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Viktor can’t say he really understands Yuuri’s shyness to strip in front of people. They are both figure skaters used to having to share a dressroom with other people. Lots of other people. It was the same in the Grand Prix Final last year, and while Viktor––much to his own annoyance and disappointment––cannot say he remembers Yuuri dressing and stripping together with all the other skaters, he is more or less sure that had to be the case.
Yet here they are once again, drunk on passion and swimming in scorching kisses, with Viktor trying to pull Yuuri’s shirt up so he can pepper his darling love’s chest with fleeting, possessive marks of his lips only to meet with sudden resistance. Yuuri’s nimble fingers close around his own, and it feels like they are playing a frustrating game of charade where Yuuri tries to act like everything is okay despite his round, panicked eyes and trembling lips, and Viktor does his best to figure out what could have gone wrong between sucking the near translucent skin on Yuuri’s neck and reaching down to get rid off his offending t-shirt.
It’s a game Viktor has been becoming increasingly familiar with since their first kiss. He tries to be patient. No, he knows he is patient. After all, he quietly waited for months on end for Yuuri to catch on, to realize how fast and how irrevocably Viktor had fallen in love with him.Waiting for him to let Viktor close isn’t a problem. It really isn’t. The fear he can see in Yuuri’s eyes every time he so much as tries to touch his skin, that is a problem.
“Yuuri?” Viktor asks, lifting his head to be able to look down at his boyfriend’s pale face. He takes in the way Yuuri is biting his lower lip, his pupils blown wide and his lashes trembling minutely. “ Ljubov' moja, ” he croons when Yuuri just shakes his head. “Do you want to stop?”
“...N-no,” Yuuri stammers and shakes his head again, his bangs half-obscuring his eyes.
“Then what’s wrong?” ‘Have I done something wrong?’
“I… No, it’s… nothing.” It’s a lie. Viktor would know it even if Yuuri’s stone wasn’t so hesitant and he didn’t look away like he does every time he lies about something. He’s so terrible at it that Viktor cannot help but love him even more. And worry even more.
“It’s okay if you’re not ready.”
“That’s not it.” And now Yuuri is frustrated, his brows creasing in a frown. His hands grab Viktor’s hips and pull their hips tight together, hardness brushing and leaving Viktor breathless.
“T-then what is it?” he whispers, voice dipping into a low moan. His lips are almost brushing Yuuri’s and he thinks about sucking that abused, plump lower lip between his teeth, trying his best to draw those breathy little noises Yuuri has made before when he forgot his worry about whatever it is he’s refusing to tell Viktor, and allowed himself to get swept away by passion enough to frot against Viktor with the same languidity he seduces Viktor every time he’s on the ice. And Viktor just needs to know. “Won’t you tell me? Hm…?” He punctuates his words with brushes of his lips, ghosts of touches that drive color back to Yuuri’s sweet cheeks, his eyes drooping to hooded pools of darkness.
“Viktor…” Yuuri breathes, shaky and wanton.
“Yes, my dear?” Viktor purrs, nipping at Yuuri’s already reddened neck.
“I… I want…”
Viktor’s head snaps up at the way Yuuri’s voice breaks over the words. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving, but his expression is far from euphoric. He frankly looks terrified enough to bolt, yet his jaw is clenched in a way that tells Viktor he is trying to work up the courage to do something. Viktor pulls back to sit on his heels, but makes sure to keep his hands on Yuuri’s hips, makes sure Yuuri knows he’s still there and not going anywhere.
It takes torturously slow minutes of silence, but Viktor still waits, patient and respectful, nothing less than Yuuri deserves. In the end Yuuri takes a deep breath and sits up enough to pull his t-shirt off himself, his eyes still clenched shut, his head turned away as if he was afraid of what he would see on Viktor’s face.
An invisible fist clenches around Viktor’s heart. Maybe it’s from the lack of trust Yuuri shows him––as if he could see his love anything but the most beautiful sight on Earth. Maybe it’s for Yuuri and the way he still has so little self-confidence. Maybe it’s because he feels helpless, because he wants to prove so hard that Yuuri is perfect, yet it was him who made him feel like less than adequate when he called him a pig just because there was a little extra on him––
His thoughts shatter the moment he realizes that the creamy expanse of perfection in front of him is Yuuri’s naked torso.
He looks exquisite.
Ethereal.
Breath-taking.
Viktor wants to taste every inch of him. Dip his tongue between the ridges of his ribs. Sink his teeth into the lithe muscles adorning his stomach. Suck those pink nipples into his mouth until they are red and swollen.
Viktor feels his mouth water and it’s only his impeccable self-control that saves him from moving. From taking without Yuuri’s permission. Because Yuuri still isn’t looking at him, which makes Viktor frown despite the sizzling heat pooling into his stomach. It’s becoming increasingly hard to concentrate, but he cannot afford not to. Not when Yuuri is suffering.
“Yuuri,” he says soft and quiet, reaching up to touch Yuuri’s taut jaw and draw a gentle line along its slope. “Look at me.” It’s a request, a plea, a command. Anything just to have his Yuuri’s eyes on him again. To be able to meet those warm pools of enticing coffee and greedily drink up all the love swirling in their depths. “Let me show you how much you make me lose my mind. You’re beautiful. Per––”
“Don’t lie,” are Yuuri’s first words, cutting Viktor off bitterly, who cannot help but frown.
“Yuuri?”
