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Viktor Nikiforov heaved a heavy sigh at the sight of Yuuri’s red and swollen cheek. This was his fault. He should not have let something like this happened.
“Does it hurt?” Asking in a worried tone, Viktor lightly brushed the side of Yuuri’s face, fearing his actions would inflict even more harm. Yuuri held his head low and refused to return his gaze, eyes fixed on the corner of their office desk.
“No…ouch.”
Hearing Yuuri’s denial, Viktor tightened his grip. Yuuri had always been a bad liar, he thought, recalling the Yuuri he met years ago. They were both young, too young to be involved in the families’ doings. It was a meeting between the two families, Nikiforov and Katsuki. As the adults went about their business, the two children became close friends quickly, having similar interests. Yuuri was adorable and harmless, with large coal black eyes that seemed to tuck away all the treasures and gems in the world. Most important of all, he was honest. He hid nothing from Viktor.
The swelling, without any open wounds, was far from serious infections, but claiming it painless was a lie way too obvious. Viktor was no stranger to being slapped, having numerous experiences with angry women, and receiving one had hurt. Not to mention the man who hit Yuuri was over 6 feet tall.
“Don’t lie to me, damn it! I should have blown his head off the moment he laid his filthy hand on you!”
“Vitya, I’m not made of glass. And it’s not my first time being hit.” Yuuri looked away, not willing to face Viktor’s unleashed rage. “I can take it. Stop overreacting.”
“You’re missing the point here, Yuuri. He hurt one of Nikiforov’s men and walked away unharmed. My pride won’t allow that.”
Viktor absolutely did not give a fuck about the Family’s reputation. That man hurt Yuuri, Yuuri Katsuki out of all people, and he had to pay for his crime. But Yuuri would not accept his reasons. He had to lie.
It suddenly occurred to him that Yuuri paid no heed to his own well-being, both physical or mental. He took the blame for the last failed mission (which was 100% Viktor’s fault) and stood on the frontline without complaints or regrets. Well, none that he had voiced anyway. Viktor witnessed the change of Yuuri Katsuki from an innocent little boy to the cold-blooded Pakhan only he knew about, yet he had sworn to always stay by his side. Leaving was never an option, no matter how much Yuuri had changed.
But despite all that, he still heard doubtful whispers echoing in his mind; crooked nails clawing at the walls of his chest, telling him he did not deserve Yuuri. Yuuri had changed a lot over the years and accepted who he needed to become, but what about him? Sentimental, lenient, childish. Yuuri described him as such and even though he did not want to admit it, Yuuri was right. It was a miracle he made it this far in the family. If he wasn’t his father’s son, or worse, if he never met Yuuri… he shuddered at the thought.
Yuuri picked up the paper files stacked on the desk, scanning their latest visitor’s details silently. Maksim Kuznetsov was one of the potential drug producers they wished to recruit into their warm, welcoming family. They grew tired of bargaining with the insatiable knaves who called themselves “Па́па Nikiforov’s partners”, and decided it was the time for them to have their own steady supply. They needed to secure their position in the family.
The meeting went incredibly well; Kuznetsov nodded to every single condition they offered. Viktor did not question his compliance; perhaps it was because things had always been convenient for him, or perhaps it was because he simply believed in pure luck. Either way, Viktor was wrong.
“I have only one request,” As Yuuri passed the contract to Viktor, playing the role of an unimportant assistant, the bald man held up one finger, “I want a private meeting with Па́па Nikiforov.”
“I’m afraid that’s hardly possible, Mr. Kuznetsov. Any messages directed to Па́па have to go through me; I will bring them to him in person.” Viktor dismissed Kuznetsov’s request in a causal manner. Even after his father’s stepping down, the long-lasting influence he exerted on possibly the whole underworld was a constant reminder to Viktor that it was his father who built this kingdom impossible for anyone to inherit, including his own son. His men were only following him because he was the son of Па́па Nikiforov. This man was no different.
Without hesitating, Kuznetsov left his seat and walked past him, towards the direction that led to the room’s exit. Viktor immediately knew that their little chat was over, with no room for argument. To be honest, he was not surprised at his rudeness.
