#viktor is a tease and yuuri can't get enough of it

[triptychgrip]

New chapter of Heatstroke (in which Viktor’s “funishment” officially begins)

Someday, I might be able to write short and sweet smut & fluff, but I'm just not there yet, lol. In my newest chapter of Heatstroke -- my 9K, post-canon Viktuuri fic -- Yuuri officially begins doling out payback for Viktor's earlier suggestive teasing.

The latter can't get enough, tied up and forced to watch his husband put on a shameless show

Chapter 2 excerpt below the cut. Content warning: explicit sexual content

Finally – and arguably, most importantly – Yuuri reached for his phone, eager to queue up a song in their shared playlist that would get him in the right mood for “the show” he was about to put on.

Viktor moaned as he arched his back and hovered on his knees over the upright toy, and Yuuri wondered if the sun was glinting off of his pool-slicked skin in an engrossing way.

You can do this…Viktor loves riling you up, but he loves it even more when you rile him up as well, he reminded himself, stretching his hand out to grab onto the pool chair for balance.

In all honesty, it would be a lot easier to do this with his love’s help, but Viktor being tied up and forced to watch was something they both got worked up about. He sucked in a quick breath, keeping his eyes on Viktor as the smooth, slick glass filled him, those curved ridges nudging against his walls so satisfyingly.

Of course, this fullness was nowhere near as satisfying as Viktor’s dick, but that obvious fact wasn’t really the point at all of this goading display.

“Mmmm…don’t take your eyes off of me, lyubimiy,” Yuuri sighed out, just before clicking the play button on his Spotify app.

His spouse’s assenting whimper filled the air just before the sultry, synthy intro began to play.

FLESH

Savage and an angel,

we call out in tantrum

I got a grip on your throat,

we would ride in tandem

Breathy vocals began to blare from their speaker, and he began to cant his hips in a slow, even rhythm that would allow the dildo to curve in such a way as to stretch him completely. As he began his undulating descent, Yuuri allowed both of his hands to begin trailing up and down his wet body, and nearly grinned when Viktor made an inarguably desperate mewling sound when he took himself in hand.

[wenttworth]

Yuuri burrowed deeper into his scarf and jumped from foot to foot. He squinted at the name of the building, compared the Cyrillic with the message he’d been sent, and walked in.

The sudden warmth was a relief, though he did have to wipe his glasses when they fogged up. He baulked at the sudden Russian as he approached the front desk.

God, he wished Viktor were with him, but when he’d suggested it Yakov had gone puce and ranted about training and Worlds and did he want to keep his title or not?

“Um, English?” he asked.

The receptionist blinked. “You’re Yuuri Katsuki, yes?”

Yuuri affirmed, and she led him to the back, chatting about what he should expect of that day. She left him with the designer, who also talked, about his ‘vision’ or something. Yuuri wasn’t really paying attention.

“So, for the photoshoot, we have four or five different outfits. They have been fitted to your measurements, so if you would like to keep them you’re free to.” She passed him the first outfit, a white shirt with lace panels that revealed more than it covered. As if he could wear that in public, but at least Viktor would enjoy it. “You can leave your clothes here. Come next door when you’ve changed and we’ll get you through hair and makeup.”

Once it was on, he had to admit that the lace panels looked good. Viktor really would enjoy it.

He was about to take a picture—to send to Phichit, Viktor would appreciate the surprise when Yuuri returned to St Petersburg—when his phone buzzed with an incoming text from Viktor.

Found an antique mirror at the market this morning!

Another buzz.

Miss you.

Yuuri sighed. They’d taken to going to the market every week and Viktor always found something to bring home, paintings and vases that he would either keep or give away.

A photo came through, and Yuuri downloaded it immediately, almost dropping his phone when it came through.

The mirror was nice, slightly worn gold gilding, intricate, curling carving around the frame. But Yuuri couldn’t focus on that. Viktor was in the mirror, sitting on his heels with his knees spread to reveal tight silk underwear that did very little to hide anything. The silvery silk continued with a short dressing gown, loosely tied, falling off one shoulder. Yuuri had left a bruise on that shoulder just before he had left for Moscow. Even stockings that finished halfway up his thighs.

