the fire that purifies the metals
by: tg
summary: "Really? You really couldn't stop yourself from laughing about the word 'hard'? Are you twelve?"
"I really hope not," Viktor responds, "considering the things I want to do to you later tonight."
His husband sends him a pointed look, mouth turned down in a frown but eyes sparkling and playful. He reaches out to tangle his fingers into the lapels of Viktor's exhibition costume, his hands warm through the layers, and then he yanks, and Viktor goes stumbling into him with a gasp.
"I think you meant what I want to do to you later tonight," Yuuri says softly. He presses their foreheads together for a moment and then turns around and starts walking, leaving Viktor to stare after him.
"Wow," he breathes, and then scrambles to catch up.
warnings: smut
originally posted july 29, 2017
"Congratulations on your gold medal, Mr Katsuki. Does it ever get hard, being married to your coach and competition?"
Viktor huffs a laugh. It's quiet enough that the reporter doesn't hear, thankfully; Yuuri only knows because of the way Viktor is pressed against him, body warm against his side. He elbows his husband as discreetly as possible and tugs nervously at his costume.
"No," he says. "No, it's not difficult. Um."
"What Yuuri means to say is that having my wonderful husband as a competitor and a student is a win-win situation for both of us. If he wins, it's because he's an incredible athlete and I've done my job as his coach. If I win, it's because he inspired me and pushed me hard enough to succeed. It's a symbiotic relationship."
"Ah, but I heard a rumor of a bet between you. Care to elaborate? I'm sure the world is curious to know what drives ISU's power couple."
Viktor puts a hand on Yuuri's back — a little too low, not that the cameras can see — and sends the reporter one of his patented media winks. "I'm sorry, my student has had a long day — and I have too. We still need to prepare for the banquet, so we must get going. Thank you for your time, Tojou-san!"
Yuuri lets himself be lead a good distance away before he rounds on Viktor.
"Really? You really couldn't stop yourself from laughing about the word 'hard'? Are you twelve?"
"I really hope not," Viktor responds, "considering the things I want to do to you later tonight."
Desire floods his voice, thickening his accent in a way he knows makes Yuuri's knees a little weak. He blatantly checks his husband out, letting his eyes linger on parts of Yuuri's body that would be considered rude if he let himself get caught. He can't help it — Yuuri is always gorgeous, full stop, but he's simply ethereal after a skate. His skin glows, dewy and shimmering with sweat, and there's a sweet flush high on his cheeks. The mussed hair and lack of glasses paint a picture of afterglow and satisfaction, of private moments between the sheets with the moonlight shining through the curtains.
When he finally reaches Yuuri's eyes his husband sends him a pointed look, mouth turned down in a frown but eyes sparkling and playful. He reaches out to tangle his fingers into the lapels of Viktor's exhibition costume, his hands warm through the layers, and then he yanks, and Viktor goes stumbling into him with a gasp.
"I think you meant what I want to do to you later tonight," Yuuri says softly. He presses their foreheads together for a moment and then turns around and starts walking, leaving Viktor to stare after him.
"Wow," he breathes, and then scrambles to catch up.
The thing is, that reporter hadn't been wrong about the rumor. Only, it's not so much a bet as it is an agreement. Something to stoke the flames of competition, keep things between them more interesting than just chasing down scores and records.
Not that competing against Yuuri is ever boring by any means. God knows neither of them are low-key about competition.
It's just a little…extra incentive.
Across the room his husband laughs, soft and sweet and distracting, and Viktor perks up before he can stop himself. Chris laughs at him outright but he can't help it, Yuuri is the fixed point to which everything in Viktor's universe is oriented.
Especially when he's wearing the suit.
(The suit is perfectly fitted, emphasizing the breadth and strength of Yuuri's shoulders and the beautiful taper of his waist, and the trousers make Viktor want to weep with gratitude over the way they hug the curves of Yuuri's legs and ass. It's a dark, dark blue and it makes his skin look soft and bright, and Viktor would give up his left arm to be touching Yuuri right now.)
Viktor's husband is popular tonight, as he should be, shaking hands with sponsors and making the rounds with his fellow skaters. Phichit's been at his side most of the night like Chris has been at Viktor's, and right now they're playing host to Guang-Hong, Minami, and Leo, laughing over anecdotes of their mischievous university days with fizzy flutes of champagne in their hands.
"Your are an incredibly lucky man," Chris says after a moment, watching Viktor watching Yuuri.
It's not like Viktor can look away.
(Not like he's ever tried.)
