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Every day of the past month and a half Viktor had spent as Yuuri’s friend, coach, and, most importantly, boyfriend, had been a complete frenzy. They spent every waking moment at the rink, in the outdoors, or in Minako-sensei’s ballet studio training— and if they couldn’t be found in those locations, they were melting the ache out of their muscles in the Katsuki family’s blissful hot springs. There were the weekly rest days, of course, but he and Yuuri could usually barely muster the will to go out for dates or have fun or even sit upright. It was crunch time, after all, and no amount of fondness could change the facts, despite Viktor ’s frustrations.
It was he who had confessed. Viktor just knew that he’d found something more in Yuuri than anyone else he’d encountered in his 27 years.
It was true that Yuuri had been obsessed with Viktor from the beginning, but the same could be said of Viktor . It was the music in Yuuri’s glide, the cadence of his skates, in the candid performance Viktor had watched from the comfort of his St. Petersburg home, that had captivated him. Viktor knew the routine well; after all, it was his own. Despite his familiarity with the material, he’d watched silently in awe at the near-perfect recreation. It was only when the camera jostled, focusing on Yuuri’s heaving form at the center of the rink, that he remembered Yuuri’s name. It had been announced over the speakers at the Grand Prix Final nearly five months prior: Yuuri Katsuki, a Japanese skater in his category. Of course, Viktor had taken the gold— and in the nature of winning was ignorance, ignorance of those he’d trampled underfoot in pursuit of his victory. But it was simply impossible to ignore Yuuri.
He’d booked the first flight he could to Fukuoka.
Now, four months later, he’d grown comfortable living in tatami-paved rooms and sleeping to the sound of cicadas in the night. The rink at the foot of an old ninja-hideout was his home base, now— so much had happened on that ice.
It must have felt like he was joking when he assigned Agape to Yurio (as they now called him) and Eros to Yuuri. At least, that’s what the look on their faces told him. But both skaters had performed splendidly; Yurio exhibited all the grace and dizziness that epitomized Agape’s selfless love, and Yuuri... Yuuri by far exceeded his expectations.
Dressed in his costume, performing his routine, and dancing to the music he’d chosen, Yuuri was intoxicating. Viktor ’s heart had skipped a beat when Yuuri glanced in his direction, wearing a confident smile; any trace of his earlier naiveté was overtaken by the bewitching persona of Eros. It had been Viktor ’s duty to watch both performances and determine a winner, but it was as though he had no choice but to follow Yuuri with his eyes, gaze glued to him like a magnet. It was astonishing how well his costume from so many years ago fit Yuuri. It was created to be androgynous, to mold to Viktor ’s performance when his long hair could aid that illusion; yet, Yuuri seemed to wear it even better, like the suit had been born anew.
There was no doubt that Viktor loved seeing Yuuri in his clothes. He’d just never expressed it aloud. Yuuri was no doubt resolute in wanting him to stay, but despite their having grown closer over the beginning of Viktor ’s stay, there were times Viktor was afraid he would overstep bounds. It was when Viktor got too close, or made too-direct remarks, that Yuuri would quail, stammering retorts and blushing furiously. It was adorable, it was enchanting, and Viktor remembered the happy pink that rose to Yuuri’s cheeks at his arm-squeeze on the podium; Viktor had looked away, facing the camera flashes and fans, in an attempt to stop himself from doing more than just hug.
From that point on, after Yurio’s return to Russia, Viktor found himself wanting to spend more time with Yuuri. It was a blow to his heart when Yuuri spent several days brushing him off at the end of June. By that time, he’d come to terms with how he felt for Yuuri, and it was too easy to suggest he be Yuuri’s boyfriend that morning on the beach, almost sickeningly so. He was, in some ways, glad that he wasn’t taken seriously that day. If he had been, he might never have heard Yuuri’s honest thoughts: that he wanted Viktor to stay as he was, not as a father figure or sibling or friend or lover.
Not that Viktor isn’t glad they’re dating now. This development is arguably the best that’s resulted from his sudden move to Hasetsu. He hopes that Yuuri feels the same, but he doesn’t need to hope. He knows he does; it’s clear from the way Yuuri smiles at him, from the way he leans on his shoulder on quiet evenings to how he fawns over his old costumes-
“Do you think this blue is too bright for my routine?”
Yuuri’s voice shakes Viktor from his dazed reminiscing, and he looks up to see him crouched amongst scattered suitcases, looking at Viktor expectantly.
“Hm, I wonder?” Viktor murmurs, considering the neon blue lycra suit in Yuuri’s hands. He cranes his head to the side, trying to see the contents of the suitcase blocking his view. “It’s a bit much. Why don’t you try the one on top over there?” Viktor gestures at a turquoise suit still folded in the luggage, and Yuuri turns his attention to it.
Viktor leans back on the loveseat in the corner of his room as he watches Yuuri rifle through the old costumes, and he’s struck again by how much of a fan Yuuri must really be. They were spending their rest day choosing Yuuri’s costume for the local championship in September from Viktor ’s overwhelming supply, and although Yuuri isn’t nearly as star-struck as he was when the costumes first arrived, the twinkling in his eyes is still there.
Having gathered several costumes in his arms, Yuuri stands up. “Viktor , I’m going to go try these on, okay? Tell me what you think when I come out.”
“Have a good time,” Viktor sing-songs, waving Yuuri off behind the sliding door of the storage space in his room. He exhales deeply, once Yuuri’s inside, and pulls out his phone. Makkachin was off with Yuuri’s mother on her trip to the market, so Viktor couldn’t occupy himself by playing with his dog.
No, Viktor isn’t looking forward to seeing Yuuri try on his old costumes. And his quickening heartbeat definitely isn’t because he loves seeing Yuuri in them. Yuuri’s coach had to make costuming decisions with him, and today, he was Yuuri’s coach first, boyfriend second.
Boyfriend second! He berates himself, head jerking up a moment later when the slide door rattles open.
Yuuri steps out hesitantly, dressed in a sequined unitard dyed in a bold black to turquoise gradient.
How could Viktor be objective when faced with this? He could handle seeing Yuuri in his t-shirts, jackets, and sweats. He found the way the extra fabric hung off Yuuri’s narrower frame endearing, but skin-tight stretch fabric? He really couldn’t resist that evil.
“It’s going to need some tailoring for length, I think,” Yuuri remarks, turning around to view himself in the mirror they’d propped up against the closet. It was a pretty good fit, overall. Yuuri was surprised when he tried Viktor ’s Junior World Championship costume on for the first time; it had been pretty much the perfect size. It was surreal to be able to fit into the costumes he’d admired for so many years. Even if he could really only pick from costumes from Viktor ’s earlier career because of sizing, he felt closer to Viktor , doing this. He looks over at Viktor to gauge his reaction, and he’s staring.
