corpse looking for a new victim, but this, this was orchestrated by Yuuri, this was his design, his plan. He’d never done this before. Yuuri always looked to his conductor, to that baton in his hand. But now he was the one setting the tempo. It had Viktor off balance, on shifting ground. The bells quieted in an abrupt stop. No more shifting foot to foot, no more silent questioning. This was the moment of do or die. This was it.
“Yuuri!” Viktor sang out, half of his tone relief, the other anxiety.
The robe slipped off his shoulder exposing the pale skin beneath and Yuuri blinked, returning his eyes back to Viktor’s face. He was flushed. He had possibly been drinking. Working up the nerve.
“Are you drunk, Viktor?” Yuuri asked.
“No,” Viktor affirmed.
He adjusted the robe. He never did that. He liked to wear his nakedness like a suit of armor. Liked to strut up and down hotel hallways, letting everyone sneak a peek, but this—this was for Yuuri and Yuuri’s eyes only.
“Can I come in?” he asked, the pale column of his neck turning to look down the hallway.
Yuuri allowed him in. Almost at once Viktor was upon him, mouth soft and glossed all over Yuuri’s in a heartbeat.
Yuuri put a firm hand on Viktor’s chest and pushed him away.
It would be too easy to fall into these routines. Too easy to allow himself to fall into the same pattern, the same rhythm. “Yes Viktor, please Viktor, right there Viktor!”
But he stayed strong.
“Let me see you,” he ordered.
He didn’t usually give orders and at first they had felt odd on his tongue, but now they felt so natural, so right. His command was law and Viktor would obey.
Viktor fiddled with the knot and let the robe fall and gather at his waist.
“Do they hurt?” Yuuri asked, reaching out to tweak a hardened and pink nipple and coming away with a songbird note.
“No,” Viktor said, turning his head to the side.
Tiny bells attached to tiny cords and knotted right around his nipples made for a pretty sight. Yuuri ran his finger along them and was taken back to his parent’s garden and the hummingbirds that feasted there. When the day was heavy with pollen and the swollen bumblebees would pass by with their work and he would sit and listen to the sound of the wind chimes on the porch. Viktor inhaled sharply.
“Viktor?” Yuuri asked, thumb finding its way without taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. “Does it hurt?”
“N-no,” Viktor reaffirmed, suppressing a shiver that passed over his body.
Yuuri took a step back. Viktor made to follow but Yuuri kept him there.
“Wait,” he said, retreating back to the bed.
He watched Viktor walk toward him, the sound of bells beautiful and clear in his wake. Viktor moved his hips how he thought Yuuri would like them.
“Stop,” Yuuri ordered putting up his hand.
Viktor barely suppressed a noise of annoyance.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” he said.
Yuuri said nothing, he only turned his head to the side.
“Then tell me what you do want. Harem slave being summoned to her master? Coquettish dancer for her king? Exotic maiden being brought before the viscount on the night of her deflowering?”
Yuuri snorted at the last bit.
“Tell me what you want because I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing and…and I don’t know what to do, I honestly don’t know why I’m here like this and what you want,” Viktor said, the pale flush on his cheeks darkening and spreading to his neck.
“Just be you. Have you seen yourself on stage before? Purposeful. Commanding. And yet…graceful. Show me that.”
Viktor turned his back to Yuuri, gathering himself and then turned again, this time his stride was long as he stepped to the foot of the bed.
“And what is that?”
“The Duchess seducing her lover and convincing him to murder her husband,” Viktor said, eyes blinking up at him through heavy eyelashes.
Yuuri laughed, a light sound that broke Viktor’s tension. Yuuri leaned off the edge of the bed and then looked into Viktor’s eyes as he ran his thumb over Viktor’s lips.
Viktor inhaled sharply. “And what is that?” he asked, willing nay begging those fingers to slip into his mouth.
“This is…” Yuuri’s eyes rolled to the ceiling as he thought. “The Viktor Nikiforov classic style.”
