Kintsugi

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Summary: Kintsugi-making something beautiful in its broken places. Their first time was rough and messy, and Yuri can't remember. Their second time is gentle and slow. Viktor can remember for the both of them

Notes: Kintsugi is the art of taking broken pottery and repairing it using gold lacquer. The Japanese believe that when something is broken it should not be thrown away, but made into a more beautiful work of art that transcends the idea of perfection. What makes us human is our cracks.

The first time was rough and messy and Viktor couldn't take his eyes off of Yuri. This drunk man, this sensual monster that seemed to crawl out of his most beautiful nightmare, was as alluring as molten lava. Viktor knew he shouldn't have touched, but the deep passion and burning desire made him want to just fall into Yuri, to lose himself in a glow of golden light.

He couldn't resist.

The Grand Prix gala, the swirl of dancing and expensive champagne bubbling on their tongues. It was like a circle, going round and round until Viktor's head spun. Yuri was so sad, then so drunk, and then so belligerently happy that it wasn't hard to fall in love with him then, just as much as he loves him now.

Now it isn't champagne but the taste of coffee tinged with the hint of spice. Barcelona, the city of abstraction and art. It is intrinsically Yuri- once he saw one side he knew he would need to see the others, forever going round and round, never losing interest. There was always something new to see, something new to explore, something new to fall in love with time and time again.

Yuri's mouth is soft and yielding, so different from the dominant kiss they shared the year before. Oh, what a year has done. Gone is the drunken haze and in its place is something so much more serene.

Where their first time was rough and messy, their second time is gentle and slow. It reminds Viktor of a symphony, the way Yuri's back arches against his hand as he pulls the other man close. He needs to feel the expanse of soft skin under his fingertips, the goosebumps raising as he gently whispers to any god who can hear that this is right and this is what love is. This is what he has waited for. Like a master violinist laying his bow to the strings, he lays his fingers wide open on Yuri's cheek.

This is right.

"Viktor, Viktor," Yuri whispers against Viktor's mouth and this is the sober and clear-headed Yuri, nervous and shaking in his hands. The gold on his finger glints like a reminder of the past year, a constant warmth against his skin. He wonders idly if the one on Yuri's hand is as warm, and there is only one way to check.

The first night, filled with drunken kisses and roaming fingers, would always be the moment when he first fell in love with Yuri- drunk, loud, tottering half on the brink of insanity. There was lust in his eyes as he wrapped his hand around Viktor's tie, pulling him until he could rest his face in the crook of Viktor's shoulder. He could smell Yuri's cologne, distinctly spicy with a tang of country boy and something that reminded Viktor of the ice. It was an undertone of innocence with the musk of raw, unbridled sexuality.

They stumbled their way up through the hotel ballroom where the Gala was located, avoiding or threatening to mow down anyone who tried to stop them. If Viktor hadn't been so drunk off the champagne and Yuri, he would have seen the scandalized looks some of the skating snobs were sending them; after all, Viktor Nikiforov did not run through gala's with one hand gripped tight in the hand of a rival and the other right around a bottle of bubbling sweet booze.

What would his fans say? What would the papers say?

But Yuri was laughing and light, floating on his drunkenness and Viktor wanted to meet him where he went, no matter where that was.

So, when Yuri stopped mid-way through running from the gala, grabbing someone's drink from right out of her hand, downing it, and handing her the empty glass back with a flourish, Viktor could do nothing but laugh.

And Viktor Nikiforov certainly did not stop laughing until they were in the elevator and Yuri reached out, knocking their lips and teeth and noses together.

He carded his hands through the black haired man's hair as Yuri attacked his throat with warm lips. His grip, if nothing else, seemed to tighten around the tie and he pulled hard. Viktor hadn't even bothered to try to stop his back from hitting the bed-Yuri's bed.

The other man... that wildness, that sense of sheer wonder... Viktor could have taken a million lovers and never had gotten the chance to experience Yuri Katsuki. Raw, pure, unhinged and perfect.

This was right.

Yuri bucks his hips up to meet Viktor as he pulls up Yuri's shirt just a bit, needing to feel more of his flesh against his own. He doesn't want to remove his hands from where they are, but at the same time he wants the opportunity to touch and kiss any inch of skin he can. He has waited for a year, only the hint of Yuri's warm hands keeping him from complete despair.

