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(The long-awaited smut you’ve all been sexually frustrated for)
He’s in his office, feet crossed on his desk and groaning in exhaustion after his long, not to mention horrendous day at the hospital. The pouring rain outside pounds against his window, the slightest sound giving him the worst headaches he’s ever experienced.
“Arghhh!” Victor yells out in frustration, ruffling his already messy platinum-blond hair, to the point where his dog, Makkachin is too scared to look at him. She hurriedly ran away, hiding in her tiny nook under the couch in the corner and whimpered quietly.
“Geesh, I’m sorry, Makkachin. It’s just that my assigned patients today were all complete assholes! If only you could hear what one of them said to me today. “Is your hair naturally gray?” No, it’s fucking platinum! Don’t any of them have the eyes to tell apart two completely different shades of color? Goddammit fuck my life,” the doctor rants on and on, as if Makkachin could actually respond. Victor only realizes that three seconds later and quickly shuts up.
He continues to lie quietly, occasionally emitting stress-induced groans and swears. This continues for a good ten minutes before the cursed sound of Victor’s phone rings, causing him to jerk up and rush to the call. What the hell made him think becoming a doctor was such a good idea—even worse a famous one? His feet tap impatiently against the linoleum floor as he waits for an answer.
“Oi, shithead. You awake or what?” Yuri’s voice answers, leaving Victor stunned at who called him.
“Yuri? Why are you calling—shouldn’t you be on your shift or something?”
“Look, I don’t have time to fully explain this, but Yakov is out for some reason and I don’t want to take his place to care for some annoying ass. I’ve already got a few kids to take care of so why don’t you take his place? You don’t sound busy,” he speaks, if you could call it speaking. Yuri’s practically yelling through the phone and the cries of little children can be heard from Victor’s side.
“Who’s the patient Yakov has?” Victor asks, already regretting the answer he might get in return.
“Yuuri Katsuki. Ya know, the Japanese fashion designer who works at FIT as a professor?”
“Plisetsky, I am not ta—”
He hangs up, a dead silence replacing his blaring voice on the line. Victor mumbles a few more swears and forcefully massages his forehead before scramming to find his trench coat. Not even bothering to look at his ruffled head of hair, he sloppily puts on his coat over his lab coat and blows a kiss to the curly-haired dog in the corner.
“I’ll be back, my love! Wait for me in a few hours, alright?” the doctor hollers before slamming the door shut and rushing to his appointment with god knows who.
The automatic doors of the hospital stand proudly as they slide open for the platinum-blond doctor sprinting in, drawing the eyes of patients and other employees alike. Victor runs and nearly trips over himself on his way to the reception office, and slams his fist unknowingly on the table.
“Yuuri Katsuki. Where is he?” he inquires, a slight demand in his voice.
“Fifth floor, room 22. What’s with all you people today, by the way?” a redhead answers, her short hair waving around as she maneuvers around her office to multitask.
“No time, Mila. I’m already pissy as it is and this patient won’t be any better for me,” the Russian man replies annoyed.
“Contrary to belief, he’s actually not that hard on the eyes, Victor. Maybe he’ll make you feel a bit better afterwards,” Mila replies and gives him a suggestive smirk.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Nevermind, go on to your appointment!” she says, waving him away with a leisurely hand. He shakes his head, ignoring her answer and moves to the elevators. His body struggles to get in safely to the elevator with the amount of people cramming in as well, but still manages. Victor feels his own cheeks reddening at the sight of other people gawking at him.
Isn’t he that famous doctor that lives near here?
What’s a guy like him doing at a place here? Maybe he’s got a patient worth treating.
Is his hair actually gray?
“NO, IT’S FUCKING. PLATINUM. GET IT RIGHT,” he snaps at the passengers on the elevator, earning him scared glances and more murmurs among the group. Victor groans even more, pulling up the collar of his coat to hide his reddening face.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Why’d you have to make it worse, Victor?” he mumbles into his coat to shield himself. The ride up to the fifth floor lasted for what seemed like a thousand eternities before he arrived. He’s the only one to get off after the rest have gotten off on the lower floors, giving him some relief for the moment. The number “22″ catches the corner of his eye and leads him to a door near the far left of the hallway. Sucking in a measured breath, the light-haired doctor prepares his fake celebrity-like smile and demeanor and turns the metal doorknob to open the door.
