#viktor lucero

He stays in his dorm, in bed, and daydreams about all kinds of things. Good things, like marrying you someday in the distant future, and bad things, like if you ditch his sorry self before that can ever happen. Thinking too hard makes his head hurt. He buries his face against his pillow and heaves a whining sigh. Sleep sounds good, but he’s already slept all of the night before and half of today, and his body seems to have decided that amount is more than enough. He’s wide awake no matter what he does. 

When the door creaks open, Viktor doesn’t bother to roll over. There’s only one person who’d visit him, and although the thought of you makes his heart pound, he can’t work up the energy to try to look presentable. 

“You okay?” your soft voice says. Viktor shivers at the sound. 

“Fine,” he mumbles. On days like this, he feels more like the distant self he was before meeting you. He feels detached from everything. 

“Don’t look it. Can I sit down?”

Viktor makes a quiet, affirming noise, and you settle on the bed beside him. Your weight is comforting. It makes him feel less alone. Viktor heaves a shuddering sigh. He wants to roll over and wrap his arms around your waist, but his body isn’t listening. Instead, he inhales the musty scent of his pillow and silently hopes that you’ll do something for him. Something warm. 

Just as he’s hoping, your hand finds his shoulder, buried under the thin layer of his sheets. You rub a couple of slow lines over the muscle and bone. Whatever you’re seeing right now, it has to be pathetic beyond words. 

But... he wants you. Even when you’re seeing the worst of him, Viktor wants you. Nothing makes him feel as alive as when you’re by his side. If you told him to, he’d fight the weight in his chest with everything he had, just to see if it would make you smile. You’re the only thing that matters in his life, better than anything, and when you touch him, his whole being lights up with warmth that hardly feels fair. How he managed to deserve someone like you, Viktor’s not sure. He probably doesn’t. He can’t. 

“Poor thing. Today’s bad, isn’t it?” you question. Your touch stays. 

Viktor nods. You rub up and down his shoulder again and again. He closes his eyes and tries to sink into that touch. To think about nothing but how good it feels to be wanted by the one person who makes living worth it. Maybe he’d waste away if it wasn’t for you. He wouldn’t really care if he did. 

And then, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the side of his head. It makes him wince. His hair is greasy and gross. You don’t seem to care. 

You do it again. And again after that. Rolling Viktor over like he weighs nothing, the next kiss lands on his forehead, then his temple, then his cheek. His eyes go wide. Showered with affection, a warm, light feeling finds its way into his chest and surges. Your smile, when he sees it, is glowing and fond. The crushing feeling hanging over him ebbs just slightly, and when you land another kiss on his cheek, a smile tugs at his lips all on its own. 

“That’s better,” you grin. “Smile. I like it when you’re happy.” And you flop down over him and kiss him again and again. By the time those kisses make it to his lips, Viktor is smiling in a way he can’t stop at all. 

However, the tone soon shifts. Viktor kisses back desperately. He deepens it from the light press of lips you started, and when you try to pull back, he grabs at you desperately to keep you close. You hum. You lick into his mouth and let one of your hands slip into his hair. Viktor wants just like he always does, and you seem ready to give him what he aches for. 

By the time you pull away, he’s hard. Because Viktor is easy at his core, it doesn’t take much. All you have to do is touch him, and his body responds. Deep kisses leave him longing. He can’t stop it even if he tries. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” you whisper. He nods. 

From there, it’s a mess of you kissing him stupid and tugging his willing body into your lap when you lie back against the bed. Viktor winds up sprawled out on top of you, cuddled up close. Your fingers find his waistband and work his pants open and down around his hips. A hot touch trails over the stand-out line of his hip bone, and you hum, pleased, when he instinctively twitches into it. His cock is already straining against his underwear, hard and ready, and you smile fondly at the sight. 

You tease him. For a long minute, it’s just your fingers rubbing sweetly at whatever skin you can reach. Viktor buries his face against your collarbone and whines. He wants so much. Every time your nails drag over his skin, his dick twitches helplessly. He’s already panting lightly. 

When you work his underwear down to his thighs, Viktor’s hard enough that his cock slaps wetly up against his stomach. You laugh something about him being easy to please, and his face flushes with both pride and a strange, flustered feeling. It makes you happy. He doesn’t care how embarrassing it is, so long as it makes you smile right at him. 

You trail two fingertips up the underside of him. Viktor moans raggedly and bucks up into it, but that just makes you giggle and pull away. 

“So eager,” you croon into his ear. “Do you feel better? I want to help you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you until every bad thing goes away.” The words are said with so much love that Viktor shudders and closes his eyes. 

He needs this. He needs you. 

He whimpers something that might be a please. You just rub at his tip with your two fingers, light and teasing. That torturous touch continues until Viktor is whining and twitching his hips against it, and it’s only when he’s reduced to shaking all over that you give him more at all. 

As your whole hand wraps around him, Viktor cries out. His back arches all the way down his spine, and sparks burst across his vision like miniature fireworks. You stroke him a few times, grip light, and that’s enough to have him keening for you. Viktor nuzzles into your shoulder and tries to breathe. You jerk him off like you have all the time in the world. Viktor shudders and sighs and moans, and in no time at all, your fingers wander down to his sac and cup the tender area oh-so-gently. 

