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At first, Viktor didn't think much of it—the way Yuuri got flustered, breath hitching and eyes cutting away, whenever Viktor praised his artistry at the rink; the way he flushed so pink whenever Viktor told him how beautiful he is after Yuuri caught him staring; the way he trembled whenever Viktor whispered to him about how good Yuuri feels around him—or inside him, as the case may be—in the warm half-darkness of their bedroom.
Viktor had thought it was his self-consciousness, or that perhaps Yuuri was just not very used to receiving praise and compliments. It was his hope that with time, Yuuri would become more comfortable with it, would learn to appreciate himself and accept the appreciation of others. But even as he seemed to grow more confident, blooming out at last, the flustered reactions stayed, and Viktor couldn't quite figure out why that was.
He first began to entertain the possibility that the reason for Yuuri’s awkwardness around praise may not be entirely innocent after one particularly heated escapade in the kitchen. That evening, Viktor had snuck up behind Yuuri just as he was finishing unloading the dishwasher, had pressed up against Yuuri’s back, pushing him gently into the kitchen counter in front of them. Yuuri had gasped so sweetly, willingly giving himself over to Viktor’s wandering hands, not even questioning, not hesitating, both of them knowing—hoping—they were going to end up like this, that evening having been their first free one in a while.
“You're so gorgeous, lyubimyy. Irresistible. How am I meant to keep myself from touching you any chance I get?” Viktor had whispered in his ear, his hands traveling down Yuuri's chest and stomach to rest at his hips, squeezing gently.
“Mmn, you aren't,” Yuuri had shot back, cheeky despite the way he was already trembling underneath Viktor's fingers, “I want you to touch me.”
That had Viktor moaning into Yuuri’s neck as he began littering wet, open-mouthed kisses across it. His hands, meanwhile, moved lower to stroke over Yuuri’s thighs, slowly inching closer and closer to where the fabric of his sweatpants was already tenting.
“Is that why you were making eyes at me all day today, all throughout practice? Trying to rile me up?” Viktor had asked, punctuating his words by grinding his own clothed erection against the tantalizing, plush curve of Yuuri’s ass, pleasure flashing hotly through him at the contact.
Before answering verbally, Yuuri had arched into him with a pleased moan, all smug satisfaction.
“Maybe.”
They had ended up with their pants just barely rolled down, Viktor stroking Yuuri’s cock while rutting against his ass, both of them eager and impatient. Viktor had been too keyed up to keep the praise from spilling unrestrained past his lips as he pressed them repeatedly against Yuuri's neck and shoulders, Yuuri melting in his arms quicker than usual—surprising, given his impressive stamina—and responding with the loveliest noises.
“My Yuuri. Do you even—mm—do you even realize that everyone can see how beautiful you are on the ice? Do you ever think about it?” Viktor had whispered into Yuuri’s sweaty skin, his murmurs growing more feverish the closer he inched towards orgasm.
“I think about it all the time, zvezda moya. How it's not just me who can't stop looking at you. How they all sit there and watch your strong thighs flexing during a jump,” a pause to squeeze one of those thighs with his free hand, “your lithe waist twisting into the movements,” another, to briefly caress Yuuri’s side, “your perfect ass in those tight costumes.” And finally, a slow, indulgent slide of his cock between Yuuri's cheeks.
“Vitya,” Yuuri had moaned, one hand reaching behind himself to tangle in Viktor's hair, pulling him impossibly closer, as if urging him to keep talking.
And how could Viktor ever deny him?
“It drives me crazy every time, watching you. And you know what, Yuuri? I bet it drives everyone else crazy too,” he’d continued, feeling Yuuri quiver against him.
“But only I get to touch. Only I get to see this gorgeous body—” he'd cut himself off, seized by the urge to suck a hickey into Yuuri’s flushed neck and pausing to do just that. Then, with the taste of salty sweat still lingering on his tongue, he'd picked up where he left off: “—This gorgeous body of yours move naked against my body. There are figures that no one but me gets to see.”