“Apologies if I made you wait. I just received a c–”
Victor happened to glance up, but his eyes lingered for quite awhile. In front of him was indeed his patient, but for some reason he didn’t believe it. Completely black hair was slicked back to form an educated look, but looked like it would come apart in messy waves if ruffled up enough. His patient wore a blue button-up shirt under a knitted gray sweater, paired with skinny jeans and light mahogany oxfords. Sleek-framed glasses matched the color of his shirt and sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. The professor waited silently, having not noticed the staring turquoise eyes that were on him, watching him fidget as he stared at the white walls.
Not only was this man surely a professor at FIT, but also hot as fuck and Victor was sure he had a boner for him.
HolyfreshhellhowtheshitwasIblessedwiththisman?
“Oh! I-I’m sorry I didn’t notice you at first. It’s just that it’s been twenty minutes—I was just about to give up when you showed up. Y-Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki. Nice to meet you, Dr. Nikiforov,” the dark-haired professor introduced, squinting his eyes to read the name tag on Victor’s lab coat. An awkward, but genuine smile rushed to his face, with hints of amusement and flirtatiousness. Oh Victor was falling hard for this man, alright. His mind was completely vacant, the only words in it being “fuck me”. He felt his chest compressing rapidly, his breathing pace double, hopefully not visible in front of his own patient.
The awkward space left between Yuuri’s words and Victor’s awaited answer grew a bit too long, and desperately searching for a quick answer, he most likely made the worst mistake in his career.
“Hi, screw me?” he blurted out, instantly causing the dark-haired professor’s cheeks to grow three shades redder. Surprisingly, however, he didn’t move away, instead staying where he was on the examination table. Victor, on the other hand, was blushing like a mad man, having rushed to cover his mouth in a fruitless attempt to take back his words.
Too late. Yuuri, his patient, had heard it. He waited for the shocked accusations from him, preparing himself for the worst. Now his job was going to revoked after everyone heard of what New York’s acclaimed doctor had asked legendary Japanese fashion designer and his reputation was going to be in rui—
“Hah. I guess it’s fair now that we’ve been thinking the same thing,” Yuuri sheepishly said out of nowhere, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy hand.
Meanwhile, Victor’s boner had grown increasingly painful, tugging against the restricting fabric of his khaki pants.
“S-So you were…” Victor asked, the unfinished question still hanging in the air.
“Y-Yeah. Is it bad that I just told a nationally famous doctor I was thinking of screwing him?”
“Nah, it doesn’t help that I was thinking the same thing here. It’s just that—”
The platinum-blond doctor failed to find the correct words again, sighing in frustration and ran his fingers once again through his bangs. He glanced upwards, surprised to see Yuuri fidgeting once more while staring absentmindedly at his movements. Was that a habit of his to do that?
“Fuck. It’s just that—I’m attracted to you. I like you. I like the way you dress but honestly if you just happened to throw on anything in front of you I would still like you. Your awkward smile, the way your glasses sit on your nose, I just like everything, alright?” Victor confessed hurriedly, having lost all of his dignity uttering the most sappy phrase he’d ever thought of. His hand shot to his stethoscope on the desk beside him, hoping to continue on with the check-up and just move on from the soul-crushing moment.
“Wait!”
Yuuri’s voice had popped up in the middle of nowhere, his hand outstretched as if wanting Victor to stop and listen to him this moment. He spotted a slight glint of attraction in his brown eyes, hope fluttering in his chest in case Yuuri happened to think otherwise.
“I…I—I may or may not have thought some similar things about you. Your platinum-blond hair—who the hell has the perfect shade of that hair these days?! The doctor’s coat, your eyes—oh don’t get me started on your eyes they’re absolutely fucking gorgeous. I was fidgeting when you walked in because I didn’t want you to see how mentally crazy I was for you,” the words rushed out of his patient’s mouth faster than Victor’s had, more mumbled and anxious to be exact.