Yuuri's friends head off toward the refreshment table with one last congratulatory handshake for the gold medalist, leaving Yuuri standing alone. He shifts his weight, turning so that he's in profile, and takes a long drink to finish off the champagne. Viktor's eyes follow the movement of his throat as he swallows, feeling the heat that's been simmering in his abdomen ever since the exhibition skate turn up a notch.
Yuuri takes that moment to glance up and catch Viktor out on his staring. He looks down at his empty flute, his long lashes sweeping over his cheeks in a sign of faux demureness, and tugs at the front of his jacket to adjust the cut of it. The movement is supposed to be casual, but it gives Viktor a perfect view of the way the cloth pulls tight over his beautiful back in a way that can't be accidental — Yuuri knows how much Viktor loveshis back. When he glances up his lips are curved in a knowing smile, and there's a sheen of heat in his gaze that brings a blush to Viktor's cheeks.
Yuuri turns and walks away without another glance in Viktor's direction; he doesn't have to look to know Viktor's eyes are on him.
" Very lucky," Chris says, whistling low in appreciation.
"Yeah," he agrees, and if his voice is a little breathy neither of them make comment.
If it were up to Viktor he'd have Yuuri pinned and at his mercy already, but he's not the one with the gold medal and Yuuri, well.
Yuuri likes to play the long game.
"A- ah ! How — how do you want me, sweetheart?" Viktor moans. He's trapped, between the hotel door and his husband's warm body; the door knob digs into his lower back in a way that's slightly uncomfortable but he barely feels it for the way Yuuri nips sucks at his throat. Viktor's hands disappear up the back of Yuuri's suit jacket, and he wishes that he'd had the wherewithal to divest his partner of his clothes before they got started because he craves the feeling of Yuuri's skin against his palms.
Yuuri grins sharp against his collarbones and licks at the hollow between them before he answers. "I want you wrecked ."
Viktor whimpers and his fingers drag at the dress shirt that's still regrettably covering his love's body.
"I think I'm already there, darling," he says, and his voice has gone deep and thick and hardly recognisable for all the desire that suffuses it. Yuuri presses his forehead against Viktor's shoulder and moans at the sound of it, like pure heat. "God, Yuuri —"
"Mm."
Yuuri catches Viktor's face in both of his hands and kisses him hard. He slides his hands down Viktor's neck and shoulders while their mouths are busy, pushing Viktor's suit jacket down over his arms and letting it drop to the floor. He starts to walk them backward, laughing when they both stumble and bump noses. He loses his own jacket along the way, drops his and Viktor's ties, pops open the buttons of their fancy dress shirts like he hasn't a care for how expensive they were.
It's hot, it's really hot, god.
He flips them around when they reach the bed, just in time for Viktor to catch the edge of the mattress with the backs of his knees, and next thing he knows he's on his back with Yuuri over him, face flushed and grinning, his hands planted just above Viktor's shoulders to hold up his weight, which… Mm.
Viktor arches his back and hooks his leg around Yuuri's waist, surprising him and bringing their hips flush together and that so good, the heat of him through his slacks and the feeling of his half-hard cock are enough to dissolve everything around him until only his husband exists. Yuuri leans down to kiss at his neck and jaw, his ears.
"Patience, Vitya" he murmurs into Viktor's ear, smiling when Viktor shivers.
"Not a strong-suit," Viktor shoots back, gasping. He manages to untuck Yuuri's dress shirt from his slacks and divest him of it. He has to sit up to wiggle out of his own, which is a tad disappointing since it keeps him away from direct contact with Yuuri's body, but it's worth it when he lets himself fall back down under Yuuri and feels their naked chests press together.
"You're just so goddamn hot."
"I know," Yuuri says, and yeah, he's definitely laughing at Viktor right now. But it's fine, Viktor will gladly let his lover laugh at him if it means getting to be naked with him.
They make quick work of their pants, boxer briefs, and socks, which is kind of funny since Yuuri was just preaching patience to him a moment ago, but then Yuuri's on him again, rolling his hips and sliding their naked cocks together and Viktor's brain quickly shuts up.
"God you feel so good ," Viktor moans. Yuuri grins and rucks his hips against Viktor's again, and then pulls away, kneeling between Viktor's spread legs. He spreads his hands up under Viktor's knees, down the backs of his thighs and back up, kisses the side of his knee like he's something precious and Viktor feels — loved; so, so loved in the midst of the frenetic heat; Yuuri is so good at mixing the desperation and the softness when they're together like this, so good at working him into a frenzy and then slowing him down with sweet touches.