“Do you not remember how you seduced me?” Yuuri asked. “You pressed your fingers to my lips and you said I needed to strengthen my embouchure, do you not remember? You said the strength of my performance was in my lips and my lips alone and they needed training.”
“Did I say that?” Viktor asked. “That is a terrible line.”
“Oh that’s not all, then you said that it was my breath and my breath needed training. You said you would snatch the air from my lungs to help strengthen me.”
“And I did very well I might add,” Viktor said, shaking the pale hair from his eyes. “I trained you proper. I’ve never seen you out of breath after our lessons.”
“I have good stamina,” Yuuri pointed out.
“And you do—“
“Which is why I can sit here and ride out whatever nerves or doubts you have. It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t hurt me. I can wait all night.”
Viktor looked between his dark eyes. They were nearly impossible to read in the dim light.
“You said you wanted to feel the music as I felt it. Let me show you.”
Yuuri knew Viktor had once felt music as he did. Sometimes Yuuri wondered if Viktor was using him to gain back that feeling, to drink from the Well of Immortality. He would find no spells or shortcuts here, just the simple sensation of an artist’s love. Back when things were pure. Back when things were simple. Yuuri had a hard time finding that place himself nowadays. He was the highest paid oboist in all the national symphonies. He was the best. And Viktor wanted him. He wanted the air from his lungs, he wanted his lips, he wanted the way he rocked as he played, he wanted that feeling, that good sweet feeling as the notes washed over you and lifted you from your seat. And Viktor brought that out of Yuuri, but he couldn’t have it. He couldn’t taste it and smell it and wear it as his own, no, it was Yuuri’s and Yuuri’s alone.
“Let me see you,” Yuuri repeated. “All of you.”
Viktor’s eyes flitted to the door. It was silly really. The number of times he’d shed his clothes so quickly after too many drinks and now here he was, shy. Yuuri tugged at the belt around Viktor’s hips and the robe gave free.
“Ah,” Yuuri said, pressing his fingers in just the right place. A chime echoed around him as Viktor gave a little gasp. “You did wear them.”
“Of course I did,” Viktor said. “You asked me to and I did.”
Yuuri kneaded at Viktor’s perineum and the jostled ringing filled the dark hotel room.
“Oh,” said Viktor, biting his lip.
Yuuri sought out those lips, bringing Viktor’s chin to meet his, but never bridging that gap, their heavy breath filling the space between them, making them dizzy with recycled air, making them lightheaded and desperate.
And Viktor waited, blue eyes darting back and forth between Yuuri’s own. He would meet him here, in the middle, in the center, where they were on equal footing and he would wait. Yuuri wondered if, out of all of Viktor’s past lovers, if there were ever one more careful than himself. Yuuri guarded his heart and his body, he kept himself apart. He would watch people meet at the after-parties, their hands sliding up thighs and their mouths crashing together recklessly, and he would listen to the fumble of clothes and keys and they met up back at the hotels. But Yuuri hadn’t had anyone willing to bring him out like this. Willing to push him and pull him, but always within the most comfortable of spaces. And he felt good here, he felt right, he felt in control. So far, the ball had been in Viktor’s court. “Come to me for private sessions, come to me after the concert, come to me after the party.” And now it was Viktor who walked over that threshold for him.
“I want to hear you sing for me,” Yuuri whispered in Viktor’s ear and he didn’t mean in his shaky Russian folk songs, he meant with the song between his legs, the bells inside him, that he carried with him.
Viktor repositioned himself, his lips mouthing along the underside of Yuuri’s jaw and then his hips began to cant, making small jerking motions against Yuuri’s thigh as he rubbed himself.
“Yuuri, so good,” he whispered.
One chiming bell inside him and the other just outside, swinging between his legs obscenely as he jerked his hips to rut against him. The sound was so beautiful, echoing around them.
“Yuuri,” he continued, his voice soft and petulant like a child’s. “Touch me, please Yuuri.”
