emberossing | for wauuu

for wauuu

Yuuri cracks open his eyes, blearily, to an unfamiliar ceiling. His head feels like it's either on fire or full of bees or possibly both and his stomach does a slow, sickening roll as he opens his eyes, but it settles, at least for the time being. Not just his head but everything hurts enough that, at least at first, he more just moves on auto-pilot, looking around for his glasses and taking what is obviously a pair of Paracetamol on the bedside table. There's a little note with them but he doesn't parse either the message or recognize the handwriting, so he just drinks about half the glass of water and looks around.

Memories leak back in slowly-- Vicchan, the competition, calling his mom, going back to the room, Celestino insisting that he had to go to the banquet afterwards, possibly worried he was going to do something stupid if he didn't. But he remembered saying no and refusing to open the door. So... shouldn't he be in the hotel room?

This is not the hotel room.

In fact, he swears he's seen this room before, somewhere, actually, but he's too tired and bleary to figure out where. So he just walks over to the bathroom, which he, for some reason, is able to guess the location of, and splashes water on his face rubs at it until he somewhat resembles a human being, and then goes in search of more clues to where he is.

The bedroom door creaks open and there's another sense of deja-vu as he looks around the apartment it opens on, but the pieces refuse to slot into place.

"He-Hello?"

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"Hm. Is it?" it's hard to say if he's skeptical of what Victor is saying, or if that's supposed to be a very round-about way of saying he doesn't think it's more fun. The smack he lays on the opposite side of Victor's ass probably doesn't help to make it any more clear, not when he follows it up with a second immediately on the heels of the first and then grips at Victor's hips to grind in deep again for a moment after that, which has to sting a little since it presses him against Victor's ass more.

"What else would you goad me into doing?"

"Yes! Haai! Aah! Yuuri!!" the thrust is like a slap itself, their skin striking together with a wet sound, nearly rolling Victor's eyes back. His jaw is falling more slack, the water makes it difficult to tell if just that is rolling off of him or if he's drooling by now. He had to lean onto the whole of his arm, needing to use his elbow as a brace against the wall when Yuuri fucks him like that.

"M, making me sore, making cum from it, oh god,"

It shivers through him for the first time in a while that this is Victor Nikiforov that he has possibly drooling and definitely borderline incoherent in his own fancy shower. From his cock. From him hitting him. There's a sharp feeling of vertigo, but this is happening and backing down now is impossible. And he doesn't really want to, anyway.

It hits him like a second bolt of lightning that he's having fun.

On the one hand, of course he's having fun. He's having sex in a fancy shower in Russia with his lifelong idol. On the other hand, how often is something genuinely fun to him, and how likely would it be that it would be, of all the things in the world, spanking Victor Nikiforov? But here he is.

He's not sure, even now, if he's ever going to have a mouth on him during things like this like Victor does, but he feels like now maybe he's getting used to letting his actions speak for him. Like pulling all the way out so he can get a better angle for a few more strikes on either side of Victor's ass, and then holding him open, roughly, by the reddened flesh to push back in again in a motion that isn't unnecessarily rough but is also not slow anymore, either.

Yuuri works like magic, seemingly every damn time they have sex. Victor doesn't know if it's natural talent or good instincts or if Yuuri is just secretly really very experienced and even better at feigning innocence. It doesn't matter in the end, because Victor's being left suddenly quite empty, wobbling without Yuuri press against. He thinks to look over his shoulder, but then he's being struck, over and over, taking each slap with a loud cry of delight and anguish. Even though none of them land directly on his tailbone, they're close enough to shake up his spine. When he's so distracted and reeling with the feeling, Yuuri grabs his hips again and jams the whole of his fat cock back inside, what feels like directly into his prostate, pushing him up onto his tiptoes with the force.

