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

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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

Saw this post from back in january and nobody filled it but i'm dying for it so here's what it was:
Yurio is a brat and deserves a spanking.
Any of the pairing above, both, a threesome. You choose :)
It's gonna happen. When he's at the onsen going, "you think you can keep him to yourself" and "where's my fucking room, i'm not sharing," and throws a tantrum, Victor rells Yuuri, "Don't worry, I'll sort him right out" and goes after him. Yuuri listens from next door and can tell exactly what's going on; jerks himself off and comes miserably on the floor.

DA

Link to the original thread in case another anon is interested: http://yurionicekink.dreamwidth.org/881.html?thread=19057#cmt19057

Viktor is a careless adult with absolutely no morals and during a house party everyone is drunk, he lets Yuri come so he doesn't feel left out, and somehow he ends up thinking it's the funniest thing ever to touch the virgin in front of everybody-- he performs all kinds of sex acts on Yuri in front of the other drunk guests to entertain them. Bonus points if he has Yuri top him, extra super bonus points if Yuri is uncomfortable and confused and doesn't want to, and you get my soul if you follow my headcanon and Yuri at ~15 hasn't hit puberty yet (and has the body to show it)

Viktor thinks it's cute that Yuri's a virgin and wants to teach him about sex by demonstrating casually, but realizes before anything happens that it's wrong and decides against doing it, but before he can redress Yuri jumps him and fucks him because he doesn't think it's fair that Viktor wants to stop, Viktor tells him to stop but Yuri refuses so he just kind of lets it happen, maybe it keeps happening after that?

Non-ice skating au. Viktor is Yuri's guardian for some reason, and most nights he brings somebody home, drugs them, and rapes them, often in front of Yuri without shame, sometimes talking to Yuri about how good it feels while he does it. Eventually he wants to show Yuri how to do it too.

Yuri rides Otabek's thigh until he comes. That's all.

This is the best night of Yuuri's life. Even his first gold medal win wasn't this exhilarating, mind still anchored by trepidation as he stood on top of the podium. Yuuri rarely feels this at ease but tonight is different, his body weightless as he bends and twists on the dance floor. He's high on the smiles of his audience, encouraged by their gasps and looks of wonder, and dances until his vision blurs and the room spins around him. It's a sensory overload that leaves Yuuri wondering if he's drunk on champagne or laughter.

He never wants it to end.

And this – this private performance, in a dimly lit hotel room – is better yet. Yuuri stumbles forward into the room with a laugh, reaching out for the first of his two partners and finding his body pressed against a broad chest.

“Easy there,” the man cautions, voice a rumble against Yuuri's cheek. A hand curls around Yuuri's waist and he immediately transitions into a box step, waltzing forward until they hit the bed. His partner lets out a huff as he falls backward onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath them. Yuuri laughs again and straddles his lap, hooking his arms around the other man's neck.

Yuuri knows this dance, too. He throws his head back and grinds into the heat of his partner's body, moaning as the friction makes heat pool in his groin. The best part of tonight is the ability to improvise, to throw off the carefully choreographed routines that dictate his professional life. Dancing with no inhibitions is what Yuuri does best and he smiles when his partner lets out a whistle of approval.

He's so wrapped up in their dance that Yuuri starts when a hand grabs his ass. His hips falter as the second man presses in from behind, his laboured breaths hot against Yuuri's bare shoulder.

“Feel that?” Firm hands grip his hips and drag Yuuri back until he can feel a bulge nestled against his backside. Yuuri moans and snaps his hips. He doesn't resist when two sets of hands greedily shove his boxers down, erection popping free of its hold. Dancing like this is even better than at the banquet. There is intimacy in the melody of rustling fabric and lowered zips, in his partners' hands roughly guiding him through the moves.

The first man kisses him, tongue plunging deep as he twists and bends Yuuri back against the mattress. It's hard to balance and Yuuri slings his arm around the man's neck again, giddy as he accepts his fall. His partner is so good. He takes the lead without question, hand rough as it closes around their erections.

Yuuri arches into the touch. He's aware of the men speaking but can't focus on the words through the haze of his arousal. “More,” he gasps, thrusting into the man's grip. The ceiling spins above him and Yuuri screws his eyes shut with a moan.

Without warning the fist curled around his cock falls away. Fingers grasp his calves instead, shoving his knees into his chest. One of the men laughs and Yuuri cracks an eye open, trying to focus on the two bodies looming over him. His legs are pushed higher. Yuuri's never danced quite like this before, with his weight pitched forward onto his shoulders. He struggles to regain his footing as the unmistakable heat of an erection pushes into his body. With a gasp Yuuri clenches around the intrusion but his partner is persistent. After a few carefully paced thrusts he sinks into Yuuri's body and the burn of it makes Yuuri's breath stutter.

There's more laughter from the foot of the bed. His legs are jostled further apart as his partner repositions, drawing back before slamming into Yuuri's body again.

“Ahh-!” Yuuri curls his toes and bites his fist, but his voice still escapes against his will. The sound of it is harsh even to his own ears. “Ah! Ah!” His voice is stuck in a loop that competes against the squeaky groans of the hotel mattress. Sweat builds in the dip of his back and wherever skin meets skin, leaving the back of his thighs slick and his knees slipping farther apart. His only warning of the man's release is fingers that dig into his skin, hard enough to bruise.

