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you're like heaven to touch

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Victor is one hundred percent obsessed with Yuri wearing his Russia jacket, which would just be a shame and embarrassment to the entire country, if only he would do it private like a normal man. As it is, though --

"Is this because I let you watch American movies as a child," says Yakov flatly. "The ones where the popular boy gives his coat to the pretty girl?"

Victor puts up both eyebrows in a delicately mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was a fey creature of sixteen and makes Yakov yearn to clip him around the ears now, when he's twenty-eight. "'Let' me?" he says.

Yakov points a shaking finger at him. "Mark him all you want, just keep the team jacket out of it!"

"Oh, if I have your permission," Victor says, with the sleaziest smile that Yakov has ever seen him wear, which is saying something.

"You do not!" yells Yakov. "You are forbidden! Banned!"

The next day, of course, the Japanese Yuri is discovered sleeping in a corner of the rink, with the largest hickey anybody had ever seen on his neck. He looks like he was not allowed much sleep the night before. There's other, fainter kissmarks on his throat and his collarbones, which show up beautifully against his pale skin. Victor's Russia jacket is spread tenderly over him.

Russia's top skaters are gathered around him like vultures at a corpse, phone cameras clicking.

"Hashtag 'sleepingprince'," mutters Georgi, thumbs flying. "Hashtag --"

"Hashtag 'disgusting'," says little Yuri. He's not smiling, exactly, but he's also not not looking slightly fond, like Japanese Yuri is a cat sleeping in an inconvenient box.

"Ten suicides!" roars Yakov, at the opposite side of the rink. "One hundred sit ups! Fifty full speed laps around the rink! No vodka for a week!"

"Yakov, you're so mean," wails Victor, looking at his phone. 3000 likes and counting. Hashtag 'whenbaewearsyourclothes'. Hashtag '(๑♡⌓♡๑)'. Hashtag 'katsukiyuri'.

"Go!" says Yakov, and Victor goes. He doesn't have anything better to do until Yurio kicks Yuri awake, anyway.

"The rest of you!" bawls Yakov. "Leave Katsuki alone or I'll let Victor deal with you!"

Everybody flees.


In Japanese Yuri's defense, he seems to have a dim idea that wearing Victor's jacket would be -- inadvisable, at best. Anyway, he has his own jacket, as member of the JSF, that he wears all the time. He looks like a little raven, in the middle of the Russians in their electric blues and reds, walking hand and hand with Victor, tilting his head up for a good luck kiss, stroking Victor's hair back from his face, standing next to little Yuri - who both he and Victor call Yurio now, for some reason little Yuri refuses to explain -- and listening to him emote with a gentle, serious expression, like little Yuri's childish tantrums are of interest to him.

He's easy to spot, too. He likes to stand a little aside and watch things. Yakov's heard that he has problems with his nerves, but he seems to be doing better with them now -- not that Yakov is ever going to credit Victor with the improvement. Even now, though, he seems cautious and quiet if he's not with Victor or little Yuri, or Mila, now that he's gotten used to her.

He's like a splash of ink in the white of the Russian rink. Somehow it's restful to look at him, unless he's doing some crazy stunt dreamed up by his fiancé, and then you can't help but stop everything and stare as he flies through the air like there's no reason for him to ever come down unless he choses to do so.

But whenever Victor slinks up to him, ready to drape his jacket over his narrow shoulders (and it does look good, Yakov is forced to admit. It makes him look even more sharp and ethereal, like a swan maiden wearing a soldier's cloak), the Japanese Yuri sidesteps him with a tolerant smile.

"Victor," he says. "I'm fine, I'm not cold at all. I've got my jacket already, see?"

Victor pouts.

Japanese Yuri lifts up his hand and pushes back Victor's hair. He lets his hand linger on the side of Victor's face, and Victor shamelessly turns his face to nuzzle his mouth onto his Yuri's ring. Japanese Yuri coaxes Victor's head into a tilt and murmurs something into Victor's ear that makes him flush up to his ears like a young boy -- like Victor had never done as a young boy. He puts a soft, closed-mouth kiss on Victor's jaw and slides away before Victor can do anything but stare at him stupidly.

