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.
3.Any kink is fine. Fic or art fills is fine. Multi fills is encouraged.
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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

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I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for, OP.

-----

It's been a long day, and Chris is exhausted; that's the only explanation for how he gets out of the stall and halfway through washing his hands before he notices that Victor is there. He doesn't seem to have noticed Chris, either. The crown of blue roses – maybe the same one as at the European Championship, maybe a new one given to him because it suits him so well – is set aside on the dark counter top, and Victor is picking at his hair with both hands. It's not in its ponytail anymore, but spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

Chris watches him as he finishes scrubbing at his fingernails, hears Victor mutter – probably cursing – in Russian. He's working out knots and tangles, and the one he's currently fighting with isn't coming out nicely.

Victor finally sees him after he's turned off the water and is flicking it from his hands; he glances over, then turns his head and puts on a bright smile. Earlier, Chris was sure that Victor hadn't recognized him from Paris, but he certainly does now, after Chris fought his way to a place next to him on the podium. "Oh, Chris," he says, voice much more pleasant than it was a moment ago.

"Hi," he says, feeling stupid a moment later for saying it; they'd last seen each other not that long ago. "Is your hair okay?"

"It just tangles easily," Victor laughs, turning his eyes briefly to the knot still caught between his hands. "I forgot my comb somewhere, but I didn't want it to be a mess."

"Right," Chris says. He takes his time drying his hands off, watching Victor continue to struggle in the mirror. He hesitates after he drops the paper towels into the bin. It's quiet and they're alone, and Victor isn't looking his way at all, so it feels entirely natural to stare for a while.

Victor is very pretty; in a few years he will probably be quite handsome, but for now, even off the ice – even fighting his hair in a bathroom lit with unflattering florescent light – there's something that is almost ethereal about him, enchanting. Maybe it's his hair, shiny and thick with fine strands and a rare shade of silver. Maybe it's his long eyelashes, fluttering as Victor squints at the knot he holds. Maybe it's his hands, with their long, slim fingers. Maybe it's just the way he moves even like this – deliberate, elegant.

He also seems to be making slow progress with the tangles.

"Do you need help?" Chris asks. Victor's head jerks up as he first meets Chris's gaze in the mirror, then twists over his shoulder.

"Oh, no," he says, "it's okay, I can handle it." It's true, of course, but Chris can't draw his eyes away from the locks draped forward over Victor's shoulder for easier access, except to look down to where his hair clings to the curve of his back, his waist, or up to admire how well it frames Victor's face. Victor is staring. Chris is staring. It's rude of him. "Well," Victor adds after the moment has stretched into awkward, "if you want to help, you can."

"Are you sure?" he asks even as he steps closer and starts to reach one hand out.

"Here, you take this side – be gentle."

Chris is careful. He stands behind him and does his best to copy Victor's strategy: start at the ends until they comb smoothly and work his way up. He tugs his fingers through slowly so it won't hurt when they inevitably snag on a tangle, and he tries not to pull on Victor's scalp as he works each of them apart. Most slide out easily; some are truly knotted, and with some of those he ends up having to take out the strands one or two at a time until it falls apart. Victor makes a pleased sound at one point but is otherwise silent. Chris is, too.

It's nice. It's more than that – intimate, getting to pet Victor's lovely hair in this silence. He wishes that they weren't in a public bathroom, that they were in a low-lit hotel room or outside under the moonlight in some park instead. Somewhere quiet and dark where they could have all the time they wanted together, rather than having to face interviews in a few minutes.

Eventually they work everything out together, and Victor drops his hands. Chris keeps running his fingers through the silky strands. Victor doesn't tell him to stop. When Chris peeks over his shoulder, the reflections of Victor's eyes are closed. So he continues to move his hands, smoothing it all down from the crown of Victor's head down to the tips.

They're standing very close. He wants to – on an impulse he runs his fingernails closer to the scalp on the next stroke, not quite scratching. Victor gives a little gasp at that, leans back slightly. His eyes open. Chris meets his gaze in the mirror again as he pulls his hand out of Victor's hair, moves it back up, and does the same thing. On the third time, Victor's eyelids lower and he pushes into Chris's hand.

Before he can do it once more, Victor turns. He takes Chris's face in his hands, and for a second they just look at each other. Victor's palms creep up his jaw; his fingers push into his hairline. He leans down as Chris leans up, and their lips meet. Victor is warm and his lips are soft, coated in a thin layer of chapstick of some kind. The kiss is over too soon, so Chris sets his hands on Victor's shoulders and pulls them into a second, then a third and fourth. One hand digs further into his hair, while the other arm wraps around Chris's upper back and grips hard, drawing them even closer together.