Viktor has worn many costumes over the span of his career. It was part of creating the element of surprise he loved so much: he’d worn every color in existence, embellished with everything from rhinestones and studs to pleats and frills. He was no stranger to the sheer panels of mesh and cutouts that gave the mind no room for imagination, but a shiver still ran down his spine at the near- dare he think it- pornographic cling of his costumes to Yuuri’s body.
Блядь.[1]
Viktor just keeps daydreaming today, it seems. Yuuri purses his lips before saying, to catch his attention, “Viktor , what do you think?”
“It looks wonderful on you,” Viktor replies earnestly and enthusiastically, though he has to clear his throat to speak. Somewhere in his gaping, it had gone dry.
“Mm.” Taking another look at himself in the mirror, Yuuri goes into a few poses from his routine. The costume is beautiful, but it just isn’t what he’s looking for. He needs something with more... He can’t put his finger on it; it just doesn’t look right. “I don’t think this is the one. Let me try some others on.”
“Take your time.”
Yuuri nods, disappearing into the storage room again, and Viktor exhales in relief, rubbing his face with both hands. Ahh, how many other torturous costume changes would he have to sit through that afternoon? Is he so repressed that the mere sight of spandex over Yuuri’s ass sets his heart aflutter?
For all of Viktor ’s charms, he really isn’t the playboy type some fans would have him be (he would know; he’d spent too many late-nights scrolling aimlessly through the internet.) He certainly isn’t celibate, but his career, dog, and passion for skating always come first. Even if he and Yuuri aren’t the most sexually active of couples, Viktor is perfectly happy because he loves Yuuri, and Yuuri loves him all the same. Even if they haven’t had the time to go out, or cuddle, or kiss, or make out-
Viktor might mind a little more than he thought.
He quickly tries to divert his thoughts, to steer them towards more wholesome topics, but the restlessness in his body nags at him; he wants physical contact. Maybe that was why he’d been accompanying Yuuri on the ice so often the past few days. Coaches, from Viktor ’s experience, usually stood aside and watched for mistakes, and didn’t skate alongside their skaters. They didn’t skate along with them, god forbid they cross skates and both get injured. But Viktor couldn’t help it— too often, restlessness meant he had to go a few rounds around the rink before it went away. The only time they’d had sex— just impassioned touching, really— had been a month ago, when Yuuri had been especially proactive in seducing Viktor . Now that Viktor was remembering it, he gulps. He really was frustrated, wasn’t he?
The sliding door opens again, and Yuuri reenters the room, taking Viktor ’s breath right out of his chest. Viktor had forgotten about this costume entirely, but it’s stunning. Chiffon, dyed to fade from cobalt blue to cream like sunlight on water, weaves up around Yuuri’s body and drapes across his collarbones and right shoulder. It cascades down to his white chiffon-sleeved elbow, delicately gathered fabric connecting seamlessly to the white fingerless glove that was a little low for Yuuri’s arm length. On his other arm, the glove faded up into a black, tight-fitting sleeve dotted with dark rhinestones; dimensional enough to shine under harsh rink lights, but not glitzy. They continue into the chiffon covering Yuuri’s body down to the braided gold cord that wrapped three times around his waist, tying the ombre fabric into folds not unlike the robes that grace classical Greek statues. Viktor motions for Yuuri to come closer, eyes wide in awe and jaw dropped.
Yuuri, ever-unassuming, comes straight up to the edge of the sofa, barely half a meter away from Viktor’s face. Viktor can’t resist but to trace his fingers down the chiffon now, dragging his eyes up Yuuri’s torso to rest on his boyfriend’s blushing face.
“Wow,” Viktor sighs, beaming. “This is perfect.”
“Really? I was thinking about this one, too.” Yuuri stammers, holding up a costume Viktor hadn’t noticed was on his arm— he recognizes it immediately. “Oh, but it might be a little dark.”
“Try it on.” Viktor urges, tilting his head. “You never know if it’s the right costume if you don’t.”
“Alright.” It was good advice, and they had the entire afternoon to themselves; Yuuri could try on as many outfits as he wanted. He went back into the storage room to change, being careful not to ruin the back zipper. Some of the costumes had invisible zippers, which, stored for such a long time, could weaken, and the last thing Yuuri wanted was to inadvertently break one of them. He might never forgive himself if that happened.
Once he smooths down the velvety fabric of the unitard and makes sure all the details are in place, Yuuri slides the door open. “Viktor , take a look-”
Almost immediately, he’s captured in a tight hug and picked up off the floor, and Yuuri yelps, a sound only matched by the volume of Viktor ’s laughing.
“Wow, you’re a little heavier than you look!” Viktor declares, letting Yuuri stand again.
“You scared me!” Tottering to steady himself, Yuuri scolds Viktor , hands placed on his chest. Viktor ’s hands join together, resting on the small of Yuuri’s back, and he grins unapologetically.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Viktor murmurs, nosing into Yuuri’s hair. They have just the right height difference for it, and Viktor has taken to doing this every day, pressing scant kisses to Yuuri’s forehead before leaving the inn to jog together. But Viktor’s got an ulterior motive, this time, and he leans to whisper in Yuuri’s ear. “Do you know how hard it is to sit through you trying on all my costumes?”
“Ah,” Yuuri turns his head to face Viktor , barely registering the change in his tone. “Sorry! I know it’s taking a while.”
After a second or two of confused blinking on Viktor ’s part, he sighs, seemingly deflating as he rests his forehead on Yuuri’s head.
“That’s not what I meant.” He chuckles, bringing a hand up to angle Yuuri’s chin so they’re face to face. “Don’t you know how alluring you are in my costumes? Or how much you affect me?”
A blush appears across Yuuri’s cheeks at Viktor ’s praise. He knew what Viktor meant now.
“You have a weird roundabout way of saying what you mean,” Yuuri explains as Viktor bounces kisses all over his face. “It’s not my fault I didn’t think you were being suggestive.” He grins, laughing as he moves his head to accommodate the barrage of smooches attacking his cheeks.
“Oh?” Viktor pauses, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Yuuri’s eyes widen as Viktor pulls him closer, pressing up against him and looking sultrily into his eyes. It was so unfair how Viktor could switch moods this quickly; it always left Yuuri weak in the knees and flustered. Viktor pressed his lips to his, and Yuuri’s knees nearly did give out.
There was grace in most everything Viktor did, from lounging around to his dazzling skate routines. His grace had entranced Yuuri from the first moment he saw him on the TV all those years ago. His routines were always infused with so much emotion; Viktor had portrayed almost the entire human experience through his wide skating repertoire, and here he was now, pouring pure passion and heat and desire into Yuuri’s lips and through his body. Yuuri can only counter with his own yearnings— as he tangles his fingers through Viktor ’s gorgeous silver locks, he feels relief, along with enthusiasm, rushing through his bones and tingling at the tips of his fingers; he’s so glad he wasn’t the only one pent up for this. It was frightening, sometimes, to express his deepest wishes to Viktor . For one thing, he had four years on Yuuri— not a big number, but big enough to worry about seeming immature or naive, especially since he has so much respect for Viktor .
