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The first time Victor gives Yuri a kiss is during practice.
Yuuri has been working the new choreography Victor’s written for him for the better part of the morning, and he’s reached the point where the exhilaration has lifted all exhaustion from his limbs. His body is loose, warm, full of energy Yuuri never knew he possessed. The air in the rink is cold on his sweaty skin, but he hardly feels it. Yuuri skates past the end of the rink where Victor stands watching him, leaning against the barrier with his arms crossed and an intense look on his face.
Other people are in the room now too—Yuuko and the triplets are watching from the bleachers, with Axel probably filming him like she always wants to do—but Yuuri finds it hard to care. He’s finally found his focus, and it feels good.
“Okay, now start from the triple lutz, all the way through to the end,” says Victor, as Yuuri slows in front of him. He gestures towards the end of the rink. “I want you to focus on the landing this time. You can’t hold back on the quad toe loop—you have to trust your strength, or you won’t have enough momentum to land right.”
“Okay,” says Yuuri, with more confidence than he feels. Victor winks at him, and Yuuri’s stomach does an interesting twist of its own. He skates off to the center of the rink, mentally playing the routine in his head until he gets to the part he’s about to start from. I can do this. I can make Victor proud to coach me…
And miracle of miracles, he gets it on the first try—a clean program. Call it flow, or inspiration, or just plain hard work, but Yuuri executes every move perfectly without so much as a wobbly ankle. He finishes the closer, a series of elegant footwork followed by a quad toe loop, leading directly into the final spin. Joy rushes through him, electric and vital, as someone whoops from the other side of the rink. Yuuri rises, managing to find grace in limbs that are trembling with exertion and something more, and casts a glance down the ice.
He looks over just in time to see Victor’s face light up. The radiance hits Yuuri like the sun emerging from clouds, and his face goes warm and tingly. Then Victor lifts both hands to his own mouth in a curiously gentle gesture, one Yuuri doesn’t understand until Victor kisses the tips of his own fingers and then blows across his palms at Yuuri.
Oh.
Yuuri spends the rest of the morning practicing the closing for the routine; he makes progress, but he doesn’t manage to nail the sequence again. Victor finally calls an end to their practice around eleven, and Yuuri staggers off the ice, more exhausted than he’d realized.
“Better next time, Yuuri,” says Victor, hugging him one-armed as they head to the locker rooms. “You’re doing great. But is everything alright? You seemed distracted towards the end there.”
“U-uh, n-no, just… thinking about the routine,” Yuuri stammers. He drops his eyes, grateful that he’s already so red-faced from exertion so that it hides any more incriminating coloration that might appear. He showers quickly, but not so quickly that he can keep from lingering and wondering what that blown kiss would actually feel like.
* * * * *
The second time Victor gives Yuuri a kiss, it’s Minako’s fault.
They’re at her bar, drinking, and it’s about 11 pm when things start to get a little goofy. That they’re both at her bar is unusual in and of itself; Yuuri is a lightweight who hardly drinks, and when his weight already fluctuates so much, he hardly needs to worry about the extra calories in alcohol. But here they are, at Victor’s insistence, to celebrate Yuuri’s placement in the Grand Prix finals. Privately, Yuuri thinks it’s kind of weird that they’re here celebrating without the rest of Yuuri’s family, but he keeps that to himself, because at this point Victor has had two drinks for each of Yuuri’s three, which means Victor is very… well…
Beautiful, Yuuri thinks—an observation he would never permit himself if he weren’t tipsy himself. This close, Victor is intoxicating, and Yuuri can still hardly believe he’s here, much less drinking together at his ballet teacher’s bar.
“You’re so cute when you get embarrassed, little piglet,” Victor says. He’s slurring a little, but he’s smiling, relaxed, practically beaming. “But it won’t win you back any points in an actual competition, so you need to break the habit, I’m afraid.”
“You’re too easy on him,” says Minako. She shakes the half-empty wine bottle in her hand by way of emphasis. A little wine sloshes out, and Minako stops shaking it long enough to take another swig, before adding, “You can’t tell me you came all the way from Russia not to kick his ass!”
Victor wrinkles his nose at her and laughs, and the sound of it twists through Yuuri’s insides, more potent by far than the sake they’ve been drinking. Yuuri blames what happens next on how distracting it is when Victor laughs like that. “If Victor’s going easy on me, I’d hate to see what it looks like when he’s being strict,” he says, before he can realize that giant red buttons labeled DO NOT PUSH are generally not false advertising.
Immediately, Victor brightens. Shit, thinks Yuuri vaguely. I should—I should not have said that. “You want me to be harder on you?” exclaims Victor. He laughs again, like someone’s just told the best joke in the whole world. Yuuri immediately breaks out in a sweat, staring at Victor like a deer caught in headlights.