"You don't remember this, Yuri?" Viktor asks, and is it a little difficult to hide his disappointment... at first. Their night of passion, the way Yuri screamed for him, begged for him, needed him... that was a year of memories of just a night. Viktor never wants to feel that again, to have Yuri's warmth stolen from him again.

"I'm sorry," Yuri whispers, "just bits and pieces."

Bits and pieces.

Yuri breaks him into a thousand pieces and then takes the slivers and glues him back together with powdered gold.

Gold like the bands around their fingers, so bright in the darkness.

Gold like the coverlet of Yuri's hotel bed.

Yuri was impatient. He already had Viktor on his back and most of his clothes in a hapless pile somewhere on the Gala ballroom floor. Viktor could only hope that Celestino had the common courtesy not to barge into Yuri's hotel room to make sure his clothes went back where they belonged. Viktor wasn't sure if god himself would have stood between Viktor and Yuri.

Or was it Yuri and Viktor? It certainly felt like Yuri was the one in control, and he was happy to give whatever Yuri wanted.

Viktor didn't know what love was like, not really. He had his adoring fans, Makkachin, Yakov, even the other skaters. He had rows of lovers or potential lovers, yet he would never have moved heaven or earth for them.

Yuri is different.

Yuri is radiant warmth on the coldest night. Viktor is careful as he runs his fingers over the man's shirt, thumbing open the buttons. Their mouths are busy, and Viktor idly wonders if he will ever need to breathe again.

"Don't apologize."

Viktor is okay with this; the sting is gone and in its place is something like a sweet, sweet memory. If Yuri can't remember the first time they made love, Viktor will just make new ones. That memory could be his to cherish, to hide within himself. It is his, and he will remember it for the both of them.

Viktor takes his time with sliding off each piece of clothes from Yuri's body, taking extra care for every curve of muscle or joint. He is aware of how red Yuri's face is and he can hardly hide his own arousal tight and hot between his legs. He doesn't care, because he gets to have what no other man has ever gotten before. He can take the man he loves for the first time twice.

He gets to put the pieces back together and not only make it more resilient, but so much more beautiful.

That was the Yuri he fell in love with, the Yuri that had no idea what he was doing but fumbled with a packet of complimentary lubricant from the hotel, laughing as he pushed his fingers inside of himself. It was the same Yuri that bit down on his bottom lip when Viktor fondled his heavy cock, watching precum leaving a trail of sticky warmth against his stomach. Even drunk, unsteady, unsure, Yuri was already chipping him apart.

And Viktor knew from the moment Yuri drunkenly ran his fingers across his chin and mouth as he lowered himself down onto Viktor's cock that the man above him would break his outer layer, the shell that kept him safe from the outside world.

No.

This was not chipping, nor breaking.

This was shattering.

"Viktor, please."

Yuri is begging him to do something and all he can think about is the way Yuri lifts up his leg, just enough to give Viktor access to all of him. How is it that Yuri has such difficulty believing him when Viktor says he is perfect? He is who he is, and Viktor doesn't want anything or anyone else.

Yuri can't see himself the way Viktor does. If he could, Viktor thinks that it would be an eye-opener. He could finally believe Victor when he says he needs nothing else. Not other person, no other lover, not even the rush of skating and performing. No, he only needs this.

Just this.

Viktor doesn't want to waste a moment, fumbling for the lubricant. He makes sure to warm it with his fingers, rubbing them together and blowing his breath on them until he thinks that it would be comfortably the same temperature as his own skin. Some may think he is silly, but he wants everything perfect, or at least the best that he can possibly make it.

He waits until the way Yuri's eyes going wide is permanently burned into his mind: mouth parting, face so lightly scrunching, the way his nostrils flare wide as Viktor slowly slips each finger inside.

Viktor knows Yuri has done this to himself, knows that he has done this to Yuri, but that is all. No one else has ever touched this most intimate part of Yuri and it sends a rush straight to his tightening pants that he needs more.

"Viktor, god Viktor."

Yuri tightened himself around Viktor, pulling up his hips with a little pop. Viktor didn't know anything but the weight on his hips, the two legs spread wide with knees digging into his waist for purchase, the feeling of one of Yuri's hands on his chest while the other crumpled in the bed sheets behind him. His hips rolled back and forth, and all Viktor could think of was each pink mark against Yuri's skin, the way his own fingernails dug into the soft flesh of Yuri's hips.

