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

I love this.

Warnings: angst, violence, very vague noncon

It starts as a beautiful thing, something Victor is awed and proud of. He’s stepped on a piece of glass, tears of pain drip down his face. “Mama,” he cries out and she hurries over to pick him up. His tears land on her wrist- that she’d burned on the stove several days back and Victor’s eyes widen as the burn fades away. Victor’s mom laughs, brushes a few tears to heal Victor’s foot and kisses him on the cheeks.

Victor grows up helping others like them, others with no other way to heal. The Popovich family brings extra coal for their fire, Ms. Baranovskaya watches Victor while his Mama works, cleaning and cooking for other families. So, when Mr. Feltsman limps into their home, his ankle clearly crushed, Victor cries for him. When Mr. Plisetsky brings a tiny, wailing infant, blubbering about how he’s too small, he won’t eat, he won’t stop crying, Victor cries for him too.

When the Bad Men come, when Victor watches his mother crumple beneath their beating, when he sees her limp form lying against the floor of their home, Victor cries and cries and cries. It’s then that Victor learns there are some wounds that are too big for his tears. They dry against his cheeks as the men roughly bind him, toss him in a wagon and take him away from everything he’d ever known or loved. Victor vows never to cry again.

It takes the men half an hour to get him to produce tears. They start with beating him, punches to his stomach, to his arms, some slaps his face. He bites his lip, endures the pain. He can feel the tears at the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t want to help these men.

“I killed your mom,” one says gruffly, pulling his hair, breathing into his ear. The breath smells foul against his face. “And I’d kill her again and again, this is your life, kid. It’ll go easier if you cry for me.” The tears well up against Victor’s will at “I killed your mom.”

“It’s getting harder to get a rise out of him,” foul breath admits. Victor sits listlessly in the chair. They’d quit binding him to it months ago. He’d learned how impossible escape was. He’d learned to trap his emotions in his chest, to endure the pain, the beating, the harsh words, the lack of food, to live through his hardships without crying. His dry eyes are his only weapon against them.

“True and Mr. Plisetsky is offering a large sum.”

Something flutters in Victor’s chest at the name. It feels like hope, like a chance to escape. The men do bind him before taking him outside and a few drops leak from his eyes at feeling the sun on his face. Foul breath collects them in a vial. “Wouldn’t want waste these while he’s still ours,” the man laughs. Victor blinks, does not allow himself to cry for them again.

“I’m sorry about this,” Mr. Plisetsky says as he locks Victor into a dark room in the basement of their new, nicer house. “But my first little boy passed away, I think, if your mother had been more generous,” he stutters, “I think then maybe that son would be alive. I can’t risk anything with this son.”

Victor doesn’t want to, but he cries when realizes how much he’d hoped he would be free. Mr. Plisetsky collects his tears, apologizing the entire time.

“I’m sorry to do this son,” Mr. Plisetsky says, “but little Yuri is almost two years old, I think he’s healthy enough now. And we can use the money, you see?”

Victor blinks at the man who’s beaten him, who had his ankles broken, who’d beaten others in front of him, all in the name of keeping his son healthy. He says nothing as he’s led outside again, sold again. He feels nothing as he’s traded to another person, another owner, another person to cry for.

This time, Victor wants to produce tears. He’s so tired of the pain. He can’t stand more of it. There is nothing left though, he thinks as the new woman huffs at him impatiently.

“I wonder,” she says, fingering his long hair, “if you are worth what they say.”

Victor is surprised when she helps him to the bath, bathes him, washes his hair. Her touch feels so good, he shivers as she brushes down the sides of his chest, his legs, his breath hitches when she washes his groin.

“Shh,” she says, singing softly to him. She helps him out of the bath, wraps him in a towel and pulls him into a hug. He cries then, wet tears slide down his cheeks and she’s prepared. She catches them in a vial and strokes his hair. “Thank you, sweet thing,” she says, leading him towards a bed. “Go on sleep,” she whispers. Victor aches inside as she hurries away. He wonders distantly how she’ll feel about the tears he’s currently wasting.