“Па́па is not the Pakhan anymore, Mr. Kuznetsov. The only man capable of leading us now is Viktor Nikiforov—” He heard Yuuri’s voice behind his back, and Viktor snickered at his blatant lie. His smile froze in place when he heard familiar Russian swearing followed by a sharp crack echoing off the walls. All Viktor could saw when he left his seat was how high the man’s hand had raised, and Yuuri’s head snapped to the side.
“Did I ask for your opinion? You should feel lucky for being allowed to stay here. Know your place, Pizdaglaz.” The man spat in front of Yuuri and turned to the door, the drop of saliva landing on the carpet near where he stood. Viktor saw red.
He reached behind his back, pulling out the pistol hidden in the holster beneath his shirt. Just as he was about to aim and pull the trigger, Yuuri stepped forward and stood within the firing range. Viktor tutted in annoyance and put down his gun, knowing fully well that Yuuri would not budge an inch even if he opened fire.
Raising his voice facing the departing figure, Yuuri said, “Allow me to apologize for my actions, Sir. I am willing to accept any form of punishment.” He kept his head down even when the man did not look back, his footsteps echoing in the long corridor and finally disappeared.
A shimmer of flickering flame caught Viktor’s sight and he looked up. The light came from Yuuri's direction, who was igniting a cigarette as he just finished reading Kuznetsov’s personal information his men had been collecting for weeks. Yuuri’s expressions had not changed one bit since he started reading the data, and even Viktor himself could not decode the inscrutable mask of his. The taste of smoke filled the room.
Unable to withstand the silence, Viktor banged his fist on the table and leaned forward, “why did you stop me, Yuuri? He hurt you—” His voice was far louder than he thought it would be.
“How would you deal with the body.” Asking in a flat tone, Yuuri cut him off instantly, putting down the half-burnt cigar. What a waste, Viktor commented absent-mindedly, before realizing what Yuuri said was a question, not a statement.
“What?”
“How would you deal with the body. How would you explain his death? He has over 20 clients, what do you think will happen if he suddenly disappears?” Yuuri’s glare sent chills down his spine. He nearly forgot. This was the Pakhan he was speaking to.
“I…have no idea,” Viktor admitted.
“You’re damn right you have no idea, Viktor.” Irritatedly Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, brows furrowed and knitted together, “even if we hid the body, someone would find out he came here for a meeting. Someone would figure out what happened, and we’d be in trouble. A slap would not be enough by then.”
Viktor was rendered speechless. Yuuri was so many steps ahead of him he struggled to keep up. All he could remember was how his mind went blank when the man hit Yuuri, pulling out the gun was something akin to natural reflexes. He acted on impulse, which could be fatal in their line of business. It would have been fatal if Yuuri had not stopped him.
But what else could he do? The man must pay. He looked down at the papers and pens scattered on the desk, hating himself for being so useless. Someone hurt Yuuri, and all he could do was to stand here, despising his incapability. It felt like a million ants crawling on his body, beneath his clothes, beneath his skin. It felt awful.
“Don’t look so lost, Viktor. Leave this to me.” Yuuri whispered softly, cupping Viktor’s face with both hands. “I’ll handle it.”
Since when had Yuuri came so near? His russet eyes were inches away from his and the scent of smoke filled his nasal, urging him to inhale deeply, not getting enough of the spice. Hesitantly he fell back and sat on the desk. Yuuri pushed closer.
“‘Tragic Valentine’s fire kills family of four’. It will be in the headlines, I promise.”
Hearing Yuuri’s words was like pouring cold water over Viktor’s head, soaking him in bitterness. Even though Kuznetsov was a corrupted drug lord who took countless lives, killing his family was too much. There were certain rules that were not allowed to be broken in the underworld, and they were there for a reason.
“Yuuri, we talked about this. We do not kill the uninvolved, especially women and children. That’s what Па́па taught us.”
“We need to make an example. Па́па’s ways do not work anymore. People take mercy for granted and—”
“Yuuri. Please.” Viktor pleaded. “It was Па́па’s ways. It will be our ways.” He insisted. He would not see Yuuri sink that low. He would not allow that.
