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Yuuri has, much to his embarrassment, spent a great deal of time thinking about what his first time having sex with Viktor Nikiforov might be like. When he was younger those thoughts were largely formless—the thought of a first kiss, the press of hands on skin. As he got older, however, the scenarios got more elaborate. Maybe he would catch Viktor's eye with his skating or maybe Viktor would randomly show up in Detroit. Maybe he would run into him after a competition and he would ask him to come with him to get drinks and sweep him off his feet.
Now, through some kind of strange alchemy he still doesn't understand, Viktor is here and real and in his life, so he's tried to stop thinking so specifically about when they might or might not sleep together. It's one thing to think those kinds of things about some untouchable star you might never meet and another to think them about the guest at your family's onsen and your coach.
But even now if Yuuri did try to envision Viktor sleeping with him, the evening after slamming his face into the boards at a Japanese domestic competition would be a low choice on the list of possibilities.
And yet.
Viktor had been uncharacteristically quiet both through the simple awards ceremony and on the walk to a small, local restaurant for dinner afterwards. It's making Yuuri's anxiety act up something fierce, everything feeling weirdly on edge. He keeps not being sure if Viktor's proud of him or not, if he's still angry about his free skate, if he's finally discovered that he's been wasting his time.
But then Viktor's smile is definitely one of his genuine ones when he says that he's proud of him today while they're waiting for their food to arrive and that eases the pressure in his chest somewhat, enough that dinner goes smoothly, though Viktor still seems subdued.
Minako and the others are already on their way back to Hasetsu, but Viktor had insisted on the two of them staying in a hotel for the night, his treat, and Yuuri's glad of it. He's not sure if he could handle public transit right now, with his legs wobbly from exertion and deferred nerves. This is the best of both worlds—getting to have people he cares about there to support him, to see him off into what he's hoping is a new phase of his life, but then this, just a quiet dinner with no one to deal with. He wonders how Viktor knew it would be what he needed— if he's really that transparent or if Viktor is like that as well?
The baseless anxiety takes hold of him again on the walk home from dinner all the same, though—him entirely too sober and Viktor with two glasses of wine in him, not drunk by any means but clearly dangerously relaxed, and yet also clearly thinking about something, almost fuming. The tension builds, at least for Yuuri, until he can't stay silent anymore and then, much to his surprise, they're talking over one another.
"Viktor, is there something you—"
"I wish I had gotten to know you when you were younger." The tone is so wistful and so much not at all what Yuuri was expecting to hear that he almost trips over nothing on the sidewalk,
"… What?"
"I wish I'd known you when you were younger," he says it more steadily now. Yuuri gapes at him and there's a pause before he continues, as though he's admitting something shameful, even though Yuuri has no idea what could be shameful about not knowing who Yuuri was. It's not like he was famous or that there was any reason for someone from Russia to have ever met him, even before considering that someone was international superstar Viktor Nikiforov, "Minami's gotten to look up to you his entire skating career and I've only gotten to watch you for a few months." Yuuri knows exactly what that sounds like but it's too much, he can't believe it,
"Are you jealous? Of Minami?" he's incredulous for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that Viktor was well on his way to a consistent quad at that age. Viktor blinks and looks over at him,
"What? No, that's ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of Minami—he doesn't even have quads," and it's so close to what Yuuri was thinking that he laughs instead of trying to push the subject and they talk about other things the rest of the way back to the hotel.
~
So it's a bit surprising when he's suddenly crowded up against the door of the hotel room, Viktor's mouth nearly against the back of his neck, breath fanning against the skin. He's shuddering before he can even try to hide it, shocked that Viktor is suddenly this close, so much so that he almost misses Viktor's words,
"I'm so jealous," he admits, "He's young, right at the beginning of his career and he's talented and has so much potential and a full head of hair and he's energetic and cute and he adores you so clearly," Viktor's head slumps forward just a little bit, so that his forehead is very lightly resting on the back of Yuuri's. The touch is barely there but Yuuri feels it like it's a brand. He's intensely aware that he's breathing manually. "He… knows how to adore you. He knows who you are. He's known who you were all along and I…" he trails off but his tone is laced with enough regret to imagine the rest of the words.