“Pretty boy. So sweet. I’m so happy I can be here for you.” Endless praises pour out of your mouth. Your touch finds the space beneath his balls and presses in just right to make him spasm like he’s been shocked. 

Even without any further touch to his cock, Viktor’s pretty sure he could come. You’re nudging up against the spot inside of him that drives him crazy, and that’s probably all it’ll take. His dick jerks against his belly, neglected and desperate, and you rub against that place over and over again until the closest thing to words he can manage are gasping little moans. 

Your hand returns to his dick. Viktor bucks into the touch. You whisper that you love him right in his ear, and that’s the last thing he needs. 

He spills all over your hand with a soft, sharp cry. 

Viktor comes down feeling like he’s floating. You stroke him all the way through the aftershocks and let him cuddle into you. He clings so tightly it probably hurts, but you don’t complain. You just squeeze him right back. 

“Do you feel better?” you ask. 

When he thinks about it, he does. Maybe it’s because he got off. Probably, it’s because you’re there at all, holding him close. Either way, some of the cold lethargy has bled right out of him. He feels a little more alert, a little more alive, and warm deep in his chest while you rub his back. He mumbles to you that yeah, he does feel a little better. You squeeze him. 

Just looking at it has Viktor's heart pounding and his cock twitching in his pants. He stares at the gray fabric, all but drooling, and debating if he can really go through with what he took it for. It would be a waste not to, but if you ever knew... 

They're used. They'll smell like you. 

Viktor gives in. He picks up the underwear from where it was resting on his bed and hesitantly runs his fingers over the cloth. It's soft and comfortable-looking. A part of him wants to put it on, maybe wear it to class for a day just for the thrill of it, but that would ruin the you attached to it. He can't do that... no matter how badly he wants to. 

Still holding the underwear, Viktor lays down on his side, pulling his covers up over himself. He slides his pajama pants down over his hips, then traces the swelling outline of his cock with two fingers. He's so aroused that even that light contact makes him shiver. 

He swallows heavily. He's really going to go through with this. 

The thought is thrilling. 

Next, Viktor takes out his cock. Already, he's about halfway hard. Fingers against bare skin are electrifying, especially when his eyes are glued to what's in his hand. 

How would you look at him if you knew? Picturing the disgust in your eyes makes Viktor's cock twitch. You'd see him as a pervert forever. You'd know just how badly he wants you, how far he's willing to go, and how he'd debase himself for your sake and nothing more. 

Shivering, Viktor strokes himself a couple of times. He doesn't need to bother with spitting on his hand. Already, his dick is drooling pre-come in a surprising amount. 

Stealing the underwear was way too easy. He was alone in your room, and the idea that you let him be there is just another nail in the coffin of need. 

The pleasure is smothering. Staring at the underwear and rubbing at his tip makes Viktor's the muscles in Viktor's thighs twitch, spasm, and try to press together. A thin trail of drool is leaking out of the corner of his mouth, wetting the pillow beneath his head. He bucks up into his hand desperately and whines under his breath at the pleasure. 

And then, Viktor dares to do something even more overwhelming. 

Slowly, as if fearing that you'd appear in his room and see him at any second, Viktor brings your underwear up to his face. He inhales against the cloth and moans at the scent of you clinging to it. This is something personal, something unique— and now it's his. 

He could almost pretend like his face is buried against you, like you're using his tongue. That's a thought that makes Viktor shudder and his eyes roll.

"A-Ah—"

A needy moan leaves him. He wants to be close to you for real, not just in his fantasy. 

As his pace increases, so does Viktor's spiral of lustful fantasies. His mind flickers back and forth between countless ideas of what you could do to him, of how he could be of use to you, and of how you'd feel if you could see him now. 

He can almost imagine you behind him, arms wrapped around his stomach. You could stroke his belly, leave bites along his neck and shoulders, and whisper all kinds of things into his ear. Being yours would be the best feeling in the world. Viktor's never had anyone close to him. He's never loved like this. You're the first person to break through his shell, and—

Moaning even louder, Viktor curls in on himself. Every breath fills his lungs with the scent of you, and every slide of his fingertips against his pre-come-slick skin makes him hotter. 

Inside and out, Viktor might as well be burning up. He's suffocating with every breath he takes in. The fabric over his face is making it hard to get enough air. 

And that— That gives him new thoughts. 

As it tends to, his mind flickers back to a certain moment that he can never forget. But this time, instead of his mother's hands around his neck, it's yours. It's your face above him, smiling as you strangle him to his breaking point. 

Biting down on his lip until he tastes blood, Viktor finally comes. 

The orgasm is forced out of him with a feeling like a lit match. The pleasure is a gut-wrenching wave that makes his whole chest seize up. 

Viktor lies there, shaking and twitching, for what feels like ages. There's copper against his tongue, a hot, sticky mess on his hands, and your underwear is still held up to his face. Viktor feels more like a pathetic pervert than he ever has before— and it's better than he could have imagined. Being this low, this shameful for you is the perfect place for him. 