Can he even be blamed for coming that very instant? It's too much, surprise after surprise, anybody would burst like he does. His moan is held behind a sharp bite to his bottom lips, which he'd incidentally sucked into his mouth as he tried to catch even a single breath back in. He lands back on his heels with a graceless, little thump, somehow managing to stay up on his legs despite not feeling much of them anymore.

Yuuri would have said that he wasn't particularly close to the edge before doing that, more teasing than anything else, still reeling a little from their earlier activities. But it turns out that being buried deep in a previously near-to-screaming and currently coming Victor is a pretty good motivator.

He still isn't so close that he can manage it right away, not from the one push in, anyway. His hands gentle a little bit on Victor's ass, but he doesn't go particularly easy on him, either, while he picks up the pace and fucks him in earnest, chasing down his own orgasm before either of their legs give out. He's maybe not quite as attuned to potential discomfort on Victor's part as usual, but he's capable of stopping if there's a protest, of course. But he's not expecting one, not after the last thing Victor had said.

Protest is the last thing on Victor's mind as Yuuri continues to ravage him. He's not so much knocked offline, like Yuuri tended to be, as he's actually thinking too quickly to make words out of any of it. Even if he could, they'd surely be in Russian, and there's not bothering with that. The orgasm was so intense, he can look down and see his own spend sticking to the tiles lining the shower wall, sinking slowly down. Yuuri is still fucking him and every part of him both can't believe it and also enjoy every moment of being taken in such a way. His mind races with arousal-- he's relentless, I can't keep up, he's too much, I love him, don't stop, don't stop, please, it's still so good-- and he can't do anything but moan and nurse his lip, which tasted like wet iron.

Did he break his own lip, biting on it? It crosses his mind, but it's gone as quickly as any thought. Yuuri better finish soon, before Victor scares him by thoughtlessly spitting blood.

Weirdly, his own orgasm feels curiously secondary. It's a thing that's happening to him, that he's pursued relentlessly and then achieved and that feels good. And the orgasm itself feels good, of course, but instead of checking out like he's previously done, he more feels this time like he skips straight from fucking Victor with more intensity than he thought he would ever possess in the bedroom, much less bring to bear in a situation like this, to pulling out and lowering them both down to the shower tiles, hissing a little as some of them were still cold, all but cradling Victor in his lap, trying to keep him from the worst of the chill-- particularly along his ass.

The protectiveness of that isn't something he thinks about, mostly because he's not really thinking much at all. He's more aware of himself and his surroundings this time, almost hyper-aware, but his brain isn't doing much of anything. He reaches a hand up and traces his thumb along Victor's lip, expression unreadable mostly because he's not even thinking enough to have expressions at the moment.

The water is still pretty hot, he notes, which is good because if it started to go cold they would probably catch a chill or something. There's no way he could get them out of the shower right now.

Having been holding his legs so taute with tension, it takes a little provocation to actually get them to move. Once they do manage to bend, Victor's practically jelly in his limbs, slumping down against Yuuri with heft. The older man relaxes everywhere but his face, which is a lovedrunk smile, a heart made extra puffy and red with his lip swelling on the bottom half. He can't manage the strength to lift and cradle a hand to Yuuri, so he just resolves to cuddling into all of the young man's possessive, caring embrace. The satisfaction present in each labored breathing should help convey that expression further; he loves what Yuuri does to him and how he does it.

Yuuri's got enough strength left in him to not let Victor fall and feeling like he's holding some kind of precious cargo in his arms is a new feeling for him, but is one which both makes him profoundly uncomfortable and he falls in love with instantly, all the same. He could watch Victor stare at him like that forever, like Yuuri's the best thing he's ever seen even as his eyes look like they're barely able to focus.

He keeps not being sure how he got here. But he's going to stay here as long as he can.

Victor's easy to kiss like this, pliant and warm, and so he does. Reflexively, once he realizes Victor's lip is puffy, he licks at it while they kiss, both worrying at and soothing the little wound before he even considers what he's doing. The intimacy of it shocks him. How easy it was to do shocks him. And then, suddenly he's pulling back and burying his head into Victor's neck, shoulders shaking.

