yurionicekink | Prompt Post 1

Prompt Post 1

Notes: This post might contain adult contents. Proceed at your own discretion.

This is the place where you can request fics and fill requests

Rules (May change later):
1.Anon not necessary but recommended.
2.Put pairings/kinks/tropes/warnings on the comment title.
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_{Names:
-Yuuri Katsuki
-Victor Nikiforov
-Yuri Plisetsky
-Seung Gil Lee
-Emil Nekola
-Otabek Altin
-Georgi Popovich
-Cristophe Giacometti
-Guang-Hong Il
-Jean-Jacques Leroy
-Phichit Chulanont
-Michele Crispino
-Kenjiro Minami
-Leo De La Iglesia

-Toshiya Katsuki, Hiroko Katsuki, Mari Katsuki
-Takeshi Nishigori, Yuko Nishigori, Axel / Lutz / Loop Nishigori
-Minako
-Hisashi Morooka
-Yakov Feltsman
-Celestino Cialdini
-Mira Babicheva
-Lilia Baranovskaya
-Sara Crispino
-Kolya Plisetsky}

Ao3 collection:
https://archiveofourown.org/collections/YuriOnIceKink

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

After her divorce Lilia comes to Hasetsu to spend time with her old friend and rival Minako, she discoveres Yuuri and decides to coach him to compete against Yakov's skaters, including Victor (she gets Minako to help too, and while they coach Yuuri together maybe old feelings bloom and they get involved). Lilia and Yakov want Yuuri and Victor to be bitter rivals but they get close instead and fall in love Romeo and Juliet style, balcony scene included.

Otabek did his hair in that style because of JJ. Can be sad or funny, one-sided or mutual. Please no bashing of Yurio or Isabella.

SECONDED. I want this fic so much.

ASDSFGFHJLK!!! damn whew
thanks for this!!! hott
that lil fluff line at the end was cute too

:D I'm glad you like it! I'm posting it to the AO3 once I'm done cleaning it up a bit.

In my head, next time they fuck Yuuri absolutely produces a plug for Viktor to keep Yuuri's come inside. It's as usual Viktor's own fault for giving Yuuri ideas. At least Viktor's death will be sexually satisfying.

Anyway three million years later: fill here. :)

This is great.

OMG YES LOL I LOVE IT

Yuuri's never been good at intimacy, both physical and emotional. It feels like an intrusion. It feels like people throwing demands on him. So he's never had sex with another person.

Sex on video is another matter. Being a camboy lets him anonymously hold the attention of thousands and deny them ever touching him or knowing who he is yet bring them to climax every time. He doesn't care for his fans, but it feels great. He loves the attention, he loves the power of being able to do whatever he wants, he loves being able to tease, he loves the confidence. Yuuri as camboy is basically Eros Yuuri.

I'd like anything based on that scenario: Maybe just Yuuri making a recording. Maybe Phichit gets home while Yuuri's recording and helps him with his lighting (Phichit's not into Yuuri but he can appreciate artistry). Maybe another skater is rubbing it to an old vid and recognizes Yuuri. Maybe Viktor and Yuuri's sex-tape gets leaked and Yuuri's only reaction is to put a link to his old videos in his Twitter, saying "old news." Maybe Yuuri tells Viktor about being a camboy and Viktor believes all his birthdays have come at once and he goes and watch everything. Maybe Viktor thinks it's so hot he begs Yuuri to do a stream while Viktor watches.

bonus: one part he doesn't care about is the comments giving details of how and when the commenter came - not until Viktor and he revisit his vids and Viktor starts reading/acting out/commenting those comments, and vocally supports the commenters' appreciation of Yuuri. Then it starts sounding like huge compliments.

DNW: jealousy (if you write Viktor, I want him to be really into the idea of thousands of people coming over the sex vids of his boyfriend, wow amazing! you're so hot yuuri, i love you), physical intercourse unless it's Viktor/Yuuri.

First, Seung-gil makes sure that he is alone. His parents are out for the day, and he double-checks that the curtains for his room are shut tight. His fans have made him paranoid, and this isn't something he wants getting out to them.

His dog is dozing on his bed; she looks up for a few moments as he starts to pull things from a drawer, but then sets her head down once more with a quiet snuffle. He picks out a relatively simple outfit, this time, already put together in his head, then sets the clothes in order on his dresser before going for the buttons on his shirt.

