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you dance when you walk

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As soon as they enter the concert area, Yuri turns to Victor and sneers.

“Okay, we’re here. You can leave now.”

Victor gives his little brother a placid smile. “No can do, Yura. I promised Dedushka that I’d look after you. Or do you not know what chaperone means?”

Yuri, predictably, just scowls at him, but makes no further attempt to get rid of him. Instead, he stalks through the crowd, forcing Victor to keep up with him, though that’s not too difficult. Even among a sea of metal, fishnet, and leather, Yuri’s purple jacket makes him an easy target to spot.

Victor thought his little brother was over-dressed for a simple punk rock concert, but as they walk closer to the stage, he can see that Yuri’s wardrobe is quite modest. Really, the purple leather jacket is the most ostentatious thing he’s got on, save for maybe the large bejeweled cross around his neck.

Victor is the one who feels out of place, now. He’d opted to wear a simple maroon v-neck and dark jeans, but he’s severely under-dressed compared to the other concert-goers. He sees leather-and-mesh leggings, fishnet tops, jackets with metal studs all over, and hair of hundreds of different colors – though Victor can’t really make fun of that last one.

At any rate, Yuri seems happy enough to be here, and that’s all that matters. Naturally, their grandfather had been hesitant when Yuri brought up the concert, since Yuri was all of sixteen, and he wasn’t crazy about his favorite genre of music to begin with. But Victor took one look at his little brother’s earnest, pleading expression, and offered to be his chaperone for the night.

It was worth it just for the ecstatic grin Yuri’d given him in return.

He continues following Yuri through the auditorium, keeping a careful eye on his back as he muscles past people to get a good vantage point. Finally, Yuri comes to a stop in a spot he apparently deems acceptable enough, and he turns back to his brother, still scowling, but that’s his default expression, so Victor merely smiles back.

“So… When do they go on?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard above the chatter of the crowd. The stage is pretty close to where they are, though it’s currently empty, save for mic stands and a drum set.

“The show starts at seven,” Yuri answers. Victor goes to check his phone, but his brother beats him to it. “It’s six forty-five, so fifteen minutes. Unless the opening act decides to play early…” A hopeful expression glazes over Yuri’s face, causing Victor to raise an eyebrow.

“Opening act? Aren’t we here for the main event?”

Abruptly, Yuri scowls again. Somehow, the effect of it is lost in the haze of ‘smokey-eye’ makeup that Yuri’s attempted on himself.

Duh, but the band they got for the opening act is awesome, too. Generation Partizan; they’re local. Beka’s taken me to see some of their shows before.”

“Ah.” Victor closes his mouth at the mention of Yuri’s best friend Otabek. Victor likes him well enough, but their grandfather thinks he’s a bad influence; he’d been the one to introduce Yuri to this type of music, after all. The only reason Otabek isn’t here with Yuri is because he’s out of town on a family trip. He’d given his ticket to Yuri and asked him to have fun on his behalf. Victor thought it was sweet.

Dedushka thinks it’s further corruption of his Yuratchka’s innocence.

Victor lets the subject drop and instead casually observes the crowd. Victor’s friends had tried telling him horror stories about what goes on at concerts like these – loud screaming and cursing, on-stage orgies and public sex, actual satanic rituals – but thankfully, Victor ignored them. Clothing choices aside, there’s nothing inherently ‘corrupt’ about these people. They look like normal folks, out to have fun and listen to music.

Plus, his brother is one of them, so he can’t be too harsh.

His gaze slides from a woman with shockingly bright green hair to a spot closer to where he and Yuri stand, and abruptly, he freezes.

His eyes have just landed on an ass in the tightest pair of red jeans Victor’s ever beheld. And it’s a gorgeous ass, too. One of the prettiest on Earth, Victor’s sure. He’s got half a mind to take out his phone and get a picture, if not for posterity, then to send to Chris, his best friend and fellow ass connoisseur. Before his fingers can so much as twitch, however, the figure whom that glorious ass belongs to turns, and Victor finally takes in the rest of it.

His face turns as red as those sinful jeans. Oh, fuck.

Because God has apparently decided to bless Victor on this day, the ass is attached to the most attractive man he’s ever seen; lean and built, pale skin, dark, slicked-back hair, and Asian features, he looks like he’s stepped right out of Victor’s wet dreams and into the real world.

Victor actually gulps as the man turns completely around. In addition to the painted-on jeans, he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off his toned forearms, collar popped, and a black vest. He’s not the most ostentatious person in the room by far, but Victor still can’t look away.

Tight Jeans is talking to someone, a guy with an undercut and a leather jacket, but the rest of the audience has now become a blur. Victor’s almost positive he’s drooling. Jesus Christ.

Suddenly, Tight Jeans glances in Victor’s direction, catching his eye. Victor feels his body stiffen as the gorgeous stranger blinks at him – his eyes are brown, Victor notes, though it’s a bit hard to be sure in the auditorium’s low light. He doesn’t dwell on it, though, because Tight Jeans smiles at him.

Well, ‘smiles’ isn’t quite right. More like smirked. Tight Jeans is smirking at him, eyes hooded with what is obviously flirtation, and to make matters even worse, he licks his lips.

Victor might’ve squeaked. He’s still not sure.

His brain flatlines as the stranger whispers something to his friend and then starts to approach him, leaving Undercut to watch him leave. Tight Jeans saunters with a sway of his hips, and God, how can one person embody eroticism so completely?

He makes his way over to Victor, until he’s practically chest-to-chest with him, and fuck he’s even prettier up close oh God Victor please calm down –

“You lost, baby?” Tight Jeans purrs, his smirk widening as he takes in Victor’s flustered expression.

Mercifully, he’s shorter than Victor, so he doesn’t also have to be intimidated by height. Victor clears his throat and tries to speak. Key word: tries.

“I, uh… N-No, I’m not… What?”

He wants to crawl in a hole and die, but Tight Jeans – man, he’s really got to learn his name – seems charmed by his lack of eloquence, if his small chuckle is anything to go by.

“I just mean, you kind of stand out.”

“O-Oh, well…” Victor raises his hand and rubs the back of his neck. His eyes are drawn to the stranger’s face, most particularly his lips. They’re still curled up in a teasing smile, but they look so soft and – is he wearing lip gloss? Victor gulps again. “I-I guess I do. This, um, isn’t really my scene.”

“I figured,” says Tight Jeans. He takes a step closer, so now their chests are definitely touching.

Victor’s friends might’ve had a point about the public sex thing.

“What’s your name, baby?”

Victor snaps out of his daze at the new question. “V-Victor.”

Tight Jeans hums. “Tell me, Victor,” he starts, but Victor’s about ready to explode just from hearing his name drip from his mouth like honey, “if this isn’t your scene, what brings you here? And who do I have to thank for making it happen?”

Victor blinks. Oh God, he flirting. He’s actually flirting with Victor. His tongue feels like it’s inflated to twice its size in his mouth, and has thinking always been this difficult?

“B-Brother,” he manages to get out. “My little brother. He’s, uh, really into… this.” He gestures at the crowd as if to elaborate. “I’m… chaperoning.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” says Tight Jeans, to his credit, he looks like he means it. His expression has softened the slightest bit. “Which one’s your brother, then?”

Victor forces himself to tear his eyes from Tight Jeans to look behind him. But, to his horror, Yuri is no longer there.

Shit!” he curses, not noticing how Tight Jeans startles. “Yuri!”

“W-What?” asks the stranger.

Victor cups his hands around his mouth. “Yuri!!”

“I’m right here, fucking hell!” a voice from a few feet away replies grouchily. Victor’s head whips around to see Yuri standing there, a soda in hand, looking just as irritated as he always does. The panic that seized his heart for a moment subsides, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Where the hell did you go?” Victor asks, enveloping his little brother in a hug, not caring if the younger teen tried to shove him away. Which he did, almost immediately.

“Ugh, I just went to buy a drink, calm the fuck down!”

Victor lets himself get pushed off, and he’s almost smiling at his brother’s usual antics when he catches sight of Tight Jeans again. He looks bewildered, but he quickly smiles when Victor catches his eye again.

“Your name is Yuuri, too?” he asks Yuri, who finally takes notice of him.

Much like Victor, Yuri’s jaw drops, but apparently for an entirely different reason.

“Y-You…” Yuri’s mouth flaps wordlessly for a few moments. “You’re… You’re Yuuri Katsuki!”

Victor looks at his brother, confused, before swinging his gaze back onto Tight Jeans – or is it Yuuri Katsuki? He looks just as confused, but it fades quickly, and soon, he’s smiling politely at Yuri.

“I am,” he confirms. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Yuri gawks at him for several seconds before slapping Victor in the arm.

“Ow!” Victor hisses.

“That’s Yuuri Katsuki!” Yuri whispers back.

Victor stares hopelessly between the two of them. “Okay…?”

Yuri gestures at Yuuri, arms flailing, while the latter looks on, obviously amused.

The Yuuri Katsuki! Rhythm guitarist from Generation Partizan!”

Victor blinks again, brow furrowed. “And that’s… a band, right?”

Yuri looks like he’s about to combust. “They’re the opening act I was telling you about! For God’s sake, Victor!”

Victor holds up his hands defensively. “How was I supposed to know that?”

Yuri opens his mouth to yell some more, but he’s cut off by the sound of someone giggling. The brothers turn their heads to see Yuuri holding a hand to his mouth, trying to smother the laughter before it got too loud. Victor blushes at the sight – Yuuri looks adorable like that, in contrast to the ‘sex-kitten’ vibe he was giving off earlier.

Yuri blushes, too, but probably more from embarrassment than a sexual crisis. He fumbles around, reaching into his pocket, and to Victor’s surprise, pulls out a pen and a small autograph book. Was he always carrying that?

Yuri shakily holds out the items to Yuuri, who’s smile only grows as he takes them. He seems to understand what the young teen is asking, as he flips open the book and uncaps the pen, scrawling his name across the page. He hands it back to Yuri, who looks like it’s Christmas morning, and tilts his head towards Victor.

Before Yuuri can speak, however, Undercut emerges from the crowd, placing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, which draws away his attention. Victor frowns, suddenly uncomfortable with the casual intimacy that Undercut initiates.

“Yo, Yuuri, we gotta do warm-ups!” he says in an admonishing tone. “Did you get the guy’s number or what?”

Undercut looks at Victor, who stiffens, but Yuuri just groans.

“Not yet, JJ,” he says, sending him a pout. “I’ll be there in a sec, start without me.”

JJ makes a face, glancing between Yuuri and Victor, before finally shrugging, and he removes his hand from Yuuri – to Victor’s relief. “Alright,” he says simply as he turns away, disappearing back into the crowd.

Yuuri turns back to Victor and Yuri, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, I gotta go…”

“I-I understand,” Victor stammers, earning a strange look from Yuri. “You should, ah, go and warm up…”

Yuuri’s smile turns into that smirk again. “I will. But, before I do… Well, I might as well just ask. Can I get your phone number?”

Victor inhales sharply, keeping his wide eyes on Yuuri, despite the clearly audible gasp he hears from his brother beside him.

“W… Why?” is all Victor can manage to ask.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re hot?”

“O-Oh.”

Distantly, Victor hears a rip, then something is shoved into his chest. He looks down and sees a torn piece of paper from Yuri’s autograph book, and his little brother holding out a pen.

Give him your fucking number,” he hisses.

Victor startles into action. “Okay, okay!” He writes out his number and then hands the paper to Yuuri, who takes it coyly.

“Thanks, Victor,” he says, licking his lips for the second time that night. Victor might faint. “I’ll find you after we perform, okay?”

“I, uh… O-Okay.”

Victor and Yuri watch as Yuuri strolls away, tucking Victor’s number in the back pocket of those jeans.

Yuri is muttering to himself, but Victor can still hear him.

“He’s even hotter up close,” his brother breathes. “Beka’s gonna be so jealous…”

 


 

 

Victor honestly doesn’t remember anything after Generation Partizan leaves the stage.

To be fair, he doesn’t remember much while they were performing, either; all he can recall is watching Yuuri perform.

He’s breathtaking – his fingers fly across his guitar, perfectly in sync with the rest of the band. Victor’s still not one for rock music, but he could make an exception if it meant watching Yuuri play. He can’t take his eyes off him, not even once.

He barely remembers Yuri shouting over the music, pointing out the other members of the band. There was JJ, the lead guitarist and vocalist, Phichit the drummer, and Mila the bassist, and they were all good. But Victor still doesn’t pay an iota of attention to any of them, not when Yuuri starts sweating, rivulets of water slipping down his neck, soaking his shirt and making it almost translucent.

It takes all of Victor’s willpower to not pop a boner in the middle of the concert, because that would just be too much.

Anyway, after Generation Partizan finishes up their set, they leave the stage to make way for the main event. Not that Victor can even remember their names. But Yuri is screaming his head off with the rest of the crowd as they take to the stage, so Victor resigns himself to the fact that he can’t convince his brother to let them leave early.

He just wants to retreat to his apartment and quietly fantasize about the hot guitarist in peace, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, because not five minutes after the new band starts playing, Victor feels a presence sidle up next to him, and he turns his head to see Yuuri, still flushed and sweaty from his own performance. Victor’s attempts to keep his dick under control die a quick and painful death.

“Hey,” Yuuri greets, far too nonchalantly for someone who looks like sin incarnate. “Did you like our set?”

It takes Victor’s mind a few minutes to reboot. “Y-Yeah! You’re really good…”

Yuuri beams at the small compliment, clumsy as it may have been, and links his arm with Victor’s.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward,” he starts, leaning in close so that he’s practically whispering in Victor’s ear, “but I was thinking, after the show, we could…”

He trails off suggestively, making Victor’s entire face – probably his entire body, honestly – heat up at the implication.

Unfortunately, even as his cock twitches in interest, his eyes are unwillingly drawn towards Yuri, who’s jumping up and down with the music.

Victor holds back a sigh.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says to Yuuri, who blinks. “But my brother has a curfew, and I have to get him home, so…”

“Oh, right,” Yuuri says quickly, his expression morphing to one of contriteness. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot the whole ‘chaperoning’ thing…”

“I-It’s fine…” Victor replies. Then, after a few moments, “And I mean, you have my number, so…”

Yuuri brightens almost immediately. “So, if I wanted to call you up and ask you out…”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Victor finishes, smiling.

“Good.” Yuuri presses himself closer to Victor’s side. “I’d never forgive myself if I let such a hottie get away.”

Victor’s certain his face is permanently red by now. “The feeling is mutual,” he murmurs. They’re staring into each other’s eyes, an act which is usually supposed to be soft and romantic, but they’re surrounded by screaming rock fans and bright lights. Still, Victor doesn’t care. Yuuri’s eyes are the color of caramel, and he could just drown in them.

They hear the click of a camera phone go off, even amidst all the noise. Yuri is standing just off to the side of them, his tiger-patterned phone held aloft. He looks unimpressed.

“This is for Beka,” he explains flatly. “And seriously, this is a rock concert. Save the gooey shit for your first date, fucking hell.”

And with that, he repockets his phone and turns back to the aforementioned concert, getting lost in the music again. Victor and Yuuri stare at him, but he doesn’t look back.

Finally, Yuuri laughs, leaning against Victor and peering up at him through his eyelashes. “He’s right, you know. This isn’t proper concert etiquette.”

Victor feels his lips twitch with amusement. “Oh? Like I said, this isn’t my scene. You should teach me.”

Yuuri grins. “Gladly.”

He grabs Victor’s hand, and then they start to dance.

 


 

When Victor brings Yuri back to Dedushka’s house, his brother says goodnight in a very unexpected way – he hugs Victor.