"I love you."

Viktor makes quick work of his pants, unfortunately leaving the nearby lamp a little worse for wear when his belt buckle smacks into it hard enough to leave a hole in the ceramic.

"I'm not going anywhere, Viktor. I promise." Yuri leans up on his elbows and takes off his glasses, putting them on the table next to the broken lamp. His hands are shaking, just enough for the glint of light from his ring to bounce back onto the wall behind him.

His heart is beating fast in his chest and it is hard to think of words to describe his feelings, like that hazy night of lust that would change everything. Viktor Nikiforov never did things half-way.

"Yuri, please look at me."

And Yuri did.

And he laughed as he slid off of Viktor, leaning down to grab Viktor's face, planting searing kisses across the bridge of his nose to his mouth, then sliding down, further and further until he finally reached Viktor's cock, slowly slipping the condom off. There was a drunken, impish grin across his mouth as he nuzzled his nose at the base, ever so gently licking up to the tip.

There Yuri was, ass sticking up in the air, his cock hard, begging for touch. And Viktor could only watch as the other man looked up, licking his upper lip ever so slightly before sliding his lips over the tip and then down.

Oh, god.

Down and down.

Viktor has to close his eyes and focus as Yuri reaches up and slowly pulls Viktor on top of him, letting his fingers glide across sharp cheekbones. Viktor lets his hands set on the covers as he allows himself to slowly lower his body on top of Yuri, gently to not shatter the moment.

"Viktor, I want you to... unn..." he leans forward and captures Viktor in a kiss. "Please, I promise I won't forget. So... make love to me? Okay?"

Yuri's cheeks are so red and Viktor knows that while he fell in love with the feisty, drunken man in Russia so long ago, this part of Yuri is just as important.

He knows they are the same person and underneath the inhibitions is the parts of Yuri he is afraid to show anywhere other than the ice.

Viktor wants to watch that ice melt. He wants to see that fire in Yuri every night, in every day, in every moment.

And more importantly, he wants to be the one to light it.

He slips on a condom and makes sure to add a few droplets of lube, rubbing himself to make sure. Yuri has his hands clenched in the bed sheets, and part of Viktor wants to say it is cute, but he knows he can't stand how nervous his Yuri looks.

So, he lifts up Yuri's leg, pressing a kiss to his knee. The soft, sparse black hair tickles his lips and it reminds Yuri to take a few short, shallow breaths. Viktor continues to press his lips against the same spot because he knows that, from how Yuri reacted before, that this spot is so sensitive.

It isn't cheating that he knows what Yuri likes.

"Vi-Viktor, god."

Heat. Warmth.

Yuri's breath is on the shell of his ear and it is so hard to concentrate with the panting and ever so slight moaning. It is a short rocking motion, gently allowing Yuri to get comfortable, to know the way his body feels with Viktor inside of him.

It's hard for Viktor, it is; the one thing he has wanted for months is under him panting for more and yet he takes it slow. He says nothing as Yuri wraps his arms around his back, letting his nails trace patterns into his skin. Not even a hiss of pain across his skin can stop Viktor, not now.

Yuri took nothing slow, not then. After letting go of Viktor's cock with a sloppy pop he reached over the bed and grabbed the bottle of champagne, taking a swig. His eyes were bright like stars and Viktor was lucky he was still able to barely hang on; what would Yuri think if he came so quickly?

"Y-yuh know, Imma vir-giiiiin." Yuri crawled over to Viktor, pressing the lip of the bottle to his mouth. "Well... was. You kinda took ittttttt." The man smiled in a way that reminded Viktor of a shark, all teeth and laughter.

Unable to stop his shock, Viktor's mouth widened and filled with champagne. It was hard to swallow when someone so utterly debauched was thrusting out his hips so invitingly.

Yuri pulled back the bottle and greedily took another gulp. He then fumbled for another condom, laughing at the packaging. "Hard to... get open..." After a moment of petulant confusion, staring at the little square he handed it over and went back to nursing the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. "C'mon, Vikku..."

"Vikku, Vikku."