She takes him out, he cries at the first party he attends. She dresses him in fine clothing, silk against his skin, brushes his hair and places a crown of blue flowers on top of it. She holds his hand during the carriage ride and hooks their elbows together when they enter the Babicheva estate. There are so many noises, smells, sounds, Victor is overwhelmed quickly and she’s ready with her vial, strokes his arm as he composes himself.

“You didn’t say he was so pretty,” a man purrs.

She laughs at him, Victor doesn’t hear what she says as he watches all the people whirling around the room. He’s mesmerized by their movements, the swirls of the women’s gowns, the strength in the men lifting and twirling those same women.

“Mistress,” he whispers softly, “could I learn…” he waves his hands at the crowd.

“To dance?” she frowns. “Whatever for, sweetness?”

She stares at him for a moment, then turns back to the man when he doesn’t cry for her.

He’s stolen not more than a few weeks after the party, by that man. He’s old and tall and broad, his hair his dark and his beard is scratchy.

“You’re so lovely,” the man says, before he’s whisked away, bound, blindfolded, thrown into a carriage. The man pants heavily during the entire carriage ride, Victor hears slapping and grunting noises as they travel. The carriage develops a cloying, unfamiliar smell. The man groans a final time and Victor trembles on the floor of the carriage.

Victor sobs, produces tears the first time the man uses his body. He cries the first time he realizes what he’s been stolen for. He cries when it feels good to be touched, when his own body reacts, when he shudders with pleasure at the hands of this man. The man collects his tears, though he’s not as careful as his previous owner had been. Victor cries when he realizes he’s locked away from the world again. Victor cries until his tears dry up again.

~

Yuuri pleads with the village healers, he yells, he throws his offering to the ground at their feet.

“We’re sorry, Katsuki-san,” they say. “There is little to be done. Your sister has lived a good life, let her go with grace.”

“We lost our parents to the plague,” Yuuri says, “my sister is all I have left. I will find a way to heal her.”

One of the healers, a man near his own age looks up. His eyes are foggy as he speaks. “You will,” he says, voice echoing through the healing temple, “but will you have the strength to do what is right?” The man blinks, stares at the silent room.

“Did something happen?” he asks.

Yuuri smiles. The signs of a true prophecy bolster him as he prepares for the journey.

Mari sleeps fitfully in her bed, in the inn owned by their family. By him and her, he remembers with a jolt. He makes certain their sign still indicates they are closed and tucks the blankets around her. “Yuuko will check in on you,” he says, brushing a hand against her pale face, pushing back her streaked hair.

“Yuuri, I’ll be fine,” Mari slurs, “don’t go.”

“I’ll return with help,” he says, emitting a confidence he doesn’t feel.

“Please,” Yuuri says, ignoring the younger boy glaring at him. “I can find nothing else that can help my family, I’ve come so far.”

“It’s a cruel fate the Nikiforov boy faced,” Nikolai Plisetsky says. “Faces. I’m not sure where he is now, but his tears can heal anything.”

“Bullshit power,” the boy hisses, Nikolai nudges him harshly with his cane.

“By that power you live, be grateful.”

“I never asked my father to be that kind of an asshole, just to live,” the boy mutters. “Rumor has it he’s been held at Dimitry’s manor the last few years. But that his tears are dried up. If you wanted to know,” the boy glares at him. “I guess I owe that asshole something.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, bowing to the two. “Where can I find this manor?”

The boy groans. “Oh whatever, I’ll show you. C’mon.”

Yuuri doesn’t expect the Nikiforov “boy” to be so old, maybe a few years older than himself. He doesn’t expect him to be so beautiful. He’s sitting in a chair with a book in his lap, blue eyes gazing forward, unfocused. His hair is pale silver, falling over his shoulders. He’s wearing only a thin pair of sleeping pants. His body is littered with bruises, though his face is unblemished. He’s thin, brittle looking. Yuuri nearly stops at the sight of him.

Yurio (” You absolutely cannot call me Yurio! That’s ridiculous. Yuri is my name, pick a different one.”) smacks him in the leg.

“Hurry up, pig,” he says. (” Like “pig” is a better nickname than Yurio?”)

“Or you’re going to get caught.”

“We’re going to get caught,” Yuuri corrects. He looks at Nikiforov. “We’re here to rescue you,” he says.