"You're jealous of Minami because he… admires me?" it doesn’t make any sense and he's sure that's not right, but Yuuri can't think of anything else Viktor could mean. Viktor's older for a skater, true, but he's also at the pinnacle of his career. He's hardly slowing down into retirement yet, not at least for a few more seasons, not if Yuuri can help it, anyway.
"You're a complicated man, Yuuri Katsuki," Viktor sighs and he sounds genuinely frustrated, which makes Yuuri want to drop to his knees and apologize for being difficult and beg him to keep being his coach— which he can't do because he's currently being pressed into the door. He realizes suddenly that he hasn't let go of the door handle yet. He knows this because his hand is starting to hurt from how hard it's clamped around it. "I can never tell how you really feel about anything, about me. I've kept thinking that was because our cultures were so different, that there was something I was missing, or something you were. Or maybe that I had forgotten how to make myself understood, off the ice," Viktor sighs again, more deeply, and it washes down Yuuri's neck, raises goosebumps, "But then there's someone who's got every advantage—your culture, your language, your peer, someone who's cute and young and who admires you so wholly and so blatantly, is so obviously attracted to you. And it was like he wasn't even there. He's everything that it makes sense for you to want. How could you not fall for someone like that?" Everything feels like its spinning a little and Yuuri has a distant thought that he's not honestly sure if he's remembering to breathe at this point.
"But… Minami's not attracted to me… He's just—"
"This isn't about Minami," Viktor actually shakes him gently, just once, much softer than the angry frustration in his voice. This kind of thing would normally make Yuuri shrink down into himself, run away, hide. But he's never seen Viktor lose his cool like this and it's fascinating instead, heats something inside him and there's no panic or hurt in the little noise he makes when Viktor flips him, traps him against the door facing him this time. The grip on his chin is firm, forces him to look at Viktor and even if there were time to speak, Yuuri doesn't think he could have before Viktor continues,
"I'm attracted to you," the you idiot is silent but Yuuri hears it all the same and now he's definitely not breathing at all anymore, feels like Viktor's just stolen all of the air in the room, much less in his lungs, "I've been attracted to you since we met. I've been pathetically blatant about it, I thought. Do you think I just go around telling people I like how their bodies move, asking them to seduce me with their skating? And you do. If you would just tell me no, that you weren't interested, I would understand. But you don't. Out there on the ice, you look at me like I'm something you want. And then off it… off it…" Viktor's thumb slides warm and slow across Yuuri's lower lip and his brain has completely shut off, he can't process anything. Yuuri's only still standing because there's a door behind him, one hot shudder running down his spine after the other, leaving his knees warm and weak.
"God, look at you," it's so heated that Yuuri's head spins just from that, "You're blushing like crazy, you can't catch your breath, you look like you want me to devour you. Like I'm everything you want. You look like I could just tug on you like a ribbon and you'd completely come apart for me," Yuuri hears the little noise he makes, feels the want in his chest, more than he really understands that he's made it, "And yet, in a second, you're going to run from me again. You're going to rebuff me and hide yourself away and you're not going to speak to me for days and I don't know why. What are you afraid of? What do you want?" Yuuri's mouth works for a second because that's not a rhetorical question, but the answer is so much more complicated than Viktor makes it seem and his brain is barely working as it is.
But then, in the end, it's not really all that complicated at all, is it? They're so close that all he has to do is tip his head that little, tiny bit forward and they'll be kissing. And that's telling, isn’t it, he realizes in a moment of clarity? Viktor brings them to this point, over and over and over again, but he's never going to close that distance. Yuuri has to do that.
They have to meet each other halfway.
That's the part that's complicated, a mess, difficult. Yuuri's brain is telling him he's mishearing all of this—that even though Viktor has him pinned to a door in a hotel room, that this can't be what it looks like. Viktor's just confessed to him that he wants him, that he finds him attractive and his head is trying to twist that into something bad, somehow, untrue. He's being taunted, teased, or Viktor just wants to fuck him and leave him, that if he gives in, he'll be gone in the morning like a ghost, that he would have already been gone if Yuuri had already given him what he wanted.