“Tonight was awesome,” he says, voice muffled against the material of Victor’s shirt. “Thanks, bro.”

And before Victor can so much as lift his arms to return the gesture, Yuri’s stormed off to his room, ears red and eyes pointed towards the ground. Victor watches him go with a smile. He says goodnight to his grandpa and then departs for his apartment.

His dog greets him as enthusiastically as ever, bounding up to him with tongue lolling and tail wagging.

“Hey, Makka!” he coos at the poodle. “You’ll never guess what happened to your Papa today!”

Just as he proceeds to tell his very interested dog the tale, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Oh, that might be him!” he says to Makkachin, who tilts his head curiously while Victor fishes his phone out. A quick glance at the screen confirms it’s an unknown number, and Victor is grinning as he unlocks the phone.

The message that awaits him is… odd.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: dick pic pls - yuuri

Victor stares at his phone. He slowly blinks, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Huh. He’d figured Yuuri was direct, but not to this extent.

Before he can think too hard on it, though, his phone buzzes again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Oh my god i swear that wasn’t me!! Our drummer grabbed my phone and sent that, i’m so sorry!

A beat passes, and Victor can’t help it; he starts laughing. It’s not as if Yuuri can see him. Feeling bold, he types out a reply and hits send.

ME: Oh, really? So you don’t want a dick pic, then?

He changes the contact name of Yuuri’s number as he awaits his reply, which as it turns out is not very long.

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: what

ME: I was on my way to the bathroom and everything

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: wait are you being serious or are you just messing with me

ME: Depends on which you’d prefer.

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: I would not be… adverse to a dick pic. If you were okay with that.

Victor smirks.

ME: Coming right up. But just between us, ok? No nosy drummers allowed.

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: Deal. I’ll send one too~ ;)

ME: What a gentleman

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: lmao

Victor makes his way towards the bathroom, grinning at his phone all the while like a lovesick schoolgirl. If schoolgirls were in the habit of sending dick pics to hot guitarist they’d met that night, anyway.

Once he’s inside, he unbuttons his jeans and tugs them, along with his briefs, down just enough to free his soft dick. He holds up his phone to the mirror and takes a picture, then inputs it in a text to Yuuri.

Victor already feels smug. Let’s see how the sex kitten reacts to this, he thinks.

He hits send.

 


 

Chapter Text


 

Phichit tilts his head thoughtfully as he watches Yuuri bustle about his room in naught but a pair of red briefs, the guitarist tossing around various articles of clothing in a frenzy of pre-date stress.

“It’s just a hook up, isn’t it?” he finds himself asking, even as Yuuri tosses a shirt in his direction and he catches it without batting an eye. Yuuri pauses momentarily to look at him.

“What’s your point?” he asks.

“I mean…” Phichit shrugs. “Does it really matter what you wear? You’re just gonna take it all off anyway.”

He thinks it’s sound logic, but Yuuri just frowns at him and goes back to rooting through his closet.

“Presentation is important, Phichit,” he informs him matter-of-factly, but before Phichit can ask him to elaborate, Mila and JJ poke their heads through the door to Yuuri’s room.

“Yo, we just got back,” says Mila. “What’s up with Yuuri?”

Phichit beckons them inside. Mila goes to lean against the wall next to him, while JJ makes himself comfortable on the one area of Yuuri’s bed that isn’t covered with clothes.

“He and Concert Guy are finally gonna hook up,” Phichit explains.

Mila looks surprised. “You mean they haven’t already?”

“I think we would’ve heard about it if they did,” says JJ. “But yeah, what took you so long, Yuuri?”

“He was busy with work,” replies Yuuri. He pulls out a leather jacket, covered with silver studs, and studies it carefully.

“What does he do?” asks Mila, but Yuuri only shrugs. He tosses the jacket onto the bed, where it lands on JJ’s shoulder.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

JJ shrugs off the jacket and looks at Yuuri incredulously. “You’ve been texting the guy for a week and you don’t know what he does for a living?”

“It’s sexting. We talk about sex, JJ,” Yuuri retorts. “Not our personal lives. Anyway, are you guys gonna help me, or are you just going to interrogate me some more?”

“You must really wanna get in Concert Guy’s pants,” laughs Phichit.

“His name is Victor. And he’s got a nice dick,” Yuuri shrugs, but they all see the telltale blush spread over his cheeks.

Mila shares a look with the others, then pushes herself off the wall, strolling over to stand behind Yuuri. “Okay, okay. What look are you going for?”

“’Fuck me right now,’ preferably,” grouses Yuuri. JJ and Phichit snort, while Mila grabs him by the shoulders and gently guides him away from the closet. JJ scoots over to let him sit on the bed beside him.

“Phichit,” she calls, summoning the drummer to her side. He nods at her.

“Let’s do this.”

 


 

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: so 6, right? At Blue Alley?

Victor smiles at his phone and glances up for only a moment to confirm that nobody is paying attention to him. Indeed, his friends Georgi and Chris are on the ice, gliding along as Yakov shouts instructions from the side. Victor is leaning against the dividing wall, under the guise of taking a break. Which he had been doing, when he got a text from Yuuri.

A week. Victor would’ve thought it would happen the day after the concert, but apparently Yuuri was more patient than he led on, and it had taken exactly one week before Yuuri finally asked him out.

Well, asked out was probably not the right phrasing. What did you call it when someone wanted to just hookup? A booty call, right? Chris would probably know, Victor muses.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Chris skates up next to him and smiles.

“Yakov is going to notice you slacking off, you know,” he comments lightly, jabbing a thumb in the direction of Victor and Georgi’s coach. He’s currently lecturing Georgi about something – probably that weak triple Lutz, thinks Victor – but he’s not looking at them, and that’s all Victor cares about.

“He always does, eventually,” he replies, going back to his phone. He feels Christophe lean over him, but he doesn’t close his texts. Instead, he replies to Yuuri.

ME: sounds good! See you then ;)

“’Yuuri with the Perfect Ass’?” Chris reads out loud, blinking. “Please… Please tell me you’re not texting your brother.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “No. I met another guy named Yuuri.”

“Oh thank God…” Chris’s expression goes from confused to curious. “… Is he cute?”

Victor pictures Yuuri in his head, smirking confidence and oozing sex appeal, and grins. “He’s gorgeous.”

Chris grins, too, and pats Victor on the shoulder. “Good for you, Victor. It’s about time you found someone.”

“Please, it’s not like that,” Victor demurs. “I only met him a week ago. He’s just…” he hesitates for a moment before deciding, “a booty call.”

Chris gawks at him, eyes wide, and Victor tries not to feel self-conscious. It’s Chris, after all; he’s done far more and far worse than Victor’s even imagined.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Chris murmurs, still looking for all the world like Victor’s just sprouted another head. “Victor Nikiforov, the hopeless romantic… Going on a booty call. This Yuuri must be something else.”

In lieu of a response, Victor opens his photos and selects one in particular, holding up his screen so Chris can see it.

Chris’s jaw drops.

It’s a snapshot from the night of the concert. Specifically, the one Yuri took of them, gazing into each other’s eyes. Victor had not-so-subtly begged his little brother to send it to him, and he did, but only after days of relentless badgering.

The picture only shows Yuuri’s profile, but he’s still undeniably pretty. And Chris must think so, too, because he holds a hand to his heart and exhales softly, “ Fucking hell.”

“I know, right?” Victor sighs wistfully. “It’s almost unfair how hot he is.”

“Where did you even find him? And where can I get one?”

Victor laughs and repockets his phone, pushing off the divider. Chris follows after him. “You remember that concert Yuri really wanted to go to?”

Your Yuri?”

“Yes, my Yuri.”

Chris purses his lips, remembering. “Yeah… Didn’t you take him… Oh. Oh.” A knowing smile stretches across his face. “Your booty call is a rock fan?”

“More like rock star,” beams Victor. “He’s in this band Yuri really likes. He’s a guitarist.”

“Oh, so he’s good with his fingers, then?” Chris wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Victor just shrugs.

“I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

“Find out what?” Georgi slides up next to them, his expression inquisitive.

“Victor’s going out on a booty call!” Chris says excitedly, delighting in the way Georgi’s eyes widen with shock.

“Wait, our Victor?”

“Yes!”

Georgi looks to Victor. “Who -?”

Face blank, Victor pulls out his phone and shows the photo to Georgi. He goes silent, jaw agape.

“Oh… Oh wow.”

Victor laughs, but their conversation is cut short by Yakov’s loud, piercing shout echoing across the rink.

“Oi, you three! Quit slacking off or it’s drills for the rest of the day!”

“Yes, Coach,” they all echo in reply. They skate off in different directions, but Victor catches both his friends send him a thumbs-up (Georgi) and a wink (Chris). Smiling, he starts to run through his short program, but all he can think about is his upcoming rendezvous; he can only hope Yakov doesn’t keep him after practice for being so distracted.

 


 

Tap tap tap.

Yuuri glances at the clock above the bar. It reads 6:42. He sighs, face contorting in a frown.

Tap tap tap.

He taps his finger against the rim of his now-empty glass, and is considering asking the bartender for his third refill, when a familiar figure bustles through the door, looking harried. Yuuri happens to glance over at the same time the man’s eyes find him. It’s Victor.

Yuuri’s frown only deepens. What took him so long?

To his credit, Victor looks contrite as he winds through the crowd, until he finally manages to make it to the spot where Yuuri is sitting. As he slips into the barstool beside Yuuri, he starts to speak.

Well, ‘babble’ would be more accurate.

“Yuuri, I am so sorry,” he begins, “I got held in late, I tried to explain to my coach but he wouldn’t let me out, I honestly tried to hurry - !”

Yuuri holds up his hand, and Victor’s mouth snaps shut. He looks cautious, but Yuuri is no longer angry. To be honest, he’s pleased. He’d been afraid that Victor wouldn’t show up at all.

“It’s fine,” he says neutrally, not wanting to give away his relief. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I… Yeah,” Victor deflates slightly. “Still, I’m sorry. You must have been waiting a… Whoa.”

Victor’s eyes go wide, roaming over Yuuri’s body. Yuuri turns on the barstool to allow him a better view, not bothering to hide his smug smirk as the taller man’s face slowly turns a fine shade of red.

He’s in a tight black top, portions of mesh teasing at his bare skin, and leather leggings that look, according to Phichit, “painted on”; they show off his ass quite well. He’d also thrown on his silver-studded jacket, and at Mila’s insistence, his red six-inch heels. He hardly ever wore them outside the apartment, but even JJ chorused his agreement when their bassist held them up for inspection.

Yuuri silently sends his thanks to his bandmates, because Victor looks floored.

He runs a hand through his hair, smiling sweetly at Victor, who doesn’t look half-bad himself in fitted black jeans and a stylish coat.

“I was waiting a while, now that you mention it,” he says, crossing his legs. Victor’s eyes are glued to the heels. “I guess you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

That seems to snap him out of it. “I – y-yeah, sure.” He gulps nervously, but leans forward, closer to Yuuri. Yuuri leans in as well, still smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well.” Yuuri reaches out and touches Victor’s forearm, finding it delightfully toned. He must work out, he muses privately. “I’ve already had three drinks. I’m feeling a little… tipsy, so maybe it’s best if you just take me back to your place right now and fuck me senseless.”

Victor makes an odd, strangled noise at that, prompting Yuuri to raise an eyebrow.

“Y-You’re, uh,” Victor’s voice cracks, adorably, and he pauses for a moment to collect himself. “You’re really… forward, aren’t you?”

“Is that a problem?” Yuuri asks, nonchalant, though he begins to panic. He does come on a little strong, doesn’t he? Victor didn’t seem to mind it before, but…

Luckily, Victor assuages those fears before they can show on his face. “No, no! Not at all! I’m just not used to it…”

Yuuri’s smile softens, and brushes his hand down his sleeve, until it comes to a rest right on top of Victor’s own hand.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, you can just tell me,” he says quietly, so only Victor can hear. “I won’t be upset.”

Victor stares at him for a few moments. Then, a smile spreads across his lips, and Yuuri could almost swear he hears an angelic choir singing. How was it fair that Victor was so damn gorgeous?

His train of thought is cut off as Victor turns over his hand to lace his fingers through Yuuri’s.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he says back, just as hushed. “I promise. In fact, I… I really want to take you up on that offer.”

Yuuri blinks.

A smirk reappears on his face.

“Alright then, Victor,” he says, standing up. Victor stumbles to follow him. Yuuri leans up and whispers in the taller man’s ear, making him shiver. “Take me to your place.”

 


 

Victor doesn’t know how he manages to survive a car ride with Yuuri Katsuki for nearly ten minutes, but blessedly, he’s not yet collapsed by the time they reach his apartment. Is it possible to collapse from too much arousal? Probably not, but Yuuri is certainly trying to make it happen. The entire ride, he’d been licking his lips, staring at Victor with obvious intent; Victor, in turn, was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the road, and it was a miracle they hadn’t crashed before reaching their destination.

When Victor parks the car in front of his apartment complex, he all but rushes out the door to cross to the other side of the car to open Yuuri’s for him. The guitarist smiles, and it’s not his usual sexy smirk - it’s a small, gentle thing, that for some reason makes Victor’s heart soar out of his chest. Once they’re situated in his home, Yuuri shrugs off the leather studded jacket. It shows off his toned, slender arms, and he casts a flirty look back to Victor, whom he knows is staring, and winks.

Victor is so. Fucking. Lucky.

Yuuri takes a few steps into the apartment, his heels clicking gently on the wooden floors, as Victor hurriedly hangs their jackets up. His eyes land on a nearby photo, so he strolls over to get a better look.

“You have a dog?” he asks, conversational, prompting Victor to walk over as well. The photo he’s looking at is of Victor from just a year ago, along with Yuri, their grandfather, and Makkachin; Victor has his arms wrapped around the poodle’s neck, laughing joyously as the camera catches him in mid-bark. Nikolai is smiling at them, and even Yuri looks to be fighting off a fond expression. It’s one of Victor’s favorite pictures.

“Yes,” he says eventually, in response to Yuuri’s question. “He’s staying with my grandfather and little brother for the night.”

Yuuri smiles at the photo, something… wistful in his gaze. “He’s adorable. What’s his name?”

“Makkachin.” Victor braves stepping a little closer, mere centimeters away from Yuuri. “Do you… like dogs?”

Yuuri quietly chuckles. It sounds sad, for some reason. “I do,” he says, but before Victor can ask anything else, Yuuri turns around, placing his hands on Victor’s chest, acting as a brace so he can lean against the taller man. Though, in the heels, they’re practically the same height. Yuuri’s expression of wistfulness is gone, replaced suddenly by a hungry, near-impatient look. Victor almost stumbles back at the intensity of it, but luckily, he manages to keep his footing.

“Now, Victor,” Yuuri starts, his voice a low murmur. It should not go straight to Victor’s dick the way it does, but Victor’s far past being embarrassed about it now. “Why don’t you show me the bedroom?”

Victor takes a deep, shuddering breath, curls his hands around Yuuri’s slim waist, then lets it out. “Okay. But, uh, can I ask a favor?”

Yuuri tilts his head to the right. “Depends on what it is.”

“Can you… keep the heels on?”

Yuuri’s eyes light up when he laughs, Victor notices dazedly. As he leads the guitarist to his bedroom, he quietly decides that he’d like to see Yuuri laugh every day for the rest of eternity.

 


 

Hours later, Yuuri and Victor lie in a sweaty, satisfied heap on the latter’s bed, clothes strewn about like a tornado’s blown through the room, the sheets rumpled and definitely in need of a washing. Yuuri has his head pillowed on Victor’s chest, eyes wandering around. Victor is carding his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, and the gesture is more comforting that Yuuri would care to admit.