The two men wallowed in the silence, not sure of how to break it after what they both have just said to each other. Then after a long period of waiting, Victor didn’t know who’d started it, but they were all of a sudden laughing, breathy and wearily, relieved of the sexual stressful tension.
“Well then, since we’ve just confessed to each other and there’s no point in going back, would it be right for me to ask you on a date? How about the local bar two blocks from here, i-is that okay for you,” Yuuri inquired, still shaking from his awkward moment with his own doctor. “It’s more quiet in the early evening, and it’s one of my favorite places to head to after teaching hours,” the professor spoke admirably, the familiar glint back in his eyes when he was talking about something he genuinely loved. Too immersed in him to bother thinking about what he’d just said, he mindlessly nodded, merely agreeing with everything Yuuri was saying.
“Alright, then! 6:00, I guess? I know that as a doctor you might work longer hours than me so it’s probably stupid of me to schedule a date at that ho—”
“Nonsense. Six o’clock, at the bar three blocks from here?”
“Two blocks. Don’t forget where it is,” the dark-haired fashion designer chuckled, amused at Victor’s slight forgetfulness. He almost found it quite charming, in fact.
Sighing nervously at another mistake he made, he still smiled, glad that for once he could relax around someone and not have to uphold the standard stereotypical doctor act. For once he didn’t have to live up to the standard he received as a doctor. A deep breath, then he exhaled.
“Two blocks. Six o’clock. See you then. Yuuri.”
First of all, Victor Nikiforov did not expect himself to be at this type of bar.
Well mostly, it had the relaxing, 20s version style of a bar. Fairly urban vintage, and was that an actual piano player in the background? Guess going out with a fashion designer did have its perks.
But in the back, all the way near the restrooms, was the faint outline of a pole, resembling that of one used for “dancing.” Questions unanswered flowed through his mind, but they all vanished when he saw the familiar black hair and blue glasses walk through the entrance.
And damn was the fashion designer living up to his status.
He didn’t have his hair slicked back like earlier, as now his fine strands of hair were combed out to reveal near-shoulder length hair. A white shirt with a few buttons loose revealed, dare he say, a glimpse of toned pectorals and a sculpted collarbone. Victor’s Adam’s apple bobbed anxiously at the night to come. Yuuri’s nervous eyes scanned the room, not wanting to be seen alone for long and spotted Victor near the bartender. He walked, no, sprinted to the chair directly in front of him, the few lights illuminating the area showing a fresh layer of sweat on his temple. The taller man made an attempt to order drinks for them when he heard Yuuri’s protests.
“Do you mind if we order a lighter drink? I have to tell you, I can’t handle liquor very well. Sorry if I seem boring to you on the first date,” he murmured, embarrassment visible in pink splotches on his cheeks. Victor noticed the subtle way in how Yuuri never tried to make eye contact with him, as if insecure about the way he acted, spoke, and wore. Anxiety must have played a prominent role in his life as a celebrity.
Victor reached out to pat him on the thigh, giving him an ensuring glance.
“Nonsense. Two whiskeys, please!” he ordered, and in three minutes their drinks were here. The liquor burned its way down his throat as Victor swallowed it in a single shot. A single glance toward his date told him exactly everything what he never knew about him in three simple things.
First, he was a lightweight. Yuuri was already rubbing his head with his forefingers, not in pain but to get used to the feeling of alcohol in his system. He tried and failed to keep in a laugh at the sight, immediately shutting up after receiving a mockingly dirty glare from him.
Second, he was already asking for more, two drinks in fact. He held one glass in his hand as he downed the other one in six gulps. The lighter-haired man was tugging at his collar, getting a bit nervous at what Yuuri might do next.
And third…
He was especially seductive when he was drunk.
The dark-haired awkward beauty he knew was already unbuttoning his shirt further, heading further in the direction of the pole while subtly strutting his hips and sweeping back his bangs. Thank who ever it could be that this bar was practically empty. Heat arose in him, the type of heat that made him want to grab that man and encage him in his own arms. It was silently crashing through him as he watched, frozen in place.
