emberossing | for wauuu

Breathless as he is, the end of the routine is just when he wants to kiss Yuuri. For the other man to initiate is even better. Victor leans in, meeting Yuuri where he was, arms embracing the other man boldly. There's so much passion, Victor nearly goes light headed from wanting to hold the kiss rather than pant air into his stinging lungs. When they do break away, it's just their lips. Victor keeping his sweaty forehead to Yuuri's, their hair sticking to each other's.

There's no words. He can't think of them. He won't waste his breathe. He only wants to kiss Yuuri more. Wet and messy, as loving as during their fits of passion against his mattress.

It's another place where they both seem to completely catch each other on fire. Yuuri manages a few heaving, needed breaths, but then he's winding his arms further around Victor's neck, kissing him again, deeper, again, again. He grabs for air between the kisses but everything's wound so tight and good inside him and it needs to go somewhere and he can't seem to stop.

The kisses are met and met and met and Victor's hands are on Yuuri and he barely has the sense to slow to a stop. He doesn't want to, in no way does he want to stop, but this is not the place.

"Yuuri. Yuuri. Y-Yuuri...." He'll keep kissing between calls to slow down, eventually tearing his lips away just enough to speak.

"Keep kissing me like that and we'll melt the ice,"

This is what you do to him, Victor. This is the same person who blushed and didn't know how to react about people seeing them kiss, the same person who spent most of his whole first day here trying not to die from embarrassment. Now he's pulling him back down into another kiss, unable to help himself,

"I don't care. I don't care..." it's wrecked, lost, everything so sweet and hot and close that he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. They're in private, but there's technically the possibility of people at any point, and Yuuri really doesn't sound like he cares at all, like he'd let Victor fuck him right here in the center of the ice if he would just do it already.

He does manage a few deep breaths, though, because the words do get through, the tone, tries to pull himself back. He only manages to turn the kisses soft and longing instead, mouth doing everything he wants to be doing to the rest of Victor right now.

"Go put on your shoes," Victor speaks the direction with that edge of desire. Yuuri is aimless, needs an order or he'll convince Victor to do something brash. There's nothing wrong with being in control, if done with consideration. His hand caresses Yuuri's face as they kiss once, twice, four times more.

"We'll run back to the condo, back to the dark, and then..." One more kiss, shortly, his teeth lingering on Yuuri's lower lip, curious if he'll listen or disobey or what, anything, Victor's attention is singularly focused.

"Then we'll make up the rest as we go," just like the routine, but in private.

There's a hard shudder that runs through Yuuri at the command, the tone hitting just right to ring him like a bell, which is good, because it could have also been considered dismissive. It's another sign of how much he's trusting this moment, that being ordered away is correctly interpreted as heated, dominant, instead of causing everything to collapse.

Despite the shudder, though, he can't make himself untangle right away, so Victor pulling him back up to kiss again is a welcome thing and while he does seem to be listening-- or at least, he doesn't seem to be pulling Victor down any more, letting him pull him up into those kisses instead-- the kisses are every bit as tempting towards doing something risky. Victor's been successful at shifting the mood, but whether the new one is actually any less dangerous remains to be seen, because Yuuri's kisses shift from somewhat frantic with everything that's been bubbling to the surface while they skate, tender, aching, to something slow and deep and tempting. He's absolutely teasing Victor with the idea of it, letting him see every single inch of how easy it would be, to have him right here.

Victor sets his teeth into Yuuri's lower lip and Yuuri moans for it, almost delirious sounding still, but his fingers have been sliding down Victor's spine, and there's too much in the way for it to be more than a ghost of a touch, but he rubs them against Victor's tailbone while he speaks, a little circling motion to the press specifically aiming for making his knees wobble just a little, if he can manage it,

"If you're going to chase me, you'd better already know what you're going to do when you catch me," it's a bit teasing, but he mostly sounds serious, seductive. And then he's leaning up for a lighter kiss and then skating away, all hips as he swishes to the door off the ice like an invitation.

The brush along his tailbone and Victor is so tempted to grab Yuuri and bend the man over the edge of the rink. He's never so badly wanted to do something rough and careless. Watching Yuuri skate from him, all wobbly hips, wanting to slide himself between those damn beautiful thighs. Of course, the last thing they need is to get caught for public indecency.

No use in giving Yuuri much of a head start, Victor is trailing close behind. There's the sound of the ice scrapping beneath them, the skates on the ground once they leave, clothing shifting on as they tie laces to shoes and throw on coats. Victor doesn't say anything, there's no need, the electricity between them said it all. No words, just a slight labor of breathing.