Seung-gil's heartbeat picks up as he strips down, taking the time to fold everything neatly before putting them aside. His heart thuds almost audibly in his chest as he pulls on the under-clothes, white and insubstantial, only thrums harder when he picks up the skirt of the hanbok. It's slightly unwieldy to get into by himself – it's so long, long enough to wear as a dress by itself – but he manages, shivering a bit when the bountiful fabric brushes against his shins. He strings a norigae charm, embroidered butterflies and long tassels in yellow and green, on to the long straps of the skirt before he ties them around his chest.

Next, the blouse, a deep, bright blue to match the screaming red of the skirt, with paler cuffs that glitter with silver geometric patterns. It's a bit narrow on him, but it doesn't strain too much at the shoulders and he can still move his arms properly while wearing it, so he makes do. The ribbons on the front are pale orange, translucent and long, and the knot takes about two seconds to tie. He spends a few seconds more adjusting it until the loop is elegant and proportioned right.

His heart has calmed by now, and it no longer sounds in his ears as he picks the skirt up in his fingertips and gives it a good shake until it fluffs up like it's supposed to. He glances in the mirror, once, and then away. There are times when he has tried sitting on the edge of his dresser, painting his face in more colors and glitter, but he doesn't feel like it today. He simply runs his fingers through his hair until it settles more nicely, then clutches his skirt up with one hand as he bends back down to look through a different drawer.

His hair is far too short for any of the traditional things, the ribbons and hair-pins, so he doesn't have any. He does have some bobby pins, though, with little ceramic decorations at the ends. He picked them up when he was in China once, and they're good for pinning the longer strands out of his face.

When he stands up again, the skirt brushes against the floor. It's impossible to resist giving it a short twirl, hoisting it in his hands, feeling the full width of the many pleats spin with him and flutter against his legs. The ribbon dances, too, and the tassels on the charm tangle for a moment before separating again. It would be interesting to do a proper spin in this, though he can only try it in his head and imagine the skirt swinging out – even if he were ever to step out the door like this, it's not a practical outfit for skating in.

Maybe next season he should ask for a costume based on men's hanbok. It's never as pretty as the women's versions, but it would work well enough, and his coach would like the idea, with how she keeps telling him to skate for Korea. (And the fans would probably love it, not that he needs to encourage them.)

However practical or impractical the outfit is, it feels nice to wear, silk skimming his feet and snug shoulders and all. It feels nice, too, when he climbs back on his bed, skirt rustling as he reaches out to pet his dog. She leans her head into his hand, sleepy and content, and he smiles at her. He tucks his bare feet up, re-arranges the skirt on the bed – there's so much fabric, it's like having a blanket made of silk, and he likes the way his legs move freely underneath.

The blouse goes tight at his shoulders when he reaches out for his laptop and pulls it over. It doesn't quite adjust itself back when he's sitting straight again, but he ignores the discomfort for a moment and opens his laptop. The sleeves ride up a bit as he types his password, the silver catching the light from the screen. He admires them for the few seconds it takes for his computer to log him in.

He has hours yet to himself before his parents get home. Hours of the expanse of fabric tangling around his legs, soft and light; of the ribbon hanging from the blouse, smooth when he draws it idly through his fingers; of the charm that shifts against his chest each time he moves.

Across the sea, his fellow competitors are getting ready to move onto the ice. He brings up the livestream and curls closer to his dog. Some of her fur might get on the clothes, but it doesn't usually cling too much to this fabric. She distracts him as the announcers drone on, happy to have more of his attention, and then it's time for the competition to start. Seung-gil shifts his skirt again, adjusts the ribbons out of the way, tugs on the shoulders of the blouse until it no longer pulls, and settles in to watch.

Anything in which Yuri has to deal with putting on (a little bit of) weight/not being absolutely perfect. I'd prefer the angstier end of h/c but if given fluff, I shall take it.

Mari hovered over Yuuri where he lay on he blanket-covered floor surrounded by toys and dodged his attempts to grab her hair. He wiggled around a lot and grabbed at everything within reach – including her hair! – but when he’d thrown or pushed all of his toys out of reach, he wasn’t able to get them back on his own.