Nikiforov looks up. He closes his book and sets on it on the floor in front of him and stands up. He follows both Yuris silently as they leave.

“Victor,” he answers when Yuuri asks his name.

“Okay,” he says when Yuuri says Victor is free to go as he wishes. It tears at Yuuri’s heart to think of Mari, wasting away from the sickness that had taken so many from their village already. He doesn’t want Victor to leave, he wants to know this man, he never wants to be the reason this man cries.

Yuuri gathers his things, thanks Nikolai for his hospitality and Yurio for his help. Yurio kicks him and tells him to “take that useless old fucker with you”. Yuuri heads towards home. His heart skips when Victor follows him.

Yuuri had saved his gold on the trip here, uses some to rent them a coach. It’s a long walk home and Victor tires easily. Victor takes a deep breath before he steps in. By the time they’re halfway through the journey, Victor has fallen asleep, his head lolling against Yuuri’s chest.

“What do you want from me,” Victor asks, sleepily as they’ve neared the inn.

“Just be,” Yuuri says.

Victor blinks, two tears travel down his pale cheeks. Yuuri brushes them away. Victor gazes at him, shock clear on his face.

“Just be who you are,” Yuuri says.

I love this.

17 year old Victor presents quite late as an alpha and straight after he won his first silver on the ice in the senior devision. In the chaos of his win, he finds himself alone in the dressing room with the 15 year old rising star of the juniors, Yuuri Katsuki, an omega.

They are locked out in the dressing room, and Victor's rut triggers Yuuri's first heat. In this verse, it's custom that whenever an alpha and omega mate, people don't disturb them (aside from bringing them food, water and blankets), or pull them apart, as it can be severely mentally damaging for both alpha/omega, especially if it's their first time. Everyone knows this, but the world (and, Yakov, really) can only watch in horror as Victor bonds and impregnates Yuuri after a week, while everyone outside breaks loose in discussions of morality, people wanting to pull them apart, and magazines writing scandal after scandal. They are too young. Young, naive and stupidly in love with each other too, much to Yakov's annoyance. An they're keeping the baby, no matter what people say...

Victor fists Yuuri, they both are loving it. Maybe they've been working up to it or it's some sort of special treat!

Please no scat or prolapse please.

Nicely done, anon.

Kudos ♥

Vampire!Victor is hungry and really needs to feed. Yuuri volunteers to help, expecting to feel nothing but pain. Yuuri is surprised when Victor's teeth touch his neck, biting into him. It feels so fucking good.

SECONDED

Yuri has loved Yuuri for a very long time and was very mad when Viktor managed to snatch right from under his nose, after all, he saw Yuuri first.

He hatches a plan to get Viktor out of the picture so that Yuuri can be all his.

Two ways you can go about this, either one is good!

1. He kills Viktor in a sneaky way and comforts Yuuri, and uses a bunch of emotional manipulation/mind games etc to get together with him

2. He kills Viktor and abducts Yuuri and basically rapes him a lot.

hey there OP, love the prompt. how would you feel about this mixed with an objectification kink that's borderline rape fantasy? not actual noncon, mind you, but like maybe yuuri confesses to viktor he used to fantasize about viktor stealing him away and keeping him for his own sexual enjoyment or whatever. y/n?

Not OP but PLEASE now I NEED to read this

it's written. kind of a slap-dash effort of frantic id, but... here we are, on the kink meme. i'm going to post my own prompt and then post the fic as a reply because i'm not sure if OP was really looking for what i ended up doing and also because the prostate milking portion ended up kind of secondary to...everything else.

Loosely inspired by this prompt that asked for prostate milking: https://yurionicekink.dreamwidth.org/881.html?thread=347249#cmt347249

Viktor and Yuuri are enjoying some post-coital intimacy that leads to Yuuri sharing one of his fantasies, wherein he and Viktor would meet and Viktor would steal him away to use as his preferred sex object. This, of course, leads to them trying said fantasy. The fill I wrote does include some prostate milking but ultimately focused more on the fantasy-play than the milking itself, hence the new prompt.