Victor grabs Yuuri's hand, tight in his, not bothering with the umbrella. Run home. Even if they're both tired, the desire was enough for a third or fourth wind. He doesn't even think about being tired. He's close with Yuuri, not pulling him, but directing him back. The condo seems to have gotten it's lights back on, since they left, but Victor doesn't look to anybody along the way.

They do, at least, have the excuse of running as part of both of their routines, so it's not particularly weird or noteworthy that they're running together. Yuuri has to take his hand back for balance while he runs, but he keeps taking Victor's when they have to stop for crosswalks, letting him pull him back into motion each time before he settles into the pace. He's lucky for the longer, covering sweaters on him, even though he's burning up by the time they're in the lobby and maybe crossing to the elevator a bit too quickly.

He's the one hitting the up button two or three times in a row, impatiently, before he can make himself stop. He puts a careful several feet between him and Victor in the elevator, because if they so much as brush hands somewhere semi-private, they're still going to be arrested for public indecency.

They cannot get off the elevator and to Victor's door fast enough.

The elevator ride, Yuuri being sure to keep himself away to avoid the temptation, is excruciating. All Victor can think to pass the time is to tease. Distract them for the short journey while only building the tension.

"What was that earlier, about being able to have you on every surface of my condo?"

He's entirely too keyed up at the moment to care what's coming out of his mouth, breathless,

"The next one better be the floor of your entryway."

He does at least have the decency to flush when he realizes what he just said, but it's... somewhat belated. Everything inside of him feels like it's at a fever pitch. It's not just desire, it's everything he was feeling on the ice, but it's crawling under his skin, turning everything hotter, more reckless.

"My total slut of a boyfriend," it's a mocking praise, meant to spark that fierceness in Yuuri. That sharpness, the push back, the feeling he wasn't just bowling Yuuri over. The elevator dings and opens, Victor grabbing Yuuri's wrist to pull him to the door.

He realizes he has to fumble for his keys and that's about the most frustrating thing at this exact moment.

Yuuri isn't actually aware he's made a little noise to that, because he doesn't hear it over the rushing in his ears.

He is not helping getting them inside, the way he's gotten his hands up under Victor's shirt from behind, but they're so close and after that there's no way he can help himself anymore. Victor's lucky he doesn't have his hand down his pants.

No wait, that's a great idea. That's the best idea, what with the hall being deserted and them almost inside. It's the easiest thing in the world for him to slide his hand down and stroke Victor's cock, though he will stop if Victor really can't get the door open like this.

"You have no idea. You could have your total s-slut of a boyfriend 20 minutes ago, but you had to be responsible about it," he teases back, stumbling a little on the one word, but forging through anyway, voice quiet but hot against him, and it had been obvious how reckless he was feeling back at the rink, but the confirmation of it is likely surprising.

"Y, Yuuri! Haah, I hate... to be the responsible one..." Victor is squirming into the touch, jolting as Yuuri reaches down to touch his cock directly. He's been rock hard since they finished the damn number, the continued mounting of tension as they ran did nothing but work him up more. He presses his ass back into Yuuri, grinding against the man's groin in an attempt to get back at him. Yuuri's hands are going to get messy with pre, Victor needing to lean forward with a hand on the door as he fights to find his correct key. Never has he found the even very slight jam of his lock so damn frustrating, shaking it near violently to make it unstick and turn. He finally gets the damn thing open and they're practically falling over each other into the entry way.

It doesn't seem like it's really "getting back" at him, the way Yuuri growls softly to Victor arching again him. He meets him, in fact, grinds himself harder against his ass with a low moan, knows enough to keep quiet in the hall, but anyone coming out of a door is definitely going to see him rubbing his cock against Victor's ass-- he's not even trying to hide it at this point.

Are they falling? Do they make it to a wall? Do they even get the door locked? Yuuri makes sure it's closed, at least, even if he has to kick it shut from the floor, but that's the only thing he cares about other than Victor. He falls into him like a man starving and his kisses are almost frantic, arms winding around his neck, one leg hitching up over a hip so he can grind their cocks together this time, even if it's through all their layers of clothing.

Everything feels wild, all of the quiet emotion from the ice, all of the years of wanting something like that and then having it be so much better than he ever could have dreamed, suddenly having everything he's ever wanted and having it be perfect and intimate and beautiful-- it feels like it's howling out of him now. Before, feeling something that deeply might have been a breakdown, an anxiety attack, hiding under his blankets trying to keep it inside until it made him sick. Now, it's this-- fingers too hasty to really effectively work at buttons and leaving bruises down Victor's neck, hips rocking into his.