That’s where Mari came in. While mom cooked in the nearby kitchen and dad was busy with the visitors, Mari’s job was to do her schoolwork and entertain Yuuri.

Well, the baby wasn’t officially her job, but it was a task that she had appointed to herself once she realized that she always knew what the baby wanted even when everyone else seemed pretty clueless. So Mari took it upon herself to be his protector. She collected his favorite toys for him, warned mom when he was getting hungry before he started whimpering, sang songs she learned at school and on the radio that was always playing when it was cleaning and laundry time, and if the onsen visitors ever got too loud while Yuuri was sleeping, Mari was quick to shush them (and earn herself a reprimand, not that it would ever stop her).

Right now, Mari’s schoolwork was nearly done and Yuuri wanted to talk.

Well, he wanted to gurgle and be talked to. So long as Mari kept up a steady stream of chatter – everything from that week’s school lessons to television programs to gossip that she definitely wasn’t supposed to be listening in to from the guests – then Yuuri remain rapt, eyes locked on her face and fingers shoved into his mouth. It was in her best interests to keep talking because when she paused in her storytelling, Yuuri would turn his focus to the dangling strands of her hair and reach out slobbery hands to grasp at it.

So Mari told him everything about her day. She even told him about Hisashi picking on Naoko before school and how Mari found Naoko crying in the bathroom.

“This is a secret, Yuuri,” Mari told him solemnly as she finished up her tale of the day’s drama. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”

Yuuri’s determined sucking him his fingers paused at her words, his eyes glued to hers as she punctuated each word with an imperious finger tap to his chest.

“I told her to pour glitter from the art project on his hair.”

Yuuri’s face broke into a huge smile around his fingers, and he giggled as Mari tickled his belly.

“Yes, I thought it was a good plan, too. He will think better of picking on people next time if he has green sparkly hair all day.” She looked down at her brother, seeing his eyes still locked on her face.

“Mari, what are you and Yuuri doing out here?”

Uh oh. Mari really hoped that her mom hadn’t heard the end of their conversation.

“We’re talking, mom. About school. Yuuri is a good listener.”

(*sigh* I mis-posted this in the wrong part of the thread above. Sorry.)

Mari hovered over Yuuri where he lay on he blanket-covered floor surrounded by toys and dodged his attempts to grab her hair. He wiggled around a lot and grabbed at everything within reach – including her hair! – but when he’d thrown or pushed all of his toys out of reach, he wasn’t able to get them back on his own.

That’s where Mari came in. While mom cooked in the nearby kitchen and dad was busy with the visitors, Mari’s job was to do her schoolwork and entertain Yuuri.

Well, the baby wasn’t officially her job, but it was a task that she had appointed to herself once she realized that she always knew what the baby wanted even when everyone else seemed pretty clueless. So Mari took it upon herself to be his protector. She collected his favorite toys for him, warned mom when he was getting hungry before he started whimpering, sang songs she learned at school and on the radio that was always playing when it was cleaning and laundry time, and if the onsen visitors ever got too loud while Yuuri was sleeping, Mari was quick to shush them (and earn herself a reprimand, not that it would ever stop her).

Right now, Mari’s schoolwork was nearly done and Yuuri wanted to talk.

Well, he wanted to gurgle and be talked to. So long as Mari kept up a steady stream of chatter – everything from that week’s school lessons to television programs to gossip that she definitely wasn’t supposed to be listening in to from the guests – then Yuuri remain rapt, eyes locked on her face and fingers shoved into his mouth. It was in her best interests to keep talking because when she paused in her storytelling, Yuuri would turn his focus to the dangling strands of her hair and reach out slobbery hands to grasp at it.

So Mari told him everything about her day. She even told him about Hisashi picking on Naoko before school and how Mari found Naoko crying in the bathroom.

“This is a secret, Yuuri,” Mari told him solemnly as she finished up her tale of the day’s drama. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”

Yuuri’s determined sucking him his fingers paused at her words, his eyes glued to hers as she punctuated each word with an imperious finger tap to his chest.

“I told her to pour glitter from the art project on his hair.”

Yuuri’s face broke into a huge smile around his fingers, and he giggled as Mari tickled his belly.

“Yes, I thought it was a good plan, too. He will think better of picking on people next time if he has green sparkly hair all day.” She looked down at her brother, seeing his eyes still locked on her face.