His fear is immediately justified when Victor oh-so-easily slides his arm around Yuuri’s waist and hauls him closer, dragging the bar stool with him. Yuuri yelps and falls on his ass—or would have, if not for Victor’s arm tightening and holding him safe. Yuuri finds himself pressed flush against Victor’s side with Victor’s arm around his waist like he’s preparing to suplex Yuuri into the bar counter. What would that move even be called, Yuuri wonders. Drunk Russian seatbelt?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Victor says; Yuuri isn’t sure who he’s talking to, but he’s smiling down at Yuuri from inches away, and it’s hard to focus on anything else. “I will push Yuuri as hard as he needs to become everything he can be. I know he’ll make me proud.” With that, he leans down and kisses Yuuri’s cheek, barely an inch from his mouth. He lingers only a moment, but it’s long enough to feel like his lips have burned a mark into Yuuri’s skin, long enough to make every hair on Yuuri’s body stand at attention.
Minako makes a rude noise into her wine bottle, and suddenly Victor’s pulling back, laughing again, releasing Yuuri so that Yuuri can shakily right himself on his bar stool. Even through the alcohol, Yuuri can feel his face flaming. Either oblivious to Yuuri’s consternation, or willfully ignoring it, Victor grabs up his glass of sake and raises it. “A toast!” he says.
“Yes, a toast!” Minako exclaims, and shoves Yuuri’s glass at him. Yuuri picks it up with fingers he can’t quite trust, a gesture Victor greets with a broad smile.
“Чтобы столы ломались от изобилия, а кровати – от любви!” Victor cries, in Russian, and knocks back the rest of his sake without bothering to translate. Minako shouts agreement and follows suit, leaving Yuuri with no choice but to do the same. It burns all the way down, and Yuuri swallows hard and reaches for the glass of water sitting on the counter.
Neither the burn of the sake nor the ice cold water do anything to supplant the warmth of Victor’s kiss on Yuuri’s cheek.
* * * * *
The third time Victor gives Yuuri a kiss, he’s lucky he doesn’t drown.
He’s soaking in the onsen after a particularly grueling day of practice and working out. Yuuri is sunk to his shoulders in the delicious hot water, arms folded in front of him on the stone lip of the floor with his head pillowed on top of them. Every inch of his body is sore. Even his armpits are sore. That shouldn’t be something that can happen, he thinks dully.
There’s a noise at the far end of the room as the door opens and Victor emerges. “Ah, here you are!” he says. Yuuri manages not to wince at how cheerful Victor still sounds, but it’s a near thing. “Good, you’re already soaking. I wish every training facility had a hot spring like this, it’s so good for sore muscles!”
Yuuri sits up a little as Victor approaches, but almost immediately stops, wincing as pain lances down his spine from the back of his skull. Victor pauses halfway across the stone platform, a frown creasing his good cheer. “Oh,” he says, softer. “Is your head still hurting you that much? You should have said, Yuuri.”
“It’s fine,” Yuuri says quickly, but the look Victor gives him as the other man comes over to where Yuuri leans against the edge says that he is not even a little bit fooled. Yuuri wiped out rather spectacularly today—there’s a forming bruise on his hip he’ll have as a memento of it—but the real kicker was how he cracked his head on the ice. He actually blacked out for a few seconds, and opened his eyes to find himself staring into Victor’s white face, eyes wide with shock.
“It’s not fine,” Victor says. He sounds serious, serious enough to distract Yuuri from Victor’s very naked body as the other man sinks into the hot spring and crosses over to where Yuuri still leans against the edge. “You blacked out.”
“The doctor said I was okay,” Yuuri points out. Victor makes a disapproving noise but does not argue further. Instead, he settles behind Yuuri, which is not actually that unusual—Victor likes to sit close enough for easy conversation, and if he ever learned what ‘personal space’ was he’s long since decided it doesn’t apply to Russian ice skating geniuses—but then hands press gently on Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri gasps and tries to sit up, but the hands just press down more firmly.
“Stay still,” says Victor’s voice from just over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Just relax.” And saying so, he starts kneading Yuuri’s shoulders, starting where the base of his neck meets his spine.
Having Victor touch him like this when both of them are naked is very much the opposite of what Yuuri would consider ‘relaxing,’ but Victor is—good. Really, really good. After about thirty seconds, Yuuri shuts his eyes again and leans forward against the stone edge, letting Victor’s clever fingers work their way along his sore and tired muscles. Yuuri whines softly against the meat of his arm, shuddering as Victor finds a knot between his shoulder blades and works at it until it loosens. Victor laughs softly; Yuuri feels his breath along the back of his neck, and it makes him very glad that Victor can’t see his front half at the moment.