"What a Swan I would have made of that boy," says Lilia, covetous, watching Victor's Yuri walk off with the slightest deliberate sway to his hips. "Oh, I am so angry at that Minako for making him into a skater! She should have sent him to me."

She claps her hands sharply and Victor startles into a perfect rest position, one foot slightly in front of the other, hips even, core settled. "Well? What did the boy say?"

"He said." Victor stops and flushes heavily again, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "He said 'Everybody already knows you're mine'."

Lilia flings her hands up. "A skater!" she says. "That Minako!"


Victor has to do an ice show in Paris, without his fiancé, because Yakov is vengeful: Victor skipped out on ten of the damned things and went to Japan to play at coach and court his little raven, and now Victor is by hell going to pay for it.

The ice shows aren't the revenge.

Victor actually likes doing ice shows, where people admire him and little girls ask for his autograph and look at him like he's God. Victor loves children, and being admired, and being looked at like he's God.

The revenge part is that Victor will be gone for three days while Yakov and Lilia terrorize Yuri into showing them the new routine without Victor being there to hover around and make them go away (Yuri says Lilia is very helpful. Victor says she's probably plotting to make sure Yurio wins) and spending three days in a hotel room -- in Paris! The City of Love!! Without his beloved fiancé!!! -- and knowing that Yuri is at home, not on the road for another competition, sleeping in their bed with Makkachin sleeping with his head on Victor's pillow.

Victor hates it. He especially hates it because he knows how lovely it would have been if Yuri had been with him to wander around Paris. He could be feeding Yuri pastries and cakes and kissing the whipped cream off his mouth, but he's just stuck prowling the men's shops, looking for a less offensive tie for Yuri. Victor's hand feels lonely without Yuri's in it.

Victor's flight is three hours late getting to Pulkovo, so he stumbles out in a haze, fires a text off to Yakov promising his own revenge, and another to Yuri that was mostly ( ˘ ³˘)♥( ˘ ³˘)♥( ˘ ³˘)♥, and catches a taxi back home. He dozes a little as they move slowly through traffic, but mostly he looks at the city passing through the window and holds the La Maison du Chocolat bag carefully in his lap. He's so tired and he smells like airplane. He wants to be home already.

It's strange to think that two years ago he'd be coming home to an empty apartment, to an empty bed without even Makkachin waiting for him until Victor fetched him from the boarding kennels.

He pays the cab driver off and hauls his luggage up to the elevator. What if Yuri isn't there, though? he thinks suddenly. What if Lilia has Yuri at the studio late again? Yuri hasn't texted back, although that isn't too unusual for Yuri. He had probably taken Makkachin for a walk and left his phone at home, and now it's fine, because Victor is unlocking the door to their - their! - apartment and saying, "I'm back."

For a second there's not a reply, and then Makkachin jumps off the couch and Yuri calls out, "Welcome back!"

Victor lets out a long breath.

He bends to greet Makkachin, who is delighted to see him. Victor scratches his ears and kisses his topknot. "I'm glad to see you too, baby," he croons. "My little puppy!"

Makkachin licks his face. Victor straightens up. "Yuri?" he says. "Where are you, sweetheart?"

There's a short silence that Victor somehow still parses as being embarrassed. "In the bedroom," says Yuri.

"In the bedroom?" says Victor. He hangs his coat up and puts his carryon on top of his suitcase, and kicks his shoes off. He takes the La Maison du Chocolat bag with him, and goes toward the bedroom. "What are you doing?" He clicks his tongue. "Are you naked for me? Hahaha, I missed you too~"

"Not … technically …." says Yuri.

Victor rounds the corner into the room.

The bag of chocolate drops from his nerveless fingers.

For a second he forgets how to breathe, staring at Yuri on the bed, waiting for him in his Team Russia jacket -- in nothing but his Russia jacket, as far as Victor can tell.

"Sorry for taking it without asking," says Yuri.

Victor doesn't sit down as much as he falls down like a puppet with his strings cut. He says something in Russian and Yuri frowns at him. Victor blinks up at him and then clears his throat.

"Were you touching yourself?" he says. "In my jacket?"

"What?" Yuri blushes clear down to his neck, past the zipped collar of the jacket. Victor's eyes follows the rush of blood, avid. "No, of course not!"