“Do you have the other set?” Yuuri asked.
“I…yes,” Viktor stopped, his hips shuddering to a halt. Yuuri didn’t remember when he’d grabbed them and he released those soft hips, the half-moons from his nails fading from view.
Viktor reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the other pair of bells. They were round and fit perfectly in the palm of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri pressed them against Viktor’s mouth and he kissed them, his tongue running over the metal like a child over a sweet. Yuuri kissed them too, tasting Viktor’s mouth there. He leaned back and pressed them against his entrance.
“Yuuri—“ Viktor begged, running his hands up and down Yuuri’s thighs, brushing the small hairs there.
It wasn’t as easy a fit as he had been hoping, Yuuri reached for the lube and spread it across the round bells. Still difficult. He reached up to brush Viktor’s hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear before bringing Viktor’s mouth down to meet his half hard cock. Viktor would get hard at the drop of a hat and then cry and beg, telling Yuuri he was in pain, he was dying, he needed release now, but Yuuri was slow. It would take a long time to bring him to complete hardness and even longer before he was finished. Usually by then Viktor would have been spent five times under him.
“Stay here. Stay with me,” Yuuri asked and Viktor’s tongue began sweeping figure eights over his balls and over the bells together.
Viktor teased the rim and then before he got too close he flicked up to Yuuri’s head and over the slit, groaning at the sweet taste of precome there.
“Do you want me?” Yuuri asked.
Viktor’s answer was around Yuuri’s cock, tucking it to the corner of his cheek and looking up at him as he pumped at the base with his hand.
“Delicious,” Viktor murmured to himself. “I could suck your cock all day long and never get tired.”
“Ah!” Yuuri gasped, the bell finally slipping through and into him, he felt it press against his prostate, not enough to overstimulate, but enough that his cock leapt under Viktor’s talented tongue.
He switched their positions, pressing Viktor to the bed, their fingers entwining together. He stroked along Viktor’s cock, their heads each pressing against one another, sticky and wet. Yuuri did it again pressing their heat together and Viktor threw back his head and moaned. The sound of chimes bounce around the room. Yuuri felt like he was in a charmed fairy ring and the breathtaking sound continued.
“That’s a pretty noise you make,” Yuuri said, slipping two fingers into Viktor’s mouth. Viktor sucked on them eagerly.
Yuuri pulled them from his mouth, the trail of saliva falling down Viktor’s chin as he pressed inside, against the bell there.
“Mmm,” Viktor sat up, jerking his hips.
Yuuri sucked him, taking his length in just the way Viktor had shown him only weeks ago. Viktor never thrust when Yuuri took him like this. It was sweet in its own way, but Yuuri was used to Viktor pressing at his limits and this meant taking more of Viktor that he had before. His tongue swept over the round bell, bouncing it merrily with his tongue and then brought one hand to stroke him hard and merciless as the other pressed at the bell inside him. The bells rang out, loud and clanging in his ear, overwhelming and all encompassing, surrounding them both in a wave of sound.
“Yuuri, wait yuuri, please Yuuri, I’m going to—“
Viktor grabbed at the hotel wall behind him, nearly taking down the ugly landscape above the bed as he came, his cum leaving a mark on Yuuri’s glasses. Viktor’s cries were beautiful things. He always said that Yuuri had the sweetest sound when he came but really Yuuri could listen to that musical voice come again and again and again. And he would. Yuuri pulled off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. Feeling around for the lube, he wasted no time slicking Viktor’s length and between his thighs. He brought Viktor down to lay at his side. They stayed like that for a while, letting Viktor’s breathing even. And then Viktor couldn’t ignore that familiar press between his legs.
“You said you’d fuck me Yuuri,” he whined, reaching behind him to touch his cock.
“Squeeze your legs for me,” Yuuri whispered in his ear.