But the thing is, Yuuri's not sure at this point that he cares if any of that is true. He does want Viktor, he wants to let Viktor have him. If he leaves, at least he will have had that. And, more than that, he wants to believe him, even if he can't quite make himself. Yuuri doesn't have much in the way of courage or self-confidence, but it's less than an inch between his mouth and Viktor's.
He has an inch of it.
His lips catch, chapped, on Viktor's smooth ones and Yuuri can feel the shudder run through the other man. For the first moment of the kiss he feels that more than the kiss itself. He did that. He did that just by this, this tiny, timid, not very good kiss and if he breaks into pieces and doesn't land a single jump at the Cup of China, if he wakes up tomorrow morning and Viktor is gone like a ghost, every bruise and raw spot on his feet, every sacrifice, will get held against that little shiver, knowing that he's made his lifelong idol tremble in his arms.
It's an odd feeling, power, like there's suddenly nothing in the world that he can't do, like Viktor is really, truly, wholly his in this moment, heady, rich and utterly paradoxical, because Viktor winds his arms around him in the next moment and kisses back more firmly and Yuuri's knees give, arms coming up around his neck to try to stay on his feet.
Viktor's return kiss is surprisingly less controlled than he would have expected, a bit loose with the wine and desperation, but it's Viktor kissing him, so it's perfect. It's Viktor moaning in what sounds a lot like relief and the first electrifying touch of Viktor's tongue. Yuuri has kissed a few people, mostly platonically, mostly in Detroit, but never this, never even a practice run, and yet as soon as Viktor's lips slide apart, his do too, and that first moment feels like freefall and heat and he feels an answering moan vibrate up his throat, more tremble than sound.
Viktor slides his hands up under Yuuri's shirt and Yuuri tips his head back and moans more properly and it should be really embarrassing, that noise, except everything is firing sideways in his brain right now and there's no room for embarrassment. It also makes Viktor growl in a deeply possessive kind of pleasure and Yuuri feels the words spilling out of him before he can think about them, Viktor's hands cold on his body and mouth warm on his neck,
"I ran because I thought you were playing with me. I ran because I was afraid if you caught me, you would see how much more you meant to me than I could ever mean to you. You're Viktor Nikiforov, the most famous skater in the world and you've got a trail of lovers behind you. I ran because I can't convince my brain you're real, that this is real, that you're going to stay." It's more than he meant to say, could be taken as an insult, even, but Viktor just slides his hands up, peels off Yuuri's shirt and tosses it to the side,
"You don't look like someone who's running," it's almost a side comment, almost like he's teasing. There's even a little smile on his face. But they both know it's more than that, that there's a delicate interplay here, suddenly, like figures sketched into the ice,
"That's because I'm not."
It's enough.
They're suddenly stumbling through the hotel room, unable to pull away enough to walk like normal people, Yuuri's legs still wobbly, Viktor still seeming shocked that this is happening at all. He keeps opening his mouth like he's going to say something but Yuuri's really afraid if anything stops this momentum before they're naked he really is going to run and running is the last thing he wants to do right now. So he doesn't let Viktor get a word in, kisses the doubts out of his mouth, drags him down to the bed on top of him. The only way to stay ahead of his nerves is to consent as hard and as fast and as much as he can, and somehow that turns into take your clothes off and I want you and he's not sure where that's coming from and he very much doesn't care. He's continuing the earlier moment of clarity: the doubts peel away for the time being and all he's left with is the truth and the truth is that this ridiculous, amazing man, who he has alternately lusted after and wished he was and sought after his whole life, wants him, and has somehow, improbably, impossibly, thought that Yuuri didn't want him in return, or at least not enough to do anything about it.
Yuuri wants to take that particular misconception and shatter it.
"Yuuri… Yuuri are you—"
"Tell me that for some reason you have lube," he's past caring now. Yuuri rarely wants for anything and now all he wants is more and he's not ignorant about sex, but the desire itself is formless in some ways, he just wants more of Viktor, he wants to cross off every first they can find, he wants him under his skin.
