Do You Wanna Build A Snowman? - Viktor Nikiforov x Reader

All we know (Pt.7) - Y.Plizetsky x Reader x V.Nikiforov

Beginning Notes:
Might contain some mild sexual themes (that are really just some implied lemon) that are not so suitable for very young audiences, you are free to skip this chapter if you're not into these sort of stuff.

If it so happened that you're one of those people who takes pleasure in reading these sort of pieces (bless you) then please consider this as my treat and enjoy~♪

-----☆Work Text:

A desirable weight settles on top of her body. Searing warmth passing through her in waves even as the bathrobe she wears slides off her shoulders.

The room's centralized airconditioning unit has nothing on a fully grown Yuratchka Plizetsky.

The Yura that wears his desires blatantly as a soldier would his merit badge.

Stamping and burning his hunger on bare skin with those sinful lips and breathtakingly skillful hands, making her forget about the rest of the world as if it is nothing more but a pale infinitesimal notion compared to the very embodiment of the sun in the Russian punk's persona.

A notion that is so easily drowned by his open-mouthed kisses and languid hot breaths on her ear as he whispers her name in that rich velvety baritone of his.

The blond is incessantly fumbling with the uncooperative bathrobe trapped between her overheating body and the sunken mattress but she couldn't be too bothered to care.

Especially not when the course of the blond's osculations legitimately proved to be going southwards.

It is the same pattern everytime. His lips does its job of loosening her inhibition, his breath slowly nipping away at hers piece by torturous piece, and his voice calling forth the version of herself she had only ever shown Viktor.

Her breath caught in her throat at the unwelcomed thought and her hand pauses. Her fingers caught splayed on the teen's toned torso in flagrante delicto.

It was just then that she realized her own limbs had sold her musings out to the blond teen.

'Now I know why he seemed so smug,' and sure of himself, she wanted to add. Hadn't she been doing anything to imply her compliance, she was sure Yura wouldn't have gotten this far.

He's still her compassionate and shy little tsundere of a tiger afterall.

That tiger who stopped halfway into suckling her neck and whose half-lidded ardent mint green eyes are now fixed on hers, "Are you alright?" He whispers into her skin before pulling back slightly, "Is this alright?" He emphasizes the word, his fragile resolution faltering.

The (H/C) haired girl nods her head in assurance but turns it to the side, her mind void of any reply that wouldn't bring the topic of Viktor up.

The man had grown to be the very embodiment of an elephant in the room whenever she was with Yurio.

They both seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to bring the Russian Legend up on conversations -one that the blond had done well to honor thus far despite of his apparent curiosity- and on the rare occassions that the inevitable occurs, Yura had always certifiably ended up very much pissed.

However, those inevitable occurances had shown to have sharpened the blond teen's senses.

One of his hands moves to cup her cheek and he looks her dead in the eye, "Don't." He says a bit too forcefully despite of the growing hurt and frustration in his eyes.

It pops a question in her head but the blond beats her to it the moment the inquisition made her brows furrow.

"Don't mention him." Yurio clarifies, all the venom in his entire countenance injected at the pronoun, "Don't even think about him." His voice cracks, the hatred in his tone failing before he becomes just a little bit desperate and that gorgeous face scrunches up into that exact same look it gets whenever he's about to cry.