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Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship

Short Program

Victor found Yuuri in the changing room staring into the mirror, purple smudges of fatigue under his eyes, caking on concealer with an unsteady hand.

"You have the wrong colour," Victor said and made him sit. He held Yuuri's chin and wiped his face clean. "Hold still." He dotted on primer, tapped in foundation, terrible brands that he hardly cared to even get onto his hands.

Yuuri looked up into his eyes while Victor carefully dragged the mascara wand. When Victor brushed on lipstick — the shade wasn't that bad — Yuuri's tongue flicked out and caught Victor's fingertip.

Victor stood for a moment, cheeks heating, breath stopped inside of him. Yuuri didn't seem to even know he'd done it. Victor picked up a liquid liner and just behind Yuuri's ear he drew a tiny heart.


Cup of China

Short Program

Victor sat Yuuri down and opened his train case. He pushed a band into Yuuri's hair and painted his face, everything new from their trip to Fukuoka, the best brands he could get Yuuri to agree to. He almost hated to mar each untouched surface.

Yuuri's eyes followed the other skaters around the room, his legs jittered up and down. "Look at me," Victor said and Yuuri did. Victor stepped in closer, one leg between Yuuri's knees. "We should get your eyebrows done." He tipped Yuuri's head back and ran his finger along one arch.

Yuuri reached up and took Victor's wrist. He stroked his thumb down onto Victor's palm.

Victor let it rest there for a few breaths, wishing it was more, smiling down until Yuuri blushed and looked away. Then he drew another heart, this one on Yuuri's temple, nearly hidden in the hairline.


Exhibition Gala

"You need a different eye for the gala," Victor said. "There's not much time to dress."

But Yuuri pulled him around a corner, hardly hidden from the room, hands on Victor's face and mouth on Victor's mouth.

Victor felt the pull inside of him, deep and strong, even after an afternoon in Yuuri's bed. There was no time but he kissed Yuuri back, fingers hooking inside Yuuri's waistband, tongue stroking into Yuuri's mouth. Everything so new he was still learning the moves, the timing. Like new choreography, he wanted to practice every stroke, try every variation.

Yuuri pressed against him, full body pushing Victor into the wall, and it was only that weight that kept Victor from sliding to his knees right there and then, even with the noise of the other skaters so nearby.

"Not now, after," he managed to get out because he was supposed to be responsible. But his hand reached after Yuuri as he stepped back and he had to do Yuuri's eyes a second time because he couldn't focus anymore.

"After," Yuuri said and kissed the inside of Victor's wrist.

"Almost done," Victor said, when he could speak, and marked the heart just under Yuuri's jaw.


Rostelecom Cup

Short Program

Victor sat Yuuri in the middle of the room. Watch me, watch us. Yuuri's eyes flicked left, right. His leg bounced on the floor. "You look rested," Victor said. He ran his thumb along Yuuri's lower lip and Yuuri looked up for a moment.

Victor blended foundation on his hand and buffed it into Yuuri's skin. He tilted Yuuri's face to catch the light, added colour to his cheeks. By the time he started Yuuri's eyes, Yuuri's breath had slowed and he was still. But Victor's heart was beating faster.

"Here," Yuuri said and touched his face, on his cheek, just above his mouth. Victor smiled and drew the heart, a tiny beauty mark. He bent to put away the brushes and the compacts and felt Yuuri's hand slip onto his back.


Free Skate

Send me a makeup check, Victor texted. When it came, Victor looked at it a long time, his hand on Makkachin's head.

Is it okay?

Victor blinked and looked again. Liner too dark. Cheeks too pale. Forehead creased and Victor touched the screen like he could smooth those lines away.

Perfect, he wrote.

Yuuri sent:

Victor kept the photo on the screen until it was time to watch the livestream.


Grand Prix Final

Short Program

"Close your eyes," Victor said.