When Victor's mouth opens beneath his, Chris copies him and leans in harder, making an embarrassing kind of strange whine. This feels good, the way their mouths move together, the heat he can feel rising in him, the noise Victor makes when he tangles one hand in his hair. He can't help but shove forward, wanting more.

Victor eventually breaks the kiss and makes a little space between them when Chris tries to follow him. Chris's face is very hot; he must be all red. At least Victor, too, has gone pink, panting just as hard as him. "Can we...." Victor starts. He pauses and licks his lips. "The, ah, the counter hurts."

It takes him several seconds to understand what Victor is saying, and he glances down at the sharp counter edge he's been shoving Victor into. "Oh! Yes, sure, should we...?"

"Let's try this." Victor stands fully upright and turns them around, then drops his hands to Chris's hips and lifts him up onto the counter on the opposite side of sink from the forgotten rose crown. Chris contemplates putting it back on Victor's head – it really does look good on him, with his silver hair and bright blue eyes – but it will probably get knocked off again. Instead, he makes a face and shuffles a bit farther from the sink, momentarily grumpy about the stray drops of water now soaking through his leggings.

Only momentarily, because then Victor is right there again. They seem to be even closer like this, with Victor now standing between his knees. Chris lets his arms fall around Victor's shoulders and draws him into another kiss. Victor touches a hand to his chest, the other still wrapped firmly on his hip. The angle is different now – the counter isn't very high, but it's evened out their heights, put Chris a couple of centimeters above Victor. He thinks he likes it better this way. Hopefully he'll get a little taller soon.

He shoves his tongue in Victor's mouth and god, he feels so hot. He can feel Victor's teeth against his tongue, Victor's hand pressing fresh bruises into his hip, the vibration in Victor's throat as he moans and pulls Chris closer to the edge of the counter. Chris wraps one leg around Victor's and tucks his foot in, while he tries to lock the other against the drop-off somehow for balance, but it's difficult when Victor is being so distracting, and he's distracted further a moment later when their teeth click too hard against each other and they both reel back.

Nothing seems chipped, though, so he fulfills the desire he can read in the hand clenched in his jacket and pulls the zipper down, shrugs it off. It gets caught around his elbows and he has to remember that his other arm needs to let go of Victor for a moment to get it off, but it only takes a few seconds to toss it to the side, where he can distantly hear it slide off the counter. Victor kisses him again, and then breaks it before Chris wants him to in order to press kisses to his cheek, down to his neck, as he pushes his fingers under the collar of Chris's shirt. They're very cold fingers.

"Here," Chris pants against Victor's temple. He grabs the hand and pulls it out, then shoves it under the bottom hem to rest on his stomach. "They'll warm up faster like this."

There's a huff of air against his neck, and Victor kisses it once more. His other hand finally lets go of Chris's hip and creeps upward. Chris clutches at Victor's shoulders again – to have something to do with his hands at first, and then for support, because Victor is starting to lean him back at an awkward angle and his muscles are still sore from the actual skating he did earlier.

Victor's hands do warm quickly as his fingers run over every ticklish spot on Chris's waist – making him squirm and tell Victor to knock it off, which gets him a real laugh this time – before one moves further up and slowly, almost shyly, rubs over the edges of one nipple. It feels good, enough to make his toes curl a little, enough to force a weird high-pitched noise from his throat. So Victor does it again, with less hesitation, and again, leans them further and further until Chris has to slap one hand down on the counter for balance.

Unfortunately, it's a very smooth counter that's speckled with water drops. His hand slips; his head slams back into the mirror.

"Fuck," he gasps, then adds a few more curse words for good measure. The warm body over him lifts.

"Are you hurt?" Victor asks, his blue eyes gone wide. Chris winces and (much more carefully, this time) levers himself up to prod at the back of his head.

"No, no. It's already fading." It is; the pain was sharp but seems to be short-lived. He wants to get back to what they were doing before – Victor is now too far away, still peering at him, one hand on the counter and the other fisted in the hem of Chris's shirt. "I'm fine," he says with a smile, dropping his hand from the sore spot. "Hold on, let's–"

They get off the counter. There's a tiled wall separating the sinks from the rest of the bathroom, and that should do. He pushes Victor against it, then himself against Victor, tilting his head up for another kiss as he slides his hands up and under Victor's own top layers. He shivers as Chris brushes his fingers over the defined muscles of his stomach, his bottom ribs, then clutches Chris closer – if there was even room left between them – and deepens their kiss.