It's probably easy at first to mistake it for crying. The kiss obviously means he's okay with what just happened, but the whole thing was pretty intense. Having some kind of emotional drop after it wouldn't be alarming or unusual. And maybe that's what he's having, but in a different way than it looks like.

Because he's laughing. Soft, disbelieving, and so much in love it hurts a little bit and, after a moment he tips his head back and manages a soft, giddy,

"Oh my god."

The whole moment between them twists Victor into knots, tangles up his emotions in ways he can't parse. He's struck with a sense of awe to be cradled in Yuuri's arms like he's the most valuable thing that ever was. Then there's a deep sense of being cared for, looked after, when Yuuri kisses his stinging lip. It makes his eyes go wet, this time, spilling over with tears that lose their shape with the water falling over them. They're impossible to miss, partially because he laughs along with Yuuri in joy, despite a pathetic wobble in his voice to say;

"I'm so in love with you! How did that happen!?" He can't tell if he's laughing or crying over it, but he's certainly indignant about it.

"I don't know!" he's almost yelling back, exasperated, but still laughing, meeting Victor's indignant tone and then pulling him back close, almost tucking him into his arms, not particularly caring that Victor's bigger enough than him to make that probably ridiculous looking, "Please don't stop. Don't ever stop." He says that with his own ass aching on the tiles from their earlier activities and every muscle feeling like it's trembling on the edge of exhaustion.

"This is ridiculous. We're ridiculous," he's peppering Victor's skin with kisses, as he says it, because there's just too much inside him, something that has to come out somehow, and it's either this laughing, silly thing or it's just one uninterrupted scream at this point.

Victor curls up into Yuuri, hunching over and pretending with all his might he's a small thing and not a full grown, adult man. It's ridiculous, just like Yuuri exclaims, but he doesn't care. He wants it and it feels right, because it's something he's choosing even though it's strange and awkward. Victor's not one to hide his face, but he's not sure what expression he has, certain it's not in his control anymore. His smile is wide and he's weeping and his whole body feels flushed red. Lifting his arms some, they wrap around Yuuri's back and hold in return, still partially limp. He's trying, he wants to try so hard for Yuuri, he's inspired by this man. The moment would look utterly nonsensical to an outsider, needs the entire three or so days of context leading up to it for any amount of sense to be made of the scene.

Even then, Victor's not sure it works out logically, not that logic matters. He wouldn't be anywhere else than in Yuuri's arms, right at this moment. This is how fools end up getting married mere days into meeting each other, isn't it? He quite suddenly understands the impulse.

"We are, we are..!" he sobs out, smiling through his tears which won't stop now, "I won't let you go, I promise, I promise, I promise...."

He's still not sure how he's here, the same thought that keeps occurring-- how Victor has systematically broken down all of his walls in such a short time, how he's gotten from the disaster of the Grand Prix Finals to here, a totally different kind of disaster on Victor's tiled shower floor. He has no idea what strange alchemy of things has happened, even though he's lived through it. He feels like there's an entire lifetime between kissing Victor in the sauna and here, can't parse that the time can easily be measured in hours, still. He feels like he's been turned inside out.

He tilts Victor's head up and kisses him, tastes salt, follows the trails upwards with his mouth until he can kiss away the tears and only flushes a little bit for how boldly intimate that is. There still is (will always be) a voice in his head that tells him he's stupid for doing that, silly, unworthy, but right now, all of that seems very far away.

He'd had to learn, when he moved to America, that people there say "I love you" all the time, just like that. Joking, sincere, to friends, to coworkers. He's not shocked, to hear Victor professing his love after so short a time-- he's long since gotten used to hearing a phrase he's never even heard his parents say to one another on the lips of a horde of acquaintances, like it means nothing. He's not sure how it works in Russia, but he figures it can't be much different, the way Victor tosses around the word. He'd had a silly fantasy when he was a kid, of bringing Victor chocolates like he was some schoolboy to be wooed and managing a stammered "daisuki desu" and then had been embarrassed for a week about it even though no one else knew. And he's said I love you already, in English, in the foyer. But it's different, now, when he opens his mouth and that last soft, small "I promise" works it's way into his brain and under his skin,

"...aishiteru..." it doesn't really come out of his mouth like a declaration, or even a whole sentence, really. It's more like revelation.