Victor massages his entire back, plus his shoulders and neck, his hands finally returning to Yuuri’s head only at the very end, when he’s all but passed out against the rock ledge. Victor uses his nails, pressing just enough to send shivers of sensation down Yuuri’s spine as he massages Yuuri’s aching head. Despite his ever-deepening attraction to Victor, Yuuri has sunken into a sweet, relaxed stupor from the attention, and thus it is a complete surprise when he feels the soft press of lips against the nape of his neck. Yuuri opens his eyes, tensing up ever so slightly.
“You have to be more careful,” Victor murmurs. His voice is very soft, and right against Yuuri’s skin. “You scared me today.”
Yuuri swallows hard. He lifts his head a little, wanting to look over his shoulder but not quite daring. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I—didn’t mean to.”
Victor makes a noise that Yuuri can’t decipher. Yuuri finally sits up enough to turn, looking over his shoulder to stare into Victor’s eyes from entirely too close. Victor regards him steadily from just inches away. His eyes are very blue; Yuuri thinks hazily that he can see a rim of grey at the edges of his pupils. Victor smiles at him, and something in Yuuri’s chest starts to warm and open. Yuuri takes a deep breath—
—and nearly erupts out of the water in a panic as the door at the end of the onsen slams open and Yuuri’s sister appears. “Dinner’s ready!” Mari bellows. “Hurry up and come eat!” With this, she turns and heads back into the building, seemingly oblivious to the destruction she’s just wreaked.
Yuuri makes a noise like a dying animal; for several seconds he seriously considers just sinking into the water and drowning. Behind him, Victor laughs. He squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder with one hand. “Come on, you need to eat,” he says warmly, and stands up. Yuuri fails to avert his eyes quickly enough and gets an eyeful of Victor’s everything at thigh-height, ending with staring at Victor’s ass (again) as Victor cuts across the floor to the pile of folded towels.
Yuuri isn’t sure whether he’s grateful for Mari’s interruption or furious at her for it—probably a little of both. But even as they dry off and collect their clothes, Yuuri can’t shake the memory of that soft kiss on the back of his neck.
* * * * *
The fourth time Victor gives Yuuri a kiss should never even have happened.
“Have you ever thought about pair skating, Yuuri?”
The question comes in the middle of an afternoon spent experimenting with choreography and drilling specific techniques. Yuuri’s head is much better today, after having taken a day of rest to recover from ringing his own bell in the most spectacular fashion possible. Victor is out on the ice with Yuuri today, demonstrating what he wants from his protege. Even though he’s not training as rigorously as Yuuri is this season, Victor moves effortlessly through every sequence or technique he wants Yuuri to do, graceful as he is strong.
Yuuri still doesn’t know what to think. Most days Yuuri still can’t even believe his idol from childhood, the Victor Nikiforov, is here coaching him—much less that Victor may or may not be flirting with him, or that he definitely massaged Yuuri’s back the other day in the hot springs, and seemed moments from kissing Yuuri full on the mouth. But if Victor is thinking about that at all, he hasn’t let on. His attention is focused solely on getting Yuuri to move in ways that Yuuri himself never dreamed he might be able to achieve, and nothing else exists.
Until just now, that is.
“Uh,” says Yuuri intelligently. “A-Ah, that is—no, I haven’t. I’ve only ever done solo skating…” Because that’s what you did, he doesn’t add, because he figures he embarrasses himself enough in front of Victor without trying to go for bingo.
“Ah,” Victor says. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.” He lets out a sigh and graces Yuuri with a wistful smile. “But it’s such a shame I never get to see how you dance with a partner who can match you.”
Yuuri feels himself reddening, but he must be leveling up from all the brazen flirting Victor does, because he manages not to look away this time. Victor’s smile warms to something almost sly as Yuuri holds his gaze, and the heat in it must short something out in Yuuri’s brain, because Yuuri hears himself say, “We could try right now, if you wanted to.”
Victor stares at him for a long moment, just long enough to make Yuuri’s own heart stutter and restart painfully in his chest. Then Victor lights up, his smile radiant enough to illuminate even the coldest dark. “My little piglet is getting braver,” he says happily. Yuuri is so dazzled at being the object of that warmth that he can’t even bring himself to care about the stupid nickname.
The first ten minutes are enough to make Yuuri seriously reconsider his offer—not to mention his own skating abilities and his life choices in general—but he supposes that if he’s going to humiliate himself in front of his idol, at least Victor seems happy. Every time Yuuri careens into him, Victor laughs, grabbing him before he falls to the ice and spinning them around like they’re children playing in the snow. His enthusiasm is contagious, and when it’s Victor’s turn to make an error and wipe out, Yuuri’s laughing too, even as they topple over together.
