The moment he slid the door of his make-shift bedroom shut, Victor let go of a deep breathe he felt he'd been holding all his life. He could feel the burn under his skin, knew he probably looked like he had a fever. Thankfully everyone blamed it on the alcohol and didn't ask any more questions. The other thing to be thankful about was that he was wearing loose pants and a long coat, so no one had noticed the aching erection he'd been sporting for the better part of the last two hours.

Normally he prided himself on his self-control. He had always been the seducer, the enchanter, the desired, always had the ability to make any man or woman drop to their knees and worship the ground he walked, bend to his every wish. Not that he'd done it often –practice was always so much more important, and affairs could get messy too easily and were rarely worth the trouble-. Normally, if he wanted to relieve himself, he would take his time to prepare, make sure his privacy wouldn't get disrupted, get in a comfortable position, leisurely enjoy such a self-indulgent pleasure.

Tonight was different. He took a moment to make sure there was no one outside on the hallway, and once he did, with his back still pressed to the door, immediately shoved his hand inside his pants, wrapped it around himself and mewled at the prospect of quick satisfaction. He had been holding it in for so long –an eternity, it felt like- he knew he wouldn't last. He just had to close his eyes and remember…

His eyes shot open when he felt something scratching at the other side of the material he was leaning on and a soft but unmistakable whine, and he pulled his hand away from his flesh as if it had been burned before opening the door.

"Maccachin! I'm sorry, I forgot I left you there!"

The dog didn't seem to take much offense from his brief abandonment, and easily allowed him to pet its head. Victor sighed. His problem was as urgent as ever, but he'd always felt self-conscious about doing anything unsavory in front of Maccachin. He chewed on his lower lip. Back in St. Petersburg, he'd give Maccachin something to play with and lock him outside of the bedroom while he did his business. He couldn't do that here, though, and that posed a terrible, terrible problem because he couldn't fathom staying this unsatisfied one more minute, let alone the whole night.

The solution came to him with the face that had caused this problem to begin with, and he smiled a little. He peeked out to the hallway to make sure no one was around and then signed to his dog to follow as he walked the scarce steps that separated his room from that door he had yet to be allowed to breech (and perhaps that was for the best). Instead of knocking, he turned to his pet, already feeling rather pleased with himself for this idea.

"Maccachin, beg." He ordered in a hushed tone and then rushed back to his own room to hide, barely managing to slide the door shut again. He heard Maccachin whine and scratch at the door for a few seconds, then the sound of the door sliding open, and a soft, whispered voice that went straight to his already strained groin.

"What's wrong Maccachin? Did Victor fall asleep and leave you out? How odd."

Please don't come check on me. Please don't come check on me.

"Well, I suppose he was pretty drunk…" he hummed briefly, and Victor could easily picture his cute, troubled expression. He sent a mental apology for inconveniencing him with his selfishness. "I guess you can stay here tonight."

Maccachin yipped happily and Victor could hear him trot inside the room, followed by what he swore was the sound of the mattress springs bouncing. "Good boy." He sighed, allowing himself a split-second of annoyance for how easy it had been for his dog to get into that bedroom, but brushed the thought aside.

With the interruption and the tension of not knowing whether his plan would work, the urgency had subsided a little, just enough to allow him to at least take his clothes off and sneak under the covers, ready to pick up where he'd left off now that the source of all his problems had unadvertently taken care of that minor setback.

Because there was no one but Katsuki Yuuri to blame for Victor's current predicament.

In hindsight, this was probably all his own fault. If he hadn't forced Eros on Yuuri, things would've probably been fine. He hadn't had any doubts of Yuuri's ability to pull off the program, but he hadn't expected him to so completely transform into Eros, to embrace his budding sexuality and embody it so perfectly, consuming himself and everyone that had watched him in the process.

Once he was finally comfortable, he wrapped one hand around his throbbing cock and gave a tentative stroke. Before tonight, Victor would've confidently said he couldn't underestimate Yuuri's capabilities. He knew how talented he was and what he was capable of, he knew, to some extent, what to expect. Or so he'd thought. Because tonight Yuuri had gotten on the ice, and then he'd looked at him straight in the eye and sent him that devilish smirk and in that precise moment Victor was done.

He whined at the memory, a shot of pleasure bolting up his spine as he pressed his thumb to the head of his cock, a droplet of pre-cum oozing from the slit. It had been his sheer will to see the performance to completion that had prevented his legs from giving out on him right there and then, and even if he hadn't made that promise with Yuuri, he would've been unable to take his gaze away from his divine figure on the ice. He closed his eyes and remembered the alluring shape of Yuuri's body clad in his own androgynous costume (would it smell of Yuuri now?), the seductive femininity of his moves, the confidence of his steps, and every time their eyes had met, Victor had felt himself pulled towards him, into him, those mesmerizing brown eyes whispering in his ear 'want me, want me'.

And oh, how Victor wanted him.

He ran three fingers over the underside of his length, not sure if he wanted to draw this out and relish in this one moment of sinful weakness, or rush for the satisfaction that had been eluding him all night.

He wondered how Yuuri's fingers would feel on his flesh. They were shorter and softer, and not as bony as his own, but they were warm like home (and he knew because he'd held them once or twice, maybe more, because he was terribly indulgent and a selfish, selfish man) . Would Yuuri's hand tremble when it held him? Would he look at him with cheeks flushed pink, eyes wavering with uncertainty, voice quivering as he asked 'is-is this okay?'.