“Yes,” Yuuri had hissed, now grinding back against Viktor and clearly growing desperate. Himself a panting mess, Viktor had squeezed Yuuri’s ass to press his cheeks tighter against his leaking cock, chasing friction. It was clear neither of them would last longer than another minute.
“Like the way your back arches when I’m taking you from behind. Absolutely breathtaking. Arching on my cock as if you're arching into a Biellmann, for an audience of only me.”
That had done it; those words were the finishing blow that had Yuuri shuddering apart and coming into Viktor’s hand with a long, high whine that had vibrated, lightning-like, through Viktor's entire body. Viktor’s movements had gone frantic at seeing, hearing, feeling Yuuri come undone, and he’d spilled all over Yuuri’s ass and lower back only seconds later.
The realization that it indeed had been those words didn't dawn on Viktor until later, when his mind wandered back to that deliciously erotic moment of Yuuri seizing up with orgasm in his arms and he found he couldn't remember physically doing anything that might’ve brought Yuuri over the edge instead. Granted, it had obviously been the culmination of a gradual build-up of pleasure, but still—Viktor could not think of anything else that might've served as the final push, and there must've been a final push of some sort.
But, if his hypothesis was correct, what exactly about what he’d said made Yuuri respond that way? It was no secret that they both had a possessive streak, and Viktor's words had no doubt played into that, but that didn't seem quite enough on its own. Perhaps it had been the dirty talk? Yuuri always really enjoyed that. Never quite to the point of orgasming from it, sure, but he had been especially worked up that day…
No. There was definitely something else to it. He was sure of it.
Or… he at least had a strong feeling about it.
What else was there, though? Sure, he also called Yuuri breathtaking, praised his skating, his beauty and elegance, how could he not, but he does that all the time, and—
Wait.
Oh.
Could it be…?
It seemed almost too good to be true, but at the same time, it made so much sense. Viktor was almost mad at himself that it had taken him this long to put two and two together.
Everything pointed to Yuuri having something of a praise kink, and just the thought of that made Viktor's blood run hot. The fun they could have with that.
Oh, he really hoped he was right.
But since Yuuri was very unlikely to admit it if asked point-blank—provided he was even aware of it—there was only one way to find out:
Empirically.
——
Fortunately, the opportunity for it presents itself only a few days later. They're at the rink when the thought forms in Viktor's mind, and Yuuri’s in particularly good form, flowing water-like across the ice, smooth and elegant and dynamic, and landing all his jumps with ease. Viktor’s been praising him all day without any ulterior motives, but now, well—now that he's remembered his plan, he can't help but watch the effect his encouragements have. The sight of Yuuri’s face, already flushed with exertion, getting ever so slightly redder after each new compliment is addictive, and stirring him up like this is a perfect set-up for what Viktor has in store for later. He grows warm with the thought, as well as with the knowledge that even when the praise isn't completely innocent, it is nevertheless more than well-deserved. Yuuri is a delight to witness, both on and off the ice.
On the way home, Viktor tells him as much.
“You were in great form today. I know I’ve already told you how well you did, but I’m telling you again, because I want you to understand it's not just empty words. I really mean it, Yuuri.”
He speaks softly, heart tender with the sincerity he hopes to express, and strokes a gentle hand down Yuuri’s back, feeling the shiver that runs through him at the words. Or the touch. Or, most likely, both.
Yuuri, noticeably flustered—Viktor will never not love how treacherously quick to flush Yuuri’s cheeks and ears are—mumbles something Viktor can't quite make out. He thinks he hears a thank you, but the rest he can only guess at: Don't overpraise me. If only I was consistently that good. I know you mean it, but I’m not sure I deserve it. Something along those lines.