“Fine. But you have to do something for me.” Yuuri took Viktor’s right hand and placed it on his swollen cheek, running his fingers over the back of Viktor's hand. “Help me forget. Then I’ll reconsider my ways, Vitya.” Landing a light kiss on his golden ring, he sucked at the tip of Viktor’s ring finger as if it was something sweet, twirling his tongue around it. The wet warmth of Yuuri’s mouth was intoxicating, Viktor could feel the blood rushing to his cock. With his left hand gripping the edge of the desk, Viktor leaned forward to meet Yuuri’s lips, pecking and licking at them until they opened themselves, inviting Viktor inside.
“As you wish, darling.”
Viktor pulled Yuuri’s body closer, raining brief, hasty kisses on his soft and pouty lips, making loud smacking sounds on purpose. He knew Yuuri hated them, they made him squirmed in embarrassment and yet turned him on at the same time. They successfully induced a reaction, Yuuri clutched at Viktor’s shirt and changed the angle, shoving his tongue inside and sucked at his, saliva flowing out from the corners of his mouth.
The warmth of Yuuri’s mouth was soothing, yet the distinct aroma of smoke and cloves and the tanginess of blood reminded him of what happened minutes ago. Yuuri’s causal announcement of execution sounded like an invitation for dinner; his calm and collected voice rebounded and ricocheted in his head, along with the panting and choked moans Yuuri was making, playing out like background music. His pants were painfully tight.
They finally released each other and broke away for oxygen; both of them panting heavily, getting high from each other’s taste. “God, I need you right now,” Viktor lifted himself from the desk, reaching for Yuuri who was getting rid of his jacket. “Let me touch you.”
“Wait.” Yuuri tipped his shoulder with slender fingers, making him fall back and sat on the desk again. “Be a good boy. Sit.”
This time, Viktor was sure that was the exact tone Yuuri used with pets. Well, he would be the only one qualified to say that it was used appropriately. Viktor sat obediently, watching Yuuri removed every piece of clothing except his briefs. His actions were as graceful as a dancer, the curves of his back and ass on display. Viktor tried his best to not look at the ink engraved into his body; the dagger, the skull, the lilies…the scars. They burned into his retinas anyway. Yuuri’s arousal was evident, the bulge of his briefs reminding Viktor of his own. He swore he would go mad if he was not allowed to touch himself, like last time.
What happened next exceeded Viktor’s expectations. Yuuri knelt down and mouthed on Viktor’s shape through the material of his cashmere trousers. This can't be happening, a voice in the back of his mind whispered, this must be a dream. A dream came true indeed, his hips jolted forward, a moan escaping his throat. He watched Yuuri undid the zips of his pants with his teeth and peeled off his briefs, his hardened cock exposed in the cold air, fully erected from the long-drawn anticipation. Yuuri hummed in approval and took the glans into his mouth, his incredible heat making Viktor swear out loud.
“Fuck!” Yuuri’s mouth felt amazing.
“Hanguae, Vihya.”
“Don’t speak with a dick in your mouth, it’s bad table manners.” Viktor retorted, caressing Yuuri’s soft hair with his right hand. Yuuri’s death glares were intimidating under normal conditions, but they were not very effective when Yuuri had his mouth stretched around Viktor’s girth, head bobbing up and down. What a view.
Yuuri did not like blow jobs. To be accurate, he did not enjoy being on the giving end, so it was really a mystery why he was so willing today. “Does it still hurt?” Viktor placed his free hand on Yuuri’s wounded cheek, stroking it with his thumb.
“No…ouch!” Yuuri shouted in pain when Viktor deliberately pinched the reddened area of his face. “Stop lying to me, Yuuri.” Viktor snarled darkly. He wanted Yuuri to understand how it hurt him equally when Yuuri hurt. He needed him to understand.
“Told you it’s no big deal. Don't test my patience. Or else,” Yuuri said with a slow lick along Viktor’s shaft, the mixture of saliva and pre-cum dripping down and left a shiny gleam on his lips. The lewd provocation was almost too much for Viktor, he screwed his eyes shut only to feel Yuuri rested the head of his cock on his tongue and scraped his teeth against it, “I’ll bite your dick off.”
