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Viktor has never done anything illegal before, and maybe he still isn’t, but surely – surely – paying people to get off on camera has to fall within some sort of immoral don’t-let-the-press-know category on Yakov’s list of Reasons I'm Balding.

And yet he can’t stop.

Gnawing furiously on his lower lip his fingertips hover over the touchpad on his laptop, the transfer of a not insignificant sum of money just a click away. When his eyes flicker to the screen – to the man currently licking come off his fingers, eyes a hooded dark brown that Viktor tries and fails not to drown in every time – the decision is easy.

Mm,” the man on-screen hums, “I’d ask if you all enjoyed the show tonight, but it seems GoldVitya answered that for us already.

A sultry smile, and Viktor can’t help but imagine those sweet, glistening lips dragging up the length of his cock instead. He already came, too affected by the earlier moans vibrating through the computer speakers, but the thought still sends a flash of arousal to his gut.

>You were beautiful, Miliy

He types the message quickly, drinks in the way those cheeks redden just slightly, as if a man so sensual could actually be flustered by mere words.

You’re too good to me,” is the mumbled reply, and then he’s running a hand through soft, black hair, body stretching sinfully in post-orgasm bliss. “I’m afraid this will have to be all for today, thank you to everyone who donated and also a special thanks to Gingerman who sent me those nice panties. You’ll come see me next time, too, won’t you?

He winks, smiles again before leaning forwards to turn the camera off, and Viktor is so so gone for SpicyKatsudon92. He doesn’t know much more than a username, and of course the more intimate parts of his body; what it looks like when he spreads himself open, when he brings himself over the edge of pleasure and makes everyone watching follow mindlessly along.

He knows a beautiful smile, sexy confidence in response to dirty talk and shy acceptance of more innocent praise. He knows that whenever asked for a name, SpicyKatsudon92 only grins teasingly and says you can call me anything you want.

Viktor calls him Miliy.

He doesn’t know if it’s tacky, if the man secretly hates it or not; all he knows is that he’s never felt as much emotion as he does whenever he watches him touch himself, watches him talk adoringly about his day, watches him cry out and beg for more.

Even now Viktor’s mind screams for more, his body throbbing with desire. He wants to be touched, wants those slender hands digging into his hips and tracing circles on his skin. Letting out a sigh he’s about to resign himself to yet another Saturday of trying to go through his work-out regime without constantly thinking of Miliy’s tempting body (he never succeeds) when there’s an invitation to a private stream popping up on his screen.

For a moment he wonders if someone hacked his computer, or is trying to trick him somehow. But it looks legit, and he presses accept with a pounding heart.

Miliy does private shows sometimes, he knows, but that’s mostly on weekdays when he doesn’t do his usual show. He’s got a consistent schedule Friday to Sunday, though not always the full three days. For Viktor, who lives in Russia, the streams take place around 10 or 11 am. He doesn’t know where Miliy lives (no one seems to know), but he has a fairly American accent mixed with his Japanese one, and his shows cater to some US time zone.

Either way it’s likely he lives far away, and Viktor’s heart flutters when his gorgeous face fills the screen again.

Hi, GoldVitya,” he says, still naked but with one leg pressed against his chest, looking comfortable. “I wanted to thank you for the donation. You’ve definitely earned a private session, if you’d like?”

He tilts his head, smiling sweetly, and Viktor forgets how to breathe.

>You didn’t have to, Miliy

The words have Miliy giggling, and Viktor doesn’t care if it’s a fake giggle, it goes straight to his dick anyway.

I wanted to, I had some extra time anyway. I’m a little surprised you’ve never asked for one before?”

Viktor hesitates, bites his lip. He’s thought about it so many times, but he always thought it too dangerous. He’ll get addicted, want him to himself, and spend entirely too much money. Not that he doesn’t do that already...

>Maybe I’m shy

Miliy hums, and Viktor wishes he had a name rather than simply calling him darling inside his head.

Then I suppose you don’t want to turn on your own camera?

Choking on air, Viktor imagines for a moment that he could do it, could let Miliy see just how absolutely destroyed he makes Viktor feel each and every time.

However. Viktor might get away with secretly watching camboy porn, but no matter how sweet Miliy is, he can’t trust him not to figure out he’s a sort of celebrity.

>Sorry, I can’t. But rest assured you have me absolutely wrecked every time, Miliy

This time Miliy blushes, scratching at his cheek. Viktor drinks it in, his chest aching with the need to reach out and take his hand and kiss the top of it, see if his lovely face turns even redder.

You always call me that,” he mumbles, adjusting his position a little. “You still won’t tell me what it means?”

>Still a secret ;)

Smiling while he types it, his lips spread further into a grin when Miliy huffs playfully.

