Chapter Text
“Yuuri~”
Yuuri smiled at his reflection as strong arms snaked round his waist and pulled him against a firm chest. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” Viktor nuzzled into Yuuri’s neck, “It’s early.” He pushed aside the obstructing fabric to nip at exposed skin. “Come back to bed.”
“I have practice,” Yuuri murmured, head tilting all the same. Viktor wasted no time in dropping kisses up the smooth curve of his neck. “For a – hnn,” sharp teeth had latched onto a particularly sensitive spot under his ear, “ – for a match against your team, I might add…”
“Yes, yes, and we cannot wait to beat the Tengus again,” Viktor gazed into the mirror, smirking.
Indignantly, Yuuri twisted round halfway. “That was a fluke – mmh!” he tensed in surprise at the kiss, before melting into the feel of Viktor’s mouth moving against his, slow and languid. “Didn’t you just say it’s early?” he said huskily in the kiss.
“Too early for clothes,” Viktor amended. Warm hands crept under Yuuri’s Quidditch robes, cresting over his stomach.
“Baka,” Yuuri laughed breathily, then gasped, palms slapping onto the sides of the mirror when the older man ground, hard, into his ass.
“A fool who wants you, moya zvezdochka,” Viktor purred, long eyelashes brushing against Yuuri’s cheek. “Can we…?” Hands sank down, digging into Yuuri’s hips, holding them in place. “Right here…?” Even without that heady burst of Veela charm, Viktor’s voice, low and needy, was enough for Yuuri to lose his mind.
“On one condition,” Yuuri managed above the growing haze of lust.
“Hmm,” Viktor licked behind Yuuri’s ear, rolling leisurely against his backside, “What’s that?”
The Seeker was working hard at turning his brain to mush, but two could play at that game. Spinning round, Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s head in his hands and kissed him hard, rocking into Viktor’s very blatant hard-on.
“Blyad’,” Viktor exhaled against his mouth.
Yuuri giggled; his lover so rarely swore that he always felt a wicked sense of achievement when he did. “Let me score a good number of hoops before you catch that bloody Snitch,” he breathed into Viktor’s ear.
“Done,” Viktor rasped, and then he heaved Yuuri up by the waist against the nearest wall, catching his lips for a desperate, open-mouthed kiss.
That evening, Viktor made a spectacular catch to the roar of the crowd and the Siberian Sirins won the League: 240 to 200.
Hyped from scoring most of the Tengu’s goals, Yuuri cornered a very willing Viktor in their shared tent to reward him thoroughly for keeping to his promise.