Or perhaps…perhaps Yuuri would pin him down with just the fire in his eyes and that traitorously delicious smirk, wrap his fingers around his cock with confidence and make him come undone with the simplest of touches, bring him torturously close to the edge over and over and then denying him the pleasure of release, lean into him and breathe a wicked 'how shameless, I've barely even touched you and you're already like this.'

He arched his back and had to cover his mouth with his free hand to contain the long drawn moan that was tearing out of his throat. He'd always been shamelessly vocal in his own pleasure, relished in the sounds he could draw from himself and how his body vibrated with every little whine and mewl. But he couldn't afford that here, not with the object of his every desire sleeping not two doors down the hall.

As the pace of his strokes increased and he approached the point of no return, his imagination started running free and wild and it was so, so easy to remember the shapes of Yuuri's body, so often had he had the privilege of seeing it, blessed be Japan's onsen culture, so easy to imagine that beautiful body that made music on the ice writhing in his embrace, or caging him under its heat (he wasn't sure what he wanted anymore, which Yuuri he wanted, how he wanted him, and maybe he wanted it all), hazelnut eyes mirroring his own desire, skin flushed with fever and passion and those soft, soft lips (he'd been so close to kissing them once, so dangerously close) calling his name like a prayer, or whispering unspeakable promises against his skin, or both (he really did want it all).

"Yuuri…" he purred despite himself, despite the fact that he really shouldn't be making any noise right now, despite how dangerous this was. But he couldn't help it, wanted to feel that name, taste it, relish in the shudder that the sole mention of it sent through his body. "Yuuri…" he indulged himself, just once more, let his breathe hitch and his toes curl to that sound and then he was covering his mouth with his hand again, swallowing his own moans and letting them fizzle in his chest.

His eyes shut tight, his mind flooded with visions of Yuuri who was pure and beautiful, who he wanted to defile just as much as he wanted to show him the most tender forms of love; Yuuri who was also Eros and irresistible, to whom he wanted to surrender his entire existence and let himself be ruined by him. There was no rhythm or coherence to the movements of his hand anymore, only Yuuri, everything about Yuuri and that memory of the seductive smirk and Yuuri's voice calling his name and then there was just pure, burning ecstasy that shattered him to pieces and built him back anew.

It took him a few minutes to come back from his high, and a few more afterwards to regain his breath. His limbs felt like jelly, his chest was light, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, his mind still reeling on oxytocin, but he still managed to force himself to reach for the towel he'd left on the nightstand to clean himself up, then throw it on the pile of laundry he'd have to personally take out and wash tomorrow; he could under no circumstance risk that Yuuri –or any of the Katsukis, really, but especially not Yuuri- grabbed his dirty clothes.

That tedious part of the process over, he snuggled into his pillow and pulled the bedsheets up to his shoulder, his eyes already fluttering close with slumber. He felt a little bit colder than usual without Maccachin by his side, but he couldn't do anything about that now.

Even though his shameless urgency was now satiated, he couldn't stop his mind from going back to Yuuri, but this time, the thought that came forward was that promise made on the edge of the rink, 'please look only at me', and sealed with a tender, warm embrace, Yuuri's heart beating against his chest and he could almost feel him now too, holding him tight and close as he drifted off to sleep.

Victor was naturally a light sleeper, so just the sound of the door sliding open was enough to awaken him –and if it wasn't, Maccachin's excited yipping certainly was-. He tried to keep his eyes closed just a little bit longer, relish on the wonderful dreams he'd had all night, but the sound of light footsteps convinced him against it.

"Have you finally decided to accept my offer of sleeping together to build more trust in our relationship?" he drawled, pleased with the light jolt he sensed from the other body in the room.

"Wha—n-no!" Yuuri squirmed nervously. "I-I just… Brought you water. And aspirins. For the hangover."

He hadn't really expected otherwise, but he couldn't help the tiniest twinge of disappointment. Perhaps he'd been hoping against all hopes to stretch a small portion of his dreams into reality.

"You shouldn't drink that much, it's bad for your health." Yuuri said in one breathe. "Y-you even left Maccachin outside on the hall last night."

Victor finally sat up on the bed. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, trying to sound guilty, but not for the things he was actually guilty of "I'm sorry buddy, won't happen again." He cooed, ruffling the dog's fluffy fur. "Thanks for letting him stay with you last night, I hope he didn't bother you much."

"He didn't, he's—How do you know he stayed with me?"

Whoops.

"Ah, well, you see…" he flailed, panicking briefly, and he knew that must look strange to Yuuri because Victor Nikiforov did not panic. "Yuuri is way too kind to let my cute little Maccachin out in the cold. A-and Maccachin has taken a strong liking to you too." He was definitely not sounding very convincing.

Yuuri eyed him like he too, thought he wasn't very convincing, but didn't question him further. "Breakfast is ready if your stomach is not too upset for that much." He stated, casually running his hand over Maccachin's head. That dog was a little too taken by Yuuri, Victor thought. "And, uhm…" he fidgeted slightly. "I-I look forward to working with you from now on. I'll prove that you didn't make the wrong choice." Yuuri bowed slightly, his cheeks dusted a light crimson, and when he got back up, his eyes found Victor's and they were as full of fire and determination as they had been last night. Then he left without saying anything else, but his steps were strong and confident, as if he wanted and was ready to conquer the world.

And Victor unquestionably, desperately, hopelessly wanted him all.

The end

I once read a very detailed tumblr post about how penises work and how long a dude can actually carry a boner, but I forgot where it is and I have precisely zero knowledge of the subject matter, so literary license y'all.

This was intended to be just self-indulgent porn but it became way more feelings and pining victor (and totally would be okay to bottom victor) than actual porn. I guess my porn mojo's still kinda dead.

Let me know what you think?