Yuuri’s ability to accept compliments and positive feedback still needs work. Somehow, the… enjoyment he (apparently) gets out of being praised does not always seem to curb his reluctance to agree with what was said. Viktor has half a mind to ask Yuuri to repeat himself so that he can challenge his self-doubts head on, but ultimately lets it go with a small sigh and a gentle stroke of his thumb over the small of Yuuri’s back, where his hand is still resting.
They can tackle that another time.
Today, he wants the focus to stay on the praise.
After getting home and having dinner, it doesn't take long for things to heat up between them. Viktor expected as much, considering the effort he put into riling Yuuri up and his own excitement to see his plan come to fruition, but Yuuri’s wild-eyed eagerness is no less delicious for being anticipated. He's all searing kisses and fervent movements, craving and grabbing like he's starved for touch, and god, Viktor loves getting swept up by the force of nature that his Yuuri can become.
His Yuuri. His Yuuri, who looks so beautiful, now, gazing up at Viktor from between his legs with keen, lust-dark eyes and a mouthful of cock, like he belongs there.
Viktor can't help but moan at the sight of him.
“Mmh, you should see yourself right now, zolotse. You look so gorgeous with your mouth stretched around my cock,” he sighs, stroking a hand through Yuuri’s hair.
Yuuri moans at the praise, takes Viktor even deeper into his mouth and bobs his head faster, encouraged, greedy. The sight of him, the feeling of his warm mouth around Viktor, the lewd, wet slurping sounds sounding through the quiet room as he sucks him off—all of it has Viktor feeling overwhelmed, breathing heavy and fighting the urge to thrust up into Yuuri's mouth as his orgasm nears.
“Oh, god. You're so good at this, lyubimyy, you're gonna make me come. Can I come down your throat? Will you swallow it all for me?”
Yuuri’s excited moan—muffled by the cock filling his mouth—is all the assent Viktor needs.
“So good to me. So perfect, my lovely Yuuri,” he pants out, uneven as his pleasure crests, and Yuuri whines, fingers digging into Viktor's thighs as the words rush through him.
That's all it takes. The vibration around his cock, paired with the unexpected, sharp sting of Yuuri’s nails and the downright erotic vision of his beloved between his thighs, all flushed and pretty, lips red and eyes so eager to please, is what finally sends Viktor over the edge.
He comes with a shout, the hand in Yuuri’s hair clenching involuntarily, holding Yuuri in place as he diligently, happily takes everything Viktor has to give, every last drop of cum shooting down his throat, just like he promised he would.
The intensity of his orgasm leaves Viktor panting for air and trembling as he slowly comes down, the pleasured haze in his mind taking a good few minutes to clear. Yuuri doesn't seem to mind. His hands stroke soothing circles into Viktor's thighs while he patiently waits for him to recover, the whole time smiling, proud of himself and happy to have pleased his fiancé.
“Thank you, darling. That was… amazing,” Viktor sighs out finally, and he doesn't miss the happy little sound Yuuri makes in response.
“Come up here," Viktor beckons, reaching out for Yuuri and gently guiding him so that he's straddling Viktor's chest while Viktor lays on his back on the bed.
Once they settle into the new position, Viktor's hands immediately go to Yuuri’s gorgeous, muscular thighs, appreciatively stroking up and down the soft skin. Viktor just can't help himself. The touch is not meant to be teasing, but Yuuri shivers nonetheless, flushed cock twitching between his legs. A drop of precum slides down his shaft and lands on Viktor's chest.
Viktor smiles up at him, hoping he doesn't look as smug as he feels.
“You're so hard, moya zvezda, even though I've barely touched you,” he purrs, one hand coming up to smear the precum gathering at Yuuri's tip over the rest of his cock. “You're leaking so much, too… what got you so worked up?”
By now he's pretty confident that he knows the answer, but he wants to hear Yuuri say it.
Yuuri’s breath hitches, and his cheeks, already pleasure-flushed, pinken even more.
"I—I don't know, um.”
Lies.