NOTES and WARNINGS: Please be mindful that this fic does not include negotiated play. It is meant to be fully consensual, but if you require explicitly defined rules to feel comfortable with the themes of objectification and powerlessness then this is not the fill for you. I'd love for people to consider the prompt above as open to other interpretations, and if anyone wanted to try their hand at the idea (with any level of negotiation included) I'd be the first one to read it.

With that being said, content notes for bondage, rape-play and/or rape-fantasy, overstimulation, dirty talk, objectification, comeplay, bareback, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, prostate milking. If I missed anything, let me know. ^_^

Viktor runs his fingers through the dense, silky shift of Yuuri’s hair. It’s a little damp near his scalp, sweat clumping the strands. Next to him, Yuuri hums and shifts a bit until he finds a comfortable spot on Viktor’s chest, his own hand thumbing idly at Viktor’s nipple. Each brush sends a pleasant after-tingle of pleasure through Viktor’s groin.

Yuuri looks up at him, face smooth and open and just a little pink. “Kind of hard to get me pregnant when you’re wearing a condom,” he says, deadpan.

Viktor snorts laughter, feeling himself color as he kisses Yuuri’s forehead. “Heat of the moment malysh.”

Yuuri grins, returning the kiss with one to Viktor’s neck, and then his jaw.

“You know,” he says, “I had a similar thought when you first showed us the Eros choreography. I’d never been so… so turned on.”

“Really?” Viktor says, pleased. “Yet you wouldn’t sleep with me, how curious.”

Yuuri gives a little half shrug, yawning into Viktor’s clavicle. “I um. Needed more time to prepare before I could be that close to you. Or I would have embarrassed myself.” His face is so hot Viktor can feel it against his chest.

“Yuuuuuri,” he coos, delighted. “How many times did you touch yourself, thinking of me?”

“Shut up,” Yuuri grumbles.

“Yuuuuuri,” Viktor sings into Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri bites him. “Ow!”

There’s a beat of contrite silence, and then: “At least once a day since I was about fourteen.”

“Darling,” Viktor says, snaking his arm around Yuuri’s back to better pull him in tight. He spends several moments trailing his fingers down the dip of Yuuri’s spine, then adds, “After the grand prix I masturbated for the first time in years.”

“Years?” Yuuri says. Viktor shrugs this time.

“You were inspiring. I thought of kissing you and made a mess of the hotel chair’s upholstery. It didn’t clean up very well.”

Yuuri laughs and Viktor grins, thinking warmly of the memory. His cock goes a little heavy against his thigh.

“I used to daydream we’d meet,” Yuuri says. “You’d take me to some beautiful house, somewhere remote, and no one would know I was with you. It’d be the last place anyone would guess I would be, knowing how much I wanted you.” He squirms a little, tucking his face against Viktor’s side. “Everyone would think I was missing.”

“Would you be hiding from something?” Viktor asks.

“No,” Yuuri mumbles. “You’d keep me tied up. Wherever you wanted me. You’d go to competition and act very concerned if someone talked about me, but then you’d come back, and…” he trails off.

Viktor is hard. It’s a little sensitive, so soon after their last round, but he’s picturing the drive up to Chris’ family chalet, snow whipping fitfully as he lets himself inside. There’s nothing but the silence of the house, and deep in the warmth of the master bedroom, Yuuri bound to the bed - flushed and waiting.

“Yuuri,” he says, rough. He rolls to his side and palms Yuuri’s hip, helping him turn over. He’s easy and smooth, pulling one leg up so Viktor can fit himself in, sliding deep without resistance. Yuuri gasps, pliant as Viktor gets some leverage and starts to fuck him again.

They breathe together harshly, Yuuri’s hand beneath them kneading his half-hard cock. Viktor wants to come, indecision making his rhythm falter as he pinches Yuuri’s nipple. “What do you need?” he says instead.

“Harder,” Yuuri blurts, half hiding under a pillow. Viktor knows what he wants, posting up on both knees and getting a hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck to hold him down. His hips slap at Yuuri’s ass, building on the soft bleats of need coming muffled through their mattress. It’s so good - Viktor’s balls contract and he pulls out, aiming his come down the slope of Yuuri’s back. Yuuri goes taut as a bowstring, shoulder jostling furiously with the rapid shuffle between his legs.