“смешной,” exclaims Victor, and this time Yuuri thinks he recognizes it; smeshnoy, ridiculous. Victor scrambles to his feet, helping Yuuri up as well. As they do, the music changes, and a new song comes on, a bubbly electro-pop song that Yuuri doesn’t recognize. Victor straightens immediately, looking pleased. “Let’s try something new,” he says. “Dance with me, Yuuri!” And thus saying, he takes a deep breath and then pushes off, gliding sweetly away on the ice as though he was born to be there.
This is going to be more smeshnoy, Yuuri thinks, is sure of it—but he takes off after Victor anyway, because he can’t help himself. And then, something changes. Something about the way Victor moves with him—near and then far, sweeping close enough to graze his fingers along Yuuri’s arm in a caress, then dancing off across the ice—it speaks to Yuuri. He stops hearing the music and instead starts to feel it, starts to feel Victor’s rhythm like it’s his own heartbeat.
Victor must be able to tell that Yuuri has changed gears somehow, because he starts a call-and-response sort of dance, one Yuuri recognizes instantly without knowing why. It’s one of Victor’s old routines, he thinks dizzily, though the music doesn’t fit. And instead of dancing it all himself, Victor skates for a portion and then swings around to Yuuri, who falls into step inside Victor’s arc, Victor skating alongside him, hands on Yuuri’s hips. It’s scary and beautiful and thrilling. Yuuri is terrified that he’ll wipe out at any moment, but Victor’s hands and eyes and smile are too magnetic to ignore, and all Yuuri can do is respond.
The music ends. The two of them finish in the center of the ring, just a few feet from each other. Yuuri is breathing hard, cheeks hot with exhilaration and joy. Victor is grinning at him, and Yuuri is grinning back, his heart still singing high up in the rafters of the ice rink. It takes Yuuri a few moments to realize that Victor is still holding Yuuri’s hand in his own. “Yuuri,” Victor begins. His voice is husky enough to send an electric thrill down Yuuri’s spine. Yuuri shivers, and Victor’s smile darkens just a touch.
“That was amazing,” Yuuri blurts out. Oh God, what am I saying?
“It was,” Victor says. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but as he does so his eyes flicker past Yuuri’s face to something over his shoulder. Victor’s expression changes, something like—is that regret?—and then he just smiles. He tugs Yuuri closer by the hand, and then to Yuuri’s shock, Victor drops gracefully to one knee on the ice as he bends over Yuuri’s hand, like a knight with a princess in an old movie. Yuuri has a moment to register the way Victor is looking up at him through his bangs before soft lips brush Yuuri’s knuckles.
Yuuri draws a sharp breath, a shudder passing through him a cool wind. Victor lingers for a few moments over his hand before rising, and in his face is something hot and complicated—Yuuri can’t even read it. Then the moment passes. Victor beams. “That was fun!” he says brightly. “Nishigori, did you see our dance?”
“I did,” says Takeshi’s voice, from behind Yuuri. Yuuri turns to see Takeshi standing at the edge of the rink, waving. “Pretty impressive. I didn’t think Yuuri did pair skating, though.”
“I don’t,” says Yuuri. It’s just a statement of fact, but somehow the admission pains him.
“I suppose we should go back to the routine, now,” Victor says, and starts to skate back towards the end of the rink, presumably to look at his notes or change the music. Yuuri watches him go, and wonders what would have happened if Nishigori had not turned up to watch them skate.
* * * * *
The fifth time Victor gives Yuuri a kiss, Yuuri almost misses his opportunity—almost. But if he’s learned one thing from having Victor living with him and coaching him, it’s that he can do almost anything as long as Victor is the one asking it of him. And he intends to keep it that way.
It’s a week or so after their pair-skating practice at the ice rink, and everyone in town is gearing up for the matsuri being held the coming weekend, including the Katsukis and their guest. And maybe it’s just Yuuri, but he would swear that things between him and Victor have gotten very …loaded. Victor is his normal sunny self whenever they are out and about with other people, and he’s as scarily practice-focused as ever when they’re on the ice, but more than once Yuuri looks over and catches Victor staring at him with the kind of intensity Yuuri associates with their housecat stalking a mouse.
That idea should make him nervous, probably. But it doesn’t. Instead, it strengthens his resolve to do something before his window of opportunity closes. Yuuri can’t pretend that he really understands Victor that well; he still doesn’t know exactly what it was that Victor saw in that Youtube video of Yuuri that made him want to come all the way out to Japan to coach him. But now, even more so than when Yuri Plisetsky was here and intent on dragging Victor back to Russia, Yuuri is determined to give Victor every reason to stay.