"I do, but ten minutes ago you—"
"For someone who's so intent on keeping me away from other men, you don't seem very much like you want to claim me." Yuuri points out without really thinking and then gasps and flushes, has an apology halfway up his throat before he sees Viktor expression shift, suddenly hot and possessive and there's another little frisson that passes down Yuuri's spine, a sudden moment of oh, that's a thing before Viktor is all but pouncing him.
Viktor's mouth is heated and suddenly everywhere in the next moment and Yuuri doesn't drink when he's competing, but he feels a little drunk right now. His own hands have gone clumsy feeling, but he's somehow getting Viktor out of his clothes all the same and he's too caught up in the bruises blooming under Viktor's lips to care if that's really his doing or because Viktor's throwing off every piece of clothing Yuuri can lay his hands on. He's honestly not sure which it is for Viktor, either. Everything he touches Yuuri just tears off impatiently until everything is skin and skin and skin, Viktor's weight pressing him into the bed.
Yuuri processes the whole of him before the parts, warmth and weight and the way his body feels, tentatively on the skin of his palms. Then there's more focused appreciation: mouth, hair, eyes and then a bolt of pleasure that comes from nowhere and he's looking down his own body at Viktor with his fingers wrapped around his cock and oh. Oh. Yuuri's spine arches without his express permission pushing him deeper into Viktor's hold and Viktor looks somewhere between shocked and reverent, pupils blown wide.
"Yuuri… you're so beautiful like this," there's another lazy pump of his hand and Yuuri keens a little despite his best intentions not to, "See? God, I wish you could see yourself." Another beat, "Roll over for me. As much as I'd like to look at you all night, it's going to be a lot easier on you to do it this way." There's a hot thrill at that, too, that he doesn't ask anymore, at least not right away, that he trusts that Yuuri does want this.
For a moment, in fact, everything about Viktor is almost over-attentive, enough to make Yuuri start to get nervous again, not because of what he's about to do, but because of the tone it's taking. He doesn't know how to deal with Viktor being thoughtful sometimes. He doesn't know how to deal with anyone being thoughtful towards him, it makes him uncomfortable. But there's something almost coach-like, perfunctory about the way Viktor touches him towards the end of it—getting him on his stomach, getting the pillow up under him so he can lay down or roll up to his knees and still be in a good position, getting another one under his head to cling to—it's like him setting him up for a jump, running through practice motions, describing things in the air with his hands more than words. Yuuri has a vague thought to wonder if he could have already mastered his jumps if Viktor has been allowed to manipulate his body with this kind of freedom. The thought runs, giddy, through his head that maybe they'll try it, now, when they get back to Hasetsu.
But then there's the coldness of lube with an accompanying apology and one of Viktor's fingers running soft circles around him before pushing inside, and every other thought just kind of vanishes as utterly unimportant.
There's enough lube that it doesn't hurt, but it's weird, his body immediately feeling like things are kind of… moving counter to how they should be. It doesn't hurt but it doesn't feel good, either, and he's mostly thinking why people do this on a regular basis (which porn assures him they do) and how, if it already feels this weird, he's going to fit Viktor's entire cock in there. The thought makes him shudder, a rolling thing down the spine and… oh.
It's not that it's suddenly good, exactly, but the shudder, that little bit of moving under his own power even though it's involuntary, opens him up just a little bit and it's not pleasure outright, but there's something kind of weirdly satisfying about it. Pushing. Pressure. He rolls his hips a little more firmly a moment later, chasing that, experimental and he doesn't think of it as anything particularly sexual, but Viktor moans and if him inexpertly pushing on Viktor's finger can get him to make noises like that, Yuuri will take whatever weirdness this feels like and push himself back like that for hours if that's what it takes.
Even so, the second finger a few minutes later burns at first and he's whimpering, but Viktor's other hand is stroking his hair and he's whispering encouraging things to him, so he doesn't fight it, bears through it. If this is what Viktor wants, he'll do it, just like all of the other things he'll do for Viktor without question. He just has to figure it out, just has to—
It's faster this time, oddly, how it goes from weird and a little painful to something not unpleasant, good this time. Viktor scissors his fingers a little bit, testing, and that very suddenly turns the stretch into something that Yuuri wants to encourage, rock back on. And then the touch turns searching, gently, and Yuuri has just enough time to wonder what the hell Viktor thinks he's going to find up there before he does. Yuuri's glad he's already face down in the pillows because they at least somewhat muffle the scream.