"Th-that sounded important!" Victor exclaims, joking in his voice since he has no clue what it really means, it could be anything. Yuuri could be calling him an idiot for all he knew, but it sounded like it meant something. He's managed to calm his fried and twisted up nerves some, no longer weepy. Having his tears kissed away is too sweet to even fully comprehend, it makes him want to bury his face into a pillow, scream, and kick his feet like an excited teenage girl. Actually, he probably will do just that once he has a moment to, it sounded foolishly appropriate for all that had happened.

"It loses something in English," he says, voice still shaded tender, which is both something of a cop out and is also absolutely true. It's also a call-back to the Russian phrase that Victor kept saying and how he'd said that the words themselves didn't translate. But, in Yuuri's case, he's not sure how to explain the difference-- just that even if Japan were like America, even if people professed their love openly all the time all over each other, there's still never been anyone that made him feel like saying it that way. It's inappropriate, actually, after so short a time, or at least a little ridiculous.

But it's not a short time for Yuuri, not really, not with posters of this man all over his walls. Not when the reality is so much better than he could have imagined.

"But you're not wrong," there's another kiss, then, sweet and short, but warm.

"Mmmn, maybe I'll understand it one day," Victor knows there's more than just language between them, there's culture and age and success, but... He doesn't mind it. He'll reach out, try to close any gaps between them, because everytime they connect it's like magic.

"Is it something I should say back? Teach me if it is,"

Okay, well now he wants to hear that desperately. But if Victor says it right now, so easily, he won't ever be sure he means it. It's not something to be said lightly. And he actually trusts Victor to understand that-- he just doesn't trust himself to be able to explain it.

"Not now, I don't think," then there's a small quirk of his lips, an idea, "If I start acting really weird once I get back to Detroit, record it and send the recording to me." He's joking. He's also totally not joking.

They really should finish this shower, but Yuuri really doesn't ever want to move from right here.

"I'll say it when you like, but I hope you'll tell me what it means, first!" Victor laughs light, exhausted, wistful sighing before he gracelessly blurts out,

"I don't want you to ever go,"

He's kind of glad Victor changes the subject. He doesn't want to be cagey about telling him, but he's also not sure bare assed and exhausted on the floor of his boyfriend's shower is a good time for a linguistics discussion, which is what he feels like this has the potential to become. Also, right on the heels of saying it, it's embarrassing to talk about what he said,

"I guess you'll just have to stay around, if you want to know," he says, teasing, the same way Victor had said about the Russian phrase. He pulls Victor somehow closer a moment after that, nods in agreement, "I don't want to go."

He understands, of course, that he has to, that even if he was the kind of person to just completely give up everything about his old life and spend the rest of it in Victor's condo and bed, he wouldn't actually want that for Victor. But that doesn't mean he's excited about going anywhere else in the world right now except for right here, right now.

Well. Maybe out of the shower. So he voices that, too.

"We probably should stand up eventually, though."

"We should, but my legs, you've turned them to jelly!" Victor laughs, pathetic and comedic. He finally gets the strength to lift both his hands to cradle Yuuri's face, holding it so very doting to kiss on the lips. It's ever bit of romance he can muster with how they've found themselves. His deviously adoring, V shaped grin is seemingly every present, corners of his mouth tipped with the bright blush of his cheeks. The way Yuuri looks at him is blissful.