Yuuri stared hard at the peek of abs, the one pink nipple he could see, the small bruise near his collarbone. There was a knock at the door and he jumped, going to open it.

“Are you ready, Yuuri?”

“Yes! Sorry,” he said, hiding his phone in his bag and following to hair and makeup.

Photoshoots were always long and boring in a studio, holding the same position for minutes at a time before changing incrementally, and today, knowing what was on his phone made it even worse. He couldn’t help thinking about what Viktor might be doing, how the silk must feel against his skin, pushing the gown off his shoulders to mark that perfect skin even more... he swallowed and forced Viktor from his mind. Uhh... walking Makkachin (Makkachin tripping Viktor over so he would fall into Yuuri’s arms), skating (Viktor skating in those stockings and that gown), Yakov (...oh, that worked).

When it was finally over and he’d been given boxes with the clothes he’d worn—‘Dry clean only,’ the designer had insisted before handing them over—and Yuuri hurried back to the hotel, the only thought in his head to call Viktor.

He checked the time and his heart ached. Still seventeen hours before he could be in Viktor’s arms again. He hated being apart.

Calling Viktor as soon as he’d shut the door and dropped the boxes on the floor, he collapsed face first onto the bed.

“I’m at practice so behave,” was the first thing Viktor said, and Yuuri laughed.

“Oh, you hypocrite. Do you have any idea what it was like at that stupid photoshoot after seeing that picture?”

“I can guess,” he answered, a teasing smile in his voice that Yuuri ached to kiss away. “Do you like the mirror?”

“I preferred what was in the mirror. Next time you’re coming. No matter what Yakov says. Just imagine, a whole hotel room going to waste.”

There was a small hitch in Viktor’s breath. “We’ll make good use of it when you get back.” Angry shouting from somewhere in the rink. Viktor sighed. “Break’s over,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

“Wow, your expression is... intense in these,” Viktor said, staring at Yuuri’s screen with a light blush on his cheeks.

Yuuri’s face, meanwhile, was probably bright firetruck red. Very unattractive next to the dawn colour on Viktor’s cheekbones. He hid his face.

“Urgh,” he groaned. “This is so embarrassing.” Viktor pulled his hands away to kiss his cheek. The clothes had already been fairly revealing and risqué, but his expression, eyes dark and intense, suggested way more.

“I’m kind of jealous that other people will see this,” Viktor said, a laugh in his voice. His hand was slowly inching up Yuuri’s thigh, and Yuuri snapped the laptop shut. He wrapped his arms around Viktor’s neck to pull him closer.

“Surely the real thing is better?”

[tossing-cookies]

Yurio tries to have it so that Viktor can't train Yuri one day, so he puts some ipecac in his lunch. It doesn't kick in until on the ice, where Viktor throws up. But Yurio starts to feel sick when he sees Viktor sick

OKAY SO THIS TOOK FOREVER, BUT IT WAS SO MUCH FUN

I wrote and rewrote the beginning of this so many times because I honestly had no idea how to go about it, BUT I THINK I DID IT. I hope you like what I did with your request!

-

Yurio smiled to himself in sinister accomplishment as he watched Yuuri’s new coach heartily shovel rice into his mouth, blissfully ignorant to the special ingredient that he had slipped into Viktor’s bento that morning. It was jealousy that had driven him to it. Envy was an ugly beast, and it drove good people to do bad things, namely poisoning someone’s lunch.

Within a few minutes, the lunch box was devoured of all its contents, leaving only a few grains of rice sticking to the sides and Viktor’s lips. The older Russian man smiled wide as he finished his meal. “Vknusno!” He cheered happily, drowning in the savory taste of fried pork.

Pleased with himself, Yurio kept his smirk. “Heh, if you’re not careful, Viktor, you’ll end up like fatso over here,” he chuckled, throwing a nod toward Yuuri, who was sitting next to him with an empty salad bowl and an unsatisfied frown.

Viktor smiled bright and held up a chastising finger. “Not to worry, Yurio,” he assured him, putting emphasis on the nickname Mari had given to their guest. Yurio’s grin immediately dropped to a scowl, and Viktor laughed fondly. “I don’t gain weight easily, and besides, I’ve won enough competitions to eat these for a month straight! Right, Yuuri?” 