The sex was fantastic. Victor lived up to every promise he made during the week he and Yuuri communicated exclusively via sexting, which was saying something; they sexted a lot. Yuuri can already feel the pleasant ache in his body, the kind that will last for at least a few days, and he holds back a smile when he thinks of his next practice session with the band - they won’t be surprised in the slightest.

Though it was a little surprising to Yuuri. He’d thought that Victor talked a big game through texts, he hadn’t actually thought he’d follow through. But could you blame him? The man was a stuttering mess around Yuuri. Or at least, he had been so far. As soon as things got hot and heavy in the bedroom, however, it was like a switch had been flipped, and Victor quickly took charge, touching, kissing, and whispering sweet (though admittedly dirty) nothings to Yuuri as if he would vanish at any moment.

And Yuuri loved every second of it.

So he lets himself indulge in the feeling of post-sex bliss, nuzzling further into Victor’s chest. He’s not tired, per se, just content to lie there with him, so he can’t help it if his eye wanders. He hadn’t paid much attention to the decor of Victor’s bedroom - he’d had much better things to worry about, after all - but now that all was said and done, he allowed himself to observe.

It’s a large space, much like the rest of his apartment, and decorated with modern furniture. A couple of movie posters, written in Russian, hang on the walls, in addition to a few more photos of Victor’s dog, and one of who is presumably his younger brother as a toddler. Yuuri hides a smile against Victor’s skin - he’s very much a devoted older brother, if nothing else.

But then his eyes catch sight of something else. On the farthest wall from the bed, there’s a large, glass case. And in that glass case are various medals, though five in particular stand out. They’re all gold, gleaming slightly under the light, and even though he’s wearing his contacts, Yuuri squints.

“What is that?” he decides to ask. Victor hums dozily, glancing in the same direction Yuuri is facing.

“Oh, those? Those are just my medals.”

Yuuri blinks. “Medals for what?”

Victor shifts, which causes Yuuri to tilt his head up to look at him.

“Did I never say?” asks Victor, looking astonished. “I’m a figure skater. I won those medals in competitions.”

Yuuri stares at him. Then he glances back at the medals. The one in the dead center has a very familiar five-circle symbol emblazoned on it.

“Is that… Is that an Olympic medal ?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, fondly. “Sochi, 2014.”

Yuuri sits up on the bed, ignoring Victor’s displeased pout. “You’re an Olympian?!”

“Yes?” Victor sits up, too. “Should I have mentioned that before?”

Yuuri falters. “That’s… That’s usually something people like to brag about… Or at least something they bring up once in conversation…”

Victor gives a hangdog smile. “I wasn’t really thinking about it. Either people recognize me or they don’t. Besides, it’s not like there was a point where I could have brought it up. It would have been weird to say, ‘By the way, I’m the five-time World Champion in figure skating’ right after I told you how I would rim you until you cried.”

Yuuri lowers his head slightly - Victor does have a point. And he did mentioned something about a ‘coach’ earlier at the bar, didn’t he?

Still. “Five-time World Champion?” he squeaks.

“Hopefully six, this season,” Victor grins. “My brother will be competing in the same division as me this year, and he’s determined to beat me.” When Yuuri doesn’t reply right away, Victor’s smile fades. “Yuuri? Are you okay?”

Yuuri’s head snaps up, and he looks into Victor’s concerned eyes with a bit of chagrin. “Oh! Y-Yes, I’m fine… I just can’t believe it, that’s all… I slept with an Olympian and I didn’t even know…”

“Well, you know now,” says Victor. “To be fair, I just slept with a rock star.”

“Oh please,” Yuuri mutters. “It’s not like I’m David Bowie. It’s not even my day job.”

“Oh?” Victor leans against Yuuri, eyes brimming with curiosity. “So what is?”

Yuuri pointedly looks away. Victor pouts.

Yuuri,” he says pleadingly. “You know what my job is!”

Yuuri purses his lips. “... Fine. I’m… a ballet instructor.”

A beat passes.

“Wait, seriously?”

Yuuri shoves at him half-heartedly, averting his gaze. “Yes, seriously. What, is it that surprising?”

Victor looks at him with wonder evident in his features. “A bit. You’re a danseur and you’re in a rock band?”

“I went to school for dance,” Yuuri explains, though a bit defensively. “We started the band in college just for fun. We didn’t expect to get as popular as we did…”

“Wow,” says Victor. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Yuuri Katsuki?”

“You’re one to talk,” he snorts, but he lets Victor press feather-light kisses against his jaw anyway.

“No wonder you’re so flexible,” Victor murmurs. “I feel like I should’ve taken more advantage of that fact…”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh. “Well, there’s always room for a round four.”

He feels Victor, five-time World Champion, Olympic gold medalist, and most puzzling human he’s ever met, smile against his skin. He lets Victor push him back down onto the bed, their lips meeting in a soft kiss, and Yuuri supposes that this maybe isn’t just a hook up.

 


 

PHICHU: YUURI HOLY SHIT

PHICHU: YUURI

PHICHU: YUUUUUUURIIIII

PHICHU: WE JUST FOUND OUT SOME SHIT

JBAE: YUURI HOLY FUCK

JBAE: THAT VICTOR GUY IS A WORLD FAMOUS ATHLETE

JBAE: YUURI HE WAS ON TV

PHICHU: ARE U GETTIN POUNDED BY AN OLYMPIC ATHLETE RN????

PHICHU: U LITERALLY GOT OLYMPIC-LEVEL DICK HIGH FIVE YUURI

MILA-CHAN:  not_bad.jpg

 


 

Chapter Text


 

Makkachin tugs insistently against his leash as Yuri draws closer to Victor’s apartment, the familiar scent of home already reaching the poodle’s nose.

“Calm down, boy,” Yuri mutters under his breath, though he already knows that the dog isn’t going to listen. “We’re almost there.”

At Victor’s door, Yuri lets Makkachin paw at the wood as he gets out his spare key. As soon as he unlocks it, Makkachin shoots inside the apartment, leaving Yuri to trail in slowly after him.

“Oi, Victor!” the blond calls out. The apartment seems empty, but Yuri can hear the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. He frowns, but then he sighs to himself. Victor will be out in a few minutes, he guesses. In the meantime, he should probably feed Makkachin. The poodle’s been barking up a storm since they arrived.

With that in mind, Yuri turns to walk towards the kitchen, but he abruptly freezes, seeing someone that most definitely isn’t Victor sitting at the island counter. He’s smiling as he pets an overeager Makkachin, but he quickly glances up to see Yuri standing there, gaping at him.

It’s Yuuri Katsuki.

“Ah,” the guitarist’s lips part in surprise. “It’s Yuri, right? Victor is still in the shower.”

Yuri can only blink. It’s Yuuri Katsuki, but he looks way different than the night of the concert. His hair, instead of sleek and slicked-back, is an adorable, messy bedhead, and he’s not wearing any of his cool, rocker-chic clothing, either. Rather, he’s wearing a red and white jacket about a size too big for him that Yuri immediately recognizes - it’s Victor’s Olympic jacket.

“You, uh…” Yuri’s mouth flaps open uselessly. “W-What…”

Yuuri smiles at him – holy shit is his smile pretty – just as the sound of the shower stops, and the door to the bathroom swings open. Victor walks out, fully dressed (thankfully) in his practice clothes. He pauses upon seeing his slack-jawed little brother standing in the hallway, and he looks confused for all of two seconds before Makkachin barks and starts bounding towards him.

Then a bright grin lights up the older man’s face as he drops to his knees and opens his arms to embrace his affectionate pooch.

“Makka!” he laughs, the poodle licking several short stripes up his cheek. “Did you miss Papa? You did, didn’t you!”

For a moment, Yuri forgets about the musician in the kitchen and rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics.

“For fuck’s sake, he was only gone a day. Quit acting like it’s been years.”

“Like you don’t act the same way with your cat,” Victor retorts, though the bite is lost as he busies himself with ruffling Makkachin’s ears.

Yuri doesn’t reply. He can’t come up with a good comeback to that, anyway.

He hears a giggle, and he suddenly remembers the gorgeous guitarist not seven feet away. Yuuri is smiling fondly at the scene Victor and Makkachin make. He stands up and walks around the island, which leads to an interesting revelation.

He isn't wearing pants.

Luckily, Victor’s jacket is just long enough to preserve Yuri’s innocence, though he can still quite clearly see the long, shapely form of Yuuri’s legs, to which his eyes are riveted. There are… marks. Teeth-shaped marks, marring the milky skin of his thighs. And he’s limping.

Yuri’s eye twitches.

Yuuri doesn’t seem to notice his staring, however. Maybe it’s because Victor is now standing up and striding over to him, a hungry look in his eye.

“Is that my jacket?” he asks huskily.

Yuuri smirks and pats Victor on the cheek. “I was cold.”

“What about your jacket?”

“Couldn’t find it. Besides, this one’s warmer.”

“Mmhm,” Victor’s gaze slides not-so-subtly to the coatrack by the door, where Yuuri’s jacket is quite clearly hanging. Yuuri continues smiling at him as he looks back, and Victor’s own lips twitch up into a grin. “Well, it does look nice on you.”

Victor leans in to kiss him, which is when Yuri decides he’s had enough. He clears his throat rather loudly just as their lips are about to touch, prompting both older men to startle and look at him.

“Yeah, no, do that when I’m not here,” he hisses.

“Then leave,” retorts Victor, looking put-out by the interruption. Yuuri, to his credit, looks apologetic, so Yuri directs his glare solely at his older brother.

“Yakov wants us at the rink early, dipshit.”

“I know,” insists Victor. “I won’t be long.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at that, but Yuri decidedly does not want to know why, so instead, he says, “Too bad, you’re my ride. I walked here.”

Victor actually pouts, the big baby, but before he can come up with another protest, Yuuri speaks up, immediately calling his attention.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I already called a friend to pick me up. They’ll probably be here by the time I’m done showering.”

Victor’s pout only deepens. “We could’ve saved time if you just showered with me.”

Yuuri’s smile is coy. “Somehow, I very much doubt that.”

Yuri gags very loudly, but both older men ignore him. Makkachin pads over to the teen and paws at his leg, causing him to look down. The poodle stares up at him with beseeching eyes, clearly begging to be fed now that he’s had his morning fill of cuddles. He glances back at his brother and the guitarist, who are once again making stupid doe-eyes at each other, and sighs.

“I’m gonna feed Makka,” he announces in a monotone voice, walking towards the kitchen without so much as another glance in the couple’s direction. He focuses on filling Makkachin’s food dish, but still he can hear Victor whining a bit more about how Yuuri is a ‘tease’, and Yuuri’s amused but assuredly teasing response.

Footsteps then fade down the hallway, and when Yuri turns back around he sees that Yuuri’s gone, likely off to the bathroom to shower. Victor is staring longingly after him, sighing like a lovesick fool. Yuri stares at him as he sets the dog’s food down.

“So…” he begins awkwardly, calling his brother’s attention back to him. “You went out with Yuuri Katsuki.”

“You sound surprised,” replies Victor, who walks over to seat himself at the island.

“I didn’t think he was your type,” Yuri says, a tad irritably. “You’ve only ever dated other skaters before.”

“Well,” Victor rests his elbows on the counter and then puts his chin in his palms, smiling dazedly at the spot previously occupied by Yuuri, “there’s a first time for everything, Yura.”

Yuri watches his brother for a moment, not saying anything in reply. He’s seen that lovestruck expression on his face before, but never so quickly after meeting someone. Then again, the someone in question was Gorgeous Rockstar Yuuri Katsuki, so Yuri supposes he can cut Victor a little slack.

Then, abruptly, Victor’s face changes. He looks almost sad, huffing out a small breath of air before redirecting his gaze at the counter.

“Although, we’re not really dating.”

Yuri blinks. “You’re not?”

Victor shakes his head. “This was just a hook-up. I don’t know if he wants it to be more, but…”

“Then fucking ask him?” Yuri frowns, sounding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s not that easy!” Victor says back indignantly. “He’s so… forward , Yura. I think if he wanted to date me he would’ve said something by now.”

Yuri clicks his tongue , crossing his arms over his chest and sitting next to his brother. “Well, ask anyway. I don’t wanna deal with your self-pitying ass for a whole month just because you don’t fucking communicate properly.”

Victor, in response, stares at him. Then a wide, heart-shaped smile spreads across his face, to Yuri’s dismay. “Yura! I didn’t know you cared! You must really love me!”

Immediately, Yuri retches, flailing an arm out to slap Victor in the shoulder - not that it does much to wipe the look off his brother’s face. Victor responds by lunging forwards, clearly intending to hug Yuri, who retaliates by jumping out of the way, shouting at a pursuant Victor to knock it off.

By the time Yuuri leaves the shower, redressed in his attire from the night before, he finds Victor trapping his little brother in a headlock, laughing merrily and nuzzling into Yuri’s hair while the young teen screams bloody murder, kicking out his feet in a childish effort to get away.

Yuuri stares at the scene before him in bewilderment, which is when Yuri notices him and flushes a dark red color, redoubling his efforts to escape. Victor only laughs louder.

Prick.

 


 

The first thing Yuuri does upon arriving back at his apartment (along with Mila, who’d been the one to pick him up) is open his laptop and look up ‘Victor Nikiforov figure skater’.

As it turns out, the ‘figure skater’ part was a little superfluous, as the only famous Victor Nikiforov that Google seems to care about is the very same one who fucked Yuuri’s brains out last night. He’s met with hundreds of thousands of results, from an extensive Wikipedia page, to his official biography from the International Skating Union, to literally hundreds of fan pages.

But what really catches his eye, of course, are the videos.

Mila’s voice comes from over his shoulder. “Looking up your new beau?”

She’d asked more than a few questions during the car ride back from Victor’s place, though Yuuri had only smiled pleasantly and told her he had fun. Truthfully, it was hard to put into words, and he didn’t want to deal with Mila’s leering face when she really should’ve been focusing on the road.

Yuuri hums in response, queuing up a video of Victor’s most recent performance. ‘Victor Nikiforov 2016 World’s Championship - FS - Stay Close To Me (Aria)’, it reads. He feels the couch dip as Mila sits next to him to watch.

His breath nearly catches in his throat as Victor skates to the center of the ice; he’s resplendent. Hair carefully styled and wearing a gorgeous, pink costume, he looks like a prince. Even Mila lets out a quiet whistle, nudging Yuuri with her arm, but Yuuri can’t look away.

Especially not when the music starts.

It’s a soft, hauntingly beautiful aria, but Yuuri feels like half its effect comes from the way Victor moves. He’s like grace personified, gliding across the frozen rink like he’s floating above it, performing intricate choreography, dizzying spins, and exhilarating jumps that make both him and Mila gasp in astonishment. By the time it’s done, Victor is gazing skywards, his arms wrapped around himself.

The camera zooms in on his expression, and it’s here that Yuuri pauses. Something seems… off. It takes him just a few seconds to see it.

Victor looks sad.

Even when he breaks the pose to smile and wave at the audience, there’s something lingering in his eyes that Yuuri knows intimately as melancholy. Of course, the song sounded a bit sorrowful, but for such an emotion to remain, even as he moves off the ice to receive his score? Even when his score is an impressive one (Yuuri assumes; the crowd goes wild, and the elderly man next to Victor - his coach? - seems pleased enough with it), Victor’s smile is smaller than the one Yuuri saw just that morning.

He wonders why.

