1. Yuuri really wants to do a selfie for Victor, but he just can't. He tries, he tries. He gets his camera app ready first, to show himself he means business this time, and strips down to the boxer-briefs that he cannot wear around Victor without getting groped and tackled onto the nearest flat surface. He shrugs into Victor's Team Russia jacket. His face is hot, he knows he's probably blotchy red with scarlet ears, but he also knows Victor loves that. When he blushes, Victor cups his face and kisses his cheeks, crowing about how cute he is, or else he goes tender and tucks Yuuri so close that Yuuri can feel his voice in a low rumbling hum, soothing and wordless.
There's nothing about this picture that Victor won't cherish, he knows that, and he can take all the time he needs and stage it how he wants, position his legs so the underwear looks relatively modest and his thighs don't look too gigantic. The jacket covers the loose soft pooch of his belly that never quite goes away no matter how strict his diet or how many crunches he does. It looks okay in the preview. But he holds up the phone and aims the camera and he can't. The frustration has him almost in tears, because it's so stupid, he knows Victor would love it, it's just one dumb picture but he feels like he's going to choke to death if he presses the button, and-- why is he like this? Victor deserves to be with someone who'd do anything for him, and Yuuri can't even take one fucking picture.
2. He can't sext either. When it's late enough for Victor that he should be in his hotel room, Yuuri pointlessly locks the bedroom door and texts him with I miss you. I'm wearing your jacket
The typing notice appears almost immediately. Anything else?
Yuuri sends No and then immediately regrets it, because of course Victor will ask for a photo-- well, maybe that's okay. Maybe a direct request will make Yuuri get over himself already.
Victor: I can just imagine. When I get back... I don't have words in English for all the things I want to do with you in that jacket
That's not true. Victor talks in bed, and Yuuri has heard plenty of explicit, detailed English from him on this topic. He's heard Victor's fantasies about Yuuri in this jacket, about Yuuri in his Eros costume and his Yuri On Ice costume and the suit that Victor claims to hate. Yuuri hasn't been able to tell Victor anything like that. He says "When you wear the onsen jinbei," or "Your second Olympics. The tuxedo costume," and then stammers to a halt while Victor beams shamelessly.
He can't say these things in person. He tries to convince himself that typing them out will give him enough distance to handle it, but he's already feeling pessimistic.
I want to let you, Yuuri types finally. Even that makes him tense, and that's nothing, but he sends it.
Victor: I want to lay you back and unzip it slowly, push it open and kiss every bit of you. I want to lick you everywhere you're ticklish and everywhere that makes you moan. I want to tease you til you're ready to push me down further where you want me. But before I move down, I want to zip up the jacket again to keep all those kisses inside, tucked against your skin
You can, is all Yuuri can muster in return. He chews his lip, castigating himself, and finally adds, I feel all those things when I wear it. Your hands and your mouth. I feel wrapped up in you
Victor: Are you alone? I want to hear your voice
Yuuri takes a deep breath and touches the call button.
3. "I'm here," he says, pointlessly, and winces at himself. "I mean. I'm alone."
"Yuuri," Victor practically sings his name. "How has it only been two days? I feel like I've been missing you forever."
"Me too," Yuuri sighs. This, he can say. "I want you here."
"I can't believe you're wearing just my jacket when I'm not there to enjoy it, Yuuri."
"It's motivational," says Yuuri, with a flash of vindictive pleasure. For a lengthy stretch of his training, Victor tried to pass off every absurd coaching idea he tried out with it's motivational, even when it felt anything but.
"Oh, I see," Victor says, "that's how it is, hm? Such a tease." His voice goes low and silky. "If I were there, Yuuri..."
He lets that hang; he won't go on if Yuuri doesn't encourage him. Victor's careful like that.
Yuuri swallows. "If you were here, what."
"I'd have to open up that jacket and kiss your neck til you're arching under me, the way you do. And then I'd spend time on your nipples. I know that doesn't do so much for you, but they're so pretty, I love touching them, and since you're teasing me, I want to tease you back. Get them all red and sensitive so when I zip the jacket up, it rubs against them. But that's enough payback. After that I'd be nice, I'd do what you want. What do you want?"