Viktor catches his breath and puts more weight into his hand, pushing Yuuri’s face deeper into the mattress. In response, Yuuri cries out, his hips hitching, the soft patter of his come hitting the bed. He collapses seconds later, uncaring of the wet spot beneath him. Viktor slumps half across his back, eyes heavy.

He sucks a messy kiss against Yuuri’s nape, does a haphazard cleanup job with the sheet and follows Yuuri quickly into sleep.

***

Yuuri isn’t expecting it because it’s weeks later, long enough for him to have forgotten. He opens his sleep-sticky eyes to a soft click, his arms above him and Viktor peering down at him. It takes a moment to realize there are cuffs around his wrists and he can’t pull his arms down. Confused, he focuses on Viktor, who’s holding a length of soft fabric in his hands.

“Viktor, wha—?” he starts, more baffled than anything. Viktor interrupts him by placing the cloth against his mouth. It’s twisted into a firm, rope-like shape, and Viktor gives him a solid minute to protest before carefully sliding it past Yuuri’s lips and between his teeth. Yuuri’s eyes go wide, fully awake when Viktor ties the fabric off behind his head. It’s a gag.

Viktor sits back on his heels, smiling, his palm making a proprietary slide down Yuuri’s chest. “Pretty kotyenok,” Viktor says. “Right where I want you.”

Yuuri’s pulse kicks up. He looks up at his wrists, tied to the headboard in soft leather shackles with a metal chain connecting them. They clack against the wood as he tugs. The gag is thick enough that words are unintelligible, but he makes a little noise of question, and then of surprise as Viktor rolls him over like a piece of furniture. The chain twists, drawing his hands tighter together.

“Beautiful,” Viktor says, squeezing and parting Yuuri’s ass. A familiar squirt of cold hits Yuuri’s crack and he jerks, suddenly aware of how ragged his breathing has become as Viktor sinks a finger inside him. “I canceled our plans today,” Viktor says, conversational as he quickly adds a second finger. “I told everyone you weren’t feeling well and that we’ll be taking the weekend to help you recover. I hope you don’t mind.” Both fingers scissor and Yuuri jerks, panicked anticipation ballooning inside his chest. “Come darling, open up for me,” Viktor says, removing his hand for more lube before screwing back in, three fingers ignoring the pitiful resistance of Yuuri’s muscle.

Yuuri is frozen, swallowing air as Viktor expertly stretches him. It’s unfamiliar in its ruthless efficiency, and then Viktor shifts and Yuuri chokes, eyes rolling back as his whole world narrows to thick and hot and hard buried inside him.

Viktor purrs, slapping at Yuuri’s ass to make the muscle shake. “Beautiful,” he says again, grabbing Yuuri’s hips to hold him steady for a few lazy thrusts. “Sweet Yuuri. You feel so good, I’m not going to last long,” Viktor grunts, pulling Yuuri’s hips up until he gets his knees under him.

It’s a humiliating position, chest flat to the bed with his ass presented and his arms useless above his head. Yuuri can hardly breathe, every heaving inhale spreading the heat of Viktor’s inescapable touch straight to the nerve endings in his toes and the roots of his hair and the base of his spine. It’s a perfect position for Viktor to stand behind him and pump, his movements quick and artless, selfish.

Yuuri moans around the spit-damp cotton in his mouth, cock swaying heavily as Viktor’s pace picks up and his panting goes thin and rapid.

“I’m going to come,” Viktor warns, hooking a hand over Yuuri’s shoulder to shove in hard. “You’re going to make me come, Yuuri, oh fuck,” Viktor gasps, not pulling out but touching deep. Yuuri whimpers, overwhelmed and clenching desperately in a grab for satisfaction.

Viktor moans appreciatively against his back, grinding down before pulling out with a wet sucking noise that makes all the hair on Yuuri’s body stand on end. Viktor slaps his ass again before squeezing it. There’s a kiss to Yuuri’s tailbone and a happy sigh before Viktor stands, stretches, and leaves the room.

***

Viktor makes himself wait two hours. He’s more than ready less than thirty minutes later, but the anticipation is so sweet, even with Yuuri’s plaintive whines following him out of the room.