“Wow,” Mila says, snapping Yuuri out of his thoughts. He looks at her, and sees an awestruck expression he knows must be mirrored on his own. “I knew he’d be good and all, but… wow.”

“I know,” Yuuri says back, his voice soft with wonder.

“And you tapped that.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the amused grin that breaks across his face. “I did.”

Mila waggles her eyebrows, draping herself over Yuuri as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, affectionate as ever as she asks, “And is he as majestic in bed as he is on the ice?”

Yuuri purses his lips. “Well. I don’t think ‘majestic’ is really the word I’d use.” At Mila’s inquisitive look, he shrugs. “‘Beastly’ might be more accurate.”

A beat passes, then Mila whistles again, beaming at Yuuri with pride. “ Get it, Yuuri. Are you gonna see him again?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Yuuri’s gaze returns to his laptop, where the video has since ended, and Autoplay has started playing the next one. This one’s an interview, but it’s in French (which Victor can apparently speak? Wow.), so Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Isn’t it kind of... intimidating? He’s a world-famous athlete.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it also really cool? Phichit and JJ were practically vibrating out of their skin when they found out.”

Yuuri could picture that. Mila had explained in the car how exactly they came to discover Victor’s true identity - JJ had been watching a hockey game on the sports channel, only to see an advertisement for an upcoming skating competition, complete with a brief interview by the defending champion, Olympic gold medalist Victor Nikiforov. According to Mila, JJ and Phichit both gaped at the screen for a good five minutes before frantically getting out their phones to text Yuuri.

Yuuri hums noncommittally. “If he wants to hook up again, I guess I wouldn’t say no.”

Mila watches him carefully. “What if he asks you out on a date?”

Mila,” Yuuri groans. “We’ve already talked about this. I’m not ready.”

“That talk was like, four months ago! I’m just worried about you, Yuuri. We all are.”

At her concerned gaze, Yuuri winces. “I know. But still, I… I’m not sure. I barely know Victor.”

Mila squeezes him, pulling him in slightly to rest her chin on his head. “I know, zaichik, but that’s what dating is for; so you can get to know each other better. You never know, he could be special.”

Yuuri sighs miserably, his eyes going back to the screen of his laptop. Victor is smiling charmingly at the reporter, looking every bit a confident celebrity.

Truth be told, if he’d known who Victor was, he probably wouldn’t have approached him that night at the concert; Yuuri prefers to keep his one night stands short-lived and relatively anonymous. But, well, he hadn’t known who Victor was. Yuuri just saw a hot, adorably flustered man and went for him. And he...

He really liked what he got.

Frowning, Yuuri clicks out of YouTube and shuts his laptop. Mila releases her grip on him, though her concerned look hasn’t disappeared.

“Whatever,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “He’ll text if he wants to meet up again. I’ll worry about it then.”

“Yuuri…” Mila’s eyes are soft. “Not every guy is gonna be like Justin, you know?”

Yuuri flinches at the name, but he can’t bring himself to get angry at Mila for bringing it up.

“No, but I’m still not ready. So please, Mila, just... drop it.”

She stares at him for a few moments. Then, she sighs. “... Okay.”

It’s quiet between the two of them. Yuuri is staring at the top of his laptop, still a bit broody, when Mila’s phone pings, and she digs it out of her pocket.

“JJ and Phichit are on their way back,” she announces. “They got Chinese food.”

“Great,” Yuuri says, and he means it. “I’m starving.”

Mila quirks her eyebrow and gives an impish grin. “What, the Olympic champion didn’t feed you?”

He looks her in the eye, his expression perfectly flat.

“Not food, no.”

“Oh my God, Yuuri.”

 


 

Chapter Text


 

 

Victor lands his quad Lutz cleanly, skate touching down on the ice with all the style and grace he's come to be known for. Off to the side, Yakov nods approvingly, and Victor takes that as his permission for a break. Sweat beading down his face, he skates over to the benches, replaces his blade guards, and takes a seat next to Yuri, who is glaring furiously at nothing in particular.

So far, it's a typical day.

“What's wrong now, Yura?” he asks lightly, nudging his little brother ever so slightly in the arms. He gets what very well may be a hiss in response.

“Fuck off, I'm angry.”

“I can see that. Why?”

Yuri throws his arms in the air with an aggravated groan. “Fucking Lilia!”

Victor blinks. Glancing across the rink, he sees Yakov pause, having obviously just heard his ex-wife’s name shouted, along with an expletive, and the coach gives Victor a pointed look. Victor gestures helplessly to Yuri. Yakov merely huffs and turns away to continue coaching Georgi.

“Okay…” Victor decides to risk it. “What did Lilia do?”

“It's what she's not doing,” Yuri mutters. “She canceled my next three practices!”

“What? Why?”

“Some bullshit about a ‘promising young dancer’ she found. For fuck’s sake, she's supposed to be helping me! How am I supposed to work on my free skate if she's only halfway done with the choreography?!”

Victor purses his lips. “I'll talk to Yakov about it,” he promises, and the rigid mess of Yuri’s shoulders decreases just a bit. “Why don't you practice your short program in the meanwhile?”

Yuri huffs. “Fine. I still hate that sappy ‘Agape’ shit, though.”

He moves to take off his blade guards, not noticing the placid smile on Victor’s face. As he skates away, Victor calls out.

“Keep feeling that way and it’ll be a silver around your neck this year, Yura!”

As predicted, Yuri raises his hand violently, hand prominently displaying his middle finger, which makes Victor chuckle.

A moment passes, and then Chris slides up next to the divider, hip cocked lazily against it. Victor greets him, but Chris merely raises an eyebrow in response.

“So.”

Victor stares at him. “So…?”

“It's been a week,” Chris says, as if that's supposed to clarify things. At Victor’s blank look, the Swiss skater rolls his eyes. “Since your booty call with the Hot Yuuri.”

Victor tenses. “Ah. It has been, hasn't it? How time flies.”

Chris sighs. “So I take it you're not gonna see him again?”

“I mean…” Victor fiddles with the hem of his shirt, not meeting Chris’s eyes. “It's not like he's called me , either. I'm pretty sure it was a one-time thing, Chris.”

Chris looks entirely unconvinced, but to be fair, it's mostly because Victor looks upset as he says it.

“Right. So you've deleted him from your contacts, then?”

“... Well, no, but - !”

“And you don't have a bunch of draft texts on your phone addressed to him?”

“... How did you…?”

“I'm your best friend, Victor,” Chris reminds him. “I know you. Just ask him out. The worst he can do is say no.”

Victor presses his lips together. Chris doesn't stop looking at him, though, so he gives in.

“But what if he does say no? Then it's over for good. I don’t want that… I really like him, Chris.”

Chris actually looks sympathetic at that, but still, he says, “All the more reason to ask him out. If he says no, you spend a couple days sulking, mourning your lost love, and then you're back to normal. But if he says yes…”

He trails off meaningfully, waggling his eyebrow suggestively.

Victor can’t help but smile. “Ever the optimist, Chris.”

“One of us has to be. Now, text that hottie before I take your phone and do it for you. Or, worse yet, I’ll have Georgi do it.”

“Alright, alright,” Victor full-out laughs, pulling out his phone. He opens a new message to Yuuri - and pauses. He can feel Chris’s eyes still on him, so he glances up.

Chris doesn’t blink. “Not moving till I see you hit send, Victor.”

Victor holds back a sigh. Redirecting his attention to his phone, his fingers hesitate over the keypad. What do you even say to your one-time booty call you may or may not have a huge crush on, especially when you haven’t contacted him in over a week? What if Yuuri’s already moved on? What if he’s in someone else’s bed right now, shouting a name that’s not Victor’s -

Before he can spiral further downwards into his thoughts, his phone disappears from his vision and his hands. He lets out a yelp of protest as he sees Chris idly typing something.

Mortified, he can only watch as his best friend hits ‘send’, then tosses the phone back towards him.

“You’re welcome.”

Victor stares at his phone.

ME: are you free this fri? ;)

“A wink emoticon, Chris?” he whines. “I don’t use the wink emoticon!”

Chris shrugs. “Maybe Yuuri doesn’t know that yet.”

“I hate you.”

Victor’s phone buzzes just then, almost startling him into dropping it to the floor. But since he doesn’t, he’s able to look at the new message on the screen with wide eyes.

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: I am. U wanna meet at my place?

Victor stares. He sees Chris’s shadow as his friend looms over him to read the message, too.

“Say yes,” Chris stage-whispers.

Victor jolts into action, hurriedly typing out a response.

ME: sounds great. Six?

YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: how abt 8? That’s when my roommates are leaving. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves, all night.

Chris whistles, and Victor tries to move his phone out of his view. He doesn’t succeed, but replies to Yuuri anyway.

ME: Great! Txt me the address?

Moments later, Yuuri does. Victor blinks, staring at the text, then lifting his head to look at Chris. His best friend looks incredibly proud.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Victor’s mouth twists. “We’re just going to hook up again.”

“Except this time, you’re going to ask him out properly. I find that being thoroughly fucked makes me a bit more compliant, maybe Yuuri is the same.”

Chris.”

Chris laughs, pushing off the divider. “Also, change his contact name. Not that I doubt he has a great ass, but it’s not very romantic.”

 


 

The final notes of a guitar riff echo in the studio, and when it passes, Phichit cheers.

“That was awesome!” he shouts, though he’s mindful of the mic in his face, moving away so he doesn’t burst the eardrums of the techs listening on the other side of the glass. He’s seated at his drum set, and around him are Mila, JJ, and Yuuri, each holding their guitars and wearing similar looks of satisfaction.

“He’s right, you know,” Celestino announces over the speakers. They turn to see their producer, an older man with a thick ponytail and bright white teeth, grinning at them from the other side of the window. “That was your best session yet. Especially you, Yuuri; I’ve never seen you play like that before.”

Yuuri flushes, but before he can say thank you, JJ chimes in with, “We have.”

Mila continues. “He always plays unusually well when he’s frustrated.”

Celestino frowns. “Frustrated?”

“Sexually,” elaborates Phichit, ignoring the glare Yuuri sends his way.

The producer’s eyes widen a fraction, surprised. Then he huffs out a laugh. “I’m not going to ask,” he says, smiling at Yuuri’s grateful expression. “You four just keep up the good work, and this album will definitely be a hit.”

They answer him with a chorus of ‘yes, sirs’, and then Celestino turns away to speak with the techs at the booth, his face away from the mic, so they can’t hear his voice anymore. As soon as that’s apparent, Yuuri turns to his bandmates with a frown.

“Seriously, guys?”

Phichit nods. “Seriously. It’s been a week, Yuuri, yet you’re acting like you haven’t had sex in months.”

“I am not!”

“That Victor guy must’ve been good,” muses JJ. “You should call him - !”

He’s cut off by Yuuri throwing his hands up in the air. “Are any of you even listening to me?”

“We are, zaichik, we’re just electing to ignore you,” smiles Mila.

Yuuri gives her a baleful look, but says nothing more as he moves to unplug his guitar and put it away. He hears the shuffling of his bandmates doing the same with their own equipment, and for a moment, he assumes that they’ve dropped it, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Until he feels an arm sling around his shoulders, nearly throwing him off-balance, the smell of JJ’s cologne filling his nose.

“Seriously, Yuuri, you can’t expect us to believe you’re gonna be happy with one-night stands the rest of your life,” says JJ. To his credit, his tone is softer than before, causing Yuuri to relax marginally, his annoyance replaced with trace amounts of guilt.

“I’m not saying that,” he demurs, shrugging off JJ’s arm to secure his guitar case strap in its place. “I just don’t think I’m ready.”

Phichit groans dramatically. “ Yuu ri. It’s been months since - !”

“I know!” Yuuri practically shouts. His bandmates stiffen in shock. He lowers his gaze to the ground, grimacing. “I know, okay? Justin was months ago and I’m over him, I am, but… What if Victor’s just like him?”

“What if he’s not?” counters Mila.

“Yeah, just because your second boyfriend was a dick doesn’t mean everyone after him will be, too,” JJ pipes in. “I mean, look at your first boyfriend; he was amazing.”

Yuuri looks at JJ, unimpressed. “JJ, you were my first boyfriend.”

JJ looks around. “Isn’t that what I said?”

It’s quiet for a moment, but suddenly, despite himself, Yuuri cracks a smile. “Okay, you were decent.”

Phichit and Mila are giggling as JJ grins. “What I’m saying is, people don’t follow patterns. Victor could be an asshole, maybe, but he could be really nice, too.”

Yuuri fidgets, readjusting his hold on his guitar case. “I mean… It’s not like he’s called me, either.”

Before Yuuri can even blink, however, Phichit sneaks up on him and pickpockets his phone, holding it aloft in victory.

“Then you’ll just have to call him first!”

Yuuri looks horrified. “Phichit!”

Phichit laughs, opening Yuuri’s phone to messages, when it suddenly pings with an incoming text. Phichit glances down at the number on the screen, his grin widening. “Well, well, speak of the devil.”

Yuuri frowns. “What?”

“‘Are you free this fri?’” Phichit reads aloud. “Wink emoticon. Ooh, how bold.”

“Wh - Did Victor send that?” Yuuri asks, incredulous.

“It’s under his name,” Phichit replies, all the while tapping his fingers on Yuuri’s phone. “Unless you’re texting another guy named Victor who wants to ask you out.”

“I’m not… Wait, what are you doing?”

“Aaaaand send.”

Yuuri pales. “Did you just…?”

Unashamedly, Phichit presents the screen to his three friends, showing the reply he’d just sent to Victor in Yuuri’s name.

ME: I am. U wanna meet at my place?

Phichit!”

“Yuuri, trust me, Saturday morning you will be thanking me.”

Yuuri swipes his phone away from the drummer and glares. Just as he does, it pings with another text. Flushing, he looks down to read it, aware that JJ, Phichit, and Mila are crowding over him to do the same.

VICTOR: sounds great. Six?

“Six on Friday?” JJ frowns. “The Canadiens are playing a game then.”

Mila huffs. “Can’t you watch that somewhere else?”

“Hockey only last like, an hour, right?” asks Phichit. “Tell him eight. That’ll give us plenty of time to clear the premises.”

Yuuri pouts at them, but reluctantly does as Phichit says. Truth be told, he’s a bit giddy, excited that Victor’s contacted him after a week of nothing. He should be annoyed, he knows. But then, he decides he can exact his ‘revenge’ on Victor when they meet on Friday.

ME: how abt 8? That’s when my roommates are leaving. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves, all night.

JJ fans himself after reading the message. “Oh, Yuuri, how scandalous!”

Yuuri elbows him.

VICTOR: Great! Txt me the address?

He does, and once he hits send he finds himself letting out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He feels Mila grab his arm and shake him back and forth excitedly, which brings him out of his momentary trance. Her happy chatter, along with JJ and Phichit’s, quickly fill Yuuri’s ears.

He glances one last time at his phone - Victor’s replied with a smiley face and a ‘ see you on friday!’ - and feels his lips form a silly little grin.

He finds himself really looking forward to Friday.

 


 

Chapter Text


 

 

By the time Friday comes around, Victor’s a nervous wreck.

He has to leave his apartment in a few minutes, otherwise he’ll be late; he knows this, but he can’t help catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and find that his outfit just doesn’t work, and if he’s going on a date, he needs to look amazing.

And then he has to remind himself: it’s not a date, not yet. He and Yuuri are just… hooking up again. Victor plans on asking him out properly afterwards, honestly. Daydreams about taking Yuuri out for coffee or maybe an early lunch have been all that’s kept the anxiety of meeting him again at bay.