“Mari, what are you and Yuuri doing out here?”

Uh oh. Mari really hoped that her mom hadn’t heard the end of their conversation.

“We’re talking, mom. About my day at school. Yuuri is a good listener.”

I posted a fill here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10271654 (I'm not the other anon who commented, though.)

OP here: Oh my goodness thank you! It's adorable!

seconded

Victor is an elite courtesan who doesn't believe in love, and Yuuri accidentaly steals his heart.

A!A is back after various RL commitments have been seen through. I hope you enjoy.

-----

Chris has been looking forward to the competition for weeks for more than the usual reasons. He hasn't seen Victor since Worlds, and now they've had the luck to get assigned to one of the same Grand Prix qualifiers. So far they had only chatted briefly in a hallway at the hotel the night before and exchanged greetings before practice today, but Chris is sure that Victor was glad to see him, too. Victor had smiled at him, wound one hand in his hair, lowered his eyelashes; the effect had set Chris's heart beating hard.

And now, after practice, he doesn't seem to be anywhere to be found.

Chris glances around once more, wondering if he's just missed him somehow, but no – he can see Victor's coach, standing next to one of Victor's rinkmates and scowling more than usual, rubbing his forehead like he's got a headache. Perhaps he stares just a moment too long, as Victor's coach mutters something to the boy next to him and starts heading towards Chris, but it's just to ask if he's seen Victor, which of course he hasn't.

He glances around again as Yakov returns to his other skater, wondering where Victor might have gone off to. He wasn't still in the showers when Chris left, and unless he snuck out some other way, that leaves –

Chris heads to the bathroom. He can't help the slight heat that creeps into his cheeks when he sees the sinks and remembers what happened last time the two of them were together in a place like this. It looks empty, though. He turns and walks slowly down the rest of the tiles, past the stalls, feeling like a bit of a creep, but this part looks empty, too – wait.

The stall at the end is closed, though no feet are visible under the door. He swallows, tries not to feel too weird or foolish: "Victor?"

There's a quiet gasp, and scrambling, the sound of a rusty lock being turned, before the door opens and Victor's face appears. "Hi," he says, looking more subdued than earlier, and instead of coming out, he takes a step back. Confused, Chris follows him in and locks the door again as Victor curls up on the toilet, knees pulled up to his chest.

"Your coach is looking for you."

"I know," Victor sighs.

"You're in trouble?"

Victor winces and pushes a stray hair from his face. "I said something very stupid to a reporter earlier, and I know he'll scold me about it."

"Then shouldn't you get it over with now, rather than waiting until he's even more upset?"

"Chris, you've never been scolded by Yakov." Victor sighs again. "Especially when he just lectured you last night about saying the right things in interviews instead of saying whatever you please and...."

Could whatever he said really be that bad, that Victor would really rather sit here? Maybe – Chris suspects probably not – but now that they are alone and close like this, he isn't exactly eager to drag Victor out again.

He reaches forward and slips his hand over Victor's hair, slides out the elastic to free his hair from its ponytail and pulls it over his wrist instead. Victor makes a pleased sound as Chris does so and shakes his head slightly, then pushes his face into Chris's stomach as Chris starts to stroke one hand through the fine strands. The other he settles over Victor's shoulder, letting his hand rest against his warm back.

This is just as pleasant as he remembers – not just because of the texture under his fingers, smooth and soft, but because of the way Victor leans further into him, his shoulders relaxing as he hums slightly. It feels comfortable, like they could sit here all day and do this, even given their surroundings.

He remembers, too, how Victor liked it when he – Chris just scratches his scalp on the next pass and watches Victor shiver and make a different kind of sound. "Do it again," Victor demands, voice muffled against Chris's jacket.

He does, harder. He likes how Victor shudders again and presses harder against him. He wants to see his face, though, wants to kiss him and push their bodies together like last time, except without the time limit of the stupid interviews hanging over them. (Well, Yakov might come looking eventually, but if Victor isn't going to care about that, then Chris sure as hell isn't.)

Chris thinks, as he runs his nails down Victor's scalp again, that it would be nice to twine his fingers in Victor's hair and yank. Not enough to hurt too much, but enough to pull Victor's face away from his front. He pauses his hand on top of his head long enough for Victor to make an impatient nudge, wondering – would Victor be into that? It seems like he would, but what if it just hurt him? Should he ask first? Is this the sort of thing where you ask first? It would kind of kill the mood.