Viktor doesn't respond immediately. Keeping his gaze gentle, but intent, he takes a few seconds just to watch Yuuri—watch his eyes flutter shut, then open again, watch his chest rise and fall with each heavy breath, watch him as he gently rocks into Viktor’s hand, which is still idly playing with his cock. He’s squirming ever so slightly, too; Viktor guesses it’s with both pleasure and nerves.
"I think you do know,” he says, finally. His tone is soft, but the words still ring loud in the quiet room.
He watches Yuuri swallow thickly. It's the only response he gets.
Viktor wants to wait, to let the tension hang between them until he gets a proper answer, but the look in Yuuri’s eyes is just so vulnerable that he can’t help but give in. Opening up still doesn't come easy to Yuuri, and Viktor would hate to let him think he has anything to feel uneasy about. So, not wanting to entirely abandon the topic, Viktor says it for him, cracking under that soft, pleading gaze.
"Say, Yuuri. It was what I said, wasn't it? The way I praised you, called you beautiful. You like that, don't you?”
If Yuuri could flush any deeper, Viktor's sure he'd see fresh color rise to his cheeks. He still doesn't say anything, but his cock twitches in Viktor's gentle grip, fresh precum gathering at the tip of it, and those earnest eyes say it all for him.
God, he's irresistible.
Viktor reaches a hand up to cup Yuuri's face. It's hot to the touch, filled with warm, excited blood, and Viktor thinks it's a blessing, to feel the fire burning within Yuuri right under his fingertips.
He pulls Yuuri down for a slow, deep kiss, needing to taste that fire on his tongue, too.
“Fuck my tits, love,” he whispers when they break the kiss, faces still close enough for his lips to brush against Yuuri's as they form the words.
Viktor doesn't really swear, and on the rare occasion that he does, it's only ever in Russian. Vulgar language never quite sat right in his mouth, not in everyday speech, and especially in English it just isn't part of his active vocabulary—most of the time, at least. Dirty talk, though, well, that's different. There, the vulgarity is deliberate and playful, making things sound dirtier than they are, more explicit, and the fact that he doesn't really use those words outside the bedroom only amplifies the effect. He enjoys that, and as far as he can tell, so does Yuuri.
He watches closely as Yuuri enthusiastically complies, positioning himself so his cock rests against Viktor's sternum, then placing a hand on each of Viktor's pecs both to support himself and to push them closer together. Like this, they hug his cock as it slides between them, its path smoothed by the precum that has dripped down to Viktor's chest. Despite how defined his chest muscles are, it's still probably not quite the same as with an actual pair of breasts, but Yuuri loves it nonetheless, enough so that it's become a somewhat regular part of their sexual repertoire.
Yuuri starts slow at first, but keyed up as he is, his pace quickly picks up as he chases his pleasure. Viktor's hands come to rest at his thighs again, feeling strong muscles move underneath his fingertips as Yuuri rocks against him. He's a sight to behold, flushed and panting, so pretty that Viktor could spend hours just looking at him.
“Yes, lyubimyy, just like that,” Viktor encourages, his hands sliding up Yuuri’s legs until they reach his ass, squeezing the soft flesh there. The drawn out moan this earns him is delicious, and he really, really wants to pull more gorgeous sounds out of Yuuri. He thought he would manage to pace himself a bit, but it seems he has overestimated the strength of his resolve.
So, he continues.
"This is what I meant, the other day,” he begins, thinking back to their little adventure in the kitchen, “you're such a gorgeous sight. I love watching pleasure dance across your face, watching your mouth fall open on a moan, watching your head fall back. Your skin glistening with sweat, muscles flexing underneath."
Yuuri’s thrusts grow more frantic with each new word of praise. He's gasping and moaning so sweetly, flushed like the ripest of peaches, his eyebrows knit together in pleasure. He's losing himself, coming apart seam by tightly woven seam, and he—he really is breathtaking. If Viktor hadn't just come a short while ago, he's sure he'd already be painfully hard just from watching him unravel. Even as is, he can feel his cock twitching in interest.