“Woah, scary.” Viktor gasped hoarsely, burning the view of Yuuri sucking his cock into the back of his mind. Everything Yuuri did felt amazing, but it was not enough. He must be very greedy to not be satisfied at this point. He had wealth, status, and a perfect lover. What more could he possibly want? “I want to kiss you.”
Yuuri never kissed Viktor when he gave head. He hated the idea of tasting his own come, disgusted at it even, but Viktor did not mind. He had no boundaries when it came to Yuuri.
“Please?” Viktor lowered his voice, his tone smooth as silk and as sweet as honey. It worked, Yuuri’s ears flushed red and he slowly stood up with wobbly legs, not looking up for once and forcefully smashed their lips together. Sometimes he did not understand Yuuri. What’s there to be embarrassed about? They did things far more filthy than kissing already.
After another breath-taking kiss, Viktor pressed his forehead against Yuuri’s, rolling the taste of himself on his tongue. Breathing over Yuuri’s opened mouth, he sucked at his tongue again, ignoring the strange taste that was spreading in his throat. His heart was drumming in his ears. Viktor buried his head into Yuuri’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of a mixture of gunpowder and smoke that never failed to amuse him. He licked and sucked gently on his collarbone, just light enough to leave a bruise that would not last overnight. They agreed on this rule years ago: No hickeys above the collars. They had to conceal the nature of their relationship, or things would go downhill in the family. Viktor hated it. He wanted the whole world to know Yuuri belonged to Viktor Nikiforov, and that Yuuri Katsuki owned him. He was tired of keeping secrets.
“Any lube?” He bit lightly on the shell of Yuuri’s ear while brushing his uncovered cock, evoking a tremble from Yuuri. Viktor knew he was trying to bite back a moan. A high-pitched sob escaped his throat instead when he slipped a leg between his thighs.
“So sensitive. Cute.” Breathily he whispered, giggling at Yuuri’s protest.
“Shut up,” Yuuri pushed him away and reached for the opposite side of the desk, “There’s some in the drawer.”
Leaning down on the desk, Yuuri’s slender body stretched across the wooden surface, the lines of his back graceful and inviting. Without thinking Viktor ghosted over his neck, leaving a trail of kisses on the skin covered in scars and ink. He wished he could erase them with the caresses of his lips, knowing it a wish that could never be granted. Yuuri’s hands stopped and gripped the sides of the desk instead, ignoring the opened drawer.
Brushing over Yuuri’s already erect nipples, he rocked their hips together, savouring the wanton moans his beloved Pakhan let out. Seeing Yuuri lose control was the most gratifying thing he had ever experienced. The cold-blooded Pakhan who controlled the Nikiforov Family in one hand and took lives without remorse, the man rumoured to be one of the cruelest leaders in the history of Russian mafia was quivering under his body, his composed posture and guide undone by Viktor’s hands. It was the sexiest thing he could imagine.
He pushed one finger inside Yuuri’s hole. Without any lube the finger moved in slowly, the ring of muscles refusing intruders. Yuuri grunted in discomfort, his muscles contracting and sucked Viktor’s fingers in even though that was not his purpose. He was going to come at the thought of putting himself in that tightness.
“Relax, Yuuri. You're going to hurt yourself,” he teased, tugging on Yuuri’s earlobes with his teeth while slowly digging his finger deeper into the walls of his entrance. Yuuri’s shoulders hitched, whimpering shakily and pointed to the opened drawer.
“Use it…Ah,” he let out a choked cry in the middle of the sentence when Viktor reached a small bump in his walls. Viktor pulled out his finger and reached for the lube, barely wasting any time to pour it over his fingers and onto Yuuri’s ass.
The sensation of cold, slick liquid on sensitive skin turned Yuuri on even more as he arched his back and demanded friction, babbling an incoherent chain of words that consisted of his name and the word “more”. Viktor covered Yuuri’s swollen lips with his mouth, exchanging fiery kisses and buried two well-lubricated fingers into Yuuri while sucking and biting at his lips, their tongues intertwining with each other and setting their bodies ablaze, heat pooling in his abdomen.