"Chris," Victor whines, unwrapping one of his arms to firmly push Chris's hand down along his head.

Oh, whatever. Chris moves his hand back up and fists his hand in Victor's hair, jerks him back a little. It's actually hotter than it looked in his head, with the way Victor gasps, how pink his cheeks are. His eyes are wide for a moment, staring up at him, before they flutter closed. Chris lets go of him and bends over to press their lips together, his other hand scrabbling to find a good support on Victor's shoulder.

It's warm, and soft, and not very long because Chris is trying not to fall over with the awkward angle. As soon as he pulls away, though, Victor's knees fall to one side and he reels Chris back in for another kiss. And another, as soon as Chris finds a good handhold on Victor's calf, and then a deeper one when Victor slips his tongue into his mouth.

He pulls back at some point to get some air, but Victor doesn't let him get far, tugging on his shoulders and pressing a kiss next to his mouth, down to his jaw. Chris leans back in again when Victor throws an arm around his neck, can't help a whimper when Victor's tongue moves against his, can't help but open his mouth wider as Victor clutches him closer, closer. He keeps forgetting that he can breathe through his nose, though Victor doesn't let him go long enough to catch his breath otherwise, always pulling him in if he tries to lean away.

He doesn't even notice that the position is getting kind of painful until Victor finally lets him go for a few moments. They pant against each other, and then Victor makes a face, and then Chris notices that his arm is starting to protest and a few muscles in his back, which were fine before, are really not used to doing this for minutes on end. He swallows a whine as he straightens up and takes a step back. Victor doesn't bother hiding his wince as he unfolds himself, rubbing his calf for a moment before he stands up.

Chris gets distracted for a second digging his fingers into the sorest of the muscles in his back before arms drape around his waist and Victor nuzzles into his neck. He freezes, all thoughts of the pain gone. It takes him a few moments to realize that maybe he should move and figure out where to put his hands.

Victor chuckles against his skin, quiet and breathy. "You're so cute," he says, drawing back enough to look at him. Chris flushes and settles for grabbing onto the back of Victor's jacket. Is he supposed to say something to that? "Thank you," or, "Well, you're the prettiest person I've ever seen"?

One of Victor's hands comes up to brush against his cheek. The backs of his fingers are so cold – are they always this chilly, or is his face just that hot? Chris clasps it against his skin before he can even think about it, turns his head to press his lips to Victor's knuckles. (He's pretty sure it's at least partially Victor being cold. His hands were so cold last time, weren't they.)

Victor kisses his cheek. "Cute," he says once more. He presses another kiss further up, right on his cheekbone, then stares right into Chris's eyes for a moment that goes from 'kind of endearing' to 'uncomfortably large amount of a time'. "Your eyelashes are so long. Is that natural?"

"Yes," Chris says, though his voice squeaks a little and it comes out more like a question. It's nice to have Victor notice – they're one of his best features. "Yours are, too. It's pretty."

"But yours are so much darker," Victor sighs. The thumb of the hand on his cheek swipes near his eye and catches on the lashes. "Mine are so pale that you can't see them without mascara."

He's wearing some right now, in fact, and it looks entirely natural on him despite the fact that it doesn't match his hair. Now that he's mentioned it, though, Chris wants to see him without it. He's sure that they wouldn't be invisible from this close up; they'd catch the light, even in a dim place like here. It'd be something of Victor that the audience, and the other skaters, wouldn't get to see.

"Maybe you can show me next time." He acts on his instincts (and maybe some buried memories of romance films) and turns Victor's hand around to kiss his palm, then slowly down to his wrist. He tries not to stare too hard at Victor as he looks at him, flutters the eyelashes that he apparently likes so much. It earns him a high-pitched moan and Victor's other hand pressing harder on his waist.

Chris pauses when he gets to – maybe not the pulse point, he can't actually feel a heartbeat through his lips, but about where it should be, and lets Victor's now-warm hand slide along his jaw and tilt his head into another kiss. It's softer, now, not as hurried and forceful as before. It takes Chris a couple of minutes to realize that his hand is just hanging in mid-air now that Victor's has moved, and he hastily finds a place for it on Victor's hip.