He squeezes Yuuri's ass again, harder this time.
"And this ass of yours—god. So round and perfect, so sculpted yet so soft beneath my fingers,” Viktor tells him, pulling his cheeks apart with one hand, a finger of the other stroking down Yuuri's crack, over his hole. Yuuri whimpers at the teasing touch, loud and high-pitched.
"And so sensitive. I love it. I love playing with it."
He really, really does—more so when he can properly get in there, stick his fingers or tongue in until Yuuri's hole is all wet and sloppy and his beloved is begging for more, but even like this, light and from the outside, it's a joy to do. How could it not be, when Yuuri responds to it so beautifully?
He's all breathy moans now, chest heaving, gorgeously sweaty and clearly close to orgasm. His movements are so desperate that Viktor isn't sure whether Yuuri's trying to rock forward into his chest or backward onto the featherlight touches of his fingers. Yuuri probably doesn't know either.
"I love how much you love it, too,” he continues, voicing his thoughts out loud. His finger moves against and around Yuuri's hole in small circles, and the way it makes Yuuri writhe is mesmerizing. “You're stunning, milyy.”
Yuuri keens at that, back arching and eyes squeezing shut, and Viktor can't hold back any more, can't resist asking the question again, because god, whether he realizes it or not, Yuuri is being borderline ostentatious about it.
"And the way you respond to praise,” he breathes out, not even trying to hide the awe in his voice, “so hot, lyubov moya. It drives you wild, doesn't it?"
He knows, they both know, it’s beautifully obvious by now, but he still longs to hear Yuuri say it, confirm it with his own words, not as an admission of guilt but as an act of self-acceptance. He wants Yuuri to learn he can bare himself to Viktor's adoring gaze and Viktor will only love him all the more for it.
Yuuri, now positively drunk on Viktor's praise and presumably too desperate and beside himself with pleasure to feel embarrassed, finally, finally responds.
"Ye—ah!—yes," he admits, frantically nodding, "Yes, Vitya."
The words almost tumble out of him, easy as breathing. Among all of Yuuri's hot-blooded wanting, Viktor thinks he sees a flash of relief. His heart swells.
"Thank you, darling," he says, one hand moving to squeeze reassuringly at Yuuri's thigh, "for telling me."
Yuuri's rhythm is uneven now, erratic. He quivers on top of Viktor, beautiful noises spilling out of his open mouth almost constantly. He is so close to coming, and Viktor wants nothing more than to get him all the way there, to reward him.
"You want to come, don't you?" It's more of an observation than a question, a prelude to what he really wants to say. "Come for me. All over me," he encourages, voice low and sultry, fingers pushing right up against Yuuri's hole and rubbing, "I want to watch you come, my love. My gorgeous Yuuri. Give me everything that lovely cock of yours has to give—"
"Vitya!"
The breathless cry is the only warning given to Viktor before Yuuri is covering his chest with thick ropes of come, pleasure finally cresting. His muscles spasm with the force of it and Viktor can't look away, mesmerized by the sight of his Yuuri mid-orgasm, hips bucking and head thrown back and as he rides it out, breathless and whimpering.
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.
Watching Yuuri come is probably the closest he has come to having a religious experience, Viktor thinks. That, and watching him skate.
It takes Yuuri a while to come down from that high. This is unusual, because Yuuri tends to recover quite fast, but Viktor can't say he's surprised, considering how intensely his orgasm seemed to hit him.
(Yes, he feels a little smug about that. Sue him.)
Viktor lazily pets Yuuri's damp hair while they rest, happy and satisfied. Pressed together as they are, he can feel Yuuri's heartbeat gradually slowing, the sensation comforting and intimate. Despite all the stickiness between them, it's really nice.
Yuuri hasn't said a word since he came, and when he finally manages to peel himself away from Viktor and pad away into the bathroom, presumably to retrieve a damp towel, he does so in silence, too. There's no visible tension in him though, no apparent distress or discomfort, so Viktor doesn't probe, trusting Yuuri to speak once he feels ready.