His fingers could barely touch Yuuri’s prostate; they were positioned at an awkward angle and his knees bumped into the desk, wearing his patience thin. Despite the inconvenience, Yuuri was riding Viktor’s finger like he was born for it and started rocking his hips back and forth, leaving all shame and coherent thoughts behind.
“It’s not… Vitya, touch me, I want more, Vitya, Vitya—” Yuuri sobbed, crying Viktor’s name again and again and again, unable to stop. His hole was already dripping with lube, the transparent liquid overflowed, trilling along his thigh and dropped on the floor. Mere seconds ago he wanted to make sure Yuuri was ready for him, but he did not have the time to care about that now. After all, he had to answer to the wishes of his Pakhan.
Pushing the documents and folders off the desk, he flipped Yuuri around and propped him on the office desk, exposing his cock which was leaking pre-cum all over himself. Tears were flowing down his face and Viktor knew immediately it had nothing to do with grief; he kissed gently on Yuuri’s hands covering his eyes. “It’s okay, leave this to me, Yuuri,” he reassured him, trying to comfort him by licking away the tears. They tasted salty.
With scissoring motions he made sure Yuuri was opened and aligned his hardness with Yuuri’s entrance, pushing the head inside. Oh God, it felt so right. The heat and Yuuri’s tightness combined was almost enough to make him come on the spot. He could barely stop himself from going all the way into Yuuri; it would break him.
Gradually he moved forward, the desk shaking under the two’s combined weight. Yuuri did not once stop moaning his name, he even sputtered Japanese words that were not exactly unfamiliar to his untrained ears. It’s a shame he understood none of the exotic language.
“I won’t understand if you don’t say it properly, Yuuri.” Viktor swallowed hard, he was nearly all the way in. From this angle he could see his cock disappearing into Yuuri, a scene too erotic and sinful for anyone to watch. Well, it’s not like he would allow anyone to watch. He guided Yuuri’s hand to where they’re connected and had him touch the wet squelch down there. Viktor could feel every pull of his muscles, every hitch of his breath; they were connected as one, and he needed to know if Yuuri was feeling the same.
“You feel amazing,” Viktor rasped against his ear, knowing it was the most sensitive spot of Yuuri’s body. The fact that Yuuri was still covering his eyes irritated him, he wanted to see Yuuri’s face, he wanted to see how the calm and collected Pakhan was starving for his cock, cheeks flushed red and pupils dilated in lust. Grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head, Viktor drew Yuuri's body into a lithe line. He growled, “look at me, Yuuri.”
The sharp, piercing auburn eyes were nowhere to be found. All that was left were the full blown pupils from arousal, making his eyes coal black in comparison to his pale skin. Yuuri’s lids drooped and his eyes were unfocused, with his mouth lusciously opened and tongue half-limp, Yuuri looked like he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He was making small whimpers now, and Viktor was just starting to question if he should slow down the pace and relieve him of his burdens, to make him come here and now. He pulled out until just the head remained in Yuuri’s body, revelling in the jolts of pleasure he felt every time Yuuri mewled, feeling the vibrations directly with his cock. He was about to ask when Yuuri hooked a leg around his waist and pulled Viktor closer, snapping their hips together.
“Viktor, why aren't you moving?” The corners of his mouth slid upwards, but Viktor knew it was a bluff, a devil’s smile put on to deceive himself that he was still in control of the situation. He knew just what Yuuri was afraid of—the maddening waves of pleasure that would reduce him to a mess of intuitive desires. He also knew that was what Yuuri needed.
“Come on, Vitya.”
Viktor kept his silence. He needed to focus on something else. Still moving in and out of Yuuri, he released Yuuri’s wrists in order to free his own, reaching down to grab Yuuri’s cock which was touching against his abdomen. Gently he pulled the foreskin back the expose the glistening and reddened head, palming the sensitive slit.
With a cry, Yuuri dug his fingers in Viktor’s shoulder blades and left marks that sizzled and burned on his skin. He hissed in pain, attempting to return the favour by finding Yuuri’s prostate. He knew he succeeded when Yuuri’s mouth snapped open, bouts of shock and disbelief colouring the darkness of his eyes.