Finally, after Makkachin barks rather loudly in a way that seems to suggest impatience, Victor deems himself ready. He brings Makkachin to his grandfather’s house first, valiantly ignoring the knowing look Nikolai gives him as he drops off his dog, and hurries to the address Yuuri sent him; it’s an apartment in a complex only fifteen minutes from Victor’s own.

After he parks his car, he makes his way to the correct apartment number. When he finds it, he hesitates for a few moments, smoothing down his v-neck t-shirt for the nth time that evening. Finally, he lifts his hand and knocks on the door.

After an agonizing seconds-long wait, the door opens, revealing Yuuri. Victor’s breath catches in his throat, as it had done every other time he's seen the guitarist.

Yuuri is wearing a washed-out pair of skinny jeans (because evidently his wardrobe does not contain pants that don't mold perfectly to his toned, shapely legs), and a loose, off-the-shoulder pastel top with Japanese characters emblazoned upon it. His hair isn't styled, so it hangs fluffy and tousled over his forehead. Most interesting of all, though, are the blue-frame glasses resting on Yuuri’s nose.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at Victor’s silence. “Hi.”

Victor startles. “H-Hey.”

Smiling, the shorter man steps aside, allowing Victor to enter the apartment.

It's an unusual sight for Victor; unlike his own apartment, which is obviously, for lack of a better term, a bachelor’s pad, it's clear to anyone who walks in here that Yuuri has several roommates. A woman’s jacket is resting on the edge of a sofa, and an eclectic mix of movie posters decorate the walls, along with a hockey team pennant pasted here and there. He’s fairly sure Yuuri’s not a hockey guy.

He feels Yuuri sidle up next to him, so he turns his head to face him. Victor offers the best smile he can muster, heart soaring when Yuuri smiles back.

“Lovely place,” he comments.

Yuuri chuckles. “Aside from the clutter, I guess it is.”

“Your roommates are in your band, right? Where are they?”

Yuuri nods and steps closer, humming as he wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders; Victor inhales sharply, but Yuuri replies before he can say or do anything.

“They’re out. Staying the night at different places, too,” he murmurs, pulling himself flush against Victor so that their chests are touching.

“R-Right,” Victor manages, but right now it feels like his tongue is actively trying to jump into Yuuri’s mouth. He clears his throat as best he can and just goes for it . “S-So, uh… Where’s your room?”

For a moment, Yuuri’s eyes widen, as if stunned by Victor’s sudden boldness. Before Victor can get too conscious about it, though, he smiles, and unwinds his arms from Victor’s shoulders to hold his hands instead. He starts leading Victor further into the apartment, in a hallway with four doors. He opens one of them and walks inside, not breaking eye contact with Victor at all.

Victor barely has time to observe the room - it’s tidy and modest, and blue seems to be Yuuri’s favorite color, judging by the bedding and accents - before Yuuri shuts the door and pounces on him with a fierce kiss. Victor gasps into Yuuri’s mouth and reels back, saved from falling on his ass only by Yuuri’s bed, which his legs hit, and they both topple over onto the soft sheets.

The impact causes their groins to grind against each other, and the soft noise Yuuri lets out at that friction flips a switch in Victor. Not one to be outdone, he grabs Yuuri by the waist and flips him over, so now Victor is towering over him, eyes hungrily raking over the shorter man’s form.

Yuuri returns his gaze and bites his lip, fingers trailing over his own stomach, lifting his loose top to show off his toned stomach. His nipples also become visible, and Victor, having no self-restraint, dips his head down to take one of the pink buds into his mouth, as his fingers pinch the other. Yuuri throws his head back and whines Victor’s name, arching his back to thrust his chest harder against Victor’s mouth.

Victor feels a hand slide into his hair and grip tightly, and at the same time, Yuuri bucks his hips. The shorter man’s groin rolls against Victor’s thigh, allowing him to feel the growing bulge in his jeans.

Desire mounting, Victor pulls off Yuuri’s chest, leveling the shorter man with a heated look.

“Strip,” he says, voice low and husky.

Yuuri shudders in delight as he scrambles to obey. He stands up, off the bed, grabbing his shirt by the bottom hem and tugging it off his body in one swift motion. His pants are next, and he turns around with a devilish smirk so that Victor can stare at his ass as he slowly peels the denim fabric down his legs. Victor’s eyes widen as he watches - Yuuri’s taken off his underwear along with the jeans, so he’s left with the lovely sight of the guitarist’s bare, pert ass. But that’s not all he sees.

A neon pink plug lies snuggled between Yuuri’s cheeks, made of some kind of opaque plastic. It wiggles as Yuuri straightens his back, tossing a haughty look over his shoulder. He smiles at Victor’s dumbstruck expression.

“You alright back there?” he asks teasingly.

Victor jolts. His stare whips up from the plug to Yuuri’s face. Then it goes back to the plug. His mouth suddenly feels very dry.

Yuuri turns on his heel and saunters over to Victor, stopping just in front of him. Victor can only stare up at him in awe. How is this man fucking real?

A pale hand comes up, fingers curling under Victor’s jaw to give it a light caress. The other hand comes up to slowly remove Yuuri’s glasses, but Victor doesn’t pay attention to where he sets them down.

“Victor,” Yuuri starts, the low whisper of his voice causing shivers to run up Victor’s spine, “can I tell you what I want?”

Victor swallows with an audible gulp as his hands go to grip Yuuri’s waist. “W-What is it?”

Now Yuuri’s arms are resting on Victor’s shoulders, one of his hands playing absently with the soft silver hair at the back of Victor’s neck. He has one knee slotted between Victor’s legs on the bed, and he flicks his gaze down towards the skater’s groin. He licks his lips.

“I want you in my mouth,” says Yuuri. “And then I want to ride you so hard I forget my own name.” He smiles sweetly at Victor. “Does that sound good?”

Blyad,” Victor swears in Russian. “God, yes, Yuuri, please.”

Yuuri chuckles, sliding to the floor before Victor’s even finished speaking. Victor widens his legs to accommodate him, breath hitching at the sight of Yuuri’s face right at his crotch. He’s already halfway hard, so there’s a sizeable bulge in his pants that Yuuri admires for a moment, before his hands go for Victor’s zipper. At the slightest brush of Yuuri’s fingers, Victor feels himself twitch.

This might not end well, he realizes. Before, he had the upper hand, he surprised Yuuri and ended up dominating him thoroughly in bed. But now Yuuri’s the one surprising him… Victor doesn’t know how long he can last, especially if Yuuri’s about to suck him off.

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by cold air hitting his dick, and warm fingers curled around the base. Yuuri’s taken him out of his pants, and right now, he seems content to just stroke Victor to full hardness, eyeing his member like it’s a fine piece of art.

“I don’t know if I said it before,” says Yuuri, voice sultry, “but I really love your cock, Victor.”

Victor’s blush darkens, both at Yuuri’s words, and the fact that said cock visibly twitches in Yuuri’s hand. Before he can reply, however, Yuuri leans forwards and licks at the shaft. He leaves a long, wet stripe of saliva in his wake. Victor grips the edge of the bed tightly. He keeps staring down at Yuuri, utterly mesmerized by the erotic picture he makes.

Yuuri presses light kisses to the base of his cock, then travels down further to mouth at his balls. All the while, his hand is pumping the shaft, and it’s not long before Victor is at full mast. Precum dribbles down from the head and onto Yuuri’s fingers, making each stroke slicker and hotter.

Victor’s teeth gnaw at his bottom lip. Yeah, he’s not going to last very long at this rate.

His fingers thread their way into Yuuri’s hair, giving the dark locks a gentle tug. “Yuuri, please…”

Yuuri looks up at him, and Jesus Christ. It’s just not fair, having to look at Yuuri with Victor’s cock resting on his face, mouth on his skin. What did Victor ever do to deserve this?

As if sensing his thoughts, Yuuri smirks and pulls his head back. For a moment, Victor thinks that he’ll move on to the actual fucking now, but as always, Yuuri surprises him.

In this instance, the surprise was Yuuri opening his mouth wide and swallowing him down to the very root.

FUCK,” Victor shouts, legs jerking at the unexpected and sudden sensation. Yuuri makes a muffled sound beneath him - is he laughing? Victor can’t even bring himself to get upset, because the noise sends vibrations around his dick, and he tightens his hold on the guitarist’s hair. “Y-Yuuri, that’s not fair…”

Yuuri only hums, pulling his head back a few inches and bobbing it back down, sucking Victor in earnest now. The sounds - slurps, gags, throaty moans, the works - coming from the man were obscene. Victor glances at the ceiling in desperation, as if to ask God why he was being punished with the most gorgeous, seductive, enthralling human being to ever walk this earth.

This goes on for a few minutes - Victor’s managed to calm himself somewhat, though he knows damn well he’ll never be the same with the visual of his cock in Yuuri’s mouth now permanently embedded in his mind.

Yuuri finally releases his dick, lips swollen and glistening from his efforts. He pants, but there’s a satisfied smirk on his face as he looks at Victor, who’s flushed and sweating and so very obviously fighting off a climax. Yuuri turns to the nightstand beside his bed and opens the drawer, rummaging around for a few moments. Victor watches with mild interest, though he thinks he knows what Yuuri’s looking for.

His suspicions are confirmed when Yuuri withdraws a small bottle and a foil-wrapped packet from the nightstand. Yuuri tosses the bottle so that it lands next to Victor, and he keeps the condom in his hands, already working at tearing the packaging open.

He takes out a pink circle, but instead of rolling it onto Victor’s cock like he expects him to, Yuuri pops the condom into his mouth. Victor barely has time to ask what the hell he’s doing when Yuuri, once again, deepthroats the skater’s dick. When Yuuri pulls back, Victor finds his cock covered rather well with a pink condom.

He stares at Yuuri, hysteria rising in his chest.

Oh my God.

“Did you just - !?”

He doesn’t get to finish as Yuuri surges up and pounces on him, straddling his lap and kissing him furiously. Victor’s hands automatically go to Yuuri’s waist, fingers curling into his skin with a tight, possessive vigor.

When Yuuri breaks the kiss, he gives Victor a half-lidded gaze and licks his lips again. “What’s the matter, Victor?” he asks, grinning. “You look like you’re ready to tap out.”

Victor’s gaze hardens. His hands slide lower to grab Yuuri’s ass and spread his cheeks apart. Yuuri lets out a gasp, which Victor revels in for a moment, before his fingers find the base of the plug. He pushes and pulls at it experimentally, not enough to dislodge it from its place, but enough that Yuuri pushes back with all the fervor of a man about to get fucked.

Which is to say, a lot.

Victor gets a more secure grip on the plug and tugs at it harder, fucking Yuuri with it. The guitarist whimpers and tosses his head back, moaning Victor’s name. Finally, Victor pulls the plug all the way out, discarding it carelessly to the floor. He slips a finger, dry, into Yuuri’s entrance, and it goes easily.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Victor pulls his finger out and grabs the bottle of lube. He spreads it on his cock, then circles a bit around Yuuri’s twitching hole for good measure. Yuuri seems as impatient as he feels, as he lifts his ass up and positions himself over Victor’s dick as soon as he tosses the bottle aside.

“Make it good,” Victor says, feeling a little bolder now that Yuuri’s eagerness is beginning to show. “Because if it’s not, I’ll just have to pin you to the bed and take what I need myself.”

He sees Yuuri shiver at his words, but he also sees a glimmer in his eyes, like he’s accepted the challenge. Yuuri kisses him again just as he drops down onto his cock, sheathing it in a velvety heat. They groan into each other’s mouths as they pause for a moment to get used to the sensations coursing through them both.

Yuuri’s arms are wrapped around his neck, and Victor’s hands grip the guitarist’s waist securely, holding him in place, for now. Their chests are pressed together, and Yuuri moans some more at the feeling of Victor’s t-shirt rubbing up against his sensitive nipples. Victor barely even realizes he’s still mostly dressed, and that Yuuri is entirely naked in his lap. Honestly, the idea is more than a little hot; his cock twitches inside of Yuuri, which he must feel, because he tilts his head back and smiles at Victor.

“Are you ready, baby?” Yuuri asks.

Victor’s fingers flex against Yuuri’s pale skin. He almost, almost trembles at the endearment, but he’ll be damned if he lets Yuuri get the upper hand again. So instead, he meets his gaze head-on and smirks back.

“Ride me, Yuuri,” he whispers. “Fuck yourself on my cock like you were made for it.”

Yuuri’s mouth falls open just a smidge as his entire body shudders. Then, without wanting to delay any further, he does just that; lifting his hips, Victor admires the flex of his muscles for a moment before he comes back down, starting a steady rhythm that has them both panting in no time.

Yuuri pushes at Victor until he’s lying on his back, and he rests his palms on the skater’s chest, presumably for leverage. He starts riding faster, harder , the sound of skin slapping on skin filling both their ears.

“Mm, fuck, Victor,” Yuuri moans, “So big… Fuck, you’re so deep inside me…!”

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes in reply, staring in awe at the man on top of him.

It’s like before, when he was watching Yuuri perform on stage. He’d been sweaty and flushed and entirely focused, then, too. The difference now is where his focus is directed; before, it had been on the performance, the music. Now, Yuuri is focused on one simple thing - pleasuring them both.

In an effort to return the favor, Victor wraps one of his hands around Yuuri’s leaking erection, which had been bobbing up and down furiously with the speed of Yuuri’s bouncing. Yuuri cries out at the touch, tossing his head back, but his pace doesn’t slow at all. Victor begins pumping Yuuri’s cock, trying his best to match the shorter man’s rhythm.

Yes, Victor, oh God,” he whimpers.

Victor bites his lip. Yuuri’s insides are clenching around him, almost dizzying with its intense heat and pressure, and the lewd picture Yuuri presents is certainly helping him move faster and faster towards his orgasm. The bed is creaking dangerously beneath them, the sheets are slowly becoming soaked with sweat, as are Victor’s clothes - but he can’t bring himself to care about any of that. He thumbs at the slit of Yuuri’s dick, watching with a rapt eye as precum spurts forth from it and covers his fingers. Above him, Yuuri sobs, slamming his ass down at a certain angle, and then he screams.

Ah, Victor thinks distantly, through the haze of his own pleasure. Must’ve hit his prostate.

Yuuri grinds in his lap, rubbing the head of Victor’s cock against that spot again in a continuous barrage of pleasure. He’s babbling now, sounding almost delirious. Victor’s pretty sure he’s speaking Japanese, too, though he’s not familiar enough with the language to be sure. Still, going by previous patterns, he’s 97% sure that whatever Yuuri’s saying, it’s likely to make even a pornstar blush.

Victor jerks his hips up, trying to push even further into that tight heat, but Yuuri’s got him pinned to the bed. Tightness coils in his stomach, and he can feel himself growing closer to the edge; though, judging by Yuuri’s increasingly erratic pace, he’s getting close, too.

“Yuuri…” pants Victor, “Yuuri, fuck, I’m gonna…”

Yuuri starts grinding faster. “Yes, yes , come on, Victor… Fuck me!”

Victor growls, low and possessive in the back of his throat. “ With pleasure.”

Yuuri yelps as his back hits the bed, blinking rapidly as he adjusts to the sight of Victor above him. But Victor doesn’t give him much time before he pulls back and slams back inside his ass, causing him to shout and cling to the skater’s shoulders. His fingernails are digging hard into Victor’s skin, but he doesn’t care; he just continues his brutal pace, chasing after his climax with an almost terrifying single-mindedness. All the while, Yuuri moans and writhes beneath him.

“V-Victor, I’m…” Yuuri gasps. “ Shit, fuck, I’m coming!”