Another swallow. His mouth feels flooded but his throat is so dry. "I want you to kiss me."
"Of course I'll kiss you. I love all the ways you kiss me back. The way you kiss me when you're excited for me, it's so incredible, Yuuri. Your lips are so soft and your mouth is hot and open for me, but never all that much at first, just a little, like a secret. I can't get enough. I love it when you're too worked up to think twice and you cup my face and tilt my head exactly the way you want it. That time you held me back, I thought I might cry, I wanted you so much."
"I want you too," Yuuri gets it out all in a rushed whisper, "I want-- your mouth. You're so good at it." His ears feel singed, his face is so hot, even his eyes burn with it. He feels like a tomato, like an eggplant, like every round silly stupid thing that goes red and purple and hot and swollen, bursting against thin skin.
"You'll let me? I want to. I love taking you in deep til all I can do is swallow around you and try to get you down my throat..." And through the phone comes a faint wet sound.
It's louder, now, more obscene. "Just fingers," Victor says, indistinct because he's talking around them-- Yuuri can picture it, he's seen it, the way Victor slides his fingers between his lips to get them slippery, the way his tongue curls around them. "It's not enough," Victor tells him, "it's not you, but I need something."
"Do it," Yuuri says, pushed past hesitation, off the cliff and hurtling out of control where his anxiety can't catch up to him for now. "Get them wet."
"Yes," Victor rasps, and the slick sounds get closer and even more lewd, punctuated by Victor's little cut-off groans.
"Don't make those noises unless you mean it," says Yuuri. "No faking."
"Never," Victor swears.
"Did you bring something with you to use for this?"
"I brought the toiletry kit with everything in it."
"Why? You don't need all that when you're there without me." He knows it's true, but it still feels bold to say it.
"I had fantasies," Victor says, strained and breathless, "about the airport."
"Did you think I'd say welcome back and then we'd just go at it, right there?" Yuuri barely believes he's saying it even in the moment, but there it is.
"Yuuri. Teasing me again."
Of course Victor likes that idea. Yuuri likes it too, he's far gone enough to admit that now, the idea of his welcome-back kiss growing too hot and intense to wait, the two of them tumbling into some barely concealed nook, Yuuri peeling off just enough clothes from them both to let him ride Victor practically in open sight-- or maybe pushing him over one of the lounge chairs and driving home, owning him right there--
"Put them in," Yuuri tells him. Everything catches up to him for an awful seasick moment, and he feels like a pervert and also the most ridiculous person alive, his hand sliding tight around his own erection. He keeps going anyway, his voice traveling so many thousands of miles to get to Victor and tell him, "Use whatever it takes and slide your fingers inside, I know you need it."
"I do," Victor breathes, "so much," and there are shifting noises on the other end, and then an aching little hitch in Victor's voice on, "Oh, Yuuri..."
Every time Yuuri opens his mouth, some small loud part of his brain expects this to be the moment that Victor scoffs at him and reveals he was just playing along. Even now, when Yuuri can hear how serious Victor is, how open and helpless he's making himself. That small part of his brain is such an asshole, and it's not invited into their bed or this phone call.
"I'm not good with my mouth like you," Yuuri says, "but I don't have to be, do I? If I give you this."
"You are, though," says Victor, of course, loyal as ever. "You're so good, and you look so hot, so gorgeous. That morning you sucked me off when you were wearing your glasses, Yuuri. Every time I looked at you all day after that, it was all I could see."
"I want to do that for you now," says Yuuri. "Slide my fingers in and suck you."
"Please," Victor's voice is so low and tight.
"Go ahead," he says, and he can picture exactly how Victor is touching himself, just from the tenor of his whine.
"Yuuri... Yuuri, please..."
"Shhh. Do I have to cover your mouth?" That's an especially empty threat for phone sex, but he can hear what it does to the pitch of Victor's hushed whimpers. "Even when you hold back, the way you sound... I'm so close, just from the little noises you make."
"I want you to. I want you to come for me. Let me hear you?"
The self-consciousness tries to sneak back in again and strangle him. Yuuri forces out, "Then tell me."