It is only once he returns, towel indeed in hand, and begins cleaning Viktor's chest of his own cum, that he clears his throat.
"Vitya?" he asks, quiet, a little tentative.
"Yes, zvyozdochka?"
Yuuri's eyes flick up to look at Viktor, who offers a soft smile, then return back down to where he's gently rubbing the towel against Viktor's skin.
"Did you, um. Did you mean it, when you said..." Yuuri trails off with a soft sigh, apparently considering how to proceed with the question. His hand on Viktor's chest stops moving.
A few seconds pass before he speaks again.
"It's not weird to you?"
Viktor blinks, unsure what exactly he means. Before he can ask, though, Yuuri continues.
"The, y'know, the... praise thing?" Praise thing. Viktor sees Yuuri's cheeks color as he says it. It's a pleasant surprise, though; he didn't think it would get brought up outside of sex anytime soon.
Yuuri's gaze is still focused on the warm towel in his hand, so Viktor reaches out to cup his face, gently turning it towards himself.
"I meant every word," he says, shamelessly sappy, but sincere all the same. "It's not weird at all." Then, unable to stop himself, he gives Yuuri a smirk and adds, "in fact, it's incredibly sexy to see how quickly it gets you worked up."
Yuuri chuckles at that, eyes leaving Viktor's face to focus on some undefined point somewhere to the side. Under Viktor's hand, his skin is flushed and warm to the touch.
To ease his lingering self-consciousness, Viktor strokes Yuuri's cheek with his thumb, hoping to coax Yuuri into looking back at him. When he does, Viktor gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and feels relieved to see an answering smile spread across Yuuri's face.
They stay like that for a few quiet moments, just smiling at one another. Eventually, Yuuri goes back to cleaning up their mess, and Viktor starts to think that perhaps that's that, they won't say anything more about this topic tonight. He wouldn't mind if that were the case; he's already proud of Yuuri for opening up even this much.
But then, Yuuri speaks up again.
"Have you known about it for long?"
Leave it to curiosity to triumph over embarrassment.
"Because, well. I... didn't really figure it out myself until recently," Yuuri admits, and oh, what Viktor would do to know exactly how this figuring out went down. He doesn't pry, though—for now.
Instead, he hums as though he has to think about the question, even though he really doesn't.
"I have been wondering about it a little bit, ever since that evening in the kitchen." He gives Yuuri a meaningful look, confident that Yuuri will know what he's talking about, the memory of that particular incident still fresh in both of their minds. And indeed, Yuuri's eyes widen in recognition—or, possibly, realization.
"But I wasn't sure until today." It's true, though he doesn't mention that he very much planned to make sure. Yuuri lets out a sheepish little laugh at this information, turning away to throw the now-dirty towel he was using somewhere on the floor to be dealt with later. Sensing that his self-consciousness has made a small comeback, Viktor waits until Yuuri turns back to him to add, "I'm glad I know now. I love learning new things about you."
He does, and he makes that clear any chance he gets, whether with words or otherwise. But old habits are hard to break, and getting Yuuri to open up is a process. So Viktor does his best to meet him halfway, even though he doesn't always understand, and they work on it together, bit by bit. In most areas of his life, Viktor is not a very patient man, but with Yuuri, for Yuuri, he is willing to be.
Especially when the rewards are this sweet.
Yuuri smiles at him, the tension that has crept back into his shoulders easing, and leans down to kiss him. The kiss is slow but earnest, each warm press of Yuuri's lips one of gratitude and deep, loving feeling, and Viktor answers in kind, pulling Yuuri close with one hand wrapped around his waist and the other on the back of his head.
Yet despite the tenderness, when they pull apart Viktor barely lasts a second before he gives in to the smirk pulling at his lips.
"And I hope you realize, milyy, that I intend to make good use of that knowledge.”
It's not a threat, but a promise.