Yuuri kissed his way up Viktor's inner thigh, and then leaned up his body to kiss his mouth, all heat and messy wetness and sharp teeth.
There's a snick — when did Yuuri even have the time to grab the lube? — and then wet fingers are sliding down, grazing the tip of his dick, making his hips jerk, grazing down his balls, pressing into his perineum, which, god , and then —
Viktor moans as Yuuri sinks two fingers in, hardly any preamble. He lets his head fall back, every bone in his body suddenly weak as Yuuri presses in, sliding in and out and scissoring to get him nice and open. Viktor keeps his eyes open only because watching Yuuri in this — watching the way his eyelashes flutter at the sounds they create together, watching the way he bites his lip, watching the way he watches his fingers disappear into Viktor's body —
It's so, so good, so much better than anything he's ever felt because the desire and awe on Yuuri's face is validating.
Yuuri leans in closer, nuzzles into Viktor's temple and kisses his cheek.
"Don't take your eyes off me," he says quietly. "Don't ever look away."
Just as Viktor opens his mouth to respond Yuuri curls his fingers, and all that comes out is a low whine.
"Ah, found it," he says casually. Viktor whimpers as Yuuri assaults his prostate, fingers grazing it on every in-thrust. Casually, like he's not absolutely destroying Viktor with nothing more than two fingers; casually, like he hasn't been taking Viktor apart piece by piece all night long . His other hand strokes up Viktor's thigh, traces the join of his leg and torso — so close to where Viktor wants his touch the most.
Instead of touching his cock, Yuuri's hand slides up his stomach, tracing the jumping muscles there, then back down to cup his balls.
"Yuuri — please —"
"Sorry," he says quietly, and pulls his fingers out. Viktor moans in protest, but quiets as Yuuri slips a condom onto himself, pinching the tip. "What was it you said back at the Barcelona GPF?"
He slides in slow and steady, and Viktor finds that he can't answer him because he can't even remember how to form the syllables that make up his own name. Yuuri is hot and huge inside him, the stretch around him so deliciously good. Viktor's hands scrabble as Yuuri seats himself all the way inside, clutching at the bedspread, at his pillow, at Yuuri's sweat-slippery shoulders.
"Mm, god," Yuuri pants as he stills, giving Viktor time to adjust. "God, you feel so good inside, Viktor. Vitya. I can feel you squeezing all around me."
Viktor moans helplessly, his toes curling in pleasure at having his husband so deep inside him after being teased for so long.
Yuuri fucks him long and slow, his hips warm where they come to settle against Viktor's ass on the in-strokes. He's gorgeous like this, ethereal, angelic, his glasses falling down his nose and his hair sticking to his forehead, his body flushed all the way down. He's got his eyes open and trained on Viktor, watching Viktor writhe underneath him, watching his wet cock disappear into Viktor's ass, watching the way Viktor's stomach tightens with pleasure each time Yuuri's cock grazes his prostate.
Yuuri's got him feeling so good, so hot, like his skin is melting, like if they just keep rolling up into each other they might intertwine, like the pure fucking heat building up between them can last and last.
Maybe if he hadn't been so keyed up earlier it could have, but he's near-desperate to come. He takes one of his hands away from Yuuri to touch his cock but Yuuri bats his hand away and takes it himself, strokes him hard and fast, pressing his thumb over the slit.
"Yuuri, ah !"
"Ah, I remember," he pants out, and it takes Viktor a moment to trace back their conversation. "You said you only wanted to kiss gold."
He leans down, his mouth a mere centimeter away from Viktor's. He licks Viktor's lips, presses Viktor's thigh closer to his chest, and murmurs, "how does it taste?"
Viktor comes long and hard, sobbing Yuuri's name as his cock pulses and his toes curl. He nearly whites out from the sheer blinding pleasure of it, but manages to stay alert enough to watch Yuuri fuck him through his own orgasm.
Yuuri told him to watch him, after all.
And Yuuri — Yuuri is fucking gorgeous when he comes. Everything about him is wild in the moment when he's on the edge of orgasm — his eyes go molten and half-lidded, his already red mouth bitten and dimpled between his teeth. The sweat slides down his temples and drips onto Viktor's chest as he grits his teeth through the pleasure. Viktor reaches up with a weak arm and brushes the matted hair off of Yuuri's forehead as he shudders, smiling when Yuuri turns and kisses the center of his palm.
Afterward, with the sweat and semen cooling on their skin, Viktor throws an arm over his face and laughs.
"'How does it taste?' Really?"
Yuuri just grins and kisses him until he doesn't have the breath left to laugh.