It leaves Yuuri in a daze. His legs hit the mattress without ceremony as his partners switch out, their shapes indistinguishable in the poor light filtering in through the curtained window. Yuuri knows they are different though. Can tell that this partner moves to a different beat.

“On your stomach,” the man barks, slapping Yuuri's side when he's too slow to transition. “I want you on your knees.”

Yuuri scrambles into the turn. His legs twist in the sheets but he finds the position, weight now balanced on his elbows. The man grunts in satisfaction and then plunges in deep. Yuuri clutches at the sheets and rocks back into the man's hold, trying to match his partner's pace as the dance finally spins out of his control.

This isn't how you lead, Yuuri thinks, gasping and confused. He buries his face in the pillow with a groan as the man tramples over any sense of coordination. All Yuuri can do is submit, each thrust echoing wet and lewd and the pitch of the mattress rising higher as the man fucks him in earnest. The frantic pace his partner sets leaves Yuuri too delirious to anticipate the next move. It's wild, untamed – so unlike anything Yuuri has experienced before. His thighs tremble as the entire bed frame shakes back and forward, elbows braced against the force.

Only the taste of salt on his lips alerts Yuuri to the fact that he's crying. He presses his face deeper into the pillow and searches for another laugh, finding one locked deep inside his chest. It bubbles up as the man spills into him and then finally pulls out.

Yuuri's legs collapse, his body crashing into the mattress. He knows he should sit up and correct his partner but his limbs have lost all coordination now that the dance is over.

+10000000 WOW I LOVE... viktor holding the person down while coaching Yuri what to do.. fucked up but i like it

omg.... I'd love to read this, please

While he hasn't exactly had much time for sightseeing, so far Chris likes Japan. Except for one thing. The afterparty for the competition has been dull tonight, which isn't Japan's fault, but the fact that he can't even get a decent glass of champagne is. What kind of country sets the drinking age at twenty? There must be someone willing to hand him a glass anyway; he just hasn't found them yet.

At the moment, though, he isn't looking; he's standing in front of a very clean mirror in a very nice bathroom and rubbing at his eyes. After most of a day's worth of dry winter air, his contacts are starting to get irritating. His eyes don't look red, yet, but maybe he should run to his room and switch them out for his glasses.

He gives his eyes another rub – it doesn't actually help, but it feels good – and leaves his hands there for a moment, pressing just enough to see swirls of color against his closed eyelids. He hears someone come in as he does so, with soft, light footsteps. A moment later, he squeaks on reflex as arms wrap around his waist.

"Chris," Victor says in his ear. "There you are!"

Chris drops his hands. "Were you looking for me?"

"Mm." Victor drops his forehead to Chris's shoulder and clutches at him more tightly. It's a good amount of pressure, kind of comforting, until he squeezes and it becomes borderline painful. "I thought you'd gotten bored and gone back."

"I was thinking about it." Chris finds Victor's hands and tugs at them, but Victor doesn't let go. He loosens his grip, at least, so Chris twists to get a better look at him. "Did you want to come with me?"

"Mm," Victor says again, and he leans his head up to kiss Chris's cheek. Chris only has to turn his head further to make it into a proper kiss, soft and slow. Victor smells like alcohol. Good for him, considering he's also still underage here. Chris kisses him again, a little harder, and Victor's mouth opens beneath his – he tastes of champagne, when Chris presses his tongue in, and Victor shudders and curls his fingers into his shirt.

The angle is getting painful, so he pulls away and doesn't allow Victor to follow. "My neck hurts," he says, going after Victor's hands again, but he lets go first, only to tug Chris around before he can do so himself. One arm presses firmly into the small of his back, while the other hand slides up his spine, his neck, into his hair as Victor leans in. Chris settles his hands on Victor's waist and enjoys the quiet noises he makes when their lips move together.

Victor opens his mouth again, whimpers lowly and pulls at his hair until Chris acquiesces to his wordless demand. He slides his tongue between Victor's lips and kisses him as deeply as he can until breathing through his nose isn't enough. He finally gets a good look at Victor as they part, his pretty eyes wide and cheeks flushed and mouth still parted as he takes fast, hard breaths. Chris puts one hand to his cheek – it's hot, and Victor nuzzles into it, eyes closing and opening halfway, slow, like a cat's, looking at him. Oh, some part of him goes, and there's heat in his chest to see Victor like this, giving him that expression. Oh, and he did this to him, and he wants more.

But maybe not right here. Somewhere more comfortable (even if this a nice bathroom, pristine, with warm light instead of cold). He asks, "My room or yours?"

"We're already here," Victor whines. He tries to tug them closer, though there really isn't any room left to close.

"Victor. Wouldn't you rather--" He's interrupted by Victor shoving their mouths together. It's a very good distraction, especially with the way he runs his fingertips down Chris's scalp and tries to twine them into the short curls. Several minutes later, when Victor drops his hand down his neck and pulls away, he's half forgotten his objection. "Okay," he says, feeling a little dazed, like he's had some of the champagne he can still taste. He swipes his thumb along Victor's cheekbone and watches him smile.

