#hunter writes

“Stressful, as always. Yakov is going to have a stroke one of these days from yelling at Mila and Yurio every time they get into it,” I said, sighing. “How about you? Are you feeling better?”

Viktor shrugged. “A bit. My throat isn’t as sore, but I still feel generally gross.”

“I see.” I reached up and pressed my hand against his forehead. “You’re still a little warm. Have you been drinking anything?”

“Yeah. Whatever I could get down.”

“Good. What else did you do today?”

He looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Cleaned up around here, decided to cook. Watched an old performance of mine from the junior division.”

“Ooooh. Which one?”

“The one from about ten years ago. Blue flowers.” He laughed briefly at himself. “I feel so old saying that.”

“You’re not even thirty yet!” I cooed, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. ”Still. I remember that one. And that sounds like a wonderful day, illness aside.“

Viktor smiled. "It was.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “And it just got better.”

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … . . 

After we ate, I cleaned the plates and dishes in the kitchen while Viktor went to change out of his cooking clothes. I felt a bit guilty for not bringing him home a gift, though we decided against it; I figured I’d just have to make our date day this weekend very special… But how?

“Yuuri,” Viktor called from the living room after a few more minutes. “Are you almost done?”

“Yes,” I called back, washing my hands and toweling them off. I padded back towards the other room only to stop in my tracks as soon as I got there.

The lights were off and the windows were drawn, save for dozens and dozens of tall candles that sparkled around the room. Viktor had arranged the furniture in such a way that the loveseat was the only available seat, and the piano shone warmly in the candlelight, second only to Viktor himself, who glimmered directly in front of where I was implied to sit.

He was wearing my favorite suit of his, one that I’d only seen twice before–the first time for a formal magazine shoot he did a few years ago, and the other as he flashed by it in his closet.

It was very formal but still artistic. The pants were a finely-tailored black with black shoes and all–simple as far as suits went. He had a staple white shirt behind a dark silver and grey double-breasted vest–embroidered elegantly with flowers and fleur de lis–surrounded by a long black jacket that swept down below his hips in a sophisticated tailcoat. And to set all off all of the neutral colors, he had a rich, raspberry-red tie wrapped elegantly around his neck, trailing underneath the rest of his outer garments.

I realized I had been holding my breath when Viktor looked over at me. “Are you feeling okay? You’re red as a berry.”

“I’m fine,” I exhaled, staring at him. Taking it all in. “I’m just fine.”

“Then have a seat,” Viktor laughed, gesturing at the loveseat. He meandered over and handed me an empty glass, followed by a bottle of champagne he had hid on the opposite side of the furniture. “I have something I want to sing for you.”

“You? Sing for me?”

“Who else?” He replied, popping the top off of the bottle and pouring the sparkling gold into the glass.

“Viktor, I didn’t even know that you sing,” I said dazedly, trying to wrap my head around the whole situation.

He laughed at my expression, popping the cork back into the top of the champagne bottle. “I grew up taking voice lessons in St. Petersburg. That’s how I learned a lot of my French, anyway.”

I realized I was still staring dumbly at him and quickly moved to regain myself. “What kind of voice lessons?”

“Opera. Classical voice.” He gave me a knowing smile before turning around to connect his phone to the speakers behind him. I audibly gasped when he plugged in the amplifier.

He was serious.

Seriously serious.

Viktor laughed lightly at my face as he turned back around. “You’re too cute.”

“I-I’m so surprised–”

“Don’t be. Are you ready?”

I nodded silently, pressing the edge of the glass against my lips. He pressed play on his phone.

First came, sweetly and delicately, a lilting few measures of strings. I watched, stunned, as Viktor melted into the accompaniment, and as his lips slowly parted in beginning.

“Sento una voce che piange lontano…”

The heat went to my face immediately. This song… It was the song. He’d been singing it in the shower to himself for months, softly, like nobody was listening. It was the one that he’d had composed for his own free skate at the end of last year’s GP Final. The one he saw me performing online before he decided to come coach me. Our GP Final Exhibition pair skate.

