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The sharp knocking stirs Yuuri from a profound and comfortable slumber, distant as the noise is when he is deep within the safety of his home. The condo was bought and paid for by Viktor, but Yuuri owns it in name completely. If he chose to sell it and walk away, he could in a heartbeat.
The number of people who have access to this place number few, and the number who would dare bother him without calling are nearly zero.
Nearly.
Yuuri debates answering. As if sensing his reticence, the knocking turns to pounding. With a grumble, Yuuri sits up and pushes Viktor’s arm off his waist, reaching to the floor for his robe. He hears a low groan behind him, and a questing hand touches his back, blindly trying to grab him, lethargic and still so loving.
Usually Yuuri is the one who prefers to sleep in. He definitely wore Viktor out last night, and it brings a smirk to his lips.
“Tell that brat that this is the last time,” Viktor mumbles into his pillow. He sounds only a little cross, so Yuuri will respond in kind to their visitor. When he hears a snore, Yuuri looks over his shoulder to stare at the greatest and most terrifying leader in St. Petersburg.
Viktor sleeps on, oblivious. His silvery hair falls over his fine cheekbones, his long lashes brushing his cheek. Like this, Viktor isn’t terrifying. He is gentle, loving, and Yuuri’s husband. The circles under his eyes and the bruises on his neck from when Yuuri got excited are nothing of what the great Viktor Nikiforov would show his enemies and allies.
But to Yuuri, the little details are what he sees every day, and he adores them.
Yuuri loves him so. He smiles softly and leans down to kiss Viktor’s hair, messy from Yuuri yanking on it while Viktor sucked him off just hours ago. The Pakhan barely twitches at his kiss, which amuses Yuuri. Viktor’s mind is a steel trap, wicked and always alert, always analyzing his enemies… except for here, when he is with Yuuri alone.
With a low sigh, Yuuri stands and ties the gauzy clothing around his waist. Viktor bought the ‘widow robe’ for him on their anniversary, joking about Yuuri killing off his husbands for their money. Yuuri took offense to that comment and seduced Viktor wearing only the flimsy red robe with its long, billowy sleeves and fluffy trimming, and Viktor never joked about it again.
He makes his way to the front door and pulls it open mid-bang, raising an unamused eyebrow at the young man on the other side.
Yuri Plisetsky yelps and grabs the gun at his waist, then falters at Yuuri’s withering glare. Instead he glares back, green eyes so unlike Viktor’s lovely blues, glittering with something like hate.
‘Like,’ because when Yuri Plisetsky’s glare drops and he realizes how little the sheer robe covers Yuuri, the hate suddenly turns into something else. The purple color the boy turns is amusing.
“What the hell are you wearing, you pig?!” Plisetsky snarls, color high in his cheeks.
“Clothes,” Yuuri answers mildly, unaffected and uncaring. A boy’s blustering is nothing to him. “Do you have it?”
Plisetsky looks ready to kill him, but in the end he merely glares and reaches into his jacket. He pulls out a thick folder and holds it out silently.
Yuuri takes it and moves to close the door, then pauses. He looks back at Plisetsky, smiling, and the cold expression makes Plisetsky glower.
“Vitya is here.”
The color drains from Plisetsky’s face. Good.
“He says don’t knock on my door like that again,” Yuuri continues, still feeling sleepy from waking too early. He closes the door on Plisetsky’s face and wanders back to the bedroom, absently turning on the coffee maker as he passes the kitchen. He sheds his robe on the floor and crawls back into bed, laying on his stomach as he stares at the folder.
Viktor shifts beside him, and his weight lands on Yuuri’s back, pressing against him with intent. Viktor pushes one knee between Yuuri’s legs, grinding against his still sticky backside slowly. As he leans down to drop a warm kiss to Yuuri’s shoulder, Yuuri notices Viktor’s cock half-hard against his ass. He ignores that in favor of the precious gift in his hand, which Viktor himself arranged for him.
“Did my little bird get what he ordered?” Viktor asks, his voice deepened by sleep and lust. Viktor never stops wanting him — and Yuuri loves it, selfishly, possessively.
He opens the folder silently, thumbing through pictures and brochures. His heart clenches at one photo in particular, and he memorizes the information on the attached handout. Then he puts everything back into the folder and sets it on the table beside his glasses.
With a low sigh, Yuuri spreads his legs, letting Viktor’s cock slip between his cheeks, and rolls his hips. Viktor grunts into Yuuri’s ear, grinding against him for another moment, then reaches for the forgotten lube under the pillow.