Before the words even finish leaving his lips, Yuuri’s dick erupts, splattering come onto his own chest. His hole flutters wildly around Victor’s cock, which is the last push he needs before he comes as well, hips stuttering against Yuuri’s ass as he fills up the condom, still buried in the shorter man’s heat.

Victor just barely manages to avoid collapsing on top of Yuuri by propping himself up on his forearms. The same cannot be said of Yuuri, who practically melts into the bed, a quivering mess of a man. Victor rolls over and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of Yuuri’s bedroom with wide eyes.

Holy shit. He didn’t think the sex would be less intense than the last time, but that was…

He glances at Yuuri, startled to find the guitarist looking back at him. His post-sex face is unfairly cute, he thinks.

Yuuri giggles, and Victor realizes with a jolt of embarrassment that he said that last part out loud.

“Yours isn’t so bad, either,” Yuuri says teasingly.

Victor flushes, which seems to amuse Yuuri even more. Thankfully, Yuuri doesn’t say anything more; instead, he pulls himself up into a sitting position, stretching his arms above his head. Victor takes a moment to admire the way Yuuri’s muscles are pulled taut - a dancer’s muscles, he reminds himself. Then Yuuri reaches over to the foot of the bed and neatly picks up his glasses, which have been lying undisturbed the entire time. Victor’s honestly surprised they didn’t fall off the bed due to their raucous lovemaking.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he comments.

Yuuri looks back at him and shrugs. “I usually wear contacts. They don’t stay on my face very well when I perform.”

“They look nice.”

Yuuri smiles at that. “You have a thing for glasses, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“I think I might have a thing for everything about you,” Victor replies honestly.

Yuuri blinks, surprised, while Victor cringes internally at himself.

“I-I just mean…” He moves to sit up too, so he and Yuuri are seated side by side, though the guitarist has crossed his legs, and Victor’s own hang over the side of the bed. “You’re a very alluring person, Yuuri.”

Yuuri averts his eyes, as if somehow embarrassed. “Well… Thank you.” A self-deprecating smile curls over his lips. “But to be fair, you don’t know me all that well.”

“I’d like to get to know you better,” Victor blurts. Yuuri’s gaze snaps back to him, and he almost shrinks back at the stunned look in his eyes. But he persists, pushing past his own discomfort and scooting closer to Yuuri. “I-I mean… I was thinking, maybe, we could… Go out for coffee sometime?”

Yuuri blinks again. “You mean like… a date?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Yuuri stares at him, with such an unreadable expression that Victor begins to fidget nervously. Is he going to say no? Was this just a sex thing after all? Shit, why did he ever bother listening to Chris and Yuri? Of course Yuuri’s not interested in him -

“Okay.”

Victor snaps out of his quickly-spiralling thoughts to stare at Yuuri. “What?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I said ‘okay’. Let’s go out for coffee. Tomorrow morning, maybe? I know a cafe we can go to.”

Victor gawks at him. Then Yuuri raises an eyebrow, and he remembers that he needs to reply.

“T-That sounds wonderful!” he says, smiling widely. “I can’t wait…”

Yuuri nods, mostly to himself, then glances at Victor again. “... You should probably take off your clothes, you know.”

Victor looks down at his attire - his red v-neck is soaked through with sweat, and a little of Yuuri’s come managed to stain it as well. His dark jeans look alright, though Victor’s now flaccid cock makes for a somewhat embarrassing picture as it hangs out of his fly, still wrapped in a used pink condom.

“Right…” he murmurs, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head. That, and soon enough, his pants and underwear join Yuuri’s clothes on the floor. Then he carefully pulls off the condom and ties it, before disposing of it in the trash can placed conveniently by the bed.

As soon as he finishes, Yuuri climbs into his lap with considerable dexterity, taking into account how utterly wrecked he’d been just a few minutes earlier. He kisses Victor before he can ask what he’s doing, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s shoulders. Victor shudders as he feels the drying come on Yuuri’s chest smear onto his own, and to his surprise, his cock stirs in interest.

When they part, Yuuri licks his lips and smirks, looking very much like a predator eyeing his prey.

“I hope you didn’t think we were done,” he mutters, circling his hips in a way that grinds his plush ass against Victor’s now very interested dick. “We have the apartment to ourselves all night, remember? I’m not finished with you yet.”

Victor doesn’t even bother to hide his groan. “You’re going to kill me, kotyenok… I might not even make it to the morning.” Even as he speaks, his hands wander around Yuuri’s back to slide down, fingers teasing at the skin just above Yuuri’s ass.

Yuuri chuckles. “That’s too bad… You’d miss out on some really good coffee.”

Victor looks at him, grinning, and pulls Yuuri down for another kiss. There’s not a lot of talking - safe for work talking, anyway - after that.

 


 

Chapter Text

After a quick shower together (that ended up being not so quick), Yuuri and Victor get into the latter’s car and drive, with Yuuri providing directions to the cafe. As Victor drives, Yuuri finds himself glancing every now and again at the skater. Partly because, well, it’s kind of hard to not look at Victor; the man is almost infuriatingly handsome. And partly because Victor isn’t wearing his red v-neck from the night before.

While he’s still in his dark jeans, which remained unsoiled from their nighttime activities, he’s now also clad in a teal sweatshirt. It’s just the right size on him, whereas on Yuuri, it’s a little on the big side, which is the reason Yuuri chose to lend it to him. Yuuri can’t help but smile a little at the sight of Victor wearing his clothes, chatting giddily about this and that as they drive, as if it were a perfectly normal thing for him to do.

So far, the morning is off to a great start.

They pull into the parking lot of a small building, with the words ‘ Ice Castle Cafe’ emblazoned on the sign out front. Its outer appearance is quaint, and Victor remarks so as they walk towards the door.

“Ah, it’s so pretty in here!” Victor continues, once they’ve entered, a bell chiming to signal their arrival. He’s got a wide smile on his face that makes Yuuri smile back.

The interior of Ice Castle Cafe is indeed pretty; warm lights illuminate the space, helped by the large windows that let in natural light. It’s decorated with blue and white furnishings, and crystalline fairy lights are strung all across the ceiling. A few people of different ages are seated at various tables, and they glance up to acknowledge the new presence briefly before going back to their coffee and food.

Yuuri leads Victor to his favorite spot in the cafe - a table by the window - just as a young woman exits from a door behind the counter. She looks at the pair of them and grins brightly.

“Ah, Yuuri! Ohayou!” she calls out, quickly stepping out from behind the counter to approach them. She’s a very pretty woman, her long brunette hair tied into a messy bun. Around her waist is a pale blue apron with the cafe logo on it.

“Ohayou, Yuuko-chan,” Yuuri responds warmly.

“Oh,” Yuuko pauses as she reaches the table, now seemingly having taken notice of Victor. Her eyes widen. “And... who’s this?”

“Victor,” he says, smiling politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Yuuko nods at him, blushing ever so slightly. Yuuri gets it, he really does. Having that heart-shaped smile directed at you is enough to make anyone blush. But she still looks slightly surprised, which is what he doesn’t understand.

“Y-You too,” she returns. “S-So, uh, what can I get you two?”

They order, and Yuuko skitters off to make their drinks for them. Victor watches her go for a few seconds before turning back to Yuuri.

“You must come here often,” he comments.

“Often enough,” shrugs Yuuri. “Yuuko-chan and her husband are good friends. We bonded over our homesickness for Japan,” he jokes, though the smile on his face is certainly genuine.

Victor tilts his head, expression curious. “How long have you been in Detroit?”

Yuuri pauses. “I moved here for college, so… About five years now? I mean, I’ve visited Japan since then, obviously.”

“But why Detroit?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… You said you went to school for dance, yes? Detroit isn’t exactly known for its dance programs. It’s not New York, at the very least.”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s true. But, well, those kinds of schools cost money. A lot more than I had, so…” he shrugs again. “Besides, my old teacher from my hometown moved out here to open her own studio. She offered me a place to stay and some part-time work as an instructor. Which ended up becoming full time after I graduated.”

Victor hums. “That was kind of her.”

“It was,” Yuuri smiles. A few moments of silence pass between them, so Yuuri clears his throat and straightens his posture. “Anyway, enough about me.”

“But I like learning about you,” Victor honest-to-god pouts. Yuuri bites back a laugh and instead adopts a stern expression.

“It’s not fair if I’m the only one sharing their life story.” The guitarist leans in, resting his elbows on the table, eyeing Victor intently. “Tell me about you, Victor Nikiforov.”

Victor mirrors his actions. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters… Why are you in Detroit? I read that you used to live in St. Petersburg?”

Victor raises an eyebrow, and looks entirely too delighted as he asks, “Did you Google me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blushes. “If you found out you were sleeping with an Olympic athlete, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have to. I’m the Olympian.”

“Just answer the question.”

The taller man chuckles. “Long story short, it was because of my parents.”

“Oh, really?”

“They wanted me to improve my English, and my grandfather already lived in Detroit, so it was perfect. My coach even agreed to move to my new rink to continue my training. I ended up ‘flourishing’, or so my mother says, so well that they decided to give my brother the same treatment.”

“Ah… Yuri Plisetsky, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“Why do you two have different surnames?”

Victor smiles at that. “What, Google didn’t tell you that?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“It was at his insistence. He didn’t want people to hear ‘Yuri Nikiforov’ and forever think of him as just Victor Nikiforov’s little brother. So he took our mother’s maiden name when he started skating competitively. Not that people don’t still know we’re related, but I suppose he likes having his own name.”

“He seems like a very… spirited kid.”

“That’s an understatement, Yuuri, believe me.”

Yuuko comes back around then, so they put the conversation on hold as she serves them their drinks - thai tea for Yuuri, and a mocha frappucino for Victor.

“Um,” the waitress starts, fiddling with a notepad and pen that she didn’t have before. Victor and Yuuri regard her curiously. “Sorry, I just… I had to be sure, but are you Victor Nikiforov ? The figure skater?”

Victor blinks, stunned, for a few moments, before a practiced smile slides onto his face. “Ah, yes, that’s me.”

Yuuko nearly squeals. “Oh my God. I knew it! I am such a big fan!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Victor looks at the notepad. “Would you like an autograph?”

She nods frantically, practically shoving the notepad into Victor’s waiting hands. Meanwhile, Yuuri is staring at her like she’s grown a second head. Yuuko notices his gaze and, while Victor is signing his name, she slaps Yuuri on the shoulder, startling both men.

“Ow!” Yuuri rubs his shoulder with a frown. “What was that for?”

“You did not tell me you knew the Victor Nikiforov!” she screeches.

“I didn’t know that was something you’d care about? I didn’t even know you liked figure skating!”

Yuuri!” she groans, clearly exasperated. “The triplets are named after jumps in skating, how could you not know - !”

“You never told me that!” he says accusingly. “People give their kids weird names all the time in America. I thought it was a cultural thing you and Takeshi adopted!”

“Oh my God, Yuuri.”

Victor clears his throat, summoning their attention again. He holds up the notepad, page now covered with his looping signature (plus a compliment about the drinks). Yuuko hurriedly takes it back, gazing at it like it holds the secrets to the universe.

“Thank you so much!” she says, her earlier annoyance with Yuuri momentarily forgotten. “My daughters are gonna freak!”

“It’s my pleasure,” Victor assures her.

“I’ll just…” She glances between the two men and suddenly looks contrite. “Oh! I should let you two get back to your date. Thank you, again! And Yuuri,” she turns to her friend, frowning; Yuuri might’ve let out a small squeak in response. “We are so talking about this later.”

Then she’s back to smiling. “Anyway, drinks are on the house! Enjoy!”

Yuuko skips off, clutching her autograph to her chest with a giddy laugh. Yuuri and Victor are left in a somewhat awkward silence.

It’s Victor who speaks up first. “... What are her kids’ names?”

Yuuri replies dazedly, “Axel, Lutz, and Loop. Are those really figure skating jumps?”

“They are.”

“Huh.” Yuuri shakes his head. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Does this happen a lot?” asks Yuuri. “The whole… fans approaching you thing?”

“Not as often in America,” admits Victor. “It was much worse back in Russia. And when I travel for competitions, of course.” He rubs at the back of his neck nervously. “Would that… would that be a deal breaker for you? I know sometimes people don’t like the attention...”

Yuuri startles. “Oh, no, no, of course not. I, uh, get approached, too. Sometimes. Fans of the band, you know… I get it, really.” He smiles at Victor to reassure him.

The skater sighs with relief. “Thank goodness.”

The conversation drifts to safer topics after that; Victor is very inquisitive, asking questions about Yuuri like an interviewer for a celebrity, which amuses the guitarist a little more than he thinks it should. Still, he answers every question honestly, and in turn, he asks for Victor’s answers to the same questions.

Favorite color? For Yuuri it’s blue, while Victor has a certain fondness for pink and red.

Favorite movie? Victor admits that he loves classic musicals, especially anything with Gene Kelly. Yuuri is big fan of superhero films and horror - the latter seems to make Victor sweat, Yuuri notes with glee.

Favorite food? Yuuri gushes about his mother’s pork cutlet bowls, and Victor grew up on his grandfather’s piroshki.

Finally, an hour passes, and they’ve both finished their drinks. Other customers have flitted in and out of Ice Castle Cafe in that time, and Yuuko’s been doing her job, though she keeps casting glances back at Victor and Yuuri.

Victor’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Murmuring an ‘excuse me’ to Yuuri, he checks it, finding a text from his little brother on the screen.

YURA: GET YOUR SORRY ASS TO THE RINK RIGHT NOW YOU CHUCKLEFUCK

Victor blinks.

“Is everything alright?” asks Yuuri.

“I…” Victor starts, but another text comes in and interrupts him.

YURA: YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD HELP ME WITH THIS STUPID AGAPE SHIT

Victor sighs. “... I think I forgot something.”

He shows the texts to Yuuri, who stares at the phone for about ten seconds, then cracks a smile.

“‘Agape shit’?” he repeats.

“I choreographed the short program for his senior debut,” explains Victor. “The theme of it is ‘Agape’. He… isn’t quite getting it.”

Yuuri hums, still smiling. “And he’s yelling at you because…?”

“I think I promised to help him out? I can’t really remember.”

Yuuri snorts, and Victor shoots him a baleful look.

“In my defense, I had something else on my mind this week.”

“Fair enough,” Yuuri says, with a proud little grin. “You should still keep your promise to your brother, though.”

Victor sighs again, but as he does, his fingers are tapping out a response to Yuri.

ME: Give me half an hour, I’ll be there.

YURA: you have ten minutes, pissweasel

Victor makes a note to bring up Yuri’s pottymouth to their grandfather again at the next family dinner, then looks at Yuuri with an apologetic smile.

“I guess that means the date is over?”

“I guess it does,” nods Yuuri. “But really, as far as first dates go, this was… really nice.”

“It was,” Victor scratches his cheek nervously. “Would you, um... like to do it again?”

Yuuri’s smile softens. “Yeah, I would.”

Victor’s resulting smile could power the entire city of Detroit.

They pay for their drinks, despite Yuuko’s insistence that they didn’t have to, and once more they get into Victor’s car, which he drives all the way back to Yuuri’s apartment. As they sit in the parking lot, Yuuri hesitates just before getting out of the car.

“Yuuri?” Victor questions, eyebrows knitting together with concern.

Yuuri turns away from the door and leans in towards Victor, all in one swift movement that the skater barely has time to process. By the time Victor opens his mouth to repeat Yuuri’s name, soft lips are pressed against his own, silencing his voice.