"Please?" says Victor.

"Please what?" says Yuri.

Victor stumbles to his feet somehow and half-staggers to the bed, landing with his knees beside the bedframe, leaning up toward Yuri like a devotee at an altar. "Please?" he says. "Pretty please? I want to see it."

"You're a pervert," says Yuri, fighting another blush and a smile.

Victor pushes up enough to kiss Yuri's knee. "How can I help it?" he says. He kisses the inside of Yuri's thigh next. "You're so sweet and lovely." He tries to kiss higher, but Yuri knots his fingers in Victor's hair and tugs until Victor gets on the bed properly and kisses him. How was it possible he had missed Yuri's kisses so much in only three days? Victor feels starved. "I stocked up on kisses before I left, but I ran out of them yesterday," he complains to the underside of Yuri's jaw.

"How?" says Yuri. "You almost missed your plane because you wouldn't stop kissing me."

"I had to make sure you had enough too," says Victor, feeling ridiculous and happy. He's not even tired any more. "I was worried you'd run out, you know."

Yuri makes a low, happy sound in his throat, and Victor has to kiss his mouth again. Somehow he shrugs out of his shirt and drags off his undershirt. The heavy polyester of his Team Russia jacket feels cool over the warmth of Yuri's skin, and Victor heaves a deep, satisfied sigh. He kisses Yuri's nose. "Why is it all zipped up?" he says. "Let me see you."

Yuri goes from pink to scarlet again. "Take your clothes off too," he says.

Victor blinks at him, and before he realizes what is happening, his mouth curves in a huge smile. He probably looks like the craziest pervert to ever be in love, but he can't help it. Yuri is just too adorable. "Did you get me a welcome home present?"

"Maybe," mutters Yuri, flushing. He pushes Victor away, in a movement that ends up being more of a caress. "Get undressed, and we'll see."

Victor almost breaks a seam in his pants ripping them off, and he flings his socks and underwear to God knows where. Then he sits on his knees on the bed, staring expectantly at Yuri. "Is my present a show?" he demands.

"I can't believe I am doing this," says Yuri, still scarlet. He puts his hand to the zipper of Victor's jacket and pulls it down slowly. He bites his lip and lowers his eyes, so Victor is treated to the sight of Yuri's dark lashes shading his brandy-wine eyes. Victor doesn't know what to look at, the beautiful flush on Yuri's face and chest, or his sweet, red mouth, or --

Victor lets his eyes follow the path of Yuri's hand, and then he just stares. For a minute his head is full of hot, white noise. Then he bites the inside of his mouth, hard -- but apparently this isn't an airplane atmosphere induced dream: Yuri Katsuki is really his fiancé, really in Russia, really lying in Victor's bed blushing to to his cute navel, and really, truly, wearing nothing but Victor's Team Russia jacket and black lace panties that do nothing to hide how hard he is.

Finally he manages to take a deep breath in and say, almost steadily, "Darling, did you spend a lot of money on those? Because I'm afraid they're not going to survive."

"Really, Victor," says Yuri, trying to frown at him. His pupils are blown wide. When Victor leans down to kiss him, Yuri wraps both arms around his neck and parts his lips for Victor, like he's thirsty for as many kisses as Victor can give to him. He tilts his head back so Victor can bite softly at the line of his throat and leave pink marks on his shoulders. His hands slide down and his nails drag down Victor's shoulders and back luxuriously. He's such a beautiful, spoiled creature like this that Victor rewards him with more and more kisses.

"Ah, Victor," says Yuri, on a sigh. "I want--" His hips tilt up and his knees spread to cradle Victor.

"Anything, sweetheart," Victor says, moving to kiss Yuri's nipples. "Mmm, you're so delicious. Did you get yourself ready for me? Ah, I wanted to see it, though," he sighs.

"It's kind of embarrassing," says Yuri, one hand curled in Victor's hair. He's usually so careful, but he must have wound himself up so much waiting for Victor, in Victor's jacket and those cute panties, that he's already tugging hard enough to sting. "Don't you - don't you think?"

Victor bites at the line of stretch marks that decorate Yuri's stomach. "No," he says, licking one. "You look so hot touching yourself, I love it. I love you."