Victor is excited for the matsuri, which is no surprise. Victor is excited for ramen, and bubble tea, and the little charms that dangle from so many girls’ phones. (He buys a tiger-shaped one and mails it to Yurio, which Yuuri would be more jealous of if Yurio had actually hit puberty.) But when the Katsukis present Victor with a yukata of his very own to wear to the matsuri, Victor is so delighted that he actually does a stupid little dance in the middle of the dining room. Yuuri is torn between embarrassment on behalf of…well, everyone in the room, and pleasure in Victor’s obvious happiness.
“I’ll be right back!” Victor declares, and dashes off to change. He swans back into the room a few minutes later, resplendent in the lavender-and-gold yukata that Yuuri picked out for him. Yuuri’s family cheers, which is good, because it means Victor’s too distracted to see how red in the face Yuuri goes at Victor wearing something Yuuri bought for him. He’s dry-mouthed and flustered from reaction, and he hides it by grabbing Mari’s glass of water and chugging it before anyone notices.
I am an idiot, thinks Yuuri distantly.
Victor yanks Yuuri to his feet and embraces him with a Yuuri this is wonderful! Thank you so much! Yuuri hugs back, his awkwardness amplified by the thrill of realizing that he’s close enough to smell Victor, sweat and musky aftershave. The thought makes his stomach cramp with heat, and Yuuri has to take a steadying breath.
”You’re welcome,” Yuuri says, or starts to, when he’s interrupted by Victor kissing him on the tip of his nose. It effectively stuns Yuuri, like a smack to the back of the head with a two-by-four.
Victor takes the opportunity to spin Yuuri around, sliding his arm around Yuuri’s waist before posing them both coyly for the rest of the family. “Take a picture of us!” Victor cries. Mari comes forward to steal Victor’s cell phone, and all Yuuri can do is quietly burn with shock and longing at being pressed so close against Victor’s side when he can do absolutely nothing about it.
For now, anyway.
They head out to the matsuri soon after that, walking down the street towards the town center in pairs, Maccachin trotting along at Victor’s side. Victor wants to know everything about the festival: why it’s held, what’s going to happen during it, what kind of food there will be, the whole nine yards. Yuuri does his best to answer all Victor’s questions as the twilight draws down around them. He can’t help but notice how his and Victor’s hands keep brushing each other, and he wonders if Victor’s palms itch too, for want of another to hold.
Yuuri hasn’t been to this particular festival in a long while—he’s been out of the country, first for school and then to train competitively. He’d always taken it for granted when he was younger, but now he finds the experience sweeter than he remembers.
“Have you had takoyaki, Victor?” Yuuri asks.
“Taco what?”
Yuuri laughs. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you.” They sample some of almost every cart, making Yuuri extra glad that they hadn’t eaten any dinner before coming: Karaage, okonomiyaki, chocolate bananas on sticks, sponge cakes. Yuuri keeps sneaking glances at Victor; every glimpse of his elegant frame in the beautiful yukata is enough to make Yuuri’s heart skip a beat.
When did he become so smitten, he wonders. He always idolized Victor but this… this is something else.
Dusk deepens to velvety darkness, illuminated by the warm yellows and oranges of paper lanterns strung from the trees and shop windows. Yuuri and Victor get stopped more than once by people who recognize their hometown hero (and his new coach), but mostly they’re able to float around the festival and just enjoy themselves. Maccachin is very popular with the younger children especially. She’s a people pleaser, just like her owner, soaking up the attention and admiration of the many people who want to pet her or take her picture.
The matsuri becomes more and more crowded, enough that they lose track of Yuuri’s family in the throng, and Maccachin with them—though Yuuri suspects the dog was following Mari, who might or might not have been feeding her treats on the sly. At one point Yuuri turns around for a moment to admire a street performer, and when he looks back he finds he can’t see Victor anywhere. “Victor?” he calls, raising his voice a little in what is definitely not panic.
“Yuuri! Over here!”
Yuuri turns to see Victor standing in front of a water fountain. He waves at Yuuri and beams. Relief sweeps through Yuuri, and he waves back, unable to keep from smiling himself. “Hey,” Yuuri says as he approaches Victor. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”
“Oh?” Victor quirks an eyebrow at him. “What is it you need me to see, hmm?”
“Just come this way,” Yuuri says. Victor gazes at him for just a moment, but it’s enough that Yuuri can feel himself flushing. He only hopes Victor can’t really tell in the soft lantern light. But when Yuuri turns to lead him through the crowd, Victor follows after him without any more questions.
Yuuri leads them along a meandering route, down two different streets and an alley that ultimately turns into a dirt road. They emerge into a small grove of cherry trees on the edge of town. Just as Yuuri hoped, it’s empty, save for the lantern lights hung by the city officials in preparation for the matsuri. “Yuuri, did you drink too much sake?” Victor sounds amused. “The festival is the other way.”