The kiss is, unfortunately, brief. Yuuri pulls back just as Victor’s eyes were beginning to slide shut. He smiles at the dazed look on the Russian’s face and brings up a finger to tap against his lips. Victor jolts, eyes refocusing to gawk at Yuuri.

“I’ll see you later, Victor,” purrs Yuuri.

And with that, he opens the door and steps out of the car, barely containing a smile as he hears a breathy, “... see you…” in response.

 


 

Upon entering the rink, still in a bit of a daze, Victor narrowly manages to avoid getting hit in the face with a cell phone.

He ducks just in time, and hears the phone clatter on the floor several feet behind him. His good mood gone (or at least slightly faded), he sends a reproachful glare towards the ice, where Yuri stands with his arms akimbo. Yuri glare back.

“Yura,” he scolds, “I’ve told you a million times, stop throwing your phone. We're going to have to get you an 'Anger Nokia' at some point.”

“Fuck off. Where the hell have you been?”

Victor picks up Yuri’s phone, grimacing at the new crack on its front, and walks over to the rink. Yuri is already on the ice, which is carved with angry, deep lines that could only have been caused by a teenager in a mood. As he approaches, though, he realizes that they’re not alone. A teen barely older than Yuri is leaning against the divider, and he waves at Victor as he comes closer.

Victor waves back. “Hey, Otabek.”

“Hey.”

“Answer the fucking question, old man,” snaps Yuri.

Victor rolls his eyes, depositing Yuri’s phone on the bench. “If you must know, Yura, I was on a date.”

That makes Yuri pause, the anger melting from his expression almost instantaneously. Instead, confusion takes its place.

“You went on a date?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” mutters Victor. “You’re the one who told me to ask him out.”

Yuri’s face scrunches up further. “The fuck are you talking about - oh.” Understanding suddenly dawns on the teenager’s face. “Oh my God. You actually did it.”

Otabek frowns, though not at either of the brothers. He’s looking at something on his phone. “Uh, Yuri?”

He’s ignored, since Yuri is currently freaking out. “No fucking way.”

Victor shrugs, an innocent look on his face. “We just got coffee.”

“Guys?” asks Otabek, but again, he’s ignored.

“You did not ‘get coffee’ with Yuuri freakin’ Katsuki!”

“Why are you so surprised? I’m feeling a little insulted, Yura.”

“Because you were such a baby about it I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” Yuri half-shouts, only to be interrupted by the loud cough Otabek gives to catch their attention. This time, both brothers do look at him, and he holds up his phone with his ever-present stoic countenance.

“He did it,” he says bluntly.

Yuri stares. Victor does, too, because when did that happen?

The blond snatches the phone from Otabek’s grasp to get a closer look. “You did it,” he breathes, annoyed and reverent all in one breath.

Victor runs a hand through his hair. “I told you so,” he offers weakly, unsure of how to really react.

On the phone is an Instagram photo of Victor and Yuuri - it’s slightly blurred, like the photographer was too excited to hold still to get a decent shot. But still, there’s no mistaking their faces. They’re smiling at each other, Yuuri caught in mid-laugh at something Victor is saying; and Victor is exaggerating wildly with his hands, looking happier than he can ever recall seeing himself. The entire picture is tinted blue, and the words ‘Ice Castle Cafe’ are printed above their heads, signaling that the picture was taken from outside the cafe.

It has nearly a thousand likes already.

Victor grimaces, wondering if Yuuri already knows about it.

Then, later, he reads the comments and finds out the answer.

 


 

giraffeweed OMG just spotted @v-nikiforov at my fav cafe!! LOOK AT HIS PRECIOUS SMILE I'M LOVE HIM

1,435 likes

najikaice ok but who is that with him??? Is he on a DATE?!

iceice-bby nooo my vitya ;-; ur supposed to wait for me!

georgideservesbetter he’s kinda hot though

skatingstalking !!!!!!! That’s @katsukidon from Generation PArtizan!!!!

giacobooty lol who?

skatingstalking HE’S IN A BAND HERE IN DETROIT AND HE’S GORGEOUS. ARE THEY DATING? PLEASE TELL ME @v-nikiforov @katsukidon!!!!!

katsukidon  ;)

stalkingskating OMG

Chapter Text


 

 

Yuuri walks into Minako’s ballet studio right on time, as he usually does, and nods a polite hello to the receptionist at the front desk before heading to the main dance floor. Most of his intermediate class are already assembled, some leaning against the barre boredly, others sitting on the floor, all dressed in the appropriate practice wear. They look up as he enters the room.

As per usual, Kenjirou is the first one to greet him. “Morning, Katsuki-sensei!”

He spares a small smile for the young teen. “Good morning, Kenji-kun. Good morning to everyone else, too.”

He’s met with a chorus of replies, and Kenjirou beams at the special nickname Yuuri’s given him. To be honest, it was actually Minako’s nickname for the teen, but Yuuri thought it was cute and started using it, much to Kenjirou’s delight; he’d been an enormous fan of Yuuri’s ever since his first lesson at the studio.

Yuuri sets down his bag and wonders idly how Kenjirou and the others would react upon learning about Generation Partizan. Now, he doesn’t keep that part of his life a secret; he just separates the band from ballet, since they don’t have much to do with each other. Minako understands that, and so do his bandmates, hence why they never mention GP to his students whenever they drop by. Still, he imagines it would come as something of a shock. Victor had been surprised enough learning about the ballet, after all.

At the thought of Victor, Yuuri smiles. Their first date had been a few days ago, and they’ve texted consistently in the time in between. Victor apologized for the so-called ‘paparazzi’ that had captured an image of them at Ice Castle Cafe, and he’d sounded so earnest that Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to act upset. Truth be told, the photo didn’t bother him that much. The invasion of privacy wasn’t great, but he already knew what it was like having photos of yourself taken without permission, and of course a world-famous athlete like Victor would experience that tenfold.

He’s honestly more surprised with how okay with it he really is. If it had been Justin causing photos of them to pop up everywhere...

Yuuri decides to not think too deeply on it, and instead calls the class to attention.

They’re just finishing up stretching when Minako finally arrives, a tall, imposing woman trailing after her. Several of the students blink at the stranger, who’s dressed in bright yellows and pinks, her hair in a severe bun, but Yuuri just freezes.

He knows that woman.

Minako grins at him, skipping over to where he stands while the woman lags back, standing perfectly straight with her arms crossed, looking for all the world like a judge about to send a criminal off to death row.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” chirps Minako.

Yuuri is having none of it, pulling his teacher in close and hissing lowly, so that only she can hear him.

“What is Lilia Baranovskaya doing in your studio?!”

Her grin morphs into a smirk. “She’s here for you.”

What?”

“She’s looking for an assistant,” she continues; meanwhile, Yuuri’s students are shuffling nervously, eyeing Lilia with suspicion. They don’t know who this woman is, Yuuri realizes. The poor, poor fools.

“A-An assistant for what?” he asks.

“She wouldn’t say,” Minako shrugs. “But, I heard she was in town, and so I invited her to come over and watch a lesson or two. I might’ve also mentioned your name. A lot.”

“Wh - ?”

Minako cuts him off, “Relax, Yuuri! She’s just going to observe you with the kids. She probably won’t even say anything.”

Yuuri gives her a flat look. “That is infinitely more terrifying.”

“Just go through class like you always do,” she replies. “Having an in with a legend like Lilia will be great for you!”

“But - !”

“No buts, Yuuri,” she says, face stern. “You’re a dancer first, everything else second. Right?”

He holds her stare for an admirable few seconds before looking away with a sigh. “Right.”

“Good boy. Now just teach class like you always have.”

Yuuri turns away, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Right. Act like it’s a normal day. Absolutely do not think about the fact that the world’s greatest prima ballerina (a fact that even Minako herself would corroborate) is ten feet away, scrutinizing Yuuri’s every move even though he hasn’t started dancing yet.

Yuuri sighs, taking his place at the front of the studio, as the rest of the students turn their gazes to him. They still look uncertain, so he sends them his best smile. He doesn’t think it’s very good, but it must be enough for them, because they all smile back - Kenjirou has the biggest beam of all, the teen practically bouncing on his heels, ready to start dancing. It makes Yuuri’s own smile a little more genuine, and without further distraction, he starts the lesson.

At first, he’s still wary of Lilia’s penetrating stare, the look on her face giving nothing away as to how she feels. She says a few short words to Minako, who replies with her usual smile and cheer, so Yuuri figures that whatever he’s doing isn’t terrible. Yet.

Eventually though, he gets lost in the lesson. He helps several of the kids with their postures, gently correcting the placement of their arms and legs, and beaming with pride when they execute move perfectly. Kenjirou does a particularly impressive jump that earns a happy grin from Yuuri - Kenjirou almost melts into a puddle at the sight of it.

Yuuri doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until Minako calls out the time. Yuuri pauses, stunned that it’s been an hour and a half already. He wipes the sweat from his brow and retreats to the corner as the students pack up their belongings to leave. Kenjirou waves an enthusiastic goodbye, which nearly results in him hitting Lilia Baranovskaya with his hand, and the boy murmurs a quiet, fearful apology to the fierce-looking woman before hurrying out of the studio.

Soon, Yuuri, Minako, and Lilia are the only ones remaining in the room. Yuuri fidgets nervously in place, but Minako looks immensely smug.

Lilia still has her arms crossed over her chest, but her facial features have relaxed - sort of. Instead of looking scary and intimidating, now she just looks mildly impressed.

“You are good with teenagers, yes?” are the first words out of her mouth.

Yuuri straightens his back. “Er, ah, y-yes,” he says, immediately cursing his stuttering mouth. “I mean, relatively, I guess. As well as anybody can. Be good with teenagers, that is.”

Oh God, Yuuri, stop talking.

Minako just laughs, padding over to Yuuri and looping an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the way he sways under her weight.

“The kids all love Yuuri,” she says. “Some a little more intensely than others.”

Lilia nods. “They seem to listen to him. How long have you been teaching ballet, Yuuri?”

Yuuri, trying to get over the fact that Lilia Baranovskaya just said his name, scrambles to reply. “Erm, almost five years now. Ma’am.”

Lilia hums, tapping a finger against her elbow. “And what productions have you performed in?”

“Uh…” Yuuri hesitates. He doesn’t do a lot of actual performing; between teaching and his gigs with Generation Partizan,  he’s barely had time to set aside for ballet recitals. At least in the sense of actually being in them.

Luckily, Minako steps in and replies. “Yuuri tends to do more behind the scenes work for our productions. He did most of our choreography for the beginners’ rendition of Cinderella. Oh, but in college, he was a very lovely in a Swan Lake production. I sent you the video, remember?”

Lilia narrows her eyes. “Ah, yes. Good work.”

“T-Thank you,” Yuuri squeaks.

“Tell me, Yuuri,” she begins again, walking forwards to circle Yuuri like a vulture over roadkill. She’s still eyeing him in that scrutinizing way. “Do you know anything about figure skating?”

Yuuri blinks, as does Minako.

“Figure… skating?”

“Yes.”

“I… I know a little,” he decides to say. “Why?”

Lilia sighs. “My fool of an ex-husband coaches figure skaters here in Detroit. He heard I was out here and roped me into teaching one of his students ballet. But I am busy enough as is, so I’d hoped to hire an assistant to help me teach the boy and lighten my schedule.” Her gaze turns sharp, trained on Yuuri. “Are you interested?”

“M-Me?” Yuuri points at himself. “As your assistant? Really?”

She nods. “You are an experienced teacher, good with teenagers… Though I admit that this one is a touch more difficult than your regular students. Still, Minako speaks very highly of you, and from what I’ve seen, you seem the most capable.”

“I… wow.” Yuuri breathes out. “That’s… very kind of you to say.”

Minako pipes in. “So what exactly would Yuuri be doing?”

“My sessions with the skater are every other day, early mornings. I’d like Yuuri to take care of teaching him the basics. I still have to choreograph his free skate as well… Honestly, that Yakov,” she huffs, but Yuuri blinks, recognizing the name.

“Yakov? As in, Yakov Feltsman?”

Lilia and Minako look at him in surprise.

“Yes?” says the former. “You know my ex-husband?”

“He… He coaches Victor Nikiforov, doesn’t he? And, um, Yuri Plisetsky?”

He’d seen the name on Victor’s Wikipedia page, and the man was also present at the kiss-and-cry at the end of Victor’s performances. Of course, he had no idea the man was married (or at least formerly married), least of all to Lilia Baranovskaya. Lilia was the sort to keep her personal life personal, and the news of her divorce had minimal coverage, as he suspects she preferred it.

Yuuri wonders if that means Victor’s met Lilia, too.

Lilia stares at Yuuri as though she’s viewing him in a new light. She slowly nods. “Yes, that’s right. In fact, it’s Plisetsky I want you to teach. Are you a fan?”

He feels dizzy. Of all the coincidences…

“Sort of… I know Victor. We’re kind of… well, dating.”

Minako makes an odd strangled noise, and Yuuri belatedly realizes that he hasn’t gotten around to telling her about Victor. Lilia, on the other hand, looks oddly… pleased?

“Ah. So you know Yuri already?”

“We’ve met,” Yuuri says, nodding.

“Wonderful. That will make things easier, I think.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a business card, handing it to Yuuri, who grips it with fumbling fingers. “I’ll let you re-organize your schedule with Minako. Call me when you’ve got everything sorted.”

“Oh, I…” Yuuri starts, but she’s already walking away. “T-Thank you!” he calls out instead.

He and Minako are left in silence after she leaves. Minako has her phone out, tapping furiously on the screen, when she suddenly gasps. Thrusting the phone towards Yuuri, he barely catches a glimpse of Victor’s handsome face, smiling as he lifts up a gold medal.

“You’re dating an Olympic athlete?!” Minako screeches.

Yuuri winces. He’ll have to endure at least a few hours’ worth of interrogation now. He has the presence of mind to tuck Lilia’s business card into his bag before Minako grabs a hold of him and starts demanding information.

He resigns himself to his fate with a sigh.

 


 

“I’m just saying, Vitenka, I’d like to meet this boyfriend of yours soon.”

Victor grimaces as he places the last of the dishes in the sink. Beside him, leaning against the kitchen doorway, Nikolai is giving him a stern look. He looks intimidating - he usually does - but the topic of conversation is, in Victor’s mind, much scarier.

Dedushka, we just started seeing each other. It’s too soon for us to meet each other’s family.”

“He’s met Yuratchka,” he points out.

“That’s different,” Victor replies. “Meeting each other’s parents - or grandparents - is… That’s at least a few months away.”

Nikolai sighs, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Oh, alright. But as soon as you’re ready, you hear me?”

Victor’s lip quirk up in a smile despite himself. “You’ve never been this eager to meet someone I’m dating.”

“Well, Yuratchka wouldn’t stop ranting about him,” shrugs Nikolai. “Most of the time, he either hates or just plain ignores your partners. He actually seems to like this one.”

“Well…” Victor scratches his cheek. “He’s a fan of his work. I think he was mostly just shocked that we even met him.”

Nikolai is staring at him again, with an intense gaze that only a parent could give. “You like him too, don’t you, Vitenka? This other Yuuri?”

Victor blinks, and then his eyes go soft. “Of course I do. Yuuri is… He’s enchanting. He’s bold and talented and…” Sexy as all get-out, he wants to add, but that’s not something you should say in front of your grandfather, so he settles for, “... passionate.”

Nikolai huffs, smirking as he walks over to pat Victor on the shoulder. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it for now. I just pray this Yuuri treats you right.”

Dedushka,” groans Victor. Before he can say any more, however, his phone blares to life with a loud guitar riff, and from where it sits on the kitchen counter, Victor and Nikolai see Yuuri’s face appear on the screen. It’s a selfie Yuuri sent him the day after their date; he’s winking at the camera, his smile straddling the line between teasing and innocent.