Before I realized it, my champagne was dribbling unconcernedly down my chin and onto the collar of my shirt. The dry tang laughingly hit my lips as I listened, dumbfounded, to Viktor’s rich voice as it carried through slurs and ties, apoggiaturas and scales…

The piece was saturated in such deep, intense longing. For what? His hand unconsciously moved over his chest, holding the skin above his heart, and his face fell saddeningly towards the empty space between us in the room.

Then the accompaniment began to build. His voice swelled and resounded, his timbre stole the thoughts from my mind, his vibrato shook the entire room–

“Stammi vicino, non te ne andare–”

And his gaze turned towards mine.

He was singing about… love. 

I mean, I already knew that. I’d had this piece translated, learned, and memorized for more than a year. But this time, it was different, having him sing it to me himself, and not hearing it through a recording.

He was singing about his love.

Me.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The presence of such raw, commanded beauty. His hair shining like the surface of a lake under the moon. His eyes like stars. His lips, his neck, his voice, him–

The tone then turned from an empty longing to a deep, profound happiness. I could hear the joy in the lyrics and could feel the satisfaction of an emptiness being filled, of a powerful craving being indulged. It was like hearing the piece for the first time all over again; I wasn’t sure I’d be able to listen to it again the same way.

After another minute or so of listening to his voice dance around the room, watching his eyes catch the light of a faraway star, seeing the curve of his shoulders and his chest under a suit… I could feel it. Something hot. Melting like molten gold and silver all across my body.

Then, he finished.

The song was over.

Viktor slowly drew out of his performance, his heavenward eyes coming back to meet mine.

The expression on his face immediately soured.

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?” He asked frantically, coming over to me.

I realized then that my hand was wrapped over my gaping mouth, my entire body hunched forward, tears streaming freely across my cheeks. I’d spilt most of my champagne down the front of my t-shirt… It was probably stained and ruined, but that was okay…

His hand came up to my face and started to gently wipe under my eyes. I stared at him for several wordless moments.

“Beautiful,” I murmured.

Viktor’ cheeks reddened then. “Yuuri–”

Unable to hold myself back, I released a small sob, leaning in to wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

“What–”

“Thank you,” I repeated, turning my head to kiss his neck, his ear, his hairline. “Thank you, thank you, thank you–”

Viktor laughed and shrugged me away from him. A thin line of tears had gathered at the front of his eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Yuuri.”

“You too. Oh, jeez.” I sniffled and wiped my tears from underneath my glasses. “I don’t know what to do now. I didn’t even get you a gift–”

“I don’t need anything else,” he replied, finally moving to take his usual spot next to me on the loveseat. I immediately shifted to lean my weight against his chest, letting him wipe my face. He watched me so gently… How could have anyone been looked at like this before and survived?

I couldn’t help it. I moved to hold his hands, feeling myself starting to tear up all over again.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asked quietly.

“I love you.”

His eyes flew wide open. His face flushed pink as a rose. The familiar facade of calm interest and strength was gone, and he looked more vulnerable than I’d ever seen before.

“Really?” He whispered.

“Yes,” I said, sniffling and laughing as I wiped my eyes. “So much.”

Then, he started to cry.

That was it. I’d finally broken down the walls. Who would’ve thought that the great Viktor Nikiforov was, underneath the starlit, primadonna exterior, was simply a man with a heart that sincerely wished to be loved? How could he have denied himself something so wonderful for so many years?

I began to cry again, too, thinking this. He deserved all of the love in the world.

Moving again to reach up to him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you, Viktor. More than anyone.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured. His cheeks tasted like salt, and I decided to kiss it all off of them.

Eventually he pulled me down to his lips. We kissed for a long time, softly, a feeling sweet as honey there between us.

I must have been a saint in a past life. A complete and utter fucking angel. God’s own conscious goodness. What else could I have done to deserve this?

Many minutes later, Viktor pulled slightly away from me. His face was still flushed, but less so out of embarrassment, and more so out of… Well… A way I had only dreamed of for most of my conscious life. What I felt between his legs confirmed that.

“Yuuri,” he murmured, gracing my bottom lip with his thumb. His eyes reflected the same longing that I’d just heard in the song… And, even more surprisingly, I realized that I felt the same way.