"Victor." Yuuri looked up at him and Victor stopped, fingers still on Yuuri's cheek, highlighter still in unblended stripes on the bones of Yuuri's face.

The noise in the room drifted around him like lazy bees on a summer day. Victor couldn't look away. Yuuri's gaze had him caught, slow and sweet like a drop of honey on his tongue. In the corner of his eye, he saw the ring on his finger. He could still feel it there, that new bright weight. He couldn't stop looking at it, touching it. He looked at Yuuri's hand and saw the flash there too.

He took a breath. "You need to focus." He brushed Yuuri's face, smoothing in the highlighter. "Close your eyes. I need to focus too."

Yuuri lowered his eyes, but glanced up one more time before he closed them, settling back into the chair like a seat on the train, creating space around himself.

Victor couldn't help his fingers slipping into Yuuri's hair as he worked. He couldn't keep the smile from stealing onto his face.

He painted the heart on Yuuri's earlobe, like a small black stud. "Get dressed," he said, "and I'll do your hair."


Free Skate

Victor kept waiting for Yuuri to say he'd take care of it himself, to take the train case from Victor's hand and turn his back. But he stayed beside Victor, shoulders bumping as they walked, and he let Victor steer him to a bench.

"You look like you slept all right." Victor drew Yuuri's hair back and ran a cleansing pad over his face. The mood in the room was tense, everyone in their own little islands, shutting out distractions.

Yuuri was retreating too, his eyes not quite focused, energy building around him. Victor turned Yuuri's face as he needed, hand on Yuuri's jaw, and Yuuri let Victor arrange him, more compliant than he'd ever been before.

Victor felt the ghost of himself in the room, drawing into himself before the skate, pushing his adrenaline higher as he stroked on mascara and styled his hair.

He stopped, hand on Yuuri's face and brush in the air. He wanted to reach out and slip into that ghost like a costume, lace up his skates, take the ice.

Then he felt Yuuri's breath on his fingers and he came back to himself. "Almost done," he said. He picked up the liner and under Yuuri's eye dotted on a heart like a teardrop.

Victor stepped back. Yuuri stood and took his hand, grasping it so tightly it hurt. "Thank you," Yuuri said and Victor couldn't answer, just gripped back until Yuuri let go.


Exhibition Gala

"Hold still," Victor said. But Yuuri chased Victor's fingers with his lips, half catching the tips as Victor patted concealer into his face. He reached out and ran his thumb along Victor's cheekbone.

"Victor," Yuuri said. His eyes locked with Victor's and Victor couldn't look away, just stared at Yuuri and held Yuuri's hand to his face.

Far, far away Victor heard other people in the room whisper and laugh. But close to all he could hear was the joy that rang through his body like a struck gong.

He picked up a pencil. "Look up," he said, "and hold still."

Yuuri held still for a few minutes. "Victor," he said again, with those eyes — one tightlined, one bare — that said he couldn't wait, and he was rising off the chair, taking Victor's hand.

After, Victor tried to say but his fingers tightened on Yuuri's instead and he let Yuuri pull him back into the shower room, into a stall, push him up against the damp tile.

"We'll be late." Victor tipped his head back and Yuuri kissed his throat, slipped his hands up under Victor's shirt.

"We'll skate like this," Yuuri said. He stroked Victor's sides, just barely brushing Victor's skin, and Victor shivered, like he always did.

He got his hands on Yuuri, ran them down his back, locked them around his waist, and held Yuuri still while they kissed, like that was all they were going to do. Making out in a shower stall like boys at school, smelling the disinfectant and the mildew, straining against each other like that was as far as they were going to go.

Yuuri leaned into Victor's hips and his erection pressed into Victor's thigh. A shudder of desire rolled over Victor, his own cock jerked against Yuuri's belly, and he knew they were going to go as far as Yuuri wanted to.

He slid his hands down over Yuuri's ass and shifted his body so they were rubbing together, not quite enough to be serious yet.