He has lovely cheekbones. Chris tells him this and he smiles even more, shows a hint of teeth for a second.

Still, they shouldn't just stand here. Someone else is going to come in eventually, and while he doesn't mind the thought of them seeing, he doesn't want to get interrupted. So he pulls at the arm around his waist until Victor lets him take it, and leads him down the row of stalls to the handicapped one at the end.

One good thing about Japanese bathrooms – the walls go all the way to the floor, and the door just clears it. No worrying about interruptions this time if they can keep quiet.

Victor barely waits for him to lock the door before pressing him against the wall. He doesn't kiss him, at first, but cups his cheeks and leans in so far that Chris can't actually focus his eyes on him. Chris wraps his arms loosely around his waist and tries to lean back on instinct, though of course it doesn't work and he can feel his eyes crossing.

Victor darts in just long enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, then smothers a burst of giggles against his shoulder while Chris is still processing it. The sound of his laughter makes Chris smile, too, and he rubs his cheek against Victor's hair until his head lifts again.

"You're so cute," he croons, and like last time, Chris doesn't know what to say to it. He doesn't have to say anything, though, as Victor presses their mouths together. Chris hums and tilts his head so their noses aren't bumping, lets his hands slide down the back of Victor's suit jacket until he can get a good grope of his ass.

Victor laughs into his mouth this time – kind of a strange sensation, but he likes it, and he likes what he feels, so he keeps his hands right where they are. (He thinks, for a moment, of the sleek costume Victor wore for his short program a few days ago, the one that had clung to every line of his body, from his wrists to his waist to his legs. He hadn't been able to pay attention to most of the program itself, too distracted by the way Victor's muscles moved when he was able to jump, the curve of his back and waist during his step sequence.) They stay like that for what has to be at least several minutes, Victor's thumbs brushing his cheeks at irregular intervals, their mouths sliding slowly against each other, both of them making soft murmuring sounds. Then Victor arches into his grip for a few moments before he pulls away from the kiss.

Chris tries to start it again – he was enjoying that, dammit – but the hands still on his face press him back, gentle. They drop down as he presses quick kisses down Chris's cheek, his jaw, the top of his neck, and then he draws back and starts undoing Chris's tie.

When he's still having trouble with it a minute later, Chris reluctantly brings his hands up, bats Victor's away, and has it untied in three seconds. He lets Victor finish taking it off, but when he stares at the silk in his hand like he has no idea where to put it, takes it from him and loops it around the bag hook.

"Ah," says Victor. He kisses his cheek again and starts on the buttons of Chris's jacket. His fingers fumble a bit, but he manages. "It's different when it's on somebody else," he says, absently, and then he gets the last button undone and moves his hands up Chris's chest to slide it off his shoulders from underneath. Chris shivers at the sensation and lets Victor do all the work of getting it off.

Victor gets the first two buttons on his shirt undone quickly, and puts his mouth back on Chris's neck while he works on the third. Chris turns his head to nuzzle on the top of his head – his hair is so soft – only after a few moments of that, he pulls his head back and lets go of Victor to paw at his own mouth. There's something--

"Chris," Victor says, looking up, only to get a strange look on his face. "What?"

Ah, there, he's got it. He pulls a long hair away from his mouth, though he can't help but rub his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple more times to make sure it's all out. Victor laughs as he shakes the hair off his hand to fall unseen to the ground. Chris makes an exaggerated expression of disgust and Victor laughs harder, leaning into him.

"Sorry," he says. "They get everywhere. You might find some on your clothes later. ...if I don't take them off first."

"Get back to it, then," says Chris, looping his arms back around Victor.

Victor pecks him on the cheek and does so. After the next button, he starts on the rest with one hand, uses the other to push open Chris's shirt. He traces Chris's collarbone with a finger, one end to the other as far as he can reach under the shirt, and back again. He does it again with his tongue, kisses the hollow of his throat, and he finally makes progress on the buttons as he moves his mouth up and sucks on the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

Chris prods him after it's been a minute. "If you keep sucking like that, you're going to leave a mark."

Victor pulls away, goes, "Oh," quiet, and then his eyes light up. "Can I?"

He looks so eager about it, and it's not like they're going to see each other again soon after this, and – what the heck. "Okay," he says, and tilts his head to give Victor better access.

He doesn't waste any time, either, leaning down and putting his mouth to Chris's skin. He sucks hard – really hard, it doesn't actually feel that good. But it's okay, Chris can stand it, lets Victor enjoy it, up until the point he bites.

"Ow!" He shoves Victor away and slaps a hand to the bite. "Victor!"

"You said I could."

"You're not supposed to bite that hard."

"It wasn't that hard!"

"It was," and he should be the one to know, shouldn't he? He rubs at the bite, which really does hurt, and tries not to scowl; the atmosphere has been ruined enough.

Victor pouts and wraps his arms around himself, and Chris wonders if they shouldn't just go back to a hotel room and try again, with less teeth involved. But then Victor loosens his arms, tilts his head a fraction, looks at him through his darkened eyelashes. (He has to duck his head a little to do this, though not that much; they're almost the same height now.) "Let me make it up to you?"