“Viktor, wait, this is— oh fuck, too much, fuck, Vitya,”
Yuuri let out a soundless scream when Viktor hit his prostate, sending shivers down his spine. He clenched around Viktor’s thickness and moaned when Viktor slammed into him, hitting at the spot relentlessly which delivered the most pleasure for Yuuri. Viktor was getting lost in the scorching heat of Yuuri's entrance, his pace was losing rhythm and he could feel Yuuri was reaching climax, his walls trembling around him. As he thrust into Yuuri recklessly, the only sound he could hear was his own frantic breathing and the desk squeaking below them, invading his ears and short-circuiting his mind.
“Vitya, I’m gonna—“
“Wait, not now. Let’s—Together—” With a choked breath Viktor circled the base of Yuuri’s cock with his fingers, constricting the flow of bliss and thrill traveling through his body. He was close, too, and he wanted to feel it with Yuuri.
“Damn it, Viktor,” Yuuri’s flailing hand was caught easily. He offered a kiss on the back of his hand while his pace lost control, breathing ragged and broken into fragments. He moaned Yuuri’s name over and over again, almost like a ritual; he would offer his body, his life, his everything to his Pakhan, without hesitation. For seconds the world stopped spinning. The underworld, the family, the traditions—none of them mattered anymore as they orgasmed at the same time, Yuuri’s walls clenching around him and he came inside Yuuri, the contractions milking the last drop of his semen.
As Viktor pulled out his softening cock, the action prompted an involuntary moan from the body below him. Yuuri was panting heavily, legs hanging off the edge of the desk, all energy drained out of him. His whole body was flushed red, from his cheeks to his ears and his chest to his thighs, creating a great contrast with the white fluids smearing his abdomen. Some even spilled to his chest. He was basking in the afterglow of his climax when Viktor push two fingers inside his still gaping hole.
“What…hn,” Yuuri covered his mouth with the back of his hand immediately, stifling the moans triggered by the over-sensitive area. His attempt to close his legs failed as Viktor slipped between his thighs, greedy eyes observing every reaction from Yuuri. He hooked his fingers in his entrance, the tips barely scraping the small bundle of nerves.
“Yuuri, shh,” he shushed, tormenting Yuuri with his deft fingers, “I forgot to bring condom.”
“Fuck you.” Yuuri snapped, covering his face with his hands again. From the gaps between his fingers Viktor could see his face turning bright red; he was biting on his lip to stop himself from moaning, gasping at every movement of Viktor’s fingers. Slowly he dug most of the oozy liquid out, some of it trickling down Yuuri and landed on the desk.
“Oops, it got on Па́па’s desk.” He showed Yuuri his fingers, coated in a sticky white liquid.
“Hm,” Yuuri looked unimpressed. “It’s time to buy a new one anyway. Doesn’t match our style, don't you think?” Sitting up, Yuuri stared into Viktor’s eyes. They were burning fiercely with desire.
He leaned forward and they kissed again, sloppy and wet this time; splaying his hand across Yuuri’s chest as if to paint his body with cum, Viktor mapped his territory on Yuuri’s body. They would eventually be cleansed, washed away, just like how this Yuuri was going to disappear. It used not to be like this; Yuuri talked to him about anything. He stopped doing that when his father stepped down. He wished Yuuri could drop the facade of being the Pakhan and reveal who he really was behind the mask, exposing the raw flesh under the skin that fit too well. It was only in moments like this could he be able to neglect the duties of the Pakhan and be Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov’s lover, but Yuuri always went back to being the Pakhan. He wished and wished and wished, knowing fully well that it was no better than a fantasy.
They parted, and just seconds before Viktor leaned in for more, Yuuri murmured against his lips, “Change of plan. How does ‘orphans left behind after loving parents die in tragic crash’ sound for the news?”
Yuuri compromised. He had to do the same. Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled deeply and opened them, directly facing Yuuri. What happened minutes ago seemed surreal, the lust and hunger all drowned in his penetrating gaze, as if they never existed.
“As you wish, Pakhan.”