Tentatively reaching out to test the durability of the pole, Yuuri slowly wrapped his long (he never noticed how slender and agile they were) around the metal, followed by the rest of his body. His entire body was now wrapped around the pole, the muscles visible as they rippled through the material of his clothing. He danced on it for awhile, as if bored but showing off his skills in a leisurely fashion.
Then he released two of his legs at once.
Of course, due to Victor’s inability to pole dance or do anything virtually similar to it, he became instantly worried that Yuuri would fall or even worse hurt his muscled limbs. To his shock, he kept on going, hanging onto the metal pole and swinging his legs around and over it. He left one hand gripping tightly to the pole and used his other one to reach down and—
Shit, he was unzipping his pants.
Pulling down his black skinny jeans to reveal navy blue boxers, he disposed of them carelessly on the floor beside him and continued with his dancing. His thigh wrapped fluidly around the pole, pulling himself in to spin around and dip himself backwards to reveal a strikingly visible erection through the thin material. He held out a hand, making a gesture as if to call “come here,” and swung around another time to emphasize the point.
The pole dancer had Victor madly running towards him, poorly trying to conceal his lust. He stood just a foot away from the younger man, his own hard on being painfully restrained by his pants. Just one minute, just one goddamn minute he wanted to reach down and jerk himself off needly, imagining the image of Victor mercilessly fucking the dancer in front of him, fashion designer or not. His hand was inches away from doing so when the bartender as tall as him came up and placed a hand on his shoulder. The blond part of his undercut brushed against his ear as he leaned in to whisper discreetly.
“There’s a room in the back of this building with a pole for you and your date. Don’t worry, it’s soundproof, so no one we’ll be able to hear anything you two decide to do in there. Come, it’s all the way over here,” he said, leading them towards the room smartly concealed by the pole and crates of liquor. Prying Yuuri off the pole, they made their way into the room, with the fashion designer rolling around in his arms. But oddly enough for the most part, Yuuri behaved.
“You can have the room as long as you need it for. Lube is in the compartment under each couch. Enjoy!” the bartender weirdly accentuated his enthusiasm. He nearly closed the door when he stopped it just a few centimeters from fully closing.
“And if you’re curious, my name is Chris.”
Chris gave the both of them an encouraging wink and shut the door, whistling as he nonchalantly strolled away. Victor gently lowered Yuuri to the ground, but gradually backed him up until the dark-haired, seductively provocative designer’s back was grazing the cool metal of the pole.
“Any idea how you think this night is going to turn out, Katsuki?” the platinum-blond doctor growled near the shell of his ear. “So far I think I know what’s going to happen to the both of us if you keep on going like this.”
“Really. Are you that sure?” Yuuri drew out and hooked both of his arms around Victor’s neck and yanked him in dangerously close to his devious lips that held a vicious smirk.
“Because all I can think of is you pounding your dick into my ass all night long, Ni. Ko. Rov,” the man purrs and crashes his own mouth against Victor’s, grinding his crotch against the increasingly hardening erection.
Yuuri felt the tables suddenly turn, and felt his legs harshly being lifted up by the light-haired doctor. Opening the small compartment of the couch, he pulled out a bottle of lube and smeared a dollop of it on Yuuri’s entrance, slowly fingering around his walls to get him riled up.
“F-Fuck—Keep d-doing that and I might just cum right now!” the half-naked man whined, his own erection begging for attention.
“Getting needy already? Not my fault you’re such a needy. horny. cumslut.”
With every word aimed at Yuuri came an especially rough grind, and on the last word Victor shoved both his and Yuuri’s boxers to the ground and slammed himself inside of him. He lingered around trying to find his prostate before feeling the tip of his head poke a certain bundle of nerves in Yuuri. Thrusting lightly against it, he felt the walls around him clench in response and heard open-mouthed gasps fall from the designer’s mouth.
“Oh my god—what’re you doing teasing me at this hour? Get on—fuck!—with i-it,” Yuuri demanded, his hair damp from minutes of teasing and heat of the room. “Or are you too scared to spill your cum in me, Victor?”