“I, I—” Yuuri stops, taking a deep breath before turning around. Around them, the cherry trees bob softly in the night breeze, the air fragrant with their scent.“I didn’t bring you here for that,” he says. Victor’s teasing smile fades to something softer. He raises his eyebrows, watching Yuuri expectantly. It’s enough to make Yuuri freeze for a few moments, panic threatening to shut him down despite all his best intentions.
Shit, shit, no, don’t clam up now! Yuuri takes another deep breath, dropping his eyes for a moment to gather his courage. Why is this happening? Why is he like this? Five times already Victor has kissed him, as artful and natural as the way he dances on the ice, but no matter how much Yuuri tries to emulate him, he’ll never be as clever by half.
“Victor,” Yuuri begins. He steps closer, eyes still on the ground, and nearly jumps out of his skin in shock at a light touch on his cheek. Yuuri jerks his head up and suddenly finds he’s right in front of Victor.
“It’s okay,” Victor says. His voice is soft, and kind. He gives Yuuri a small, encouraging sort of smile, and after a moment Yuuri finds that he can smile back.
Yuuri clears his throat and tries again. “I just wanted to—to tell you, uh. I mean—having you here is really…” He trails off again, his tongue tying itself in knots, dumbly staring at Victor—at his beautiful face, his maddeningly gorgeous smile. One of Victor’s eyebrows quirks. He’s so expressive that it’s hard to even look at him.
“Ugh,” says Yuuri, “forget it.” With one last prayer to the protective spirit of nervous, clumsy ice skaters, Yuuri steps forward, closing the last few inches, and leans in to press his mouth to Victor’s.
Time immediately slows. For a long, terrible moment, Yuuri thinks he’s badly miscalculated, because Victor isn’t kissing him back—but then suddenly he is, his arms wrapping around Yuuri’s shoulders to pull him in closer. Victor’s mouth is warm and not as soft as Yuuri imagined, and he’s a much better kisser than Yuuri, who doesn’t know quite what to do with his lips, or his tongue, or how to keep his nose from getting in the way.
Maybe Victor realizes this, because he pulls back very slightly, cupping the back of Yuuri’s head in his hand. “Shhh, easy,” he murmurs against Yuuri’s mouth, then licks Yuuri’s lips as though to soothe the sting of his words. Yuuri can’t suppress a small shiver at how hot that is. Victor tilts his head and then pulls Yuuri in for another kiss, a deeper one this time, Victor’s arm wrapping securely around Yuuri’s waist to pull Yuuri against his chest. Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders as they kiss harder, the press of Victor’s lips and tongue making him dizzy, enough that he suddenly finds he’s leaning hard into Victor, craving more contact.
A noise from behind them makes Yuuri shy away, glancing over his shoulder. Someone’s laughter floats down the alley into the clearing, carrying with it the reminder that they aren’t actually that alone right now. “Come here,” Victor whispers in his ear, and leads Yuuri deeper into the shelter of the trees, until they are no longer visible from the alleyway. Then he kisses Yuuri again, and Yuuri melts against him, all too eager to continue. It’s so distracting he hardly notices that Victor is guiding them down to sit on the ground.
The moment Yuuri realizes Victor’s pulling him down to straddle his lap, he immediately jumps up again. “Wait,” he says. “You’ll stain your yukata—”
Victor stares up at him like Yuuri just declared that Christmas is canceled. “Yuuri.”
“Just w-wait a second—” Want and self-consciousness make him clumsy, and Yuuri struggles for a moment to undo his own dark green yukata before hurriedly crouching to spread it out on the ground, clad now in just his boxer-briefs. He hesitates before taking off his glasses, too, setting them to one side. Victor watches him for several moments, frowning, and then his expression clears. He crawls onto the spread yukata and promptly hauls Yuuri down into his lap again, his hands hot against Yuuri’s bare skin. Yuuri can’t stifle a low moan, and Victor smirks at the sound of it.
“Yuuuuriiii…” Victor kisses Yuuri’s throat, his jaw, and then his mouth, an arm slung securely around Yuuri’s waist. “Did you wear that color yukata on purpose?”
Busted. Yuuri stammers something in response that doesn’t actually qualify as language, and Victor laughs. Yuuri has to kiss him to shut him up, which has the nice effect of having Victor’s lips on his again; Yuuri may not have much experience at this, but he’s ready and eager to learn.