Yuuri’s asleep when he comes back, thighs still spread wide and head pillowed on his bound wrists. His hole is a rosy pink under the flaky layer of dried come. Viktor’s blood throbs and he smears some more lube around his cock before lining himself up and pushing home. The heat is incredible, but it’s the easy slide that makes Viktor gasp.

Yuuri groans awake, already whimpering and arching up into Viktor’s weight.

“God, you love it,” Viktor says, pulling out to roll Yuuri back onto his side. He straddles a thigh and guides himself in, holding Yuuri’s free leg up with one hand.

Yuuri stares at him, dark eyes begging. His cock droops in the hollow of his hip, but it’s a deep red and growing heavier with every shallow thrust. His murmurs are rhythmic, arms tugging uselessly.

“You’re still so wet,” Viktor tells him, watching his flush darken. “I’m going to come inside you again.” The flutter of Yuuri’s eyelashes makes Viktor move faster. “You like that, don’t you?”

He pulls out and sits back on his heels, lets Yuuri see him squeeze his fingers into a ring around the root of his cock and draw it up to the tip, a layer of come and lube gathering over the seam of his skin before he smears it all back down again. Yuuri’s blush spreads to his chest and he worries the gag between his teeth, murmuring some unintelligible plea. Viktor pushes Yuuri back down onto his front, scooting forward until his knees press Yuuri’s thighs as wide as they will go. It takes some angling to fit the tip of his cock back inside Yuuri’s hole, but once he does Yuuri’s body welcomes him like a hot, grasping mouth. The effort it requires to remain still is beyond what Viktor would have credited himself with, but so worth it when Yuuri shudders and keens, realizing.

“You know what to do,” Viktor says, massaging one of Yuuri’s beautifully muscled thighs. Yuuri writhes, self conscious, and then he writhes more deeply, trying to shove Viktor further inside. His lower back flexes, winning another inch before rolling up, Viktor’s cockhead almost popping free before being swallowed again.

Yuuri’s thrusting is shallow but desperate, polishing Viktor’s cock without winning much depth or friction for himself. Viktor has to bite his lip, watching Yuuri’s hole shiver and flinch, hearing him make soft aborted noises like he’s on the brink of tears.

“You’re doing so well, detka,” he finally says, tugging Yuuri’s hips down when he can’t push any further. “Make me come, baby - make me fill you up, that’s it,” he says, helping Yuuri’s ass bounce, feeling the swell of delicious pressure begin to expand. “Fuck, oh fuck--” he jerks, just the thought of keeping Yuuri like this, a hot little hole for his casual use making his balls spasm. “I’m going to get cuffs for your legs and rent you out,” he gasps, picturing a line of anonymous men kneeling up behind his Yuuri’s perfect ass, keeping him full and wet. Yuuri audibly sobs, trembling as Viktor slowly stops twitching inside him.

There are tears on Yuuri’s face when Viktor turns him over, his cock hard and damp at the tip. He looks likely to crumble with a single touch, so Viktor doesn’t. Carefully, gently, he slips his fingers into the sopping mess of Yuuri’s hole. Yuuri goes rigid, panting sharply until Viktor’s long fingers find his prostate and his breath stops altogether. Gentle coaxing makes Yuuri’s cockhead dribble, and ongoing pressure makes it begin to flow. There is true panic in Yuuri’s eyes under the sheen of tears, and Viktor leans down to press the softest of kisses to his belly.

By the time the slow expulsion of semen stops, Yuuri is groaning and fitfully trying to bear down on Viktor’s hand. Viktor is still hard and achingly sensitive, orgasmic and aroused and every bit as needful as Yuuri. The noise Yuuri makes as Viktor slowly presses back inside of him is a ragged keen, and Viktor growls as he finally bottoms out.

Viktor fucks him. There is no grace to it, only the hungry rush toward satisfaction. Yuuri shouts as Viktor plucks at his cockhead, cruelly overstimulating him into reflexive clenching. His come is a tacky puddle on his belly even as his cock sways stiffly under the weight of Viktor’s thrusts. Yuuri’s eyes suddenly roll back and his body seizes with orgasm, squeezing so hard Viktor has to yell through it, slowing until Yuuri gasps and his muscles unlock. Crazed, Viktor tugs the gag out of his mouth, growing unbearably, impossibly harder at the sudden clarity of Yuuri’s need.