This need, however, they could both see eye to eye on.
Breaking for breath, Viktor tugs lightly on Yuuri’s bottom lip before releasing it, smiling smugly at the little noise Yuuri makes at the motion. There’s delighted mirth in Viktor ’s expression at seeing Yuuri red-faced, and he teases, “am I being suggestive now?”
“Y-Yeah.” Yuuri mumbles, and Viktor ’s struck, again, by Yuuri’s earnestness; he’d fully expected some sort of retort. An uncontrollable smile spreads across his face, and he’s not aware that he’s gazing fondly at Yuuri until the other man ducks his head in embarrassment.
“So,” Yuuri begins, sliding his hands up to lock behind Viktor ’s neck, “do you want to...” He trails off and looks up at Viktor , cheeks red and eyes glinting amber in the shade.
Viktor thought he’d discarded propriety when he picked Yuuri up off the floor earlier, but he hadn’t. It was now, with Yuuri’s proposition and his expression laid open in anticipation, that Viktor ’s nagging voice of reason truly switches off.
“You know the answer’s always yes,” he breathes, before hoisting Yuuri’s arms up, bending his elbows around his neck, and, hungrily, taking Yuuri’s mouth with his own. He makes a nasal moan, savoring the warmth and tang of the genmaicha2 they’d had earlier on Yuuri’s lips as he sucks at them. He welcomes the thud of his back against the wall as Yuuri walks him up to it; Viktor loves it when Yuuri’s so eager. Yuuri’s fingers grip the cotton at the shoulder of his t-shirt, wrenching it as Viktor ’s hands slide over the velvet and sheer mesh wrapped around Yuuri’s torso. He traces the v-shaped lines of each panel, fingers gliding across the rhinestones scattered across the fabric and following the seams down in a zig-zag to the small of Yuuri’s back, intersecting just at the swell of his ass. Spidering his fingers down to cup the round muscle, Viktor relishes Yuuri’s gasp as he presses down, grinding his thigh against Yuuri’s crotch. Even through the padding of his dance belt3, Viktor knew he must have felt that.
“Viktor ,” Yuuri pleads, dropping his head to the side, “w-wait. Let me take the suit off first.”
Viktor smiles coyly at the request. Yuuri, take off this costume? As much as he loves seeing Yuuri’s body, that’s not what he’s thinking of this time. Viktor gets a good one-sided kiss in, and pushes Yuuri, taking him by the upper arms and stumbling him backwards. The backs of Yuuri’s knees hit the mattress and he yells as he falls onto the bed. Viktor wastes no time; in an instant, he’s hovering over Yuuri, pinning him down and looking at him with all the intensity in the world.
“Нет, мой ангел.”4 Viktor rasps, straddling Yuuri and tracing a finger down the buttoned front of the suit. “The costume stays on.”
Before Yuuri can even protest, Viktor captures his lips again, thumbs latched inside the mandarin collar and holding them with some tension. Viktor is hunched awkwardly, but still manages to get a few good rolls of his hips down— it makes Yuuri whine, in part out of dissent but mostly out of pleasure.
Viktor ’s hands trail lower to the opening of the top, hooking two fingers behind the first button and pulling to test the thread. It’s weakened slightly with time; he’d worn this costume at least seven years ago. As soon as Yuuri needs to break for breath, Viktor sits upright again, taking the two sides of the fastenings in his hands.
“What are you doing-”
Viktor yanks the sides apart, and buttons clatter dully on the tatami.
“Viktor!” Yuuri gasps, gawking at his exposed chest in dismay. He won’t deny that it might have been a little hot to see Viktor do that; still, he pulls on the ruined lapels of the costume, observing the torn threads with a shocked flush across his face. “What did you... Why would you-”
“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Viktor leans down to peck Yuuri on the tip of his nose, trying to placate him, “I know you love my old costumes, but I can’t help but be jealous of them.”
Yes, Viktor loved seeing Yuuri in his own skating outfits. But it was Viktor ’s own insecurities, he realized, that made him take action, thoughtlessly, and damage this one. This was the fabled midnight blue velvet suit with sheer v-shaped panels and rhinestone detail that had wowed the crowd at his senior Grand Prix debut years ago. It brought back mixed memories: that year had been a time of change; with a new haircut came an entirely new direction in how he was viewed. He’d been used to wearing abstractions, artistic expressions in woven fabric, sequins, and thread for almost his entire junior career. To depart from the world of fantasy to one of structure, with the geometric seams and old world inspiration of the then-new costume, was not easy, but that measured perfection became a defining factor in his performances. Perfection was unsurprising, it was polished; and the more Viktor pursued it, the more he grew bored of it. Yuuri had inspired his move here, and he was his inspiration now: not perfection, but sweet, imperfect Yuuri.
Yuuri must have sensed that Viktor was lost in thought, because he pats Viktor ’s cheek firmly, like he’s waking him up, and inquires, “Viktor ?”
Viktor blinks, and gazes back down at Yuuri, whose expression has grown concerned (though still flushed.) It’s an utterly adorable expression; Viktor needs to kiss it again.
So before Yuuri can ask what’s wrong, lips come crashing back down on his own, and he grunts, grabbing the fabric over Viktor ’s chest as their tongues begin to mingle. Their pace before had been languid, slow sliding kisses and trailing touches; Yuuri couldn’t remember ever having been kissed this way. It‘s frenzied, it’s hot, and Yuuri feels his head spinning.
Just as quickly, Viktor ’s lips trail down Yuuri’s chin and along his neck to lick the sensitive divot where Yuuri’s collarbones meet. Oh, how Viktor wants to suck dark bruises into that skin— he doesn’t, but perhaps lower...
Viktor ’s lips come between the parted sides of the costume, and Yuuri can only look on, still panting, as the other man stripes his chest with kisses and gentle sucking. It shouldn’t be so arousing to be lying here with Viktor mouthing all over his torso while he’s wearing Viktor ’s destroyed costume, but the sight of Viktor is enough to send a shudder down Yuuri’s spine. His eyelashes are long and fine; they’re usually hidden by Viktor’s hooded lids, but like this, with his gaze turned downward, Yuuri can see them shadowing Viktor ’s high cheekbones. He’d stare blissfully for ages, if not for Viktor ’s hands, sliding back up his chest and brushing distractingly over his pert nipples. They were a newfound weakness; the first time they’d had sex a month ago— well, it wasn’t sex, really, just some grinding— Viktor had delighted in the little cries Yuuri had let out whenever he pinched or rolled or rubbed his nipples. Clearly, he hasn’t forgotten how much the sensation affected Yuuri.