For several minutes Victor seems intent on keeping Yuuri where he is while they kiss—or rather, while Victor drives Yuuri slowly crazy with his hands and mouth. Yuuri’s cock is rock hard in his underwear, and it’s difficult not to just grind against Victor’s lap. He can feel an answering hardness through Victor’s yukata, so at least he’s not the only one. Victor breaks their kiss, pressing one hand to Yuuri’s jaw to tilt his head back slightly. He kisses his way down Yuuri’s throat, the barest scrape of teeth enough to make Yuuri whine in desperation.
“So sweet,” Victor murmurs against his skin; his voice is hoarse and dark and full of want. Yuuri swallows hard.
Victor topples Yuuri over onto his side, laying him out on the yukata and crouching above him. “I was beginning to think I had read you wrong,” Victor says after a moment, still staring at him. No one has ever looked at Yuuri the way Victor is looking at him now, with blatant lust in his eyes. “Or that you just weren’t interested in sex.”
Yuuri flushes. He can feel the heat bloom in his face and throat, and knows his chest would be splotchy too, if there were enough light to see it by. I was only ever interested in you, he thinks, and takes a deep breath. “I’m interested,” he says, and Victor smiles, warm and triumphant. “But—”
“Mmm?” Victor strokes a hand down Yuuri’s bare chest, eyes raking down his body in what even Yuuri can’t mistake for anything but appreciation. “Can it wait?”
“Why am I the only person in my underwear?” Yuuri reaches up, catching Victor’s face in his hand. Victor blinks, then laughs again.
“Oh, well, if you insist…” Victor sits back, reaching for the obi of his yukata. Yuuri sits up long enough to help him, stealing several kisses in the process, until a very naked Victor pushes him back down to earth, covering Yuuri’s bare skin with his own. In between kisses Yuuri feels Victor tugging at Yuuri’s waistband, and Yuuri lifts his hips so that Victor can yank Yuuri’s boxer-briefs down and toss them aside, before settling between Yuuri’s thighs. Yuuri immediately wraps his legs around Victor’s hips and pulls him up, moaning at the delicious drag on his cock this causes.
Yuuri loses track of things for the next few minutes, too consumed with Victor’s mouth and hands and the long powerful lines of his body. They rock shallowly against each other, Victor’s cock rubbing lewdly against Yuuri’s, making Yuuri gasp and twist beneath him in pleasure. Victor seems to want to abandon Yuuri’s mouth and explore the rest of his body, but Yuuri keeps pulling him back up for more kissing, his desperate noises muffled by Victor’s mouth on his.
Victor finally lifts himself off Yuuri like he’s doing a push-up, grinning down at him. “My little piglet is so hungry,” he murmurs, throaty. “Don’t you want me to see what the rest of you tastes like?”
Yuuri bites his lip, embarrassment stealing his response. Too clingy, too inexperienced, I have to calm down…! Something must show in his face, because Victor’s expression softens. “Hey,” he says, and it’s the gentlest Yuuri has ever seen him. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere, Yuuri.” Yuuri’s lip trembles, but he smiles anyway, his chest unclenching somewhat. Victor leans down to kiss him again, and this time, when he breaks away and starts to move down Yuuri’s chest, Yuuri lets him.
Whether because of Yuuri’s anxiety, or his own eagerness, or just the awareness that the two of them could all too easily by found by passers-by, Victor doesn’t draw things out too much. Yuuri is grateful; he already feels like he might go to pieces just from the thrill of having Victor touching him like this. Victor kisses his way down Yuuri’s chest, paying special attention to each of his painfully-hard nipples—the sensation makes Yuuri squirm and bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper. Victor licks along the faint trail of hair that leads from Yuuri’s navel down to his groin, and Yuuri gasps, twitching a little. Victor grabs his hip to hold him still, chuckling as he glances up Yuuri’s body through the sweaty curtain of his bangs. “So sensitive,” Victor murmurs.
“Don’t tease me,” Yuuri shoots back, hotter than he really intends.
But Victor’s smile only widens. “If teasing gets you to do things like this, then how am I supposed to resist?” he asks. Before Yuuri can protest this affront, Victor wraps a hand around Yuuri’s erection, which has been bobbing lewdly above his stomach like some kind of perverted flag. He squeezes, stroking his thumb over the tip, and Yuuri moans out loud.
Too loud. Yuuri immediately claps his hand over his mouth in mortification at the noise he just made. “No, don’t silence yourself,” Victor whispers. Without taking his hand from Yuuri’s cock, he shinnies up Yuuri’s body again, reaching to try to pry Yuuri’s hand off his mouth. “Please, I want to hear you,” Victor croons.
“Not here,” Yuuri hisses. “What if someone hears us?”