God, that name out of Yuri's mouth is like a prayer. Viktor leans down and presses kisses wherever he can reach, knowing that each time him lips met skin it only makes him fall more and more into Yuri. How can Yuri Katsuki's skin send him into a tailspin? How is it that one man could so easily wrap the one and only Viktor Nikiforov around his little finger?

What would the others say?

Fuck what they would say.

Yuri leaned over and pulled Viktor into a sitting position, making sure to gently sit down as to not cause damage to either of them. Even drunk, Yuri could still manage... sort of. He threw his arms over Viktor's shoulders and leaned forward, allowing Viktor the chance to position himself. "Vikku, you're so warm... make me too... can you be mine...?"

Viktor couldn't stop himself. The breathes, the kisses and bites against his neck, the fingers digging into his back with every thrust. This beautiful monster, this perfectly drunk volcano, burning everything in its wake.

"Vikku, I love you."

"Yuri..."

Viktor reaches between them, running his fingertips against the sensitive skin at the tip, letting his nail drag across the slit. When Yuri had done it to him it left Viktor panting and rolling, not able to figure out how a human body could react with so much enthusiasm. So, feeling Yuri buck into his hand and twine his fingers into his hair, pulling with just a little more force than necessary, made everything spin.

And Yuri was laughing, because of course he was, and Viktor couldn't--no, can't- control himself as Yuri pushed him him forward, ready to peak.

He speeds up to meet Yuri's shuddering hips and doesn't allow himself to climax until he can feel Yuri's orgasm ripping through him in waves. How can a body be so powerful, how can the sound of his name like an echo so completely take each little broken piece of him and force it back together? How is it that Yuri's hands and mouth and throat can be his salvation?

Viktor can't remember what happened after that moment, where his body and Yuri's came together, and he is pretty sure it had to do with the booze. By the time he woke up hours later, Yuri was gone... and Viktor, for the first time in his life, he felt...

"Why didn't you find me in the morning?"

Viktor wipes one hand over Yuri's sweaty brow and down his cheek as he slowly pulls himself out, making sure to tie up the condom and throw it into the trashcan nearby. He reaches over to the bedside table for the tissues and takes his time running them across Yuri's stomach, letting his hands gently work at the soft pink and flushed skin between Yuri's legs. He is happy Yuri doesn't shy from his touch.

"I... I thought you woke up and realized you didn't want me."

Maybe that was why seeing the video made Viktor jump on the first plane he could find to get to Japan. The way Yuri moved... it was not pure sexuality, not like Eros. It wasn't that wild night after the Grand Prix, where nothing was forbidden and everything was laid out in the open.

Viktor thought it was a promise, a memory of what they shared that night in the drunken serenity of one another's arms. That feeling of joy, of longing and desire.

Viktor met Yuri Katsuki that night, entwined in sheets and champagne, and he wanted to never leave.

He met Yuri Katsuki again in Hasetsu, surrounded by the sakura and falling snow; a sweet, more skittish Yuri, but Yuri nonetheless. It hurt him at first, and Viktor even thought he was playing coy... but now, now he knows.

And it's okay.

"I wanted to find my phone, I think... I can't really remember much, but I ended up falling asleep outside of Celestino's room."

Viktor nods; he expected something like that must have happened, logically, but there has been such an disconnect between the truth and his imagination.

But he believes Yuri, because Yuri has no reason to lie. They understand one another's faults, and Viktor is able to see that Yuri isn't perfect, not by a long shot, but he is the gold holding him together, making something more beautiful than it was to begin with.

"If... if I could go back in time, I would. I want to remember, I want to wake up in your arms... things would have been so different had I remembered."

That is true. But Viktor doesn't regret it. These months with Yuri, this has taught him about the human spirit-his spirit, Yuri's spirit. He never wants to let that go.

Never.

Viktor rests his head on Yuri's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He reaches up to crab Yuri's right hand, bringing it down for a kiss. He kisses the golden band and lays it flat on his cheek. It is warm, just like he thought.

"We can just make more memories."

Their first time was rough and messy, and their second time is gentle and slow.

Their third time, fourth time, thousandth time will be whatever Yuri asks, because Viktor is always willing to break himself to what Yuri needs.

Viktor knows he can't stop himself, but he is sure when Yuri uses his gold to fill in the cracks, next time he will be stronger and more perfect because of it.

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