This time is no different. Viktor soon moves up to lick teasingly at the nubs, tongue pointed, and Yuuri flinches, making a noise of surprise. Seeming satisfied by this response, Viktor carries on, latching his lips fully over one nipple and sucking wetly while rolling the other between his fingers. He adds gentle bites in later, making Yuuri yelp. It doesn’t take long before Yuuri is arching into his mouth, groaning quietly, and erect under the confinement of his dance belt.
“Viktor , Viktor ,” Yuuri murmurs, putting a stilling hand on the other man’s head, “they’re getting sore.”
“Is something else getting sore?” Viktor replies, grinning craftily. He’s rewarded by a good hard poke of Yuuri’s finger to his hair parting.
“Come on,” Yuuri grumbles, frowning at Viktor and blushing profusely.
Well, if Yuuri insists.
Viktor pulls Yuuri up bodily to center more on the mattress, and rolls him over so he’s face down.
As soon as Yuuri tries to push himself up with all fours, about to protest, Viktor places a hand at the center of his back, preventing Yuuri from going any higher than his knees; he shushes Yuuri as he leans to the side, trying to catch Yuuri’s expression from where it’s ducked into his chest.
“Yuuri,” Viktor croons, crawling up and lying alongside Yuuri temporarily, “trust me? I know you’ll like what I have planned.”
Yuuri knows Viktor well enough to know that when Viktor has a plan, it’s going to be “surprising.” Still, he sighs in defeat; whatever he had dreamt up hopefully involved getting off in the next hour. “I trust you,” Yuuri nods, and turns his head to look at Viktor , “so can you please get me out of my dance belt soon? It’s tight.”
Viktor laughs, and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “Soon, but not yet,” he replies, cryptically, and shuffles back down the mattress to kneel behind Yuuri.
The unzipping of the back of the costume brings cool air sweeping down Yuuri’s spine, and he feels a little tug— the zipper must have ended. Considering the entire front of the costume is already torn, Yuuri briefly wonders why the back would need to be undone, but doesn’t think too much of it.
Except, he really should.
“Actually, you might not like this part,” Viktor notes. Moments later, Yuuri hears the snapping of more seams as Viktor pulls the sides of the zipper apart and continues tearing downwards, exposing the thong-back of Yuuri’s dance briefs.
“Again!?” Yuuri exclaims, turning sharply to glare at Viktor .
“Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to reach your goals,” Viktor smiles, amusedly, and presses a kiss to the base of Yuuri’s spine. He reaches a hand forward to cup Yuuri’s crotch, and he makes a sound of relief. “Oh, good, you’re still hard.”
Yuuri has nothing to say to that. He just covers his face with his hands and releases a drawn-out groan. He notices that Viktor ’s stepped off the bed, and hears footsteps coming closer. When he opens his eyes and looks to the side, he sees Viktor crouched at the side table, hand underneath the tablecloth rummaging for something. Yuuri’s breath catches when Viktor pulls out a medium-sized bottle of lube and his thoughts race nervously, wondering exactly what Viktor has in store.
Viktor catches Yuuri’s anxious expression. How embarrassing, Yuuri thinks to himself, but he’s glad for the gentle kisses Viktor presses at various points on his face.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Viktor murmurs, resting his head on the mattress as he kneels by the bed and using his free hand to stroke Yuuri’s hair. “I don’t think either of us are ready for anal.” He sees Yuuri visibly relax, features softening, and Viktor offers a smile. Yuuri is glad that Viktor is so understanding at all the right times.
“So,” Yuuri begins, after a moment of curious silence, “what is the lube for?”
“How would you feel about being rimmed?” Viktor asks, flat-out.
Yuuri has to search his memory for the meaning of the word, but when he finds it, his jaw drops and he gapes incredulously at Viktor , propping himself up.
“Wha- My butt?” He blurts, face reddening and glasses askew.
“It will feel really good. I guarantee it.”
“But it’s dirty.”
“You always make sure to wash yourself back there before putting your dance belt on for skating,” Viktor points out, crossing his arms where they rest on the bed. “You think I haven’t noticed that your morning baths are substantially longer than your evening baths?”
It’s true. Yuuri did clean… Pretty thoroughly back there, as force of habit, that morning. The spandex of dance belts could degrade due to skin oils, after all— and, ugh, there was always buttcrack sweat no matter what. But even if Yuuri did rinse himself, it wasn’t a guarantee that his ass would smell like flowers.
“I have wet wipes,” Viktor offers, holding up a small box. “They’re scentless.”
God, Viktor is embarrassing. But Yuuri is a little curious.
“Fine.” Yuuri agrees, resting back on his elbows. “But you’d better wipe it really well before you do anything with your mouth.”
Viktor nods vigorously, and kisses Yuuri on the lips before half-kneeling at the foot of the bed, putting the supplies to the side. He pulls the stretch velvet of the costume down and to the sides, bringing the garment down Yuuri’s shoulders and exposing his entire back. His shoulders are flushed from his neck down— how cute.
Then, there was the matter of the flesh toned dance belt. Viktor stares at it as he places his palms on Yuuri’s buttocks and massages them. He could pull it down, but if he wants Yuuri to keep the costume on, the waistband would obstruct his working area. It’d be tight, but Viktor figures that’ll make it all the better.
The taut pull of the string between his buttocks to the side makes Yuuri’s breath hitch, and he’s about to tell Viktor to just pull his underwear down when he feels the cool softness of a towelette press between his cheeks. It makes him shudder as it’s brought lower, and Viktor presses his index finger gingerly on Yuuri’s asshole, making a circular motion and stretching it slightly. God, it was cold and weird. The discomfort leaves (Viktor must have folded the napkin) and it returns a moment later, massaging gently as Viktor scoops under his perineum and to the base of his balls. It feels cleaner already, and as promised, Viktor takes great care to clean every nook and cranny— even his inner thighs. They’re sensitive, with the uneven stretch marks that spider across them, and Yuuri can’t help but grunt when the wet wipes are removed. They leave dampness, cool like ice, on his feverish skin.
Is it odd that Yuuri’s a little turned on by how thorough Viktor’s being?
Viktor’s lips join his hands where they lie on Yuuri’s backside, wet wipes discarded in a trash can Viktor kept at his bedside, and he begins to lick long strokes up Yuuri’s skin. He breaks away to drizzle some lube onto his fingers, and he rubs it between them, warming it up. Moistened fingers part Yuuri’s ass and trail a lubey line down to the fork of the thong, eliciting a moan from him. Viktor repeats this motion back and forth a few times, pressing with more force over his asshole and his perineum, relishing Yuuri’s restless hums. It’s by no means comfortable for Yuuri, (with the dance belt pressing against his erection and a finger going up and down his cleft) but it’s not unbearable, and Yuuri finds himself becoming more accustomed to the weirdness.
When Yuuri feels like his ass must be saturated with the vanilla scented lubricant what seems like an eternity later, Viktor brings his thumbs to circle around the puckered skin of his anus, and he stretches it lightly.