Victor pushes him into the corner and pushes himself against Chris, a little heavy but pleasantly hot. Chris tries to pull him further in, but when he realizes that there isn't much closer for him to get, he slides his hands up the back of Victor's jacket and shirt instead, enjoying the touch of hot skin under his fingers. Perhaps they can get a bit closer after all, or at least, it sure feels like it as Victor arches into his hands and makes a soft, encouraging sound before moving their lips back together.

It's too hot for his jacket now. He manages to get the zipper down without breaking the kiss, even if it takes a bit of fumbling to find the pull, and Victor helps push it slowly off his shoulders and starts exploring under his shirt before Chris even gets his arms out of the sleeves. Chris has to break their kiss off then, as it tickles too much not to laugh, and anyway, he doesn't want to just drop the jacket to the floor in here.

"That looks cute," Victor says, still moving his hands lightly over Chris's stomach. "Keep it on."

"Like this? I can barely move my arms." Chris gives him a look, then shoves it the rest of the way off despite the way Victor sighs, and stows it on the hook thing that he spots on the wall.

He does Victor's next and can't help but run his hands down Victor's sides after he finishes taking it off and putting it with his own. Victor's shirt fits him very well, and the neckline shows off most of his collarbone. Chris puts his mouth to it, sucks a little. He must be doing it right, since Victor runs one hand up the back of his head, keeping it there, fingers digging into his curls. (Oh, that feels nice. No wonder Victor likes having him pet and grab at his hair so much.)

He moves gradually up to the base of Victor's neck, trying to figure out what causes him to make those nice noises, to tilt his head further and clutch harder at his hair. "Chris," Victor breathes, tugging at his shoulder until Chris backs away.

Victor's hands slip down to the hem of his shirt, then start to pull it off. He does it so quickly that the shirt gets caught on Chris's arms before he can put them all the way up, and it takes the both of them a minute to get it untangled, and Chris is pretty sure that the shirt is inside-out by the time they do. Victor flings it away somewhere and runs his fingers, and his eyes, down Chris's chest.

The metal he's been pushed into is cold. Despite how heated he feels, he has to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest, though he isn't sure where else to put them. Back on Victor's waist? It seems as good of a place as any. Victor keeps looking, and looking, and Chris can't quite read the expression on his face, but while the attention is flattering, eventually he gets bored of the staring and kisses him.

Victor returns it with vigor and manages to lean him even further into the corner – ow. It's getting a little painful to be squished in there, so he adjusts them a few centimeters to the left so he's only being shoved into the stall's door, even if that's even colder. Not for long, not with Victor pressed so close against him.

When Victor breaks off again, he stares some more. "Do you like what you see?" Chris asks, feeling his cheeks go aflame as he says it. It's probably a huge cliché, but Victor smiles at it anyway.

"I thought you'd be softer," Victor says, spreading his fingers across Chris's stomach and smiling even more as his muscles jump at the ticklish touch.

"Softer?"

"Your cheeks are so round! I thought – it would have been cute."

Chris raises an eyebrow at that. He isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't say anything: he grabs Victor's hair and pulls him back in. Despite his words, Victor doesn't seem that disappointed. He kind of paws at Chris's chest until he finds one nipple and digs his thumb in. It makes him cry out and dig his fingers into Victor's shirt, wanting more. Victor obliges, rubbing at it – the other one, too – and chasing his mouth every time Chris breaks away to gasp and moan. Was there always a leg between his? It's pressed close against him, too, and he thinks his toes curl further each time he rocks against it.

It all feels so good, god, he could do this forever. "Victor," he whines when the hands on his chest move up to his shoulders. "Victor, please." He wants this, too – he can feel how hard Victor is, the way he pants warmly into his neck. Why did he stop?

"Ah – just, a moment."

It's hard to be patient when he's right there, though, when Chris is so hard, when he can't seem to catch his breath no matter how much his lungs work at it. He makes his fingers let go just enough to grab Victor's ass and tug so he can grind forcefully against him. Victor whimpers into his ear, but it almost gets lost under the groan that escapes Chris. He moves again, moan swallowed by Victor's mouth, thoughts gone to mush with how amazing this is –

The bathroom door creaks badly as it opens. Both of them freeze in place. Chris opens his eyes – when had he closed them, he can't remember – and sees how wide Victor's have gotten. Oh, right, his coach was looking for him, Chris thinks distantly. Not again.