"...I've never felt so loved, my Yuuri,"

That swirls all kinds of things up in Yuuri. Every time he thinks maybe he's somewhat adjusted to the fact that this is his idol doing all of these things to him, with him, letting him do these things, something happens and he's right back to just staring, completely baffled, at what fate has given him. Yuuri's not used to feeling a whole lot of pride, so it's a strange feeling in his chest, now, and some of it is a kind of possessive pride, as though to say "I can give him something that no one else has been able to" but there's a lot of it that's softer, more mixed with wonder, that there's someone who's given him so much, without ever knowing he has, who he can actually give something back to.

He's sure Victor would protest that Yuuri doesn't owe him anything, but this isn't a feeling like the scales are unbalanced, it's just happiness. There's something he can do and do well and do for someone he cares about. He runs a hand down Victor's back and there's a slight flare of that deeper possession in his eyes, but it's mostly the latter when he says,

"Good," and then, because he's suddenly realized that that could make it sound like he's glad Victor hasn't experienced this before, and the alternative is a million stuttering apologies, he adds, "I'm glad that I can show that to you." It's a little weirdly formal in that way he can be sometimes, but second languages and all that.

Victor realizes after he says it that maybe it was a pathetic thing. He knows many people "love" him, he's an idol to many. It may not be the real him, his persona more so, but he still understood it was important to appreciate his fans love. This is just... Different. It's personal, it's not love just anybody could give him. That's difficult to express, especially in a second language.

"You're the best at loving me," it's a little awkward phrase, but maybe poetic in its strangeness, completely sincere, especially with how hopeful Victor looks to say.

"I want to be the best for you, too,"

"You are," it's given so easily it might seem like he hasn't thought about it, but really, it's all he's been thinking about for the past few days-- how strange it is that he lets Victor love him, how much effort it usually takes people before he's comfortable accepting love and how he would have said three days ago that if Victor ever did love him, he would be over the moon, but also knowing how difficult that would be, how awkward and weird he would have been. Hell, Victor can remember what he was like just about a photo.

He leans in and kisses him, warm and sweet and just a little heated, teeth nibbling lightly against his lip.

"You're the best," he adds, more clearly, because while he apparently could knock Victor down a peg and tease him about always getting what he wanted, but he doesn't want Victor to think for a moment that he doesn't adore him anyway.

The water effectively hides what that does to Victor, making him all wet and warm and more grateful than he's felt in a long time, maybe ever. He wants so much to be loved and here Yuuri is, giving and passionate. Being lonely in success was his daily life, he was used to it, Yuuri makes the struggle feel worth it. If it got him here, with this man who admired him so much, then he's glad to have made it. He kisses back, softer than Yuuri, more pliant and submissive, not taking an ounce of lead. Inexperienced as he was, Yuuri probably didn't really know much in the way of after care, but here he is, completely intuitive. Victor feels so looked after, just want he needed after the intensity faded.

"I think I've been told that before," he jokes, playfully arrogant, but turns it sweet, "but it means more, when you say it. More inspiring and more true."

"Aftercare" is not really a term or a concept Yuuri is familiar with, and that might be something that needs to be discussed at some point if they're going to keep one-upping each other's intensity. Hell, right now both of them are so over-sensitized and in unusual headspaces that having completely normal sex at this point might be intense enough to need aftercare, and neither one of them seem capable of not upping the ante. Luckily, Yuuri being vulnerable and kind of uncomfortably stretched past his comfort zones is a place where he's a lot more affectionate, not less. He's not going to crash until he has time to think about things.

Victor probably ought to buy Phichit some apology presents, actually. The likelihood that he's going to have an up-and-coming Thai skater in his messages with a WHAT DID YOU DO TO YUURI??? in a few days is greater than zero.

For the moment, though, Yuuri is thoughtlessly affectionate, and while he doesn't have a word for it, he can feel the way Victor is more genuinely submissive in the kiss, and it turns him completely inside out, a little breathless.

"No one's ever told me something like that before," he's also got a joking tone, though it's clear he's also serious, "so I guess you're setting the record on that, too."

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