“Good news?”
“One of them is very, very close,” Yuuri whispers, groaning low as Viktor slides slick fingers into him. He is still pleasantly sore from last night, and the easy stretch thrills him. “I… want to meet them. And verify that none of the others were mistreated.”
“Your wish is my command, my sun,” Viktor murmurs. He deems Yuuri stretched enough and pushes his legs apart completely to kneel between them, his thick cock head sliding up and into Yuuri’s eager hole.
Yuuri moans, bending his knees to wrap his lower legs back around Viktor’s thighs, and lifts his hips to urge Viktor deeper.
He puts the matter of the papers aside for now. Viktor drops his lips to Yuuri’s neck as he pushes into him, opening Yuuri up with his long, thick cock and making him cry out. Then he sets a relentless pace, and it thrills Yuuri.
Yuuri’s feet bounce against Viktor’s thighs as Viktor thrusts into him. He finds it far too easy just to lie there and take Viktor into him, breathless moans falling from his lips. He tries not to think of the folder and its contents, but victory over the people who stole everything from him is so close — and Yuuri is already close too, on edge from Viktor’s loving ministrations the night before and the powerful thrill of making Viktor’s younger cousin nearly wet his pants with fear.
Ahhh… Yuuri is really fucked up. But Viktor’s darkness matches his, and for that, Yuuri loves him.
Viktor stills against him, his throbbing cock shoved deep into Yuuri, scorchingly hot. Yuuri whimpers, spreading his legs wide, but when the expected warmth doesn’t flood his body, he turns his head in confusion. Viktor is panting against his neck, his grip tight on Yuuri’s waist.
“Vitya….?”
“I need to be inside you,” Viktor gasps. “I want… I need it. Your love. I want to hide inside you and hold your heart and never… never let anyone else, ahh, touch it ever again. You can fly anywhere you want, but please, please never… never love anyone else. Just me.”
Yuuri lies still for a beat, then twists and pushes Viktor off him. Viktor lets out a wounded noise, his eyes wide and hurt as he sits up, reaching for Yuuri again. Yuuri climbs into his lap frantically and lines Viktor’s cock up against his aching hole before sinking down. He catches Viktor’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply.
How is he so lucky? He earned this man’s dangerous, heady love, and he aches for it.
“All of me, Vitya. All of me is yours,” Yuuri whispers, and Viktor tightens his arms around Yuuri and drives up into him one last time.
Their movements need little more to send both of them over the edge within seconds of each other. Viktor empties himself inside Yuuri, surprising Yuuri with the amount he releases. Yuuri thought he wrung Viktor dry last night — but soon he feels Viktor’s slick seed dripping down his thigh.
“Mmm… Vitya…”
“I love you,” Viktor whispers, pressing kisses to Yuuri’s shoulder, his neck, his chest. His arms have yet to leave Yuuri’s waist, holding him tightly to Viktor’s chest.
Bemused, Yuuri gently strokes his fingers through Viktor’s hair, petting him as he catches his breath. He feels full, and he doesn’t quite want to move, preferring to stay wrapped up in Viktor.
Soon, though, Viktor slips out of him and lays Yuuri tenderly on the bed, pushing his leg up to bite gently at his thigh.
“My little bird, soaring above this blood-soaked country… have you found what you are hunting, my love?” Viktor croons, and Yuuri smiles up at him, reaching up to cup Viktor’s face. The ring on his finger glints beneath Viktor’s blue eyes.
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” Viktor promises, and that is that.
~*~
The Russian countryside can be beautiful, but Yuuri hardly pays any attention to it, focused on the brochure in his hands. Viktor is driving, wearing his preferred black suit and silver tie, but his attention never shifts far from Yuuri.
“If you wish it, I will buy all of them,” Viktor tells him.
Yuuri snorts. “What will you do with that many? It’s fine, Vitya, I just… I need to see for myself.”
“As you wish, my love.”
They turn down a road with long, green pastures, then find the sign marked “The Toy Store: Toy Poodles and Doodles,” with a small, cartoonish figure of a dog. The driveway opens to a small gravel lot for visitors, and beyond the parking lot is a large lawn that leads to a kennel with high walls.
As soon as Yuuri steps out of the car, he hears the barking, and his heart clenches. He can see lots of dogs milling behind the kennel walls. One couple is looking through the wall, talking with a young woman, while an older man is leading a black dog back to his car.