“I’ve only teased you a little, but it’s twitching.” He remarks, sounding more awed than mischievous.
“It’s probably because you’ve brushed past it a thousand times by now.” Yuuri mutters, turning his head to the side with a huff. “Can you at least take them off?” He asks, pushing his butt back against Viktor’s hands in reference to his dance belt, “They’re… Really pressing down.”
“Maybe,” Viktor’s muffled voice says. His face is alarmingly close to his ass now, and Yuuri can feel hot breaths grazing his skin as he continues, “but only if you don’t enjoy this enough.”
There’s a strange wet sensation touched to his lower back before Yuuri can sigh in frustration, and Yuuri tenses up, fully knowing what it’s from. Is it too late to back out now? He wonders, feeling Viktor’s tongue slide downwards.
The first thing Yuuri notices when Viktor’s tongue prods at his anus is how sensitive it is, and he yelps, surprised.
“I can’t make it feel good if you clench so hard, babe.” Viktor laughs, still nose-deep in Yuuri’s asscheeks. Trying to comfort Yuuri, he replaces his hands to his hips, massaging at the knots in Yuuri’s lower back and sucking at the skin of his ass, feeling him loosen up. He then leans away and massages a finger between Yuuri’s buttocks again, giving the ring of muscle a gentle peck. Gradually, Yuuri learns to enjoy the licks and kisses placed on and around his hole. He presses back into them, even. Viktor is immensely pleased; if there’s anything he loves more than Yuuri or skating, it’s making Yuuri melt in his hands— or in this case, under his tongue. Yuuri can feel himself turning red, the gravity of what’s to come dropping like a weight to the floor of his stomach.
Slowly, but without warning, Viktor holds his asscheeks apart and pokes his tongue into the tight muscle, taking a deep inhale through his nose. He has to stop himself from shouting when Yuuri clamps down on his tongue with a frightened breath; instead, he rubs a warm palm over what he can reach of Yuuri’s back to soothe him. Thankfully, Yuuri responds well to direction, and forces himself to relax. Viktor takes his tongue out and sucks the puckered skin on the perimeter to give his jaw a rest. There’s an instant reaction; Yuuri cries out, bucking his hips reflexively, and Viktor can’t help but moan and do it again, pulling Yuuri’s hips back towards him with one hand. His own erection is straining against the fabric of his sweatpants and underwear, Viktor realizes.
He can’t help it; Yuuri is his aphrodisiac.
Viktor delves his tongue back in again, swirling it around and (thankfully) not tasting much else besides clean skin and the edible vanilla lube. He pushes past resistance to thrust in shallowly, hands massaging hard at the muscles of Yuuri’s ass. Yuuri is shaking, pushing back in tiny movements into Viktor’s mouth, and his voice is coming more steadily now, high-pitched whimpers and moans punctuated by loud breaths. It’s so good, too good, and he had his doubts earlier and he was so unsure about this but now, all of Yuuri’s thoughts have dissolved into pure want and need, a hot flush spreading up his face and to his ears as Viktor’s tongue plunges in and out of his entrance. He can’t stand this, the way Viktor’s wet, talented tongue rubs inside him, setting his nerves aflame and pulsing pleasure straight into his aching cock. His arms give out, forcing his hips into Viktor’s face, and Yuuri nearly sobs, nipples rubbing harshly against Viktor’s sheets.
Too quickly, Yuuri feels familiar tension winding up in his belly. God, would he come in his dance belt? That’d be even worse than oil or sweat, and Viktor would probably love to see it, but Yuuri is nothing but mortified at the possibility. He wants Viktor to stop, but he doesn’t want him to, either.
Yuuri’s breaths are growing heavy, slowing to a rhythm in loud “haah”s and shaking down to his hips— a telltale sign he’s about to come. Viktor recognizes this, and with a final drawn-out lick, withdraws his tongue completely.
Wow, his jaw is sore.
He presses a kiss to Yuuri’s ass, and pulls his knees back down, gently, to lie him completely face-down on the mattress.
“I’m sorry, you were close,” Apologizing, Viktor smooths his hand along Yuuri’s spine.
“V-Viktor ,” Yuuri whimpers, grabbing at the hem of the other man’s shirt, “please.”
It took all of Viktor’s will not to jump back on the mattress and kiss the daylights out of Yuuri. He settles on brushing sweat-matted hair away from Yuuri’s forehead, instead.
“I need to go gargle, but I’ll be quick,” Viktor reassures, and, gingerly tucking his erection into his waistband and tying it a touch tighter, he leaves the room, heading for the half-bathroom next to the stairs. It wouldn’t do to bump into Yuuri’s family with a hard-on in plain sight.
He returns, as promised, quickly, with his breath fresh and pepperminty.
Somewhere between his leaving the room and reentering it, Yuuri’s glasses were placed on the bedside table. Yuuri had turned onto his side, curled up under the sheets with his head tucked under. Viktor frowns. That’s Yuuri’s signature distress pose— why was he in it?
“Yuuri, I’m back,” He states, sitting next to Yuuri’s covered body on the mattress and patting what he assumes to be his shoulder. More quietly, he tries to get his attention again with a “hey.”
Thank god, Yuuri pulls the covers down to his neck and turns his head back to look at Viktor. There’s frustrated wetness at the corners of Yuuri’s eyes, and Viktor’s face falls. He really is upset at him.
“Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice adopting a regretful tone. “I’m sorry, did it not feel good? I thought you enj-”
“It felt good, but you ruined your costume.” Yuuri interrupts, sounding appalled.
“It’s not beyond repair,” Viktor supplies, eyebrows furrowed upwards. “We can collect the buttons and sew them back on, and fix the seams.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I could have just taken it off.”
“I’m sorry, мой ангел5, I was impulsive.”
“I know, but still.” Yuuri finishes, frustrated, and ducks the lower half of his face under the sheets in embarrassment. God, he hates himself, at times. To get angry over something as insignificant as fixable costume damage… He hates that his erection is still throbbing in his underwear and that his ass still feels empty; he can’t think straight, like this.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” Viktor murmurs, lying down to spoon Yuuri’s huddled body. “If I knew you would be, I wouldn’t have done that.” He kisses the exposed skin of Yuuri’s nape, hugging his top arm over Yuuri’s middle. There’s no reply from Yuuri, so he continues.
“You mean everything to me; don’t you know? I wanted to surprise you,” Viktor tilts his head to kiss along the skin between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder; he peels half of the broken collar away, bringing down with it some of the sheets Yuuri pulled up over himself. “I’m sorry for leaving you and stopping before you could come.”
Yuuri wants to shrink deeper into the sheets, but Viktor’s leg over his own blocks him from curling up further— the motion presses the bulge of Viktor’s erection against his ass, and his breath hitches.