His words were quickly followed by a snap of Victor’s hips, shrieks of pleasure filling the hot atmosphere around them as Yuuri wantonly gave up his dignity and sobbed shamelessly from the pleasure. The taller man abruptly stopped, feeling the urge to tease him further than necessary, past the point of no return. So he continued to thrust, but only gave his date shallow, unfulfilling thrusts and gauged his reactions.
“Beg for it. I want you to show me how much you love my dick ramming into you and making you unable to think. Show me, moan for me you slutty dick-hungry bitch,” he demanded, speeding up his shallow thrusts but increased the intensity by an inch to drive him over the edge.
“Hah, and what if I don’t? Are you going to give in, th—MMFPH!”
Yuuri’s last words were cut off by Victor’s pale hand as he silenced any sound that would come out of his mouth. Victor began to slam himself directly on Yuuri’s over sensitized prostate, feeling the wet muscle of his tongue lick his hand. The sensation only encouraged Victor to go harder, slapping his thighs against the younger man’s and pushing him further against the pole, a small voice in the back of his head hoping that the pole would be able to last their fucking session. Yuuri’s moans vibrated in the cup of Victor’s hand on his mouth, tears starting to flow down carelessly in pleasure. Sobs mixed in with increasingly loud moans came endlessly from him.
Victor pulled his hand away from those sensuous lips and leaned forward to lick the outline of them. Slipping his tongue in to further lick the entirety of Yuuri’s mouth, he grazed his teeth on his bottom lips and bit, tasting hints of iron and sweat.
He was intoxicated by it.
“V-Victor—oh fuck, p-please!—go harder! I need you to fuck me senseless, got that? Fuck me silly until I can’t walk out of this room by myself!”
The man mercilessly fucking Yuuri tore off both of their shirts(how the hell did they not do this earlier?) and pulled out quickly to turn him around and screw him harder than before.
To Yuuri, this position was even better than before. The new angle was allowing Victor to hit his prostate with more intensity and pressure, turning him into a wrecked, sobbing mess by the fifth thrust. He turned his head around, trying not to hurt his neck as Victor lowered himself down for a sloppy kiss. Their saliva dribbled down his collarbone as Yuuri felt his date repeatedly snapping his hips into him.
“I-I’m cumming, Victor. Please just let me cum and squeeze your dick, I n-need you—shit, more!—to let me cum,” sobbed the dark-haired man, caressing the side of the platinum-blond man’s chiseled jaw and leaned in for another breathless kiss. Victor felt himself violently twitch inside of Yuuri’s ass, giving him an unsure glance to ask permission to do so.
“Yes. Please do.”
And with that Victor came, seconds before Yuuri did. Gathering the leaner, smaller man in his arms, he rode out his orgasm, barely murmuring Yuuri’s name like a desperate chanter amongst his pants. For the moment, it was just them. Nothing else. It was… sweet in some ways. The heat building up and tearing them apart in ways unimaginable to the both of them, and both of the sounds they made that drove the both of them agonizingly crazy. Jesus, this must be what heaven felt like.
“Vic—. Victor. You’re insane. Even I thought you wouldn’t go this crazy as a doctor,” Yuuri breathed, completely spent and was lying limp in his date’s arms.
“You do realize you’re stuck with me now, right? As in not leaving this room for another three hours?” Victor asked, a cynical tone in his voice. “I mean you’re a fashion designer, so don’t you think it might spread around and—”
He was interrupted by the sudden graze of Yuuri’s fingers on his forehead, gently sweeping aside the bangs to see the turquoise eyes he’s gotten used to.
“You make me feel confident. I’m drunk, you can’t deny that. But I’m sober enough to know that you made me realize I don’t have to live up to my expectations. That it’s okay to become a social wreck and fall apart. I’m drunk, yes, but I’m willing to try this out with you.”
The awkward smile returns to his face, never failing to surprise Victor. Their noses brush against each other as they both lean in for a chaste kiss.
“Then I guess that leaves me no choice but to stick with you,” Victor laughs into their next kiss.