This moment is so much more than a whirlwind, it's a damn hurricane. He's swept away by it, no restraint left once he's spun around, hits the floor, and has Yuuri fall into his arms. The younger man kicks the door shut behind them, loudly slamming it, but courtesy be damned. The neighbors should be glad they made it to his entryway at all. What matters first is getting onto each other; the kissing, the groping, the grinding. Then it's the realization there's too much between them; the coats, the scarves, the pants. Everything is damp from cold rain on the outside and warm sweat inside, it's a wonder they're both not soaked through.

Victor's hands want to tear every bit of clothing off Yuuri at once, but a moment of clarity has him sliding the man's glasses off, folding them hastily, and tossing them into the living room. They'll land safely on the carpet in there, no long in risk of getting knocked off or rolled over and crushed. Yuuri would be close enough to see him, just fine. The young skater's scarf is next, then the bundled up coat he was wearing, Victor's gloved hands catching and aptly tugging each garment aside. He's shrugging his own clothing off as Yuuri does the same to him.

The number between them js frantic and unrehearsed, but easy to improvise. They connected like that, falling easily in motion to the other, rarely bumping or getting in the way. It's a fine rush, especially so long as the weight of Yuuri's groin is down against Victor's.

Yuuri's not nearly as good at getting Victor out of his clothing, fingers fumbling because his brain is half-offline and the other half is sunk into the feel of Victor's skin under his mouth, the heat building between them. Victor tossing his glasses towards the living room carpet even gets a moan, the motion somehow fitting both the quiet of the ice and this at the same time.

It's what it takes to get him to realize he's ended up on top, somehow, and then he's all but riding Victor, the motion definitely would be them having sex right now, the way he rolls his hips, if he could just somehow dematerialize their pants.

He can't though, so it's just a delicious, heated grind, voice pleading with Victor to hurry up with their clothes since he seems unable to help much. He does at least manage to sit up to wrestle his own shirt up and off and somewhere once Victor manages the jacket and then he decides he likes the view from there a lot, plants his hands down on Victor's chest to get the leverage for even more rolling friction between them.

In his focused haste, Victor has skillfully managed to remove all their coats, jackets, and scarves. Yuuri is sitting up then, throwing his own shirt off. Victor doesn't bother to do the same, his gloved hands reach for Yuuri's now bare hips and grab on possessively. He's rubbing himself up against Yuuri, all fever pitch for more and yet too impatient to actually just shed their pants. That would require Yuuri to shift off him and absolutely won't do.

There's not a time Victor can remember, or even imagine, this kind of passion. It's at once the most sexually charged exchange he's experienced and completely immature. The two can't even contain themselves, they're like a couple of horny teenagers who don't know what to do, settling in dry humping out of frantic desire. It's actually really... fun! Victor can't help the smile on his face, sharp and teasing, like he knows this is all very foolish, but can't help himself.

Yuuri sucks in a breath at the leather against bare skin, doesn't really think about it in the moment other than just that it feels good, everything is good, he wants all of it. He's not quite in the same amused place that Victor is, but that's mostly because there's still some part of his brain that is quiet, instead, still back on the ice. It turns him strange, a little otherworldly-- he's claimed Victor far more aggressively, certainly, but right now, there's a light of possessiveness in his eyes that's different.

What happened out there on the ice is his. Theirs. And logically, he knows that so is everything that came before it, but there's something different about the ice, something sacred. It's too big for him to hold, leaves everything feeling the best kind of raw and sensitive.

He leans back down to kiss Victor some more, keeping his spine arched enough that he can reach between them and tug his pants down enough to free his cock, sparing only a moment in silent thanks that he's in workout pants and not dress pants or jeans.

With Yuuri sparing a moment to slide down pants, Victor is following suit. They're currently sharing a wardrobe after all, so it's easy to level the playing field. With both their cocks free, it's no hesitation.

Victor's palm is wrapping around them both. It's a tight grip, but with their precum mixing, lubricating, Yuuri is still free to toss his hips, gliding their lengths together. He hasn't bothered to remove those gloves yet, so there's a plushness to his hold that grows hot with only a bit of friction. The grasp will have to cease before everything between them gets too raw, but for now it's strange and interesting, more arousing than a bare hand.