“I’m sorry for not taking your dance belt off before sticking my tongue in your ass,” Viktor adds, searching in his mind for everything he could have done wrong. “I’m sorry for using vanilla flavored lube— I assumed you’d like the smell of it. I have some that’s strawberry flavored.” Trailing kisses from Yuuri’s shoulder up to the back of his ear, Viktor whispers, sending a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. It doesn’t help when Viktor moves his hand down to Yuuri’s covered crotch— how does he know it’s there? Does he have x-ray vision through the blankets?— and rests it on top, applying barely-there pressure to Yuuri’s erection. If Yuuri didn’t have self-control, he might have thrust into it as soon as it landed. But he does, so he chews on his lip, listening to the ridiculous apologies Viktor’s blurting out, one after another.
Viktor shifts, bearing his weight onto Yuuri and rubbing his bulge against Yuuri’s backside again. It pushes Yuuri into his hand. There was no way Viktor couldn’t feel his erection now.
Yuuri starts to turn to face Viktor, and the other man leans back, lifting his hand in the air to give Yuuri some room.
“No, Viktor,” He sighs, looking up into his boyfriend’s worried expression. “I should be sorry. I shouldn’t be sulking at you— it’s your own costume.”
“You’re the one wearing them now. You have every right to be upset.” Viktor assures. Yuuri smiles. He doesn’t know if he really deserves to be upset, considering how he just acted towards (his beautiful, skilled, kind, loving boyfriend) Viktor.
He shuffles the covers over from the opposite side and slips out of them, landing back on top of the sheets. Viktor smiles, finally, and opens his arms, inviting Yuuri into them. Yuuri can only crawl over and get a scant kiss in before he’s pushed back-first onto the bed again, pinned down by Viktor’s weight on his hips.
“Viktor, what…”
“Did you think you’d be let off so easily by your coach?”
Yuuri gulps, eyes wide. From Viktor’s expression, he knew he wasn’t playing games; there’s still warmth in it, but his eyes are darkened, smoldering, almost.
“I was surprised you were unhappy about the costume, and I’m still sorry about it,” Viktor explains, “But you’ve been holding out on me.”
“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles, glancing away from Viktor’s hard gaze and looking downwards. Viktor’s sweats are tented, his erection hanging heavily between his legs— Yuuri feels a burst of arousal and guilt well up in his chest. Maybe he was a little selfish (justifiably so,) but Viktor is still hard, and Yuuri decides he wants to help him. His fingers are just hooking under Viktor’s waistband when he’s stopped, caught by the wrist. He looks up at Viktor confusedly.
“No, Yuuri.” Viktor smiles angelically, like he always does when he’s about to inflict some cruel and/or unusual punishment for flubbing a quad lutz, “Not now. We’re talking about you.” He gets off Yuuri, stepping towards the middle of the mattress and murmuring for Yuuri to kneel in front of him.
Yuuri complies quickly, curious to see what Viktor has in store, and Viktor slides his thumbs under the shoulders of the parted costume. Peeling it down Yuuri’s arms, Viktor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s sternum and looks up at him with unreadable eyes. The dark velvet is slipped carefully off Yuuri’s hands and he’s bared down to his hips, the elastic of the dance belt poking up from underneath the leggings. In one motion, both are pulled down mid-thigh, and Yuuri gasps as his erection, finally, is released from his tight underwear, bobbing out lewdly. Viktor notices, of course he does, and he taps a finger on the tip of Yuuri’s dick, head wet with precome.
“So you did enjoy that,” Viktor sticks his tongue out between his teeth, referring coyly to where it’d been earlier, and Yuuri frowns and purses his lips.
“Of course I did.” Yuuri’s face feels like it’s on fire, admitting it.
“I’m glad. Turn around, please.”
Yuuri shuffles, legs restricted by the clothing, and Viktor gets him to sit at the edge of the bed. He kneels behind Yuuri, legs wide and easing him back to rest against his chest.
“I’m feeling a little tired after fucking you with my tongue and being heartlessly cold-shouldered.” Viktor sighs dramatically, wrapping his arms around Yuuri. “So you’ll have to touch yourself.”
Touch himself? Yuuri snaps out of his confusion quickly, and he looks back at Viktor with a scandalized expression.
“Wh-what?” He squeaks, flustered.
“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Viktor mumbles childishly, “I just thought that maybe you’d get off much easier with the real thing here, rather than the posters of me you have up around your room.”
Viktor could be so, so mean at times.
Viktor takes Yuuri’s palm and squirts a little lube onto it, and noses against the side of his head, murmuring sweetly to coax Yuuri into starting. The vanilla is cloying, this close up, and it’s a scent Yuuri knows he’ll never remember the same way again as he squints his eyes shut and takes his length gingerly into his hand, rubbing a slick thumb over the head. As if his own burning body heat wasn’t enough, there was Viktor’s heartbeat and warmth at his back cradling him. He’s so close, they’re practically glued together; Yuuri catches the smell of Viktor’s musk whenever he inhales. Viktor’s hands, with their long, bony fingers, are latched onto his hips where they meet his thighs, and Viktor’s hot breath is by his ear, still, and whenever Yuuri’s hips move, Viktor tenses up with hitched breaths, friction rubbing his cock where it presses against Yuuri’s back.
More than the friction, it’s more like Viktor’s on a high because of Yuuri himself. At this angle, Viktor can see all the way down his torso to where Yuuri’s pumping his fist up and down his erection; he wonders if this is what Yuuri sees when he’s by himself at night, sprawled out on his bed, stroking himself and panting with Viktor’s name in his head and on his lips.
Speaking of sight, there’s a reason why he chose this particular pose, and Viktor grins in anticipation as he takes Yuuri’s glasses and puts them on him, hooking them behind his ears.
“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, bringing a hand up to lift Yuuri’s chin. “Look in front of you.”
Yuuri opens his eyes, slowing his hand, and he chokes on a gasp when his gaze falls on their reflection in the full length mirror propped against the closet doors. He twists back to protest at Viktor, but his chin is caught and he’s forced to look ahead.
The mirror is a good meter or two away, but with his glasses on, Yuuri can make out his flushed body, on full display, and his hand where it’s wrapped around his dick. Well, of course it is, it’s what he’d been doing before looking in the mirror, but Yuuri’s never seen himself this naked from afar, much less while jerking off.
“Hey, now,” Viktor chides, “your hand’s stopped.”
“Can’t I close my eyes? This is… I look so dirty.” Yuuri mutters, frowning at himself in the mirror. His face is blotchy and red and sweat glistens on his forehead.
“Dirty?” Viktor repeats. How could Yuuri be dirty? Viktor thinks Yuuri’s at his most stunning like this; it’s second only to how he looks when he’s truly enjoying skating. “No, you’re beautiful.”
“And totally lewd.” Yuuri corrects, “anyway, it’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, Yuuri.” Sighing, Viktor angles his head to kiss his silly boyfriend. “I’m just trying to get you to see yourself the way I see you.”
