Forbidden Fruit

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Notes: This is basically just porn. This is just porn to make myself feel better over "Dance of the Red Death" which has me in an obvious depressive mood.

Warnings: Sex and Christophe. Just... Christophe. Do we need to say more?

Christophe liked Yuri, he really did.

But that didn't mean he didn't want to take the sweet, naive Japanese man by the hair and bash his fucking brains in on the cold ice.

Christophe stared over at Viktor, the way the man stood there entranced by every move Yuri made. He could see it in the way Viktor's lips curled up without him noticing, the way he pressed his hands against his suit in order to calm himself. It was so uncommon to think of Viktor as being nervous-it was almost unheard of. In fact, Christophe could only remember one time when Viktor had been nervous...

And it certainly had nothing to do with Yuri Katsuki.

Oh, Yuri Katsuki. Sweet mouth, soft ass, cute little blush that would paint over his cheeks whenever Viktor so much as brushed against him with the back of his knuckles. He was a good kid, a good skater, but not worthy of Viktor's attention.

He wasn't worth Viktor's time.

Definitely not worth the looks Viktor sent over to him at every turn and jump.

Fuck Yuri Katsuki.

No.

Definitely no fucking Yuri Katsuki.

Over his dead body.

Christophe remembered a time when Viktor had smiled at him that way, with his fingers dug into Christophe's hair as he pulled him close for a kiss. He could remember the way Viktor ran his tongue against his lips, forcing them open for the onslaught of pure and unadulterated eros. He could even remember the feeling of Viktor's sequins and buttons rubbing against his neck as he pulled his arms around him.

When he thought back on it, that one night where both were drunk on their victory after Viktor's third Grand Prix win, the one where Viktor had only won by a hair. He could remember the nervousness that day; it was his first time performing his Quad-flip, and after having nailed it...

Christophe had only been in the right place at the right time to manage to catch Viktor's eye. It was a fluke. Viktor had many lovers, shared his bed with many passionate men and women, but he had never gotten close enough to let Christophe show him what true pleasure was like.

Instead, Viktor would always ruffle his hair and laugh, telling him that Christophe was his best competition yet. Why would he want to ruin such a pure and perfect thing?

Then he had fucked that all up at the Grand Prix.

Christophe remembered the hands ripping at his costume, pulling it down with enough force to pop off one of the buttons. Oh, how blue Viktor's eyes were as he looked up at him with his mouth full of Christophe's cock. The sweet sound of Viktor sucking, the feeling of his tongue running over every intimate part of him, pulling him deeper and deeper into something without a name.

He could even remember how soft Viktor's hair felt between his fingers, shreds of gossamer against his rough skin.

And there he was, now so far away... entranced by a virgin.

A goddamn virgin.

Christophe watched as Yuri overturned on his triple axel, single loop, triple Salchow. How could he, despite his mistake, still have the carefree smile across his face? There was nothing carefree about making a mistake, not when it reflected so poorly on Viktor...

Viktor, who looked like the sun was rising right in front of him.

And yet all Christophe could remember was the way Viktor shot a look so similar over his shoulder as he leaned down across the bench, smooth ass parted just for him. He could almost hear the sound of Viktor's breath, the way his voice hitched with passion as he licked his lips.

"Don't you want me?"

Of course he did. Christophe never wanted anything more in his entire life.

And rolling off that ecstasy of their win, Christophe couldn't say no. Even though he had lost, even if he had broken every bone in his body, he would have never said no.

Not to Viktor.

Tightness, overwhelming tightness. He wasn't a virgin then, hadn't been for a long time, but he had never had someone quite like Viktor. He seemed to be enthralled, under some kind of spell, inside his own little world. Or, perhaps it was Christophe who was in his own little world.

The man under him bucked back gently as to remind him that this was carnal and pleasure and lust, this was not the time for Christophe to stare down at the expanse of smooth, silken skin to memorize the rippling of his muscles or the smattering of beauty marks that he could have played connect-the-dots with for a century.

No, that Viktor did not want to wait. He was needy, greedy, lustful and tempestuous.

But this Viktor, this Viktor staring in wonder at a failed quad-flip...

And truly, deep inside, down where the good part of him screamed that he couldn't hold it against the man, Christophe wanted to be happy for Yuri. He wanted to be happy about how his dear friend was finally breaking out of his shell.

But not if it meant taking Viktor.

God, Christophe couldn't get that visual out of his mind. Instead of his calloused hands it was Yuri's delicate ones reaching down to pull Viktor up, pressing his face between Viktor's porcelain shoulder blades. It wouldn't be Christophe's beard rubbing against the sweat-slick flesh, leaving his breath across it like a memory. It would be black hair that Viktor would reach out and pull as his hips went wild. It would be Yuri tracing his tongue against the sinew, leaving pink bites as reminders.

It would never be Christophe's name that Viktor would shout as he finished himself across his stomach, tightening around Yuri.

Fucking Yuri.

And Christophe could only watch in horror and fury and a deep, visceral pain as Viktor ran by him toward the Kiss and Cry.

Then-

Oh.

Rage boiled in Christophe's stomach, acidic with jealousy. The two tumbled down to the ice, Yuri's head cradled so protectively in Viktor's hands. The look in his eyes was enough to jolt Christophe back to reality, and that pain was tinged with just enough self-loathing to remind him Viktor had never been his. He had gotten to taste from the forbidden fruit, but that was all.

Just one sweet taste.

That was all he was ever meant to have.

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