It's hard to stay mad at a sight, a tone of voice like that, and anyway, his neck doesn't hurt that much anymore. "Okay," he says, and first he finishes undoing his shirt, though he doesn't bother taking it off, then steps forward to remove Victor's tie. Victor gives a pleased hum and reaches for him again, closes the space between them until Chris barely has room to work.

Chris pauses after the tie is off and the first button undone. The truth is, Victor looks very good in this suit, even if it's not one he would have put him in – the black should be too stark on him, but somehow it just seems to bring out his eyes instead, highlight the strands of hair falling across the dark fabric. He'd love to see Victor out of it, but there's also appeal in the idea of Victor still in it, mussed. Decisions, decisions.

Well, it's faster to simply untuck his shirt and slide his hands beneath it. Victor gasps and leans even further into him. Then there are hands moving up Chris's back, under his own shirt, and for once, Victor's hands are mostly warm already.

Victor's muscles jump as he touches them, fingers creeping up his waist, fanning across his ribs. "Chris," Victor whines, breathy, pushing into his hands.

"Hush. I thought you were making up to me?"

Victor moans and shoves his face into Chris's neck, breathes against it as Chris takes his time touching. He can feel Victor's ribs expanding and contracting; he can feel the slight dip of his waist, the solid muscle underneath, the bones of his spine. He's so very warm, and Chris thinks of his skating, again. Victor leaning until his back is a gorgeous arc. Victor propelling himself up into difficult jumps. Every good skater looks lovely on the ice, but something about the way Victor moves out there is distractingly beautiful. He skates like it makes him feel the way it makes Chris feel.

It makes Chris want to touch him, to have that under his hands, and now he does, now Victor is whimpering against his neck and pulling him closer and working a leg between his.

Victor arches when Chris traces a thumb across one nipple. Chris takes one look at his face – flushed, hair falling everywhere, eyes not quite focused – and leans in to kiss him. Victor smashes their mouths together before he gets there, and Chris feels his teeth catch on a lip.

"Ow."

"Sorry. Does it hurt?"

"No. Come here," Victor says, voice shaking a little when Chris digs his thumb in harder. Their second attempt is more successful. Chris rolls their hips together; Victor clutches at his back, though at least there aren't nails digging in this time; and at some point, someone's knees fail and they hit the floor.

Both of them make pained noises; Victor draws away to rub at his knees, mutters a curse. "Okay?" Chris asks, rubbing circles on his own. Victor replies with a sound he can't quite interpret.

They readjust themselves, and while they're at it, Chris takes off his shoes, because they are very uncomfortable to kneel on the floor in. Then he climbs into Victor's lap, runs his hands down his hair, and kisses him again. Victor tilts his head back, opens his mouth, pulls Chris harder against him – oh, yes, this is a very nice angle.

Victor moans as Chris tugs on his hair to pull his head even farther back, though it ends up being more uncomfortable than it's worth. Chris is getting impatient; he wants more. He leans into the touch of a hand on his waist, tries to grind against Victor again.

Victor ends up almost overbalancing, leaning back so far he has to put a hand down with a little gasp. So Chris pushes him further, down until he's laying on the floor. He's such a sight to see: hair flying everywhere, suit in place but half open and wrinkled, begging Chris with his eyes.

"You're so pretty," Chris says, reaching up to trace his cheek. Victor shivers and digs his hands beneath Chris's shirt again, pulls at his shoulders until he is laying on him. This is even better; they grind against each other. Victor lets out a moan, and his legs part beneath him, and his fingernails dig into Chris's back until it hurts. Chris presses his face to Victor's skin and rocks harder – he doesn't even know what sounds he's making now, it's so good to be like this, finally, Victor can scratch his back up for all he cares as long as he keeps pushing them together, making those breathy little groans.

"Get a room, you two!" someone calls from the front of the bathroom. Both of them freeze. Chris hadn't heard anyone come in at all.

Maybe they should have been quieter. (They definitely should have gone to someone's room.) Oh, well. Chris doesn't want quiet; he wants every noise that comes out of Victor's throat.

He props himself up on one hand to look at Victor while waiting for whoever shouted at them to leave, feels his racing heart start to slow a bit. Victor's face is entirely red, and he's smiling – not the bright winsome smile of magazine covers, but one that's smaller and tilted and looks very pleased. Chris, he mouths, and tugs him down again as the stranger's footsteps make their way out the door.

Chris lets him, a little, but he's also thinking that he'd like to see Victor's expression when he touches him, when he comes, so he shifts himself and brings his other hand down Victor's body. The soft skin of his neck where the buttons are undone, the nice fabric of his suit, his belt, and then Chris grabs him through the trousers.

Victor half shudders at that, half arches, his head thumping back against the floor. He lets go of Chris with one hand to kind of claw at the floor, then winds it into his own hair when Chris strokes him. "Please," he moans, thrusting against his hand. "Please, please, please," those bright blue eyes gone desperate, pinned on him.