He doesn't have time to be embarrassed about it, though, or apologize, or do anything else other than hang on while Viktor rubs against that spot over and over again and he chases the sensation backwards without thinking about it every time until he more comes to the realization he's been fucking himself on Viktor's fingers for a while now than he makes any rational decision to do so. It's right about the time he's trying to figure out if he's embarrassed enough about that to stop that Viktor adds the third.
That one, paradoxically perhaps, seems easier than the second, though it might just be because he's too wound up at this point to care anymore if it hurts a little. What matters more is the stretch, and Viktor can't quite reach that spot as well like this, but can ghost it and every time sends tremors through him instead of blinding pleasure. Viktor is saying something encouraging, calling him pet names and telling him how good he is, but it doesn't resolve itself into actual words for him so much as just tone, babble, a moment where Yuuri realizes they've switched from prep work to having sex, but Viktor doesn't seem quite aware of it yet
"Please," finally rasps out of Yuuri's mouth because the fingers inside him are both amazing, now, and also not what he wants anymore, "Viktor, please." There's a pause, suddenly, Viktor's hand stilling,
"Yuuri… Yuuri are you sure about this? It's a big thing and we don't have to—" It's hard to twist around in this position to where he can see Viktor, without dislodging his fingers, but he's a dancer, he can do crazy things with his spine when he's so inclined, and he is very, very much inclined right now.
"I've been sure since I was twelve," Yuuri's not thinking straight or he would figure out a way to make that sound less dirty, "My room was covered in posters of you," everything is bubbling to the surface, everything feels out of control and, for once in his life, Yuuri's determined to lean into it, "You were the subject of every fantasy I have ever had and now you are here and you are real and you're better than I ever imagined you would be and you need to—" be inside me right now, he can't quite get it out, his nerves failing him, but the sentiment is there in his tone. The way Viktor's eyes darken in lust says that he's at least partially successful in making himself understood. And yet, there's still something in them that looks confused, like Viktor genuinely can't understand where this is coming from, and more spills out of him, "Viktor, I don't want to wait anymore. What's the point? It's always been you."
Even Yuuri can't hold that position, has to swivel his head back around forward before he gets a neck cramp and definitely ruins everything. It means he can't see Viktor's face, and he suddenly wishes he could because the silence stretches maybe a second too long and anxiety claws up the inside of his throat. Before he can take anything back or turn back around, however, there's a long, slow pet up his spine and then a hand on the back of his neck and there's no thought that it feels nice or that it's even somehow sexual beyond just that everything right now is. It's like it bypasses the part of his brain that thinks entirely and he just makes a whining sort of sound from deep in his chest and hikes his own knees apart, more feeling the way it makes his spine arch than feeling like he's doing it himself. The clawing feeling gets worse, the position too vulnerable, lewd, but Viktor makes a noise like all of the air is being punched out of his lungs, and Yuuri, for once, knows just what it is that the enigmatic other man means.
He's pushing in a moment later and it's both slow, careful, and unrelenting, which is exactly what Yuuri needs right now, something he can't doubt, something he can't hide from. He doesn't feel like he's being coddled or catered to, in Viktor going slow, but the persistent stretch never quite turns from a sharp ache into outright pain, either. Viktor pauses at the end and it's too much but it's not too much in a way that makes him want to stop, it's just,
"No no… move. Slow, but… move," it's as coherent as he can be, but apparently this isn't a weird request because Viktor chuckles, but in a way where Yuuri can tell he's pleased, and he does—draws halfway out, slowly, then back in, but not quite as deep, fucks him slow and shallow for a long series of moments, letting Yuuri get used to it.
The next time he actually bottoms out in him, slow but unexpected, sudden, Yuuri whines and moans, pushing back against him. The motion turns grinding a moment later, and he can hear how much Viktor's enjoying that, but it's not about Viktor at the moment, it's about how good this feels. It's not that incandescent pleasure when Viktor had had two fingers in him, but it's the stretch and the fullness and the intimacy and a kind of frisson-frictiony sort of thing happening inside him, and it's driving every single thought of worry or self-consciousness out of his head, replacing it with something immediate and physical and undeniable.