Downcast, Yuuri nodded, missing his favorite dish that he was being so rudely teased for. “Uh huh…”

“Now then,” Viktor began. “If we’re finished eating, let’s get back on the ice. You two have a lot of work to do before you’re up to my standards~.” Flicking the few grains of rice off of his mouth, he stood from his seat at the plastic lunch table and made for the rink.

Annoyed, and confused as to why Viktor was not feeling sick yet, Yurio glared at Yuuri in disdain. “Listen up, pig, Viktor is coming back to Russia one way or another. Just you wait. He’s going to get sick of your crybaby tears soon enough,” he spat, standing up from his chair. He stormed away with one last “tch” of disgust.

Once all three skaters were on the ice, practice resumed. Yurio picked up where he left off, going through his step sequence again and again, but he kept a close eye on Viktor, looking for any sign that the ipecac was starting to work. Viktor still looked fine, demonstrating a combination spin for Yuuri across the way. Sighing, Yurio was disheartened and turned back to focus on restarting his routine.

A couple of moments later, however, and a concerned call had Yurio perking up in curiosity and hope. “Whoa,Viktor?” It was Yuuri’s voice. “Are you okay?What’s wrong?” Hearing this, the ice tiger turned to bask in the glory of ruining Katsudon’s practice. Viktor was pale and holding onto the barrier with one hand, covering his mouth with the other. Finally. 

Excited that the emetic was working, Yurio glided over to get a closer look at the misery he was inflicting on the man who wronged him. It was pathetic, watching Yuuri beside Viktor, looking so worried and baffled. Then there was Viktor, who’s pallor matched that of the ice, confusion knitted into his brows. “What’s going on over here?” He asked, as if he did not already know perfectly well.

Yuuri looked up from Viktor, not suspecting a thing as he responded to Yurio’s empty question. “I don’t know, he won’t talk to me.” He turned his attention to Viktor again. “Viktor, are you hurt? What happened?” Yuuri kept pressing, but the new coach only shook his head, his hand not leaving his mouth.

Nausea had hit him suddenly, like a kick to the stomach. Instantly, his body was taken over by a hot flash and goosebumps, a cold sweat beginning to prickle against his skin. Warm, coppery saliva started filling his mouth, his jaw burning, but he swallowed it, squeezing his eyes shut. In the back of his throat, he felt a retch teasing him, and he knew that if he opened his mouth to explain what was happening to his confused protégé, his words would be drowned out by his lunch.

Breathing hard, Viktor fought against the abrupt queasiness, hoping it was momentary and would pass on its own. However, his sick stomach began to convulse, pushing hiccups up his throat, each slowly bringing hot bile farther up his throat. Knowing what was going to happen, he shoved Yuuri away from him just in time to double over and dry heave. 

Yurio erupted into laughter at the unproductive retch, but Yuuri, finding it less funny, rushed back to Viktor’s side. “Viktor?!” He shouted, almost panicking as he watched his coach’s condition rapidly deteriorate before his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Smugly, Yurio stood watching a few feet away. “You see, little piggy? I told you he’d get sick of you sooner or later? Bahaha!” His plan was going well. By the looks of it, there was no way Viktor was going to be able to continue skating, and the annoying pork cutlet bowl was freaking out. What could possibly go wrong with this sweet revenge?

The sound of another heave and then a thick stream of sick was all it took to ruin Yurio’s moment of victory. Reflexively, he gagged at the sight, covering his own mouth with his hand and turning his head away from the scene.

Viktor’s body convulsed with another wave of vomit, a harsh, gurgling retch echoing through the building. 

The sound was awful, and Yurio gagged again. The smell of vomit was quick to permeate the vicinity, which only added to the disgust he was feeling. He could feel vomit beginning to rise up his throat. “Ugh, shit!” Yurio cursed in a strangled voice, his body going into a gagging fit as he hurried himself off the ice.

Without bothering to put on his blade protectors, the blond rushed to the nearest wastebasket and spit up a mouthful of bile, dry heaving a couple times as aftermath. He coughed, wiping his mouth. That was not supposed to happen. So it was that in his need for retaliation, Yurio forgot his aversion to witnessing others vomit and consequently suffered the same fate.

Revenge was certainly sweet, but karma was the biggest bitch of them all.