"Okay," he says, fascinated, unable to look away. He moves his hand faster, trying to think of how to get Victor's pants open, though at this point he has little brain power left to spare for problem-solving. It'd be too awkward to move so he can use both hands without falling over, wouldn't it? Maybe he can undo them with one hand? He'd have to stop touching him, though, and Victor might not let him, he's almost writhing like this, tossing his head from side to side, hand hopelessly tangled in his hair, the other pulling hard on Chris's waist.

"Harder," and Chris complies. He feels like he's about come himself, from the way Victor's saying his name in-between open-mouthed panting for air, the way he keeps pushing up into his hand, and while he's trying to get Victor's trousers open, he'd like to get his own off, and he definitely doesn't have enough space to figure that one out, too.

He does try to go for Victor's zipper, but Victor makes the world's most pathetic noise and nails dig into his back, so he gives up and keeps stroking him. Next time – next time, when Victor's not in a handsome suit, or, hell, even if he is, next time, Chris will strip him down and get a good look, touch him all over skin-to-skin. This time, though, he gets as firm a grip he can on Victor's dick through the trousers and watches his eyes close.

Victor trembles underneath him when he comes, gasps and pulls at Chris's waist. It's a very attractive sight; Chris bites his lip on a whimper, then lets go and collapses onto him.

He gives Victor about ten seconds to enjoy it before he starts rubbing against him. He's so hard, and he wants to come already, and he wants Victor to touch him. "Victor," he mumbles, stretching out the vowels, when that last part doesn't come true.

"Yes," Victor says, breathless, and kisses him again. When Chris breaks it off a few moments later – Victor's mouth is hot and it feels good but he needs to breathe right now – Victor is still trying to pull his hand from his hair. Chris reaches up a shaking hand to help, and when it's free, he gets a good grip and tugs on it. "Yes," Victor says, still out of breath, laughing a little. "I'll – oh, can I hold you when I – I want to hold you."

"Okay," says Chris, not really getting what he's saying. Anything is good, as long as Victor keeps moving that hand down his chest. He grinds into Victor's hip again, and this time the whimper escapes.

"Here," says Victor, and he flips them over halfway, then turns Chris over before he can finish processing how he's moved. It puts Victor at his back, which seems like a shame, until Victor plasters himself up against every part of it and tangles their legs together, slides an arm around his waist, sighs into his neck. Oh. That's what he meant.

Victor kisses his neck, gentle, and his other hand moves down and starts undoing his pants. Finally. Chris bites the cuff of his shirt just as Victor pulls him out, and it's so good, though it could be harder, not this light, teasing touch, and then it is and the last part of Chris's brain shuts off.

Victor has barely touched him and he's about to come, he can feel it building in his stomach – he thrusts his hips up and he can hear Victor murmuring to him but he can't tell what the words are, if they're English or Russian or if he's learned to say dirty things in French, he better not be expecting a response.

And then Victor stops. Stops the murmurs, stops the movement of his hand. Chris wants to scream.

He pulls his teeth from his soaked sleeve to demand why – was he actually saying anything important? – when he hears the sound of a door swinging closed and more footsteps on the tile.

Goddamn it. Goddamn it. Shaking, so close to the edge he can barely think, Chris tells himself that next time he'll insist on one of their rooms, where they can make all the noise they want without anyone interrupting them or suddenly bursting in.

"Sorry, sorry," Victor is whispering right into his ear, as the stranger clomps his way into a stall. "I – if you – do you think you could be quiet? I'll –" and Chris is nodding his head frantically. He clamps his teeth on his shirt again, covers his mouth for good measure, manages not to make a sound when Victor strokes him again.

It only takes a few more seconds for the wave of pleasure to hit him. It feels good – really good – really really good – so much better than usual, and it seems to last forever until he comes back to his senses.

He lets his shirt go and lets his arm flop against the floor like the rest of his limbs. Victor kisses the back of his neck again and then relaxes further against him. There are two arms around his waist, now, a little tight but not so much that Chris is going to fuss. There isn't a real thought in his head, and he would be happy to lay here forever.

In the background, there's running water, the sound of hands being dried, the creak of door hinges, before they're left alone.

Chris doesn't really want to move, still, but after a few minutes, the floor is not really that comfortable any more, even with Victor cuddled up against him.

"Go back?" he suggests, still struggling to remember what the rest of the words in the sentence should be.

"Mm," Victor says, and hugs him tighter.

"We're not cuddling on the floor," Chris tells him.

"But Chris," Victor grumbles as he tries to pry him off. He doesn't finish the protest.

"Let's sit up," he says, since at least then his hipbone won't be holding any of his weight, and Victor gives in to that much. Chris takes a moment to try and clean up the come spilled across the floor, puts his clothes back together a little bit, and then lets Victor pull him against the wall.

Victor tucks his head on his shoulder and squeezes him again. Chris puts an arm around his shoulders and his head on Victor's, strokes idle patterns on Victor's thigh with his free hand. For what it is, it's surprisingly comfortable. His eyes still itch from the contacts, and his back hurts from Victor's scratching, and his knees ache, and he can feel a couple of other sore spots, but he starts to fall asleep regardless. Victor's just so warm, and his hair is soft, and it feels nice to hold someone, to be held, even like this.