Yuuri buried his face in Victor's neck, kissed his skin, bit at his shoulder. Victor gasped, bucked his hips. He was ready to be serious.

"Yuuri," he said and pressed Yuuri closer. He wanted to say so many things but he still wasn't sure what Yuuri wanted to hear. So he put his mouth against Yuuri's ear and whispered, "Can I?" Say yes, he thought. Yes. He was already sliding down the wall when Yuuri stopped him.

"No, I want—" Yuuri ran his hand down the outside of Victor's thigh, then up the inside, stroking up and down over Victor's clenching muscles. "I won't take long."

"I wouldn't brag about that," Victor said but he wasn't going to last either. Time enough to be leisurely another day and the thought of all those days ran hot all through him, pulsing with his blood. "Which way?" he asked.

Yuuri met his eyes and Victor wanted to stare into them the whole time, hardly blinking while Yuuri thrust at him, sensation rising between them like harmonics in a concert hall.

But Yuuri pulled at Yuuri's hips and Victor let Yuuri turn him to the wall. There was only so long Yuuri could keep eye contact before he looked away and right now all Victor wanted was their bodies together, it didn't matter how.

Victor braced his hands against the tiles, cool and clammy. Yuuri pulled Victor's trousers down his thighs and Victor closed his eyes when Yuuri's hands stroked his hips and squeezed his buttocks, wishing he could see Yuuri's face. "Ready?" Victor said.

Yuuri moved up against him, chest to Victor's back, bare thighs to Victor's thighs, cock rubbing up on Yuuri's ass. He wound his arm around Victor and held up his hand.

Victor kissed Yuuri's palm, his tongue teasing at Yuuri's skin for a moment, then he spit. He pressed his legs together. "Come on," he said. "Someone's going to come in. I mean, I don't care if anyone sees us but—"

"Victor," Yuuri said in that don't-be-embarrassing voice, but with an undercurrent that made Victor twist his head around to get a glimpse of Yuuri's flushed face.

Then Yuuri started to thrust, his cock slipping warm through Victor's clenched thighs, tip rubbing up against Victor's balls with each stroke.

They had done this a few times before, but only once with Victor fucking Yuuri's thighs, Yuuri's forehead pressed into Victor's shoulder, while Victor whispered about how strong Yuuri was, about the feel of Yuuri's muscle against his cock, how beautiful Yuuri looked.

Yuuri never whispered, never shouted, but today he wrapped his fingers around Victor's thigh as he moved his hips and Victor thought that he must like it. Victor reached down just as Yuuri reached around and his hand covered Yuuri's on his dick as they jacked Victor together.

Their rough breathing echoed off the tiles, just a little louder than the voices in the next room. Then nearby steps, a shower turning on at the other end of row. Victor's stomach knotted and he waited for Yuuri to pull away, but Yuuri just pressed his face against Victor's back and thrust harder, hand faster on Victor's cock.

Victor pressed his hand over his own mouth, because he never could stay quiet. He squeezed his eyes shut. The whole time since they arrived in Barcelona had been like a race down a steep slope, running faster and faster, wind in his face, joy and fear and unable to stop.

Now he wasn't even running, he was tumbling downhill, head over heels, rolling, crashing, battered and bruised, coming onto Yuuri's hand, and happier than he'd ever been before.

He stopped breathing for a few seconds, he always did, like the wind was knocked out of him, while Yuuri churned a few more times, then shuddered against his back and anointed his thighs.

Victor turned and pulled Yuuri into his arms, pants down, skin dripping. Clean-up was going to be a bitch. Yuuri clutched him back, head against Victor's shoulder, mouth against Victor's throat.

"Victor," Yuuri whispered. "Can I do your makeup?" He reached up and with one finger, traced a heart on Victor's cheek.

Victor thought about smudged eyeliner and bent brushes and sallow cheeks. He kissed the top of Yuuri's head. "Any time."