Victor pouts at him, honest-to-God pouts. Yuuri is struck again by how ridiculous Victor can be sometimes. He should find it annoying, instead of endearing, but figures he can count all the ways he’s an idiot some other time. “Later, then,” says Victor. He kisses Yuuri by way of emphasis, stroking Yuuri’s cock in a way that has Yuuri thrusting his hips against Victor’s hand.
Yuuri very quickly loses the brain power to form words after that. Victor has apparently decided the best way to keep Yuuri quiet is to kiss him into submission, which Yuuri is all happy to go along with. Victor settles on top of Yuuri again as they kiss, one elbow braced against the earth, the other hand snaking between their bodies to loosely grasp both of their erections. Yuuri shudders, lashing an arm around Victor’s shoulders like he’ll drown if he lets go. He just barely has the presence of mind to shove his other hand between them to join Victor’s, messily stroking them both off together.
Victor rolls his hips down against him, and Yuuri responds in kind, panting at the friction it creates. They find a rhythm almost immediately, a tangle of mouths and hips and hands that burns through Yuuri like an open flame. Victor groans against his mouth, sending a thrill of joy through Yuuri. It’s gratifying as hell to know that he isn’t the only one feeling so undone. Victor pulls back for just a moment, panting, and rests his forehead against Yuuri’s shoulder. Abruptly Yuuri remembers what Victor said about Yuuri’s stamina during practice a few weeks ago.
“Ahh—Victor…” Yuuri slows for a moment, unable to resist nuzzling the side of Victor’s sweaty face like an overgrown puppy himself. “Do you want me on top for awhile?”
Victor turns his head a little, enough for Yuuri to see the warmth of his smile. “I very much want to see you on top of me, Yuuri,” he says throatily. Yuuri’s cock twitches at the raw sex in his voice. “But not till we’re somewhere you don’t have to feel self-conscious. So I’ll take care of you like this right now.”
“Victor—”
“Shh, Сахарок,” Victor says, and kisses Yuuri again before Yuuri can ask what Victor just called him. Yuuri gives up, wrapping both arms around Victor and hugging him tightly. Victor settles back between Yuuri’s thighs again, grinding against Yuuri with renewed vigor, and Yuuri can’t help but wrap his legs around Victor’s hips again as they rock together, every thrust making him gasp and moan.
Yuuri finishes soon after that, Victor’s hand rough around his cock. His airway vaporlocks for a moment as he comes, spilling messily across his own stomach; he hears Victor swear in Russian and then teeth sink into his throat. Yuuri’s mouth falls open in a wordless cry, and then he feels Victor shuddering on top of him, following him over the edge into orgasm. Victor slumps on top of him, and for a few moments all Yuuri can do is listen to the sound of them both panting to catch their breath, wondering vaguely how he’s going to hide the bite-mark on his neck.
“Sorry,” says Victor, finally. He grunts and rolls over, enough that he’s lying half draped across Yuuri instead of fully on top of him.
“Mmmm?” Yuuri turns his head, blinking at Victor. He feels hazy and sluggish, and not the least bit like someone in need of an apology, even though the bite on his neck throbs a little.
Victor gives him a slow, approving smile. He lifts a hand to Yuuri’s throat, stroking his thumb across a spot just above where Yuuri’s neck meets his shoulder. “This will show,” he says thoughtfully. “I suppose it is too warm for a scarf.”
Yuuri stares at him for a moment, then lets out a long sigh. “You’re not sorry,” he says.
“No, I’m really not,” Victor agrees, and kisses him. Yuuri kisses back, wondering if he should be mad, and deciding that for now he just won’t worry about it. The loss of Victor’s body heat is more of a concern, and Yuuri turns towards him, trying to lay flush against him again.
“Mmm…” Victor hums, settling his hand appreciatively on Yuuri’s hip, carefully arranging them so they can lie together. Yuuri shuts his eyes and snuggles against Victor, like he’s been wanting to do for days and days. He’s already chilled from the night air, and he knows they’re on borrowed time, but he can’t quite bring himself to get dressed again yet.
It’s a few minutes later, when the distant crack and boom of fireworks reach their ears, that something occurs to him. “Victor,” he murmurs.
“Mm?”
“What was that toast you said? In Minako’s bar.”
“Eh? Oh!” Victor laughs. “I was wondering if you’d ask me about that.” He clears his throat. “It means, ah…. ‘Let the tables break from abundance, and the beds break from love!’”
Yuuri blinks, then makes a fist and very gently jams his knuckles into Victor’s ribs. Victor lets out a very unmanly squeak and grabs Yuuri’s hand to stop him. “We can’t break my bed,” Yuuri says. He’s trying for stern, but it comes out more ‘fond.’
“You can do anything you set your mind to, Yuuri,” Victor says very seriously. “That’s why I’m here for you.”
“Victor,” Yuuri sighs, and kisses him just to shut him up.