"I'd give anything to fuck you right now," Victor says immediately, "I need you, I need to hold you down and kiss you while I'm filling you up-- Yuuri, just," a lapse into Russian for a few words, always good, and then, "God, just let me have you, please--"
Yuuri's almost proud that he doesn't snap his teeth shut before his "Hahhh" escapes him right before the orgasm hits; it sounds hurt, like it was punched out of him. He nearly doubles over as if he'd been punched, too, like his body's curling tight around the feeling just before it gets too big to hold back any longer, his hips bucking without any input from his mind when he comes, every part of his body pulsing with it. It's only just starting to ebb when he hears Victor's growl, the tell-tale noise he makes when he gets off.
"Vitya. Yes." If they were together, Yuuri would mouth it against his ear, almost unvoiced. "I love you. I love you."
He can hear Victor panting shallowly on the line, and it makes him feel protective and braver than he could ever be on his own. Yuuri lifts the phone, switches to the camera app and takes a shot.
"Did I hear--"
He sends it, and puts Victor on speaker while he cleans up.
"...Oh, Yuuri. Look at you."
He made sure the camera didn't capture anything below the hips, but the photo's still obscene. Yuuri's bright pink and obviously post-orgasmic, his glasses crooked, lips wet and parted. Victor's jacket is rucked up above his waist, and Yuuri's hand rests over his navel, fingers slick with the visible gleam of semen.
He hears the camera shutter sound effect, and in moments, a photo from Victor arrives. He's just as obviously basking in afterglow, and nude, of course, though he knows Yuuri worries about phone hacking, so he's pulled over a strategic drape of sheet. The halfhearted attempt at modesty makes him look like a classic Greek statue, each muscle and curve sculpted in beautiful detail.
They just breathe together for a little while, til Victor murmurs, "How do you feel?"
"Lonely for you," Yuuri says. "But better."
"Me too." Victor laughs quietly. "When I see you again I'm going to hold you and I don't think I'll be able to let go. What do you say to that? We'll just stay there hugging from now on. They can set up stalls around us and hang lights... build a city... eventually we'll have a monorail around us, and an orbiting moon."
He's always like this, right after. "...It's like you get literally high from sex."
"It's you," says Victor, "you're intoxicating."
Yuuri groans. "I can't believe I ever thought you were a suave playboy."
"Ah, but everyone's supposed to think that, it sells watches and cologne." Softly Victor sing-songs, "Ha-ha. Fooled you."
"I like you so much better, though," Yuuri says without thinking, and then he catches up to himself and frowns. "I mean... I love you, but part of that is liking you, and that part is-- more than I ever thought-- I'm not making any sense."
"Of course you are. When I had a crush on the beautiful skater who spun me around the dance floor, I thought I was in love. But then I came to Hasetsu and I was your coach and your friend, and I liked you, and I realized there was more to it. Before that, what I felt was more about me and what I wanted than about you. I had to like you, too. It had to be about you, about us, to really be love."
"Oh," says Yuuri foolishly. "Um."
"It's all right, zaichonok," Victor tells him. "You said it already. You said so much! You surprised me again."
"Sh, don't-- if I think about what I said, I'm going to curl up and die."
"All right, all right. I'm saying nothing." Victor yawns and stretches, his free hand flung out-- it's strange to know someone so well that Yuuri can translate his actions based on a few rustles. "I'll be home soon. Never soon enough. But soon."
"I know." It would be comforting to fall asleep like this, with the line still open. But if they were going to do that, they should have used Skype. Maybe next time Yuuri will muster up his courage with enough lead time to think ahead. "I'll let you get some rest."
Victor hums agreement, drowsy, the phone faintly picking it up. "Oyasumi."
"Spokoynoi nochi." Yuuri ends the call and texts I love you before he can trip himself up thinking about it.
Yuuri laughs to himself, thumbs poised over the screen. He could almost do it, now; he could text Victor that he's going to arrive an hour early to the airport and scout around near the gate until he finds someplace close by that's private enough to welcome him home the way they both fantasize about.
He puts the phone aside instead. Never mind sexting, he'll save that one for real life. Victor loves surprises, after all.