"Chris," Victor murmurs at some point.

He doesn't think he could force his eyes open if he wanted to. "What."

But Victor doesn't say anything else, just tightens his arms and moves his head. Okay, then. Chris adjusts one hip and goes back to falling asleep.

He really is dozing by the time he's jerked awake by a burst of shrill music. Victor jumps and scrambles to sit up, one hand pulling away to dig in his pocket. Oh, it's his phone. Chris slumps against him as he answers. The conversation is short and in Russian. "Yakov wanted to know where I was, since he didn't see me leave. He worries so much about us!"

"Of course he does." Chris reaches up and half-heartedly strokes Victor's hair, though his fingers don't make it all the way down the length of the strands. "A pretty thing like you, who knows what could happen."

"We're in Japan," Victor huffs. "I could hardly get in trouble here. Anyway, I said I'd gone back to my hotel room."

"You shouldn't lie to your coach." Chris pecks Victor on the cheek, then dodges his attempt to resume cuddling by standing up. "Let's go sleep in a real bed."

"Okay," Victor says, in a tone that suggests Chris is being unreasonable. Chris sure is feeling unreasonable – he still doesn't want to walk anywhere, but of course they can't stay here all night. "Whose room is closer to the elevator?"

"Mine's the first one in the hall."

"Yours, then." He helps Victor up and watches him stretch, then grimace as he drops his arms. Maybe he's sore, too, or maybe he's just regretting that he didn't let Chris at least get his pants open.

They get themselves looking – well, not presentable. But at least they slide all of Chris's buttons into the right holes, and he wakes up enough to remember how to tie his tie, and he helps Victor tuck his shirt back in, though he takes off his jacket while complaining about it being too hot. They give each other a final look-over – shoes on, clothes in approximately the right position – and Chris unlocks the door.

In the elevator, Victor yawns and leans into him. His flush has gone down by now; he looks tired more than anything. "When's your flight? If it's not too early, we should go sightseeing tomorrow."

"Yeah?" Chris can't remember. He's falling asleep again.

"We could get real sushi!" Chris nods and doesn't really listen as Victor throws out more suggestions, willing the numbers in the display to go up faster. He's so focused on it, and so sleepy, that he doesn't actually notice the doors open for a long moment, not until Victor takes his hand and drags him out. "Let me," he says when Chris can't seem to locate his keycard, roots around in his pockets for him until he finds it.

Whirr goes the lock. Victor hooks a hand around his elbow and pulls him into the dark, silent room.

OP here for more clarification... viktor's reeeaaallly casual about it, like Yuri's playing video games in the living room chair while Viktor rapes someone on the couch, preferably Yuri is a virgin and no older than 15!

Forgotten choreography is only the beginning. From there, it doesn't take long for Yuri to realize that Victor makes a lot of empty promises.

Ok, so in this au people aren't born omegas, but are instead turned into omegas by being filled with alpha semen a lot (in the ass in the mouth whatever)

Yuuri wants to be Victor's omega, and convinces him that yes he would like to be turned thank you very much

so much sex ensues

some bonus ideas: a butt plug too keep it all inside him in between rounds for max efficiency

Because after 10+ years of ballet, Yuuri is definitely flexible enough to suck his own cock too.

Victor whines until he gets that out of him and then dies when Yuuri does it? Phichit bets that Yuuri can't do it? Yuri finds out and demands proof because no one is as flexible as he is (and they do it together)? Chris is absolutely delighted to figure it out and then sad because nope, he can't do it?

Mmm, bueatifully brutal.

Awwww this is lovely! Such a good mixture of cute/funny and also desperately hot when they really get going.

Thank you! I'm glad to hear that I hit a good balance of cute/hot.

Yuuri pays off Victor's coaching fee with his body.

The most annoying thing was that Yuri had no one to blame but himself.

He didn't even want Victor. He didn't even like Victor. Not that way. Sure, early on he'd really looked up to Victor, because he was a young Russian skater so of course he did. Then Yakov took him on, and Victor was always around. And sometimes Victor was out there casually jumping quads like some remote god while Yuri was going through repetitive bullshit until Yakov was satisfied, but other times he was grabbing one person after another and sticking earbuds in their faces, all "Mila, listen to this and tell me what you think! Yuri, don't go anywhere, you're next" or showing off pictures of his dog, or hanging over Yakov going "You're the best coach in the world!" while Yakov rolled his eyes and said, "What do you want now? Get off me and just say it like a normal person."

After about six months in St. Petersburg Yuri had completely gotten over any actual awe of Victor. He was just a person, sometimes okay and sometimes annoying, just like anyone else in the world. But then he started taking an interest in Yuri, talking about choreographing a program for him, and Yuri remembered that he wasn't just a goofy manchild who kept a Kleenex box cover shaped like his dog with him at all times; he was also Victor Nikiforov, and having Victor involved in his senior debut would go a long way towards letting him blow everyone's minds. And he was pretty sure that was where the whole stupid mess started.