“The way you see me?”
“Yes,” Viktor brings his hands up to smooth down Yuuri’s sides, and he rests his chin on his shoulder. He nudges Yuuri’s cheek, getting him to look in the mirror. “You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and very cute. And when you’re feeling pleasure,” still explaining, Viktor gives Yuuri’s nipples a teasing pinch, eliciting a hiccuped breath from Yuuri, “even more so.”
Yuuri gapes, face reddening, and he only realizes he’d let go of his erection when Viktor takes hold of his hand and moves it back into contact with it. Ugh, with Viktor watching so intently, Yuuri feels nervous butterflies in his stomach— but he still wraps his hand back around himself, building a slow rhythm again as Viktor sucks at his shoulder. The lube has dried a little, and as soon as Yuuri notices it, Viktor’s already trickling more on. How hard was he watching, really, to notice something as small as that?
“Just do it however you usually do,” Viktor encourages, planting a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek. “I want to know how you like it.”
“It’s hard to, with you watching.”
“You’re supposed to be watching, too.” Viktor chuckles, turning Yuuri’s chin to face front again. “But if you’ve got stage fright, why don’t I tell you what to do?”
Yuuri’s entire body throbs at the notion, and he nods curtly, exhaling shakily in anticipation.
“Let’s see, now.” Viktor pauses to gather his thoughts. “First of all, look at the mirror— good. I want you to rub some circles around the tip, around the hole. But keep looking at your own face.”
With his erection so slick, it’s easy to slide his fingers up to comply with Viktor’s instruction, and he watches himself wait, with bated breath, for whatever is in store next.
“Now go— slowly— all the way down to the base and bring your hand back up to rub the head again. Repeat this until I tell you to stop.”
As Yuuri continues to stroke himself, Viktor watches in silence, eyes focused on Yuuri’s crotch in the mirror. He lifts his gaze up to look at his face, and their eyes meet. Yuuri can’t help but fixate on Viktor’s expression. It’s just as flushed as his is, to his surprise, and his hair is mussed, falling messily over his half-lidded eyes— and he’s staring straight at Yuuri, jaw dropped in arousal. Yuuri has to moan, feeling a new surge of pleasure sear down to his belly.
“You’re so pretty,” Viktor sounds breathless as he whispers in Yuuri’s ear, hands anchoring on the insides of Yuuri’s thighs and squeezing into the faint, bumpy lines that sweep around from the bottom of Yuuri’s ass and up into his inner thighs.
Viktor saw them for the first time when Yuuri, after a long, tiring day of practice just after Viktor’s arrival, absentmindedly let his towel slip off emerging from the baths. He’d been careful— Yuuri usually kept a tight grip on his towel, and Viktor had dismissed this as Japanese custom. It turned out, after some confrontation, that Yuuri was just… Self-conscious. Yes, he’d gained some weight, and he certainly wasn’t as muscular as Viktor, but it was apparently his stretch marks he was worried about. He shouldn’t have been; Viktor thinks they’re stunning (Yuuri’s stunning), like the shadows of tree branches on snow. He makes sure daily that Yuuri knows and believes this fact.
He rakes his fingernails along them, softly, relishing the tensing of the muscles underneath Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri arches his back, whining, incredibly responsive. Viktor almost forgets to continue his instructions.
“Go...Go faster.” He says, mouth suddenly dry. “Do a twisting motion as you slide your hand up and down.” Ебать[6], Yuuri is pressing up against his crotch again. It’s Viktor’s own fault for being such a tease, but the way Yuuri’s hips are angled, touching him, is too much.
“Viktor,” Yuuri purses his lips tight before gulping, exhaling noisily and dropping his head. He’s rocking back and forth in erratic motions, squirming at every clumsy stroke he makes. Yuuri can’t take much more of this; his muscles shake with tightness, he can hardly keep his eyes open, and Viktor has gone silent, save his low gasps by Yuuri’s ear— Yuuri feels dangled by a thread, perpetually on the brink of coming but never quite getting there, and he’s so overwhelmed. A frustrated sob leaks from his throat, and tears are starting to well in his eyes.
The sob shakes Viktor, and he feels guilty (and a touch more aroused) immediately. Guilt turns into panic when he sees the shine of tears sliding down Yuuri’s face, and Viktor wants to do all he can to make his relentless teasing up to Yuuri.
Taking Yuuri by the shoulder and sweeping him down to rest on his arm, Viktor makes a curt apology before kissing Yuuri deeply, much to Yuuri’s surprise. It’s not unwelcome, though— Yuuri’s frustration ebbs away as emotion pricks the back of his eyes. He wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck and kisses back with all he has. Viktor’s other hand snakes under his knees and hoists him up onto his lap, and, just as quickly, wraps around his cock; Yuuri thinks he might die, his heart is thumping so hard. It’s Viktor’s hand rubbing his length in steady, firm strokes. It’s Viktor who’s cradling him and sucking on his tongue with such tenderness and passion— he can’t care that he must look indecent, drooling and crying and sweaty and flushed, when Viktor’s the only thing on his mind.
It feels like all the heat in Yuuri’s body is melting down his spine and into his crotch, numbing his hips with pleasure and flaring up, and up, and-
「いきそう! Viktor!」[7] Yuuri chokes out, breaking away for breath as his body buckles instinctively. He remembers Viktor can’t understand him in Japanese too late and his breath catches on the English he’s trying to parse; Viktor’s already pumping his hand fast, shallow but effective strokes, as though he understood exactly what Yuuri meant.
When Yuuri comes, he cries out, high pitched, forehead tucked into Viktor’s neck as sensation floods him.
He’s still heaving, high on release and boneless, when Viktor nudges his head up to plant a kiss on his forehead. The remnants of Yuuri’s tears are wiped gently from where they’ve caught on his eyelashes, glasses pushed up so Viktor can get to them, and Yuuri’s sight focuses again, gradually.
“Welcome back,” Viktor grins, looking overjoyed. “That’s the loudest I’ve ever heard you, Yuuri.”
Yuuri croaks a chagrined groan in reply, voice a little raw. His arm falls limply from where it was around Viktor’s neck, and he notices that Viktor’s still sporting his own erection.
“Viktor, your…”
“Shh, it’s alright.” Viktor hushes, switching hands to support Yuuri and brush his bangs back. “You enjoyed it. That’s what matters.”
“No, you matter too.” Yuuri twists around, supporting himself with one hand as he sits up— damn, his butt still feels weird. As fast as he can in post-orgasmic stupor, he focuses his attention on the prominent bulge tenting Viktor’s sweats— it’s dyed a dark spot in the fabric, and Yuuri knows those sweats are anything but thin.
“Viktor,” Yuuri frowns, looking up at Viktor determinedly, “At least let me get you off.”