Victor quickly swipes up his phone, murmuring an ‘excuse me’ to his grandfather, who waves him off with a grin.

Once he’s out of the kitchen, he answers his phone, greeting Yuuri with a soft, “Hello?”

“Hey, Victor,” Yuuri’s voice responds. “Is now a bad time?”

“Oh, no, no. I just finished having dinner with my family. Why?”

“I, uh… Have something to tell you.” Yuuri suddenly sounds unsure. “It’s… kind of weird, actually.”

Victor frowns. “Weird how?”

“I just got a job offer,” says Yuuri. “From, um, Lilia Baranovskaya. To teach Yuri ballet.”

A beat passes, and Victor is silent. For a little while, anyway.

“Wait, what ?”

 


 

Chapter Text


 

While Victor drives Yuri to his next ballet lesson with Lilia, Yuri thinks it’s a perfectly normal day. As such, he’s as grouchy as ever; he loudly complains about Lilia, and how she made him wait three whole weeks before finally rescheduling their lessons.

Victor can understand his agitation, he supposes. Every second of practice time is invaluable to a skater, and since it’s Yuri’s senior debut, the pressure feels twice as great. Of course, despite being a fellow competitor, Victor was also his brother, so he’d tried to help in his own way. He’d studied under Lilia, too, so he showed Yuri a few of the basic moves he’d learned. But Yuri can only tolerate Victor’s continued presence for so long, so when Lilia finally called about the new schedule, the teen was enormously relieved.

Just wait until he sees what awaits him, Victor thinks giddily.

As Victor’s car weaves through the streets of Detroit, Yuri frowns at the passing scenery. Turning to his brother, he jabs his thumb at the window.

“This isn’t the way to the dance studio.”

Victor manages to keep the smile off his face as he explains. “Lilia found a better one. More flexible hours, or so I’m told.”

Yuri narrows his eyes, but doesn’t ask for any further details. He just huffs, lowering his hand.

They arrive at the new studio - ‘Okukawa Dance’ - and to Yuri’s disgruntlement, Victor follows him inside. Usually, his brother just drops him off, then leaves to do his own thing until it’s time to get picked up. So naturally, Yuri’s curious.

“The fuck are you doing?” he asks, glaring at the older man.

Victor smiles innocently. “I want to say hi to Lilia.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

The receptionist greets them politely, then after Yuri gives her his name, she directs them to what he assumes is the main studio. It’s certainly the largest in the building, big enough to comfortably fit fifty dancers. A grand piano lies in the center of the room, and a more modern sound system is beside it. Finally, Yuri’s disinterest eyes drift over to the barre, where three figures are conversing.

The first person he sees is Lilia, who’s speaking to another older woman Yuri doesn’t know. She’s got long, straight hair and Asian features, as well as the lithe build of a ballerina. She and Lilia hold themselves in nearly identical postures. Yuri’s about to announce his presence, rather loudly, when he catches sight of the third person in the room.

His jaw drops. No freaking way.

Yuuri Goddamn Katsuki turns his head and spots the two Russians before either of the ladies. His hair is unstyled and fluffy, he’s wearing glasses, and is wearing tight, dance-appropriate practice clothes, showing off the shape of his body quite well.

(Be still, Yuri’s beating heart.)

Yuuri smiles widely and calls out to them, waving.

“Victor! Yuri!”

Gobsmacked, Yuri can only stare, his mouth still propped open with shock. He hears a snicker to the left of him, and immediately, he whips around, his expression morphing to fury as he sees Victor, a phone held aloft in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he demands to know.

Lilia scowls. “Yuri Plisetsky! What have I told you about using those unattractive words?”

He does flinch, a bit, because Lilia’s ‘I Mean Business’ voice is disturbingly effective, but he doesn’t back down on glaring at his brother.

“You didn’t tell him?” asks Yuuri. He walks over to stand next to Victor, leaning into his personal space, though Victor doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Yuri wouldn’t mind either.

“I wanted to see his face,” Victor grins, repocketing his phone. He took a video, didn’t he? That dick.

“Is anybody gonna answer me?” Yuri grouses.

It’s the other woman who does. “Yuri Plisetsky, I assume?”

Yuri sneers. “And who are you?”

She’s apparently undeterred by his rude response, as she continues to smile genially. “Minako Okukawa. I own this studio. Welcome.”

“Minako here is being gracious enough to lend you unlimited use of both her studio and prized pupil,” Lilia elaborates. She’s giving Yuri a stern look that actually manages to make him feel shame. “You can begin your lesson by thanking her and Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuri opens his mouth, about to do that (however reluctantly), when his brain suddenly halts, focusing on the last part of her sentence.

The confusion must show on his face, because it’s Victor who speaks next to explain. To Yuri’s annoyance, his arms are wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, and the guitarist (dancer??) actually seems to enjoy the attention, his own hands resting on Victor’s shoulders.

“Yuuri is going to be your new ballet instructor! Isn’t that wonderful?”

What.

What.

“Wait, what?”

“As Victor said,” sniffs Lilia, “Mr. Katsuki will teach you proper form and technique, while I choreograph your free skate program and work on my other projects. Do you have any objections to this?”

“Uh.”

“Of course he doesn’t!” beams Victor. “He’s a big fan of Yuuri’s.”

“Not because of my dancing,” murmurs Yuuri.

Lilia only nods, apparently not having heard Yuuri. “Very good. I’ve already spoken to Yakov about this, and he approves, so long as he gets results. So pay attention and listen to Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuri blinks.

“Then, if that's all…” Lilia says a few parting words to Minako, then disappears through the doors of the studio, seemingly unaware of the bombshell she’s just dropped on her ex-husband’s pupil.

Yuri is left to gawk, slack-jawed and eyes round, while Victor continues nuzzling into Yuuri, who smiles and indulges him. It’s Minako who breaks the otherwise awkward atmosphere, clapping her hands together. The sound startles all three younger men, who look at her in surprise.

“Well, you two had better get started,” the woman says cheerfully, but there’s something… off about her tone. “In the meantime, Mr. Nikiforov, I think you and I need to have a chat.”

Victor blinks, and Yuuri groans.

“Minako-sensei!” He scolds her in Japanese, so Yuri doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Minako only ignores him, fixing Victor with a smile that is both polite and utterly terrifying.

Victor slowly unwraps his arms from Yuuri’s frame, looking as perplexed as Yuri feels. “Um… Alright…?”

“Great! Yuuri, you’ve got Little Yuri?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri murmurs, eyeing Minako like he’s very displeased with her.

Yuri wants to snap, mostly on principle, that he isn’t “Little Yuri”, but before he can regain his wits, Minako grabs Victor by the arm and tugs him outside. Soon it’s just him and Yuuri left in the studio, both staring at the door which the other two have just departed through.

Finally, after a few seconds, Yuri manages to find his voice and speak.

“What’s her problem?”

Yuuri sighs. “She’s probably going to give him ‘the talk’. I’m an adult, for god’s sake, she doesn’t have to keep doing this…”

Yuri looks at the older man. “... So you guys are actually dating?”

Yuuri looks back at him, eyebrow raised. “Victor didn’t tell you?”

“I mean, I know you guys have hooked up and shit, and you had that one date, but…” He grimaces.

“But…?”

“... Look.” Yuri steels his expression into something hopefully intimidating, and walks right up to Yuuri. Some of his intended effect is lost due to the fact that Yuuri is several inches taller than him, but he doesn’t lose his resolve. “I know Victor likes you. A lot. And he’s an idiot who’s had his heart broken before. So you hurt him, I don’t give a shit if you’re supposed to be helping me, or even if Generation Partizan needs you - I will fucking destroy you myself.”

Yuuri blinks down at Yuri. Then, to Yuri’s shock, he smiles softly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, tone fond. “And, for the record, I like Victor a lot, too.”

Yuri blushes and backs away several feet, coughing into his fist. “Good. Now let’s fucking dance.”

He hears Yuuri chuckle. “Alright. First position, by the barre.”

 


 

Victor is taller than Minako, but he still can’t help but be intimidated by the woman’s stern expression. The cheery smile from before has melted off her face, leaving only skeptical judgement in its wake.

“So,” she begins. “You and Yuuri.”

“Y-… Yes?”

“I should tell you, Mr. Nikiforov, that I’m Yuuri’s godmother. That means, in his parents’ absence, I’m responsible for looking out for him.”

“I…” Victor stares helplessly at this woman. “Okay…?”

“That means vetting all his boyfriends and making sure they don’t hurt him.” She narrows her eyes. “Even if they happen to be world-famous celebrities.”

Oh. Oh. He suddenly understands. “M-Miss Okukawa, I promise you, I have no intention of hurting Yuuri.”

Raising his hands in a surrendering gesture, Victor tries to smile at her, but she’s unswayed.

“I’m sure you don’t,” she says. “But it could happen anyway. And trust me, if it does, it won’t just be me that comes after you. You know Yuuri’s band, right?”

Gulping, Victor nods.

A shark-like grin stretches across her face. “His bandmates are very protective of him. And Mila practices Krav Maga. So keep that in mind, alright?”

Victor nods again, a bit frantically. “I-I will.”

“Great.” Minako’s smile turns into something more genuine - or at least, less scary. She pats Victor on the back, and he flinches, which causes her to snort with amusement. “You know, Yuuri is probably going to chew me out for talking to you like this.”

“I-Is he?”

“He’ll say he doesn’t need my intervention, that he’s all grown up and can make his own decisions,” Minako waves her other hand dismissively. “And yeah, I know that. But don’t let all that confidence and flirtation fool you. He’s got a glass heart, that boy, and when it breaks, it shatters. I don’t want to see that happen again.” She eyes Victor warily. “So be careful. And if you don’t think you can handle it, end it now.”

Victor stares back. ‘Again’? What does she mean by that? He doesn’t know, but at the implication that he might do something like that, shatter Yuuri’s heart, Victor frowns, straightening up and steeling his jaw.

“I would never,” he says adamantly. “I care very much about Yuuri. And believe me, if I ever do anything to hurt him, I’ll throw myself at your mercy.”

Minako raises an eyebrow. Then, after a beat, she laughs. Clapping Victor on the shoulder, she grins; Victor thinks he might get whiplash from her rapidly changing moods.

“Atta boy. Keep that attitude up, and we won’t have a problem.”

She removes her hand from Victor, winks, and then walks off to a different part of the studio. Presumably to take care of her other classes, he thinks, distantly remembering that she owns the place. Victor stares at the spot she previously occupied, his mind racing.

He’s gotten ‘the talk’ before, on the rare occasions that his relationships went as far as to meet the other person’s parents, but never this early. And never as terrifying.

On the one hand, he’s glad for the fact that Yuuri has people in his life that care enough to threaten bodily harm to anyone that hurts him. On the other…

Have they ever had to?

He thinks about Minako’s ‘again’ comment, wondering who it could have been that shattered Yuuri’s heart before. Then, he shakes his head. It doesn’t really concern him, he knows; Yuuri’s past is his past, and Victor has no right to interrogate him about it. Not unless Yuuri wants to volunteer that information, but with their relationship still being so new, Victor will hold off on asking.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Nothing to be done about now, he knows. He walks back towards the room Yuuri and Yuri are in, but he pauses in the doorframe.

He can see Yuuri and Yuri - and now that he thinks about it, that really might get confusing later on. Maybe he’ll stick to calling his brother Yura. Or maybe Yuuri wouldn’t mind a pet name?

Anyway, he sees the two of the practicing. Yuri’s expression is hilariously determined, face pinched and brows furrowed, his tongue sticking out in a very undignified manner. His posture and footwork are good, Victor can tell, but he’s not going to convince anyone of his Agape with a face like that.

Yuuri, on the other hand… He watches Yuri with a patient expression, gently correcting his positions. He’s a far different type of teacher than Lilia, who mostly uses terror to educate. Victor smiles, leaning against the doorframe. He doesn’t move from that spot for a long while.

He thinks to himself, ‘I could never hurt this man. Not intentionally, anyway.’

And he resolves not to.

 


 

By the time the lesson is over, Yuri and Yuuri both are flushed, though the former is sweating significantly more, having done the more strenuous work. Victor has since moved to sit in the reception area of the studio, and that’s where he is when the two dancers emerge from the studio.

“Was it fun?” is the first question he asks his little brother. Predictably, Yuri throws up his middle finger at him.

“Piss off. Is there a bathroom around here?” he directs that last question at Yuuri, who nods and points down a hallway. Yuri grumbles and disappears down that hallway, leaving Yuuri and Victor alone - save for the receptionist, but she’s on the phone, so she’s not paying any attention to them.

“How was he?” Victor asks. “Not too bad, I hope.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No, he’s actually a pretty good student. It’s just…”

He sighs, and Victor tilts his head, curious. “Just…?”

“He’s... Well, he’s got the technical side of things down perfectly. But the emotional side…”

Victor chuckle, wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s waist. “Yes, that’s what we’ve been telling him. He’s been able to beat his competition in the Junior’s division just by being a better skater, but he can’t do that with the Senior’s.”

Yuuri hums. “Won’t it be weird? Competing against your brother, I mean?”

Victor shrugs. “I don’t think so. The media is going to have some fun with it, but if I treat Yura as anything less than a fellow competitor, he’ll kick my ass off the ice, no question. Not that I would. We’re both very competitive people.”

He sees Yuuri smile. “I guess athletes have to be, hm?”

Victor grins - he moves to kiss Yuuri, but to his surprise, Yuuri tilts his head away, frowning.

“Don’t, I’m all sweaty.”

Victor huffs out a laugh. “I don’t care.”

He leans forward again, and Yuuri seems to relent, letting their lips meet for a few precious seconds. When they part, Victor makes a show of licknig his lips.

“Hm. Salty.”

Yuuri snorts, pushing at Victor’s shoulders. “I told you, you weirdo.” Victor doesn’t let him go, though, he remains in his arms. A beat passes, and Yuuri looks up at Victor. “Um. About Minako-sensei earlier…”

Victor hums. “Oh, that? Don’t worry about it.”

“She didn’t say anything weird to you, did she?”

“No, no, she was perfectly reasonable. She cares a lot about you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s expression softens. “W-Well, she’s known me since I was a kid… And she’s my godmother, so…”

“She mentioned that.” Victor grins. “I wonder if she’d be willing to share any of your baby photos with me…”

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri fires back immediately, making Victor laugh.

Yuri returns from the bathroom then, making a face at seeing the two of them invading each other’s personal space again. He clears his throat, loudly, to catch their attention.

“Can we go?” he asks impatiently. “Beka got a new video game he wants to show me.”

“Alright, alright.” Victor turns to Yuuri. “Do you need a ride?”

Regrettably, Yuuri shakes his head. “I’ve got my beginner’s class in half an hour. Thank you, though.”

“I’ll text you?”

Yuuri nods. Then, without prompting, he leans in and plants a kiss on Victor’s cheek. Victor blushes, a dopey smile coming to his face, while Yuri pointedly rolls his eyes.

Yuuri steps away, smiling. “I’ll see you later.” He turns to Yuri. “See you on Wednesday, Yuri.”

Yuri only huffs, already making his way for the door. Victor stays behind, still directing that dopey smile at his boyfriend, until Yuri sticks his head back in the reception area and shouts for Victor to move his ass.

Yuuri waves them both off, watching until they disappear from his line of sight. When they do, he turns, only to see the receptionist, who waggles her eyebrows suggestively at Yuuri. He blushes and hurries back to the studio, intent on preparing for his next class.