A ravenous thirst woke Victor up.
That, and a rather distressing dream where he was a passenger on a bus driven by a cackling Georgi, but what mattered in the end was that his throat and mouth were unbelievably dry when he woke up.
That was Victor's only real complaint, since otherwise he was perfectly content after realizing that he was quite securely held in Yuuri's arms, his face pressed against the front of Yuuri's shirt and his leg looped around Yuuri's and an arm thrown over his stomach.
It was a remarkable position to be in, Victor thought. In the months since Yuuri moved in and shared Victor's bed, they usually woke up in some rather unusual positions. One memorable morning Victor woke up to find Yuuri's face plastered to his stomach, and his resulting giggle unfortunately woke Yuuri up, causing him to turn an impressive shade of red when he realized what was going on.
But this was nice. Warm and cozy. Soothing, especially with the sound of Yuuri's soft, steady breaths.
Victor could have easily fallen back to sleep, lying wrapped up in so comfortably the arms of the man he loved, but he desperately needed a drink.
With a tiny reluctant sigh, Victor carefully started to shimmy out of the adoring embrace of Yuuri's arms, biting his lip when he heard Yuuri's soft, confused moan. "Vitka?" he mumbled sleepily, fingers briefly curling over Victor's shoulder.
Trying very hard not to coo in delight, Victor leaned in to press a quick kiss to Yuuri's cheek. "I'm just getting some water," he said quietly, giving in to the urge to run his fingers through Yuuri's sleep-tousled hair. "Go back to sleep."
Yuuri hummed a reply before turning to his side and pressing his face against Victor's long-abandoned pillow, and Victor was already mourning the loss of the man's warmth as soon as he was freed. Yuuri never even opened his eyes.
After giving himself a quick stretch, Victor got up and shivered a bit at the slight chill, brusquely reminded of the drawbacks to sleeping only in one's shorts during a St. Petersburg winter. It just seemed pointless to wear anything else with Yuuri in his bed, and the added heat of Makkachin at the foot of the bed. Like Yuuri, Makkachin was thoroughly undisturbed, continuing to snore lightly.
Minutes later, with a glass of water in hand, Victor looked out at the window and at the snow-covered tops of neighboring buildings beneath a dark winter sky. The bitter cold that greeted Yuuri upon his arrival in Russia inspired Victor to buy him a heavy ushanka hat, one that he looked absolutely adorable in.
Victor took his time, sipping slowly and recalling similar nights, when staying up and observing the white world outside was preferable to going back to a lonely bed, especially after that banquet in Sochi, when he'd been bewitched by a drunk siren who'd promptly disappeared from Victor's world for months.
But here he was now, in Victor's home, his bed, his arms, his heart, scrunching up his nose in the mornings with soft, sleepy laughs when he'd wake up to Victor kissing him all over his face. Then there were the mornings when Victor would have a harder time waking him up to head to practice, leaving the bedroom just as Yuuri was sitting up only to walk back in minutes later to find him fast asleep again. Victor couldn't really blame him, having given in to the temptation provided by a warm bed himself too many times to count, and still counting.
Victor washed the glass and walked back to the bedroom, yawning softly and pausing at the door to get a look at Yuuri in their bed. He watched the rise and fall of his back as he breathed, observed the way his fingers loosely clenched at his messy black hair.
Seeing him like that almost made Victor want to weep with love and gratitude, but mostly he just wanted to curl up behind Yuuri and take him in his arms. So he did just that, careful not to jostle the mattress too much as he settled on his side and pressed his front to Yuuri's back, sighing in contentment as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri's torso and rested his cheek on Yuuri's nape.
However, the moment Victor's feet touched Yuuri's, the younger man let out a sharp hiss. "Victor, you're freezing!"
Victor pouted against Yuuri's nape and held the squirming man tighter and wickedly seizing one of his flailing feet between his. "Warm me up, lapochka. Take me in your arms again," he whined, grinning against Yuuri's nape.
"Oh my g-did you go out in the snow in just your shorts!? Get off!"