Viktor's hand tightens on the back of his neck and it's weird doing something this intimate and not being able to see him, but it also doesn't seem to matter at all, because he's understanding Viktor in a way he never has before, reading something in the physicality of him like this he's never seen.
"Yes," he says, before he really knows what he's saying yes to, and then he does, "Yes, I'm ready Viktor. Please." The pause goes just a little too long and he should be nervous, would have been even five minutes ago, but somehow can't find it now, not with the possessive way Viktor's holding him down, filling him, "Hurry up, or I'm going to think you want me to go find Mina—" the rest of that sentence gets punched out of him by Viktor pulling out and pushing back in roughly, three hard snaps of his hips that have Yuuri burying his face in the pillow to try to muffle a howl. There's something about it that drives pleasure all the way down to his toes, and when Viktor hesitates after that, acts like he's going to stop or slow down or apologize or something, Yuuri reaches up and places his hands on the headboard, uses the leverage to both lift himself up and push back.
He hears the little growl that accompanies that motion before he understands he's the one making it. He's still too shy to ask for what he wants, not directly, but he'll be damned if Viktor's not going to explicitly understand what he's after, all the same. It seems like he manages, because Viktor's hands slide to his hips instead and he tugs Yuuri back this time at the same time as he pushes in and the angles are perfect for everything to hit just right and Yuuri's definitely waking anyone on the other side of that wall and for once in his entire life, he just doesn't care.
From there, everything moves quickly. Everything is dazed pleasure and Viktor moaning his name like Yuuri's breaking him, somehow, when Yuuri feels like all he's doing is holding on. Even holding on is kind of a misnomer in and of itself, because his palms are sweating and he slides down the headboard but the way Viktor has his hips it doesn't matter, so Yuuri just grips into the pillow instead, sobs his pleasure into it, Viktor's name, please, over and over again, until he loses English completely and is just babbling in Japanese, knowing Viktor couldn't understand him at this point anyway.
He won't know until after the fact that it's surprising and a bit unusual that he comes without either of them having to touch his cock. There's the tiniest tease of friction just on the head when Viktor pushes in, pushes him down almost into the bed because his knees want to give out, and that's enough. He's dimly aware of a Fuck… Yuuri surprised and impressed above him, but mostly what he's aware of is Viktor fucking him through an unexpectedly intense wave of pleasure, way better than anything he's experienced alone, until he freezes up with a moan, surprisingly quiet to Yuuri's loud, almost startled noises.
Yuuri goes completely boneless in the aftermath, lets Viktor pull out (though he can't help but whine a little about it) and clean up and fuss over him a bit, until he can tell that Viktor is nervous and finds himself rolling lazily over and pulling him down with him.
"I'm fine, Viktor. You didn't break me," he's teasing, but Viktor seems to take it a little more seriously, picks up one of his hands to kiss it, more rubbing his lips soothingly than a proper kiss,
"I was so rough with you though. I wanted to be more gentle for your first time, go slow…" Yuuri yawns, can't help it,
"Mmm. Save it for the morning, this was perfect." There's a moment of victory as Viktor blushes, like he hadn't really considered the possibility that Yuuri might continue to let him sleep with him. But he's still persistent about feeling bad,
"… But you only get one first time and I wasn't very—"
"It was perfect. Gold medal. World record," Yuuri's drifting, struggling on the heels of exhaustion, but he can still see Viktor looking worried and he doesn't want to fall asleep with him like that. "Definitely not able to sneak out and go to some other younger skater's room," he teases, and then adds, "Not that I want to." Oddly, that seems to settle Viktor more than the other words had, like he needed to hear Yuuri joke about it to know he really hadn't messed up. Viktor laughs, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness to his tone,
"Good. You're mine," he pulls him tighter and Yuuri just shifts his head a little until he can use Viktor as a pillow, too tired to feel self-conscious about it. He's asleep in a moment and even if he wasn't, he wouldn't have been able to see how wide Viktor's eyes got, or how tender his expression went a moment later.
He does, however, in his dreams, feel slender fingers carding softly through his hair.