“May I?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

Viktor laughed dotingly at me. In an answer, his hands slipped underneath my waistband and skirted against the skin of my thighs, waiting for permission to travel elsewhere.

Oh.

My mouth sort of fell open in disbelief. “You? Want to have sex? With me?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically, amused again by my expression. “What, do you not believe me?”

I gulped. “I do, it’s just I never–and I didn’t–”

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmured, leaning close to my ear. “I would very much like to lay you down and give you the royal treatment… To show you what a king like you deserves.”

Well, shit the bed. Had I not already gotten quite accustomed to Viktor’s surprises, I probably would have fainted.

I realized I was gaping at him when he smilingly pushed my lower jaw back up. “You’ll catch flies like that, you know. Sweet as you are.”

We watched each other for a few more seconds as I struggled to process everything I was hearing. I was surprised by his patience and understanding most of all.

“W-well,” I stammered finally. “If that’s what you want–”

“It’s not about what I want.” He shook his head. “This is a two way street. What do you want?”

Judging from the fact that I’d never felt this way about anybody before in my life–emotionally, physically or otherwise–and that everything he’d said thus far sounded good; no, wonderful–

Do I want him? All of him?

Trying to swallow every bit of embarrassment I felt, I swung my legs over his hips and wrapped my arms around his neck so that he could pick me up and carry me to bed. The smile he gave me could’ve parted the seven seas.

I do, don’t I? I looked up at his face and bit my lip.

Yes. So much.

I pulled him towards me by his tie, looking directly into his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Viktor replied melodically, lifting me into his arms with minimal effort.

I began undoing the top of his tux as we went. “Oh, and Viktor?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m not your king.”

“Then what–”

“I’m your queen,” I murmured near his ear. “Your empress.”

He dropped me down onto the bed and began to tear at my champagne-stained shirt. He looked so intense, so enraptured–

How badly?

His hands finally moved to my boxers and pulled them cleanly off, kissing me where my neck met my chest, pulling and sucking at the skin to the point that I could feel it starting to bruise.

I ache for it–

I could feel my toes starting to curl even just at the thought of what was to come. If he looked at me like that for much longer, I probably–

Show him.

When Viktor pulled away from my neck, he looked down at me.

Can I? Really?

“Yuuri.”

“Yes?”

“Did you know that you’ve gotten abs?”

I looked down at my chest. They weren’t exactly the most toned and defined muscles in existence, but I could see the shape of their bulk against my skin. They still didn’t compare to his.

“From you,” I replied. “And Yakov, Yurio, Minako—“

"Leave them out of this.” His eyes darted suddenly up to mine, and he peeled my glasses off from the bridge of my nose. Thank God I was nearsighted. “Will you say it one more time for me?”

“Say what?” I asked, already anticipating the answer.

“What you said before. Earlier.”

Yes. I will.

In response, I took Viktor by the shoulders and rolled over, putting him underneath me. Then I climbed onto him, straddling his chest with both legs, his eyes big as stars, his breath jagged.

“What?” I asked, starting to trace his skin tauntingly with my fingertips. “Did I surprise you?”

“Yuuri–Are you–”

“Not Yuuri.” I leaned down and started to kiss his neck, working my way down his chest. “‘Your Majesty.’”

“Your Majesty. Your Excellence.” I tweaked down on his nipples as I bit into his shoulder. He groaned. “Beautiful Aphrodite–”

“Yes?” I asked, my hands easily undoing his trousers. I pushed them and his boxers down his legs with a few toes, stretching out against his body. He kicked them off his feet and onto the floor.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please.” I reached over and pushed his bangs back. His expression was priceless. So needy. “Now.”

“A goddess can’t be commanded.”

“A subject can.”

“Are you saying that you’re my subject? My lowly peon?” I pressed another agonizingly slow kiss against his sternum. “My humble and dedicated servant?”

“All yours, and only yours.”

A grin bloomed across my face. My hands finally trailed down between his legs and he sharply inhaled when I got there.

Before I moved another inch, I leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I love you, Viktor Nikiforov.”

He gazed up at me. I felt my heart do a backflip when he cracked a smile.