category 1, number 16? ;)
Yuuri has a flush high on his cheeks as he teeters in the door, Viktor stumbling in after him and catching him around the waist as he closes the door.
“No!” Yuuri laughs, pushing him away. “Viktor, no!”
“Yuuri,” Viktor coos in his ear, nibbling behind it. “Yuuri, I love you.”
Yuuri’s laugh is a high peel, and he drags Viktor with him into the bedroom, dropping his scarf as he goes. Once in the bedroom, he breaks away from Viktor to fall back onto the bed and wrestle his own coat off. Viktor stands at the end of the bed, laughing at him, until his own coat and tie are on the floor. Yuuri shrieks again as Viktor plummets down on top of him.
“Hello,” Viktor murmurs against his neck. “Hello.”
“You-u-u,” Yuuri sings, twirling his finger and then tapping Viktor on the forehead. Viktor can’t tell if he meant to hit him there, or on the nose. “Are drunk, Mister Nikiforov-Katsuki.”
“No,” Viktor mumbles, but doesn’t offer any other protest. Yuuri lifts his knees and Viktor traces a hand underneath his thigh, from the soft underside of his knee to the plush and round handful of his ass. “Yuuri, oh. Yuuri.”
Yuuri moans into his shoulder and hugs Viktor impossibly tight to himself, fingers digging into his shoulder and his thigh. Viktor circles his hips, hard, filthy, closer and closer.
Drunk-Yuuri squeals when he comes. Viktor loves it.