Slowly, he sits up. His arm gives out on him once from how shaky it is, then almost another time. Viktor's head is spinning. He's still feeling warm all over from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and his cock is so sensitive that he flinches just from it brushing against his thigh. 

He proceeds to neatly, carefully fold up your underwear and hide it deep in the bottom of one of his dresser drawers, under plenty of clothes. 

You might find out eventually. Maybe that won't be a bad thing. 

Either way, Viktor takes a deep, slow breath. His head is filled with thoughts of you. Being held and cared for sounds wonderful, but Viktor is, as always, alone. He'll have to clean himself up while pretending like you're the one looking after him. 

"Are you ready?" you ask, even though you know what the response will be. 

Viktor mumbles something incoherent and adoring. His eyes slit open just enough to stare at you with near-uncomfortable intensity. 

He arches his back and spreads his legs wider, a silent invitation. 

The first press of your fingers makes him whine. You're gentle. Not exactly slow, not treating him like he'll break, but careful in a way that he never quite expects. Viktor seems to expect you to hurt him no matter how many times you prove otherwise— it's hard to tell if it's his own desires speaking, or something darker lurking just out of reach. 

His body takes you easily. He wouldn't fight you even if you stabbed him, but the pliant softness inside of him is still surprising in the sort of way that makes your breath hitch. He wants this. Desperation aside, he wants you. 

By the time you're up to three fingers, Viktor is moaning openly. He doesn't try to muffle himself; just tips his head to the side and drools all over the pillow while the needy sounds flow freely. 

He has no shame. You know that much by now. When it comes to you, it wouldn't matter what you wanted to see— Viktor would hand over his most intimate secrets on a silver platter, push his most vulnerable self into your hands at the slightest sign you'd want it. 

You stroke his insides until he's whining brokenly, until he's loose enough that you know nothing will hurt. 

A hurt little cry leaves him when you remove your fingers, but you just grab the harness resting nearby and buckle it around your hips, hushing him with empty words as you fit the 'main event' into place in the center ring. Viktor stares openly, all but panting. He's hard. You can't say you're any less desperate. 

"Take me," he breathes when you finally crowd back into his space. "Come on, please. I want you so badly, want you to break me apart..."

The fake cock bumps up against his own, and Viktor hisses through his teeth. You push him back until his shoulder blades once again meet the sheets— pin him down with your weight, and hold him there while he heaves a long, unsteady breath. The lovestruck look in his eyes is suffocating. He knows better than to try to cling to you, but you can feel his adoration coiling around you like a rope looped across your throat. 

"I will. I'll keep you," you tell him, and lean in for a kiss. 

While your mouths are occupied, you reach down, line up the tip of the toy, and slowly start to push inside. Viktor moans loud and almost bites down on your lip as his body shudders and his muscles go tense. 

This is the first resistance you've met— and even now, it's only because he's eager and stupid with pleasure, aching for more instead of thinking at all. 

Viktor's ankles cross behind the small of your back when you're all the way inside. With your hips pressed to his, the whole situation feels achingly intimate. He won't stop staring at you, like he could devour you from the inside out just by holding eye contact for long enough.

"Move," he begs, never looking away. 

What can you do but comply? 

You have no idea if it hurts— and you doubt Viktor would care either way. You tried to prepare him thoroughly, but there's no knowing for sure. He wouldn't tell you. He likes it when you make him hurt; when you leave marks on his body that he can trace his fingers over for weeks, that make him think of you every time he sees himself in the mirror. 

There's no resistance when you shove back into him. Viktor's cock lurches against his belly, drooling sticky, clear pre onto the sharp lines of his hip. His legs squeeze tighter around your waist. A line of spit trails backward down his cheek. 

You kiss him again just to swallow up his little cries. The motion only pushes the toy in deeper— he yelps, spasms— pants into your mouth all ragged and desperate. 

Soon enough, he's back to muttering. When you pull away to breathe, still fucking him slow and deep, an incomprehensible trail of loving praise spills out of him in one non-stop breath. It would be sweet, if not for the wild look in his eyes. 

"I love you," he keens, the clearest his words get, like this. 

Unnerved by the fervency of his gaze, you pick up the pace. Viktor is more tolerable when he's fucked to the point of madness. Whether it's in your hand or on your tongue, you find him much easier to deal with when you don't have to face his all-consuming love too directly. He cries out oh-so-sweetly when you bend him backward and find a better angle— and it's simpler, this way. You can take what you want from him, whatever want may be. 

With the force of your thrusts rocking him back and forth on the sheets, Viktor falls apart. His eyes roll, then flutter closed, stiff cock bouncing untouched between his spread legs. 

"I don't need to do anything else, do I?" you ask. "You'll come for me just like this. You'll do that for me, won't you, Viktor?"

The praise is all it takes. 

Viktor's body locks up, shaking hard. He comes in pulses all over his stomach and yours above it, yowling like you're killing him all the while. 

When it's over, he goes limp. Eyes slitting open, he finally reaches for you— his cold, bony hand cups your cheek. He smiles, still trembling. "Are you done with me...? You can keep going. I don't mind. Tear me apart, if it makes you happy," he breathes.