Chris lets his hands settle around Victor's narrow waist and tries to keep up with the kiss, the way Victor moves his mouth and presses their tongues together. His lips tingle; so does his back, where Victor keeps pulling at it and moving his hands up, down. He feels so very, very hot. It's difficult not to start rubbing up against Victor. Somewhere he still remembers that they have something to do soon, that they probably should have stopped a while ago, in fact.

But who has time for that? A few days ago, Victor barely remembered him at all; now he's gasping against Chris, strands of his pretty hair sticking to his face around his bright (and not entirely focused) eyes, his heartbeat rapid against his lips when they finally pull their mouths away from each other and Chris pushes his face to Victor's neck. It's so rewarding to have this effect, to make Victor produce those tiny keening sounds, to feel him clutching at his shirt. All of that beautiful strength, the strength that propels Victor through all of his quads and up to the top of the podium, now being used to keep Chris close.

"Chr – Chris, Chris," he gasps into his hair, his voice gone low. Chris shivers to hear his name said like that and shifts his hands up, all future plans entirely forgotten.

Loud footsteps suddenly clunk by the bathroom door. The two of them freeze, looking at each other, but thankfully whoever it is doesn't come inside.

"The press conference," Victor says, his voice a bit faint. He looks entirely unlike how he did on the ice, his hair a mess again and his lips a deep pink. "We need to go."

"Right." It takes them a couple of minutes to actually pull away from each other, though, to disentangle their hands from each other's shirts. Victor's the one to gently push him off; Chris can't help but claim one last kiss, and then one last kiss, before he lets Victor move away, leaving him feeling suddenly chilled.

Victor fusses with his hair in front of the mirror again, while Chris picks up his jacket and splashes cold water on his face. It's gone quite red under his tan. Victor, too, is flushed, but it looks a bit more natural on him. "Do you need help?" he asks again. Victor throws him a look. Chris reaches out anyway and helps smooth his hair down – it doesn't seem to be actually tangled, just ruffled, and it's soon back to looking picture-perfect. "I can put it up for you," he offers.

Victor shakes his head. "I know the right height to tie it at," he says as he slips an elastic from under the wrist of his jacket and begins to pulls his hair up into a ponytail. Chris picks up the rose crown and gives it a little jiggle to fluff it up again. Right at that moment, the door to the bathroom slams open. Both of them whip around with a startled jump.

It's Victor's coach, and he looks furious. Chris makes out a "Vitya," and then a long string of what must be Russian, and which sounds very angry.

Victor puts a smile on his face, though, doesn't look shaken at all. "Chris was just helping me finish getting ready," he says lightly. "I'm sorry we took so long."

His coach glances at Chris, who hastily plonks the crown on Victor's head, then gives it an adjustment a moment later. "How's that?" he asks.

"Perfect!" Victor checks it briefly in the mirror, then gives their reflections another bright smile. "Okay, let's get going." He grabs Chris's hand and pulls him out of the room, swiftly down the hall.

Chris tightens the grip. Victor's hand in his is warm.

AHHHH. HELLO, MY NAME IS OP AND I AM IN LOVE.

The part where Chris starts to get a tiny bit rougher and Victor leans into it. How they're so hot to make out they don't even care they're so BAD at it. The part where Chris wants to be taller than Victor because he likes it up here, I died. The languid atmosphere when Chris is just petting Victor's hair and the way it picks up after they start kissing is gorgeous, I would genuinely read any and allllll the words you wrote about Chris and Victor's awkward/fantastic encounters in bathrooms around the world.

I am also going to reread this fic one million times and dream about Victor getting shoved into sharp counter edges, bless you. ♥ ♥

I'm very glad to hear you enjoyed it, OP ♥ Reading such a nice comment made my morning.

I would genuinely read any and allllll the words you wrote about Chris and Victor's awkward/fantastic encounters in bathrooms around the world
Aw, thank you :) and great, despite everything else it has to work on, now my mind's trying to come up with more scenarios for a 'four times things go wrong during their bathroom makeouts + one where nothing bad happens'-type fic....

NA. I greatly look forward to it if you continue. That was hot.

Well, I've got exchange fic and IRL work to focus on first, but my brain has been pretty enthusiastic about the idea, so we'll see! Thanks, and if I do write more on this, I hope you enjoy that as well.

That was absolutely glorious, thank you, anon!

Thank you, that's wonderful to hear.

Perfect!

Thanks!

Loved this! Didn't know I wanted to read about something untangling Victor's long, beautiful hair, but it turns out I definitely did, and also want ALL the fic of his teenage hair.

Thanks! I am glad to provide, even if you didn't know you wanted it yet.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Prompt Post 1

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"

Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, "See you at the Worlds!"