“Just look at me. I’m ugly… marred… a pig with disgusting stripes…”
“Wha––?” But he cannot finish it because Yuuri is staring up at him with near wild eyes and he reaches up to grab Viktor’s chin and yank it down until Viktor’s nose is almost touching his hip.
“See? Disgusting! So don’t lie to me about perfection…” Yuuri’s breath hitches and he trails off, causing Viktor to smirk against his hipbone before he sucks the gorgeously taut skin into his mouth again. “Viktor…?”
“Hmm… Vkusno ,” Viktor murmurs, loud enough for Yuuri to hear.
He lifts his eyes, locking them with Yuuri’s shocked gaze. His fingers splay over the faint pink marks adorning Yuuri’s pale golden skin and he can barely suppress the urge to add his own too. To let his teeth leave their imprint, a matching set of marks that are just as possessive as the memento of the past and failure is. He wants to leave the marks of their future, their success, infuse them with Yuuri’s old loneliness and sooth them away with his love.
“ Aishiteru, Yuuri,” he breathes into the pink mark under his lips before his tongue slips forward, the tip tracing the thin line until it’s all but burned into his memory.
He takes his time, alternating between watching Yuuri’s timidly recurring passion wash over his face, glazing his half-lidded eyes with need, and the scatter of pink stripes vying for his attention. He drinks up the tremors wracking Yuuri’s slight frame as he pulls down his pajama pants to see just how far those delicious stretch marks go.
Yuuri’s lips are chapped from the way his pants leave him hungry for air, all but begging to be kissed but Viktor is on a mission and he refuses to be deterred. Not until he doesn’t know each mark and stripe inside out. So he keeps licking and mouthing and nipping until every stretch mark is laced with the reddened indents of Viktor’s love. The sight is riveting and the taste leaves Viktor salivating for more.
He takes a moment to admire his work, his offering of pure devotion, and feels a sense of pride not even winning the Worlds could bring him. This is his masterpiece. For the man who had irrevocably stolen his heart and soul with nothing more than a single dance on ice. And Yuuri is his now. His marks have claimed Yuuri and he will be damned if he gives him up without a fight.
“Take care of me until I retire.” That was what Yuuri said, proposing Viktor and not realizing that Viktor had and has no intention of ever leaving. Not if Yuuri fails––of course he won’t. Not when Yuuri decides to retire–– ‘I wish you never retired. ’ Not when they are both old and wrinkled. Never. Unless Yuuri tells him to. Because Yuuri has claimed him just as thoroughly as he claimed Yuuri, except Yuuri’s marks are on Viktor’s heart, deep and irreversible. Like the etchings on Yuuri’s skin.
‘I wish my marks could be tattooed into your skin, injected under the layers of pink.’ Maybe one day. For now it’s his duty to renew his marks, his oath to be there every day until Yuuri believes him. Believes how much he is worth.
A hand touches his cheek, drawing his attention away from the darkening imprints before his eyes. Viktor looks at Yuuri, taken aback by the gentle, smile and the damp tracks on Yuuri’s flushed cheeks. For a second, he feels awash by waves of icy dread until he sees the softness of Yuuri’s gaze and feels his fingers sink into his hair, tender and loving.
“You’re everything and more than I ever hoped for,” Yuuri says, his voice slightly hoarse from his silent tears. Viktor moves up to press their foreheads together, eyes never straying from Yuuri’s gaze. “ Ja ljublju tebja .” The words are breathed against his lips, and Viktor is sure the world comes to a complete halt and his heart stops.
“Yuuri…”
“I love you, Vitya.”
There are is no way back. Their vows are sealed and they can’t take them back. Viktor feels lightheaded as he surges forward to kiss his love, drink those beautiful words off his lips. It’s maddening, enticing, triumphant––their union is the greatest thing that ever happened in his life and he doesn’t even try to rein himself back, losing his mind, his control to the point where there is nothing left but the inferno of need and passion and absolute adoration that fills his heart to the brim for Katsuki Yuuri. The man who raised him, Viktor Nikiforov to unknown heights, beyond the human mind’s wildest imagination.
They soar higher and higher, their bodies dancing to the tune of their moans and sighs, driving them deeper into the sea of ardor with each kiss, caress, thrust. Yuuri’s shyness is a part of the past, and he’s not afraid to use his flexibility, his perfect eros to captivate Viktor again and again with every move until he knows nothing but the absolute pleasure of Yuuri’s flesh rippling around him and sending him into a freefall of ecstasy.
Catching his breath seems to be impossible even as he gathers Yuuri––pliant and exhausted after the last few weeks of competitions and their vigorous lovemaking––in his arms, curling around him to shield from the world outside Yuuri’s bedroom and because he refuses to share his love with anyone and anything else. Just for a little bit longer.
Viktor doesn’t realize he has fallen asleep until he opens his eyes slowly and sees Yuuri leaning over him, expression relaxed and lined with wonder as if he could hardly believe that last night really happened. So Viktor does the only thing he can to show him that it’s all real; he splays his fingers still holding onto Yuuri’s hips and presses them into the tender, bruised skin, earning a hiss and saucer-like chocolate eyes.
“You are perfect,” Viktor whispers and pushes on when Yuuri opens his mouth to argue, “You are. With every single mark, new and old, etched into your skin.”
Yuuri swallows heavily, still silent, but after a moment he nods his head and leans down to brush his lips over Viktor’s.
“Thank you, Vitya.”