His free hand is reaching to Yuuri's hair, sinking into it and taking hold at the root. He's not pulling, but the show of dominance offsets his vulnerability beneath the younger man. No way is Yuuri getting far from his mouth, Victor need to kiss him just as much as he needs air, right now.

Yuuri is surprised to find his cock and Victor's lined up and unprepared for how different the texture of Victor's glove around him feels. It turns his moans into Victor's mouth sharper, needy. Victor's seen it a few different times in a few different ways now, but each time is a little different-- how Yuuri seems to be able to channel a strange kind of demanding compliance, ceding control of the kiss and of his own headlong rush to pleasure without resistance, but still kissing back rough and bold, hips still finding a rhythm.

The tugging at his hair gets a lower kind of moan, though, very similar to the way he moans when Victor sinks his fingers into the roundness of his ass, and something about the whole thing is right back to the ice-- the way he'd tempted Victor right up to the razor's edge of doing something stupid.

Yuuri better believe Victor's mind is lingering on what happened between them at the rink. The idea that Yuuri would have allowed him to go further is actually much sexier than the very real risk. Victor wasn't above semipublic sex, what performer didn't have an exhibitionist side in there? Still, that would have been a step too far even for him. If Yuuri wasn't so genuinely flustered over their kiss, his impatient willingness wouldn't be so erotic. It's be more fun to tease the idea in the comfort of private than actually worry through the act in public. Maybe later, maybe in a bit smarter situation, they could share some of that thrill.

"My Yuuri, haah, tempt me like that again... And we won't make it back to the apartment, I swear it," his words are rough between kisses, all still so frantic with desire.

Victor has the smarter ideas about this, of course. And tomorrow, maybe even a few minutes from now, Yuuri would definitely thank him for not giving in. It's a delightful fantasy, but the consequences, even if they didn't happen, just the thought that they could have, would not have made Yuuri happy in the long run. But Yuuri's also a man easily swept away by his own emotions-- it's the cause of his failures, yes, but it's also the thing leading them here, keeping him from caring about the consequences of all of this while it's happening as well.

"You're the one who's tempting," he fires back, when he can have his mouth back, between moaning and Victor's kiss. "Putting me in your clothes, your skates, your ice, your routine," he has to work for air, but he manages to keep going, "It felt like the only thing you hadn't claimed. How am I supposed to resist that?"

"You're the one claiming me," Victor chuckles, wiggling beneath Yuuri just a moment. His gloved fingers loosen and shift around their cocks, rubbing his index almost vindictively into the overly sensitive hole of Yuuri's dick. It's quick, just a moment to make him shiver. Victor's raising the glove to his own mouth, catching the fabric between his teeth and sliding his bare hand free. For once, it's not cold to the touch as he reaches back out for Yuuri. The caress is soft considering the intensity of the moment, brushing along Yuuri's face reverent and affectionate.

"Good thing I'm all yours,"

The touch catches him completely unprepared and the rough moan it gets is probably exactly what Victor was going for, Yuuri jerking out of the rhythm they'd been setting in surprised pleasure,

"Victor," even he doesn't know if that tone is supposed to be chiding or breathless pleading for that again. Yuuri never seems to know what to do with things that skirt that line between best-thing-ever and ouch-please-stop. He does know that he's a little disappointed to see the glove go, which isn't something he would have thought he would be, but he leans into the touch to his face even so, "Am I?"

He had been thinking of this in the terms he'd stated, had wanted claiming, would have bent over the boards or taken the brunt of the entryway floor on his knees in a heartbeat, but Victor's reframing isn't difficult for him. Something in him slows, not a lightening of the tension or even of the franticness, really, just a release of some other kind of tension, some other thing ticking, overworked, inside him. His eyes flick up away from Victor for a moment, just a moment, to consider distance, before he looks back down,

"I slipped the lube in my gym bag," it's within Victor's reach stretched out on the floor, but not Yuuri's. It's also both a surprisingly bold statement from Yuuri and something of a confession, since they were hardly thinking about sex headed for the rink.

The hand on Yuuri's face slips under his chin, just Victor's extended index finger sliding along the soft underside, directing Yuuri's gaze.

"Dirty boy," he teases, following his partner's gaze to the gym bag. Reaching for it, it takes one or two swipes of his hand to get hold of it, pulling it over to grab. They're really doing this, potentially going all the way without leaving the foyer. Victor doesn't care who receives, he was always flexible to that. Finding the lube, he'll waggling it in front of Yuuri as tempting as a treat.

"What did you plan to do with this?"

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