He was able to ignore the bond itself, and just sort of live with the way he was always so aware of Victor, for quite a while. It made things weird and awkward sometimes, like when alphas wanted to talk to Victor at all, ever, or when some drunk at the Grand Prix banquet wanted to compete with Yuri and dance with Victor, but Yuri could live with that even when the drunk loser turned out to be a really disgustingly good dancer.

But then right after Worlds, Victor disappeared and Yakov refused to tell Yuri where he'd gone or why. All Yuri knew was that he was far enough away that it felt like his brain was on fire, which apparently was something Victor could just ignore somehow, and Yuri was stuck stalking him on social media to figure out where exactly he was.

Japan. He'd gone to some random city in Japan Yuri had never heard of though the name sounded familiar, and Wikipedia told him it was known for a ninja house, of all things. And then the memory slotted into place -- "come and visit me in Hasetsu!" -- and Yuri was ready to kick Yuri Katsuki's ass all over again.

The most infuriating thing about Yuri Katsuki, and there were many, was that Yuri kind of liked him. Like, as a person.

He didn't like him. He hated him. But he could have liked him, if he'd been a beta, maybe, or better yet, an omega, or if he'd been named literally anything other than Yuri. Because Yuri Plisetsky was going to be debuting in the senior division, and getting compared to Victor on the one hand, and to the other alpha named Yuri on the other, and he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand that there was another alpha in skating who was a completely embarrassing failure, and he couldn't stand the risk of failing, of being just another runner-up to Victor. Another embarrassing failure. Skating wasn't the sport for alphas, after all.

The whole reason people said that was that alphas were supposed to be taller and bulkier — more like Victor, the omega, than like Katsuki — and Yuri still had time before that happened, and he was going to make the most of it. But people would still be thinking that, and it bothered him, and it pissed him off that he was bothered.

Just like it pissed him off when Katsuki missed his jumps and also pissed him off that Katsuki's skating was so beautiful otherwise; just like it pissed him off that Katsuki was so beautiful, period, when he had his hair back and his glasses off, or worse yet when he was pole-dancing with Victor's friend Christophe. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad, if he'd been an omega, or even a beta, but he had no right to look like he did, and move like he did, while also being an alpha.

But he was an alpha, and when Yuri watched him dancing with Victor, he found himself thinking that's what a bond is supposed to look like. That was what Victor should have had instead of being stuck with Yuri "twelve years younger" Plisetsky. And there was no way in hell Victor didn't know it.

The flight to Japan nearly drove him crazy, because even though he knew he was getting closer to Victor his stupid instincts didn't; his instincts thought he was sitting still when he should be looking for his omega, and it felt a little like he had a sunburn on his brain. Once he landed, he felt better immediately, and being in Hasetsu helped even more, no matter how stupid it felt to play a game of hot-and-cold with Victor's location.

Getting to kick Katsuki in the head made him feel a lot better, though. And though he didn't like admitting it to himself and would never admit it to anyone else, getting to see Victor again helped, too.

"Ah! Yuri! I knew you were on your way!" Victor exclaimed, with that big heart-shaped shit-eating grin of his. "What took you so long?"

"I don't even speak the language here, asshole!"

"Wait a second," Katsuki said. "Are you two bonded?" And Yuri smacked himself in the forehead, because now they were going to have to explain the whole imprinting thing to yet another person — maybe several, since there were rink staff around, but maybe they wouldn't speak English — and that put them that many steps closer to letting the whole world know.

Except that Katsuki didn't ask. Victor said, "Unfortunately, yes," and Yuri said "Don't ask any gross questions," and Katsuki just nodded. And that was where they left it for quite a while, even though the two of them were outright competing for Victor.

Technically competing for him as a coach, but what with the stupid love theme to the programs and Victor's weird-ass insistence that they understand love in some mystical way (like he could somehow tell if they got it or not) it felt a whole lot more like they were in some kind of head-butting, antler-locking fight over his hand in marriage, or at least who got to screw him. Which meant the pig had a head start, what with Victor giving him "Eros" in a totally subtle move that was so Victor it made Yuri's head hurt. And even though Yuri had no intention of following through himself, keeping Katsuki from porking Victor was definitely good motivation for him.

But Katsuki was being weird about it. He kept getting red-faced and flustered when Victor put the moves on him, like he hadn't been humping Victor's leg while demanding Victor coach him a few months ago. Sure, getting drunk lowered your inhibitions according to everyone, but what the hell. They were sleeping in separate rooms, and thanks to Yuri's station in what amounted to Victor's closet, he knew neither of them was sneaking into the other's room during the night. And Katsuki sort of acted like he didn't even get sex — katsudon is my eros, what the fuck — which was blatantly untrue, as Yuri was reminded whenever he looked at his phone (not like he was going back through his photos from Sochi all the time, but the album was right there, reminding him, and he knew exactly why they were here in Hasetsu.)

Yuri didn't know what was going on with him, and he didn't really care, but Victor kept sending them off on these stupid quests ("Go climb a mountain and meditate under a waterfall!") and generally being a pain in the ass as a coach, and so sometimes they were stuck with each other. And Katsuki would actually try to make conversation — "He must have been watching a lot of old martial arts movies. Or maybe anime?" — like he wasn't even paying attention to all Yuri's kicking and scowling and snarling.