But it's not Yakov. Whoever it is enters a different stall to take care of their own business. Suddenly, the whole situation seems ridiculous, or maybe it's just that it's so awkward he can't help but burst into giggles, and he bites Victor's t-shirt to smother the laughter before it gives them away. Victor just drops his head to Chris's shoulder and breathes out, slow.

The urge to laugh finally fades as the stranger takes their time washing their hands very, very, very thoroughly – are you doing surgery, who needs to wash their hands for that long Chris thinks at him, trembling a little. Finally, the man leaves, and Chris doesn't even hear the door shut before he's rolling his hips and opening his mouth up to Victor's for a deep, messy kiss.

Victor touches his chest again, light at first and then more firmly, pushes them closer together. Chris can't keep his eyes open, shuts them and shudders as he pushes back. Teeth catch on his lip for a moment – his or Victor's, he can't quite tell – but he doesn't care, distracted with the wonderful pressure on his dick, with the movement of Victor's warm fingers down his front.

It's too much, all of a sudden. Chris can't get enough air. He turns his head to the side, grasps Victor's shirt as hard as he can. Fingers brush against his stomach. Victor murmurs his name. It's too much, or just enough, and Chris shudders as he comes, everything going blank with pleasure.

He can feel himself slumping against the door as it starts to fade, all of the tension he hadn't noticed suddenly gone from his muscles. When he finally opens his eyes, Victor is studying him from so close that Chris can't actually bring him all the way into focus. "Victor," he pants, wanting to reach for him, but oh, he's still holding on to him, isn't he. In fact, his fingers are screaming with pain from being curled so hard into his shirt. He forces them straight again and brings them up to fan across Victor's jaw.

"So that's what it looks like," Victor mutters. "Did it feel good?"

Chris doesn't know if English even has a word to express how good it felt. He nods, instead, touches their lips together for a moment. He isn't sure he can say anything quite yet.

Victor follows him when he tries to pull away, though, presses kisses to his mouth, his cheeks. He's flushed so hard his entire face is gone pink, hot under Chris's hands. "Touch me," he demands, a bit too harshly, but Chris can still feel him against his hip, and, well, fair enough. He digs his fingers into Victor's hair and drags him off, takes a moment to breathe some more.

Then he turns them around, shoves Victor into the door. Victor gives him a pleading look through the strands that have fallen over his face, so Chris doesn't waste much time in kissing him, one hand still tangled in his hair as the other slides down his chest, down his stomach, down into the waistband of Victor's pants.

It can't be that different from doing this to himself, he thinks, as his fingertips first brush against Victor's dick. Victor jumps a little at that, then digs his fingernails into his back as Chris pulls him out. (His own pants are getting kind of uncomfortable, now, but he can deal with that later.)

He's curious what it looks like, but he doesn't get more than a glance before Victor's pulled them so closely together he really can't see. "Chris," he moans, his voice gone high, and it goes even higher when Chris tries stroking him. The look on his face – the way his eyelids flutter and mouth shifts – is fascinating to watch as Chris moves his hand once more.

Victor tilts his head back into the door, then leans forward again, probably going for another kiss – then makes a whine that is decidedly not happy and spits out a few vile words, half French and half Russian, as he jerks back. "What?" Chris drops his hand immediately, afraid for a moment he's hurt him.

"No, not you, it's –" Victor doesn't say what, just turns his head slowly and slides his fingers along one lock of hair, wincing as he does so. Chris squints and spots what he thinks is the problem before Victor does: a strand or two is caught in the hinges of the door. He carefully separates them out, making sure not to pull on them even more.

"Better?"

Victor nods. "Strange," he says, rubbing at his scalp and laughing. "It feels good when you pull on all of it, but if it's just one or two it hurts like hell."

Leaning up on tip-toe, Chris can just barely reach his lips to the area Victor is rubbing at. "There," he says. Victor smiles at him, then kisses him, then closes his eyes and gasps his name for him when Chris touches his cock.

He strokes a few times, tries to gauge Victor's reactions, but it's all pushing into his hand and grabbing ever harder at his back, and it's really not that long before Victor whines his name one last time and pushes his head into Chris's shoulder and comes over his hand.