The sound of the bells was muffled, but still the small vibrations sent a jolt through Yuuri and he knew Viktor must feel it too, the sensation post-orgasm too intense to ignore. He slipped between those pale thighs and thrust. He liked the feel of naked skin on his body. He liked running his hands up and down Viktor’s taller frame. It was hard to tell with him hunched over like this, but he stood willowy and graceful and to have him oh so pliant under his hands was a delight. Yuuri felt the bells chime against one another as he thrust, like the ringing of a clock on the wall. Viktor squeezed him so tight and Yuuri could imagine how that must feel inside him, how each movement was another step closer to another orgasm, how each little thrust was like a ringing symphony of sound echoing in the chamber of his body.
“Ah!” Viktor cried out and with one hand he grasped himself, the other still trying to brace against Yuuri’s thrusts.
Yuuri tried to wrench his hand away but Viktor turned, burying his face into the pillow. Yuuri watched him, utterly fascinated as he curved his hips against the sheets, the fabric pulling at him like a hundred soft hands, and then back to buck against Yuuri.
“Yuuri! Oh! Please!” and what followed next was a string of Russian Yuuri didn’t recognized, but he didn’t relent even as he felt the sheets dampen with Viktor’s come.
“Yuuri,” Viktor gasped, picking up his head, hair sticking all over and his voice ragged. “I’m not sure I can last much longer. Twice in one night is something, but three times—“
“I’m not done yet. I’m not done with you, yet. You need to work for me Viktor, I need you to squeeze those thighs, I want to hear that sound, I want to know that the ringing inside you is from me and I want it to penetrate into bone and never leave your body. You said you liked how it looked like the music flowed through me as I played well let me show you how I do that Viktor, let me give that to you. I just need you to stay here with me my love and I need you to beg for it until the very end.”
“Shit Yuuri,” Viktor gave a little moan of desperation and reached back pulling the soft hip of Yuuri’s back against him.
The bells were singing, their chorus loud enough to wake the neighbors, loud enough to wake the world, playing just for the two of them. Yuuri could feel the pressure building, the sensation and the terrible tightness against him as he ran his eyes over Viktor’s muscled back and then up his pale neck to the parted crown of his head. Viktor shook his head into the pillow and Yuuri kissed him there, right at the whorl in his part. He tightened his grip on Viktor’s hands and then it was pouring out of him, the notes crashing against Viktor’s body, spilling into this thighs and marking him. Then at last their song was done.
They lay there, still in the quiet, in now pitch blackness of the hotel room. Yuuri reached up and removed the small bells, setting them carefully in a cup. He reached between Viktor’s legs and Viktor started awake. Yuuri hadn’t even known he was sleeping.
“I don’t think I can go again. I’m still sore from yesterday,” Viktor complained into the pillow.
“That’s fine,” Yuuri soothed, gently removing the bells from inside him.
Viktor winced and then exhaled, falling back asleep immediately. He could always sleep like this, on sheets filthy with their lovemaking, but Yuuri took some time.
When he woke Viktor was at the desk, robe haphazardly thrown around him, scribbling onto the hotel stationery.
“I came up with a new song,” Viktor said. “The ecstasy of Saint Theresa. I’ll need a carillonneur. It starts soft and sweet just a single oboe note and then the crashing of the bells as Theresa receives the holy might of the Lord.”
“You can’t just write parts for me because I’m your boyfriend,” Yuuri said from the bed, getting a tissue to wipe off his glasses.
Viktor wasn’t listening however and Yuuri instead decided on ordering room service.
The next day Viktor passed out hastily written sheet music he had copied at the print shop around the corner.
“Gentle and sweet at the beginning, this is foreplay after all and then the spear pierces her breast—no snickering you’re all adults, the clamor, the noise, the bells—listen to me I sound like the Hunchback of Notre Dame—the bells the bells! But this is it, this is the rise, the purest form of ecstasy and delight. This is the money shot, alright? Okay enough sight reading, let’s do a play through, eyes up here, on me, remember that loud does not mean fast, and one and two—“
Yuuri watched Viktor bring up that baton and then bring it down and then the music overtook him.