So it wasn't exactly a surprise, on their way back down the mountain, with Yuri's hair dripping down his neck and making him seriously reconsider growing it out, when Katsuki asked, "So how did it happen?"

"What?" He was still thinking about his grandfather, sitting at the kitchen table with crayons as Grandpa cooked, the sounds of frying and the radio and Grandpa's voice. It took him a moment to come back to Japan, to somebody who was thinking about Victor and that whole stupid mess.

"The imprinting? Or do I have the word wrong?"

Like hell he had the word wrong. He lived in the US for a year, his English was fine. "Yeah, imprinting. Like a baby duck." He squeezed some water out of his hair. At least it was hot enough that he was drying out. "I don't even know how it happened."

"You don't?"

"It wasn't like we had sex or anything!"

"I know that!"

How exactly did he know that? "It just kind of... happened, I guess. At last year's Grand Prix banquet — not this past one, the year before — I suddenly started wanting to pick a fight with some Swiss ice dancer because I thought he was an alpha and he was talking to Victor." He laughed a little. "Yakov was so pissed once we figured it out."

"You don't know what caused it?"

"It's supposed to be, what, sharing bodily fluids? Close physical contact? I mean, he might have hugged me or something. Maybe we shared a water bottle. Nothing obvious to set it off. It was weird."

"What's it like?"

"Why? You figure that'd work better for understanding eros than food?"

"You have no idea what it's like to really crave something," Katsuki said. "Besides, you just said it's not like that with you and Victor. I'm just curious."

"God no, it's not a sex thing. Ugh. It's kind of just... itchy."

"Itchy?" He almost sounded like he didn't believe it.

"When we're apart, anyway. And then when we're in more or less the same place, I know where he is. I can walk into a building I've never seen and know exactly which direction to go to find him. He's walking around a room while I have my back turned and I know exactly where he is the whole time. That's all."

"Huh."

"Yeah, nothing like the stupid movies."

"I guess some of them have some of that..."

"Yeah, sometimes? But there's nothing romantic about it. It's just radar."

"Maybe it'd be different if you were in love with him too."

Yuri just shrugged. All that mattered to him was winning. He figured the bond thing came about because he got his hopes up about Victor coaching him, or choreographing for him, or basically helping him, somehow, when he got to seniors. Help from Victor fucking Nikiforov. A leg up, a chance to blow everybody away, to really kick some ass, definitively, right out of the gate, before his body changed on him and he risked losing all his flexibility and speed. He got excited, and he fixated on Victor, and it turned into some kind of imprinting thing, and apparently Victor wasn't able to resist it or reject it or whatever omegas did.

It had come in handy for finding Victor, anyway, and if he could just beat the shit out of the pig at this Onsen On Ice event, he'd take Victor back to Russia, and everything would go on like it was supposed to, with Katsuki crying in another bathroom stall and Yuri winning all the medals Victor didn't (or if Victor wanted to just coach, that was cool, too, Yuri was fine with additional medals.)

If he could beat the pig.

!!!!!!

op is excited to see this filled <3

I love the part about Yuri going crazy from the distance and not knowing how Victor can stand it, and Victor just casually saying he knew that Yuri was coming.

Oooh, this is really intriguing! I like it and I'm looking forward to more!

Inspired by this AU prompt: https://yurionicekink.dreamwidth.org/881.html?thread=223857#cmt223857

But Victor wants to become Yuuri's omega and Yuuri struggles with that. Because on one hand, yes he will steal Victor from the world thankyouverymuch but on the other hand, it will negatively impact Victor's career and Yuuri won't allow that to happen. Victor thinks Yuuri is rejecting him and it causes a rift. Eventually he convinces Yuuri that he's worth becoming an omega for, even if it means frequent heats and media gossip. The sex happens and they both love it even more than they thought possible.

Cool idea! Seconded!

second!

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Page 34 of 59

Prompt Post 1

Yuri/Viktor/Yuuri spanking- (bump)

Re: Yuri/Viktor/Yuuri spanking- (bump)

Yuri P./Viktor-dubcon exhibitionism

Yuri P./Viktor dubcon/noncon/top Yuri

Dark Viktor/Yuri Plisetsky(/other characters)

Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, frottage

Fill: don't stop the music [drunk sex, non-con]

Re: Dark Viktor/Yuri Plisetsky(/other characters)

Re: Dark Viktor/Yuri Plisetsky(/other characters)

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 3a

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 3b

Re: Dark Viktor/Yuri Plisetsky(/other characters)

Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky - broken promises

Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, a/b/o : omegas aren't born they're made

Yuuri Katsuki/any - autofellatio

Re: Fill: don't stop the music [drunk sex, non-con]

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 3b

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 3b

Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, the coaching fee is his body

Re: Yuri/Victor omegaverse accidental imprinting FILL (1/?)

Re: Yuri/Victor omegaverse accidental imprinting FILL (1/?)

Re: Yuri/Victor omegaverse accidental imprinting FILL (1/?)

Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov, a/b/o : omegas aren't born they're made with omega!Victor

Re: Mob/Victor Nikiforov - Hasetsu gangbang

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, a/b/o : omegas aren't born they're made