Chris runs his free hand over Victor's hair until he straightens up and smiles at him. He smiles back, though the lines Victor dug into his back kind of hurt, and his lips are definitely a bit tender from all of the kissing, and he has no idea what he should do with his hand. Victor, thankfully, helps with the last one – he lifts Chris's hand and dips his head and licks everything off. Chris can feel himself blush at the sight, at the feeling of Victor's tongue running along every finger, and he's starting to get hard again.

When he's done, Victor drapes his arms around his neck and they just lean into each other for a few minutes. It's not exactly great as far as cuddling goes, but it's okay considering where they are. "That was really good," he hears himself say.

Victor hums in agreement, then says, "You're really warm."

He's starting to feel cold, actually, now that they're just standing here. He tries to pull away and gives up the first time when Victor refuses to let him go. He rests his head against Victor's neck and enjoys that for a few more minutes, until the goosebumps along his arms get to be too much. "It's cold in here," he whines when Victor's grip tightens further. "Let me get my shirt on, at least."

"Fine, fine," Victor grumbles. He still lets go slowly, reluctantly, presses another kiss to Chris's sore lips before releasing him.

Chris finds his shirt and pulls it on, turns to see Victor watching him. "Here," he says, pulling Victor's jacket down, and he helps him into it, smooths it down his waist as Victor zips it up, then gets his own.

They spend a couple of more minutes cleaning up and making themselves presentable. Victor still seems hesitant to leave; Chris practically has to drag him out of the stall by the hand. They pause in front of the sinks to check their reflections in the mirror. They look... probably a lot like they've been making out for the last however-long-it's-been, Chris thinks, but that could just be his imagination, and there isn't much to do for it besides.

Victor sighs. "Time to face Yakov," he says. He puts on a smile, saying in a lighter voice, "Well, maybe he won't be too mad." At this point, Chris imagines his coach is probably more worried than angry about whatever it is that Victor says he did.

"Hey." When Victor looks at him, Chris gives him a final, quick kiss, which seems to cheer him up, as he more willingly comes with him out of the bathroom.

"I'll see you on the ice," Victor says, before he leaves with a wave.

On the ice. Yes. And hopefully after. Chris touches his lips absently as Victor disappears, and only then does he remember the faint pressure on his wrist. He slides the hem of his jacket and shirt up to check and, ah, yes, he's accidentally stolen Victor's hair tie.

*heart eyes* Somehow, all the little problems they encounter, the realism, it makes everything so much hotter than it otherwise would be. It feels very authentic. Love it!!

my name is anonymous, and this is my favorite fill on the kinkmeme!!!

I love this! I'm so happy to see it updated. And their first times! Victor, "so that's what it looks like", oh my god. Oh my GOD. I'm so in love with these two.

Ah! this was everything I hoped for - absolutely lovely, thank you :D

They're adorable and I second the previous comment that the little details add so much realism.

It hurts a bit to see them so young, in a good way.

PLEEEEEEEEASE

omg i love everything about this

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Page 20 of 59

Prompt Post 1

Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki - Lilia and Minako is Yuuri's coaches

Jean-Jacques Leroy/Otabek Altin, reason for the undercut

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki - Lilia and Minako is Yuuri's coaches

OP

Re: OP

Re: Victor/Yuuri, riding, kind of clothing kink

Re: Victor/Yuuri - toy, edging, DP - [FILL] 2/2

Re: OP

Yuuri Katsuki - camboy, exhibitionism, anonymity, edging, D/s undertones

Re: Seung-gil crossdressing

Yuri Plisetsky/any (gen welcome), weight issues

[Fill] A Share of Joy and Sorrow - 1c

[Fill] A Share of Joy and Sorrow - 1c

Fill: Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov Breeding Kink

Re: Fill: Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov Breeding Kink

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, impregnation/breeding kink, comeplay, butt plug, NO MPREG

Yuuri Katsuki/Viktor Nikiforov - Moulen Rouge AU

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 2a

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 2b

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 2b

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 2b

Re: Victor/Yuuri, riding, kind of clothing kink

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 2b

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki - Lilia and Minako is Yuuri's coaches

Re: Yuri Plisetsky/Jean-Jacques Leroy, face slapping - FILL [2/2]