Viktor looks incredulous and ridiculously turned on, his blush growing even stronger as he lets out a shaky breath. Yuuri will take that as a “yes”, then; he barely notices the cool slide of the cum striping his chest as he latches his fingers under Viktor’s waistband.
“Wait, Yuuri, I can… I can handle this by myself. There’s no need—”
Yuuri raises a mischievous eyebrow, staring straight into Viktor’s eyes as he pulls Viktor’s pants and underwear over and away and runs his fingers up Viktor’s extremely erect cock.
It’s to Yuuri’s great surprise, and Viktor’s deep embarrassment, that he releases a guttural grunt and climaxes at Yuuri’s touch, cum spilling out in thick drops onto Yuuri’s wrist and the bedsheets.
Yuuri blinks, unmoving, in total shock. Viktor was that close? He hasn’t even done anything.
While Yuuri’s shocked silent, Viktor decides he’ll live the rest of his life in the shadows, and has curled up, facing away from Yuuri and burying his face in the bunched up sheets. He’s glad the tension in his belly’s gone, dissolved into bliss, but he’s mortified. There’s no way he can piece his pride back together; there’s no way Yuuri’s going to forget this.
“Just leave me here to die,” Viktor moans, rolling himself face down on the bed. “I can’t believe this.”
“Viktor, it’s okay!” Yuuri sighs, crawling to sit next to him.
“Bury me in red roses and satin.”
Viktor could be so melodramatic. Yuuri pokes his hair again.
“Don’t joke about that over coming too fast.” He chides, when Viktor rubs his head. “It was hot, so it’s fine.”
Viktor’s ears seem to perk up, and he peeks out from the sheets, expression surprised. “You thought it was hot?”
“H-How could I not?” Yuuri frowns, blushing. “All you did was touch me and you still got hard enough to…” He leans down to kiss Viktor on the cheek, unable to finish his sentence.
God, Viktor loves this adorable man. He grins uncontrollably and pulls Yuuri towards him, rolling over so that he rests heavily on top. He laughs when Yuuri makes a disgruntled noise (Viktor is, by no means, light,) and he can’t help but press warm kisses to Yuuri’s lips again and again.
Yuuri’s smiling too, but it’s somewhat strained— he pushes at Viktor’s shoulders after a few moments. “You’re heavy,” he wheezes, and Viktor eases off him and resettles, straddling Yuuri’s hips. Yuuri’s eyes fall on the bottom half of Viktor’s t-shirt, and he’s horrified to see patches of translucent cum transferred onto it; they really should clean up first.
Noticing that Yuuri’s eyes are bugging out of his head, Viktor looks down at himself, and he’s such a mess. Not as much of a mess as Yuuri is, he notes with some glee, but there’s ejaculate smeared all over the crotch of his sweats and his t-shirt. The box of wet wipes is still on the bed, and Viktor reaches them easily, pulling one out and clearing up the stickiness on Yuuri’s torso. It’s cold, so Yuuri shivers, and he sighs contentedly when his skin feels clean. Viktor turns his attention to his own clothes, and dabs at the fabric, muttering darkly in Russian when he finds it takes more time than expected to get rid of the stains. He takes them off once he’s done, leaving them in a pile on the floor; he’ll wash them later. He wipes his now-soft penis gingerly, making sure nothing dries on, before shuffling down Yuuri’s thighs to help Yuuri with his own.
The wet wipes are thrown onto the night table, and Viktor moves to lie down, resting in Yuuri’s waiting arms happily. Yuuri knows how much Viktor loves sleeping with his nose pressed against his chest, and he blinks sluggishly, feeling tiredness sink into his muscles.
It’s excited barking, who knows how long after they’d fallen asleep, that wakes Yuuri.
「ただいま、勇利!」[8]
Yuuri recognizes it’s his mother’s voice immediately, and he sits up in a flash. At some point the sheets had covered he and Viktor. Speaking of Viktor, he didn’t seem to be around. He pulls on his clothes quickly, glancing in the mirror to check that he’s decent, before yelling 「おかえり!」[9] and bursting out of Viktor’s room.
To his surprise, Viktor’s already lugging crates of supplies into the kitchen from the front door, and his mother is walking in alongside him very quickly for someone her size, hoisting a watermelon in each arm.
“Yuuri! Vic-chan told me you were taking a nap.” She remarks, setting the watermelons on the kitchen counter.
“Ah, yeah. I woke up when I heard Makkachin.” Yuuri yawns, and walks over to the door, crouching to lift another box up. Viktor is there, dressed in fresh clothes (that burgundy top Yuuri likes and another pair of gray sweats) and positively glowing.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” He teases, taking a few grocery bags in his hands. Yuuri seems confused, so Viktor shakes his head, adding, “just kidding. It’s only been an hour.” The small clock at the reception chimes with a little jingle— it’s only six.
Yuuri yawns again, mid-step, and Viktor giggles at his expense.
The groceries are all brought into the kitchen and Yuuri’s mom ushers them out, thanking them for their help and telling them to go have fun. “Fun?” Yuuri wonders; he knows that’s just how his mom phrases things, as she has for years. But he can’t not feel guilty when, after translating for Viktor, the idiot is holding in laughter at the innuendo that sprang to his mind.
“Viktor.” He groans, as they reenter the dining area. He can’t help cracking a smile himself, seeing how unreasonably giddy Viktor is.
“I had to hold myself back from telling your mother that we already had plenty of fun earlier,” Viktor whispers, intermittent with his snickering.
“She wouldn’t understand what you mean, and then I’d have to translate.” Yuuri retorts. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I don’t know, that might be fun to see.” Wiping a tear Viktor replies. As they walk into the corridor back towards their rooms, he falls oddly silent, with a cryptic smile on his face.
Just as they’re about to turn into Viktor’s room, Yuuri is pulled by the arm, making him yelp, and Viktor gets a good, strong, one-sided kiss in.
He breaks the kiss with an exaggerated smack, and Yuuri is very confused and out of breath, if not just surprised. “What was that for?”
“Do I need a reason? You’re so kissable.” Viktor smiles fondly, and Yuuri tilts his head.
“That’s it?”
“That, and you’re so pretty— inside and out, just for me.”
Yuuri feels heat rise to his cheeks again, and he pulls Viktor into his room by the fabric of his shirt. On his tiptoes, he gives Viktor a kiss.
“Then you’ll have to show me again, next rest day.”
It's taken them both a while to get here; Yuuri thought fate must have somehow joined his side when he raced out to the outdoor baths in May to find Viktor sitting, then standing, in front of him, telling him he’d be his coach. But as the months flew by, it was apparent not just fate, but Viktor had joined his side— that this wasn’t just some elongated fever dream. Yuuri’s timid idolization grew into love; he got lucky that Viktor’s feelings had, too. Now, with Viktor, his idol, teacher, friend, lover leaning on his shoulder as they sit on the floor against his bed, his heart sings, and he etches the melody of the moment into his memory.
It was only the beginning.