“Please, please, please,” Yuuri babbles wetly, legs tightening around Viktor’s waist as his whole body begins to stiffen again, cock flexing pitifully. “Oh god, oh god ohgod,” he sobs, clutching around Viktor like a vise.

Unable to stand it, Viktor takes Yuuri in hand and jerks him off, Yuuri’s pitiful wail dissolving with everything else as Viktor folds him in half and rides out pleasure so sharp and sustained he almost blacks out.

***

Several hot towels and a little aloe later, Viktor ruffles Yuuri’s hair with a sigh. It’s impressive how Yuuri makes himself both small and heavy on Viktor’s chest, but it’s nice, and also oddly necessary.

“Is that what you had in mind?” he asks, low. There is a pleasing touch of gravel to his voice.

“I’d give it a silver medal,” Yuuri murmurs, sleepy. Viktor’s laughter almost shakes him back onto his side of the bed.

“The judge from Japan is harsh tonight!” Viktor finally says, keeping Yuuri steady with both arms wrapped around him.

“I know what you’re capable of when you exert yourself.” He’s curled up so snugly everything comes out a little muffled, which Viktor is only beginning to recognize as one of his rare pieces of manipulation. Even knowing that, he enjoys the surge of possessive pride that already has him plotting for his gold.

“You know, Chris has a family home in the Alps.”

“Does he?”

“Mhmm. Empty most of the year. One road in and out. They ski sometimes, but not often.”

Yuuri swallows, shuddering. “That sounds nice.”

Viktor grins.

And posted! https://yurionicekink.dreamwidth.org/881.html?thread=353393#cmt353393

this was SO HOT

I was browsing this page while with a friend and couldn't resist and started reading this

and then I had to lock myself in a bathroom

I was blushing really hard

this was so hot so hot sohot

Okay, not the original requester, but I just wanted to stop by and say wow! This was so well-written, and so sexy. Love it. I hope you decide to continue this at some point at Chris' chalet, because I would love to read it!

Thanks again for making my... I was going to say 'day', but I think I'll go for 'week' or maybe 'month' instead!! <3<3

Awww this was the best comment to get while at work today! I'm sorry you had to lock yourself in a bathroom! XD But I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

Thank you so much! Goodness, you're making me blush, what sweet things you say! <3333

LOL oh goodness... maybe a continuation? Part of me would want to have Viktor invite Chris to participate (probably just for one instance and not the whole visit but still) and idk how into that people would be. I'll definitely toss the idea around for a bit! Thank you again so much!

That’s hot. Yuuri is a luck man. Victor too.

<333 only the truth!!

I'm not a super Chris fan, but I admit with your skill at writing I think it would fit well with the story and I'd definitely read it! I know a lot of people like Victuuri/Chris so I don't think you'd find a lack of readers :D

And hey... if you are comfortable sharing privately via message, I'd love to know if you have any other fic around because I'd love to read them. Maybe I already have LOL

Wow! Prostate massage OP here and I want to say, THIS IS AMAZING! And I'm so glad you felt inspired!

OP here! This was amazing! Even if the milking was a bit of a backseat - I loved your fill a lot!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 53 of 59

Prompt Post 1

Re: Seung-gil crossdressing

Fill: Yuuri/Victor, Victor's tears are magical, TW: violence, hurt/comfort

Re: Fill: Yuuri/Victor, Victor's tears are magical, TW: violence, hurt/comfort

Young Victor/Yuuri, Omegaverse, mpreg, underage, consensual sex

Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, fisting

Re: Fill: Yuuri/Victor, Victor's tears are magical, TW: violence, hurt/comfort

Re: Fill: Yuuri/Victor, Victor's tears are magical, TW: violence, hurt/comfort

erotic blood-drinking + Victor/Yuuri

Re: Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov, fem! Yuuri/ fem!Victor

Yuri Plisetsky/Yuuri Katsuki, murder + non/dubcon

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, prostate milking

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, prostate milking

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, prostate milking

Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

FILL part 1: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, prostate milking

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: FILL part 2: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, objectification, rape fantasy of a sort

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, prostate milking