He puts a soft kiss on the bulge of Yuri's cock and then sits back up, even as Yuri tries to pull him down again. He kisses Yuri again and moves him so Victor is propped up against the headboard and Yuri is against Victor's chest. Victor kisses behind Yuri's ear, right where it makes him shudder and go pliant. "You're so pretty," Victor sighs, looking down at how his Team Russia jacket frames the lines of Yuri's body.

Yuri pinches him, but he doesn't deny it: Victor has spent almost two years lavishing Yuri with praise, getting him used it, asking over and over again, who's my beautiful darling? in words and actions until Yuri has learned to say I am, I'm your beautiful darling in return.

Victor captures Yuri's hand and puts it pointedly on Yuri's thigh, up high, and Yuri says, "You're still a pervert." He curls one hand back around Victor's neck, and puts his face into Victor's neck. Victor lets him: sometimes Yuri just feels too much. Sometimes he likes it. Sometimes it makes him shaky. Yuri's probably skating that edge right now, and VIctor knows, none better, the balance between just enough too much and a fall.

Yuri slides his hand into the elastic of the waistband, and Victor kisses his temple. "Are you ever going to stop kissing me? It's very distracting," says Yuri.

Victor has to think about this seriously for a second.

"No," he says. "It's good for you to learn how to do work while you're distracted."

Yuri bites his neck, hard.

"You're so mean to me," says Victor, kissing him again.

"I'll show you mean," says Yuri, and slides the black lace of the panties off his hip. His cock pops free and Yuri strokes it with his long clever hand, sighing. When Victor looks closer, he sees that Yuri's nails are rather opalescent and pink.

"Did you put on nail polish for me?" says Victor, enchanted. He pulls Yuri's free hand from around Victor's next and looks at it closely. "It's so pretty." He kisses each nail.

"Victor!" says Yuri.

Victor mimes zipping his lips shut, and lets Yuri have his hand back. Yuri winds it around Victor's neck again and buries his face more deeply into Victor's neck. He's flushed scarlet. It's all Victor can do to not kiss him again. "Sorry," he says.

"Huh, I wonder," says Yuri, but goes back to touching himself. "Ah - I was so mad at Aeroflot this afternoon. I kept - I kept refreshing the site - I thought I could go and meet you, but then Lilia made me stay late." He bites his lip. "And then - I didn't know when it would come in and I didn't want to leave Makkachin --"

Victor can't help but reach out and cover Yuri's hand as he strokes his cock. The lace of the panties is rubbing up his own cock, almost uncomfortably, but the stimulation feels good too. He wants to come just like this watching Yuri shiver so deliciously in his arms, grinding up in Yuri, kissing his neck and face and the bony range of his shoulder.

"So - so I thought - I'd just - I'd just wait here for you," sighs Yuri, his hand going quicker. "Victor - Victor, can I -- "

"Yes, come for me," says Victor, kissing Yuri again. The angle kind of hurts his neck, but it's worth it to get Yuri's mouth on his, open and panting, not even quite kissing back, just letting Victor drink all the sweetness he wants from his mouth.

Yuri's eyes screw shut and his back arches, his shoulder pressing into Victor's chest, and Victor pulls him, tight, tight in his arms as he comes undone.


Yakov says, "...and why do you need a new tracksuit?"

Victor smiles sweetly. His neck is bitten up and bruised, and the back of his shirt is just low enough to display the beginning of scratchmarks on his back. "My jacket is at the drycleaners."

Beside him, little Yuri makes a terrible sound, and turns his head to glare at Victor's Yuri.

"They might not be able to fix it," continues Victor, with angelic innocence.

Victor's Yuri smiles, very slightly.

Little Yuri turns around and clumps his way to the rink. He takes off his guards and leaps onto the ice.

"AAAAAAHHHHH," he screams, doing laps around the ice, "WHY ARE THEY SO DIIIISSSSGGGGUUUUUUSSSTTTTIIIIINNNNNG???"

"Yurio, don't give yourself a strain!" shouts Victor. "Warm up properly!"

"FUCK OFF!" screams little Yuri, but he slows down and warms up properly.