But Yuuri barely sees any of that, because his eyes land on the porch of the house next to the kennel. In one of the wicker chairs on the porch is a small, chocolate brown poodle.
Yuuri walks closer, his expression blank. Yet no matter how silent he is, something alerts the small dog to his attention, and the dog opens its eyes to look across the yard. It spots Yuuri and jolts, sniffing the air furiously for a few seconds before leaping off the chair, off the porch, and over the lawn, barking frantically as it — he — races to Yuuri.
Yuuri gasps and drops to his knees, and his childhood dog all but jumps into his arms, whining as he licks his face excitedly.
“Vicchan?”
Vicchan — it must be, it must be Vicchan — whimpers and wriggles closer into Yuuri’s arms. Beyond his small world of warm fur and sweet brown eyes, Yuuri hears Viktor talking to someone — explaining, or making excuses, it doesn’t matter.
None of it matters. All he cares about is that his dog still recognizes him.
“My love, I will handle it. Go sit in the car.”
Yuuri stands up, Vicchan still in his arms, and turns away from the chaos of barking dogs and nosy onlookers, ignoring the way the young woman shouts after him. Viktor will handle it.
He sits down in the passenger seat of his and Viktor’s car, tears leaking down his cheeks. He hasn’t cried in years — but it’s Vicchan, licking up his salty tears of joy and sadness and anger. Vicchan, rubbing his sweet face into Yuuri’s hands, never leaving his side.
Never again, if Yuuri has his way.
What seems like hours later, Viktor rejoins them, carrying several papers and a bag.
In those hours, those years of time that Yuuri thought lost, Yuuri has met his dog again.
The other cars have long left, and the owners of The Toy Store are sitting on the porch, wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. Yuuri only glances at them briefly before he accepts the kiss Viktor presses to his cheek.
“Would you like to hear the whole story?” Viktor asks, reaching over to let Vicchan sniff his hand.
“Yes.”
“Eight years ago, two men in a van pulled up and offered a toy poodle dog to Anya and Alina Makarova. They had no papers, and the van had no markings, but they said they would kill the dog if the two women, mother and daughter, did not take him. So they did, accepting the little dog as part of their breeding program.”
Yuuri lets out a small noise, his eyes flashing as he looks up past the dashboard. The lot is empty of the van that carried him — screaming into the dirty cloth over his mouth, as his kidnappers took away his dog. He only heard Vicchan’s frantic barking.
The memory of the sound haunted him for years.
Those men are long dead — Yuuri killed them himself long ago — but he still hates, deep in his heart.
Viktor smiles as Vicchan licks his fingers. “The little dog, whom they named Vitenka, short for Viktor, became one of their best sires. He was retired from the breeding program last year, and he has continued to live on their farm since, well-fed, loved, and happy.”
Yuuri closes his eyes. “So he is happy here. I should—”
“Until,” Viktor continues, making Yuuri stare at him, “a young man came to their door, and his presence alone was enough to make Vitenka run to his arms, as if greeting an old friend. The two women had never seen anything like it from Vitenka. At least his husband was kind enough to explain that Vitenka was once the young man’s dog, many years ago, and was sold without his permission…”
“As if I could have given it,” Yuuri mutters, then leans over to kiss Viktor’s cheek. His heart is beating fast, like he used to feel when he was younger — like Viktor makes him feel. He wants to cry again, and he hates the very thought. “Thank you for talking to them. I’d rather not.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Viktor says, winking at him. “That is why I arranged for a substantial fee to be wired to The Toy Store in purchase of this one. I can also arrange for a second wire transfer, if you wish for… say… one of Vitenka’s grand-puppies?”
Yuuri blinks a few times. He has the urge to check his ears, because surely he misheard. Viktor’s grin is far too knowing, and Yuuri narrows his eyes.
But then Vicchan licks his cheek again, and Yuuri exhales, giving his dog a gentle kiss on the head.
“I… would like to meet the puppies.”
Viktor’s eyes light up, and Yuuri resigns himself (with desperate hope) to returning home with not just one dog, which he had only dared to dream about, but maybe one more.
(They don’t go home with a puppy — this time. First they introduce Vicchan to Makkachin, which is a joyful occasion for all. After a month, Yuuri returns alone and quietly buys three puppies from the next litter, all grand-puppies of Vicchan. He lets Viktor name two of them, but the third, he names himself — Masya, darling one.
His apartment has never been louder, and Yuuri has never been happier.)