Well, will you at least tell me what you’d like to see? I’m good to go another round.”

Despite how arousal courses through his veins at yet another reminder of Miliy’s stamina, Viktor knows he needs a little more recovery time than five minutes.

>Talk to me about your day?

Miliy lets out an incredulous laugh, raising his eyebrows at Viktor.

“That’s all? I mean, I don’t mind, but you can ask whatever you like…”

>Don’t tell me you’re still horny?

Those sweet lips get bitten again, and Viktor’s head rushes with partly the sight, partly daring to talk dirty. He knows that many of his fans believe him to be some daddy in the sheets, but despite being twenty-seven years old he doesn’t have much experience in sexting like this.

He thinks he’s getting better, because Miliy moans and licks his lips, and oh, maybe Viktor doesn’t need that much time to get going again after all.

I do like my job…” Miliy trails off, and then another adorable blush dusts his cheeks. He probably knows Viktor gets off to him blushing. “I’m honestly feeling a bit wound up, there’s this celebrity I like, and they just released new pictures of him.”

Miliy puts a finger in his mouth and bites down gently, and the sensation must be a good one because Viktor can see his cock twitch in interest. Those brown eyes flicker down to the chatbox, and a wince passes over his face.

Sorry, you don’t want to hear about some other guy right now…”

Viktor, on the other hand, does actually. He wants to know what Miliy fantasizes about, what makes such a desired man groan in pleasure off-camera. Does he think about this man when he fucks himself on his toys? Viktor always thought he had an exhibitionist kink, among others, but it never occurred to him that there was a specific person he thought about.

>Please, tell me! I want to know what you like, what makes you feel good, how he would touch you…

“Oh.” The word comes out breathless, and Miliy drags a hand down his chest, spreading his knees to show Viktor just how affected he is from thinking about this celebrity. He squeezes his thick thighs, and Viktor shivers at the way Miliy’s fingers dig into the muscle. “I can tell you.”

Closing his eyes, Miliy’s head drops back, nipples perky and just perfect for Viktor’s lips to close around.

“I’ve always admired him,” Miliy starts, stroking up and down his thighs. “He’s so brilliant, and he seems so nice, too. He would tell me sweet things, take me anywhere I want to go.”

>You deserve all that and more

Miliy glances at the chatbox, smiling languidly. It has Viktor’s fingers reaching inside his briefs, ghosting over his half-hard length.

“You’re always sweet to me, too. I like that.”

>I like being sweet to you, Miliy

Miliy moans, the sound falling from his lips like the sweetest honey, and Viktor swallows against the dryness in his throat. He wasn’t sure before, but it definitely seems like Miliy has a praise kink, and Viktor is more than happy to play along with it.

>You’re gorgeous, so pretty when you touch yourself. I bet he’d tell you every day, tell you how amazing you are, I know I’d do it if I could

Those fingers travel up the insides of meaty thighs, up his soft stomach, circling his nipples before pinching them harshly.

Sometimes I listen to his interviews in Russian and pretend he’s talking about me,” Miliy confesses in a rush, and Viktor’s heart almost bursts out his chest. “I pretend we’re married and he’s telling them how he can’t wait to come back home to see me, isn’t it pathetic? He’s so handsome it can’t be real.”

>Oh, Miliy, he would be lucky to have you

God, Viktor wants to know who this Russian is so he can steal his identity and ask Miliy to marry him. He’d spoil him rotten, bring him to every competition and show him off, maybe on days off he can teach Miliy to skate, show him around St. Petersburg…

But right now Miliy is tugging at his nipples, squirming like he wants to be filled, wants to be pushed down and fucked until he can’t walk.

>How would he touch you, Miliy?

Viktor’s breath hitches when Miliy spreads his legs even further, both hands running down his chest and head falling back again to bare his neck.

“He’d start slow, tease me, tell me how good I look underneath him. He’d make me beg for it, just to have his hands on my cock.”

Unable to hold back a moan, Viktor pushes his briefs down completely and grabs the lube placed on the coffee table. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this riled up so soon after an orgasm, squirting the clear liquid into his left hand and shuddering at the cold when he wraps the hand around himself and starts to stroke.

>You like that, you like begging

It’s hard to type with just one hand, but his effort is rewarded with a needy sound as Miliy drags his nails over tantalizing hipbones.

“I do, I want it so bad, want him to tell me what to do so I can be good for him."

>Show me how you’d suck his cock, let him fuck your throat until you cry, be so good for him Miliy

Miliy gasps, fumbles for something off-screen and provides the thick dildo he used on himself not even fifteen minutes ago. He eagerly brings it to his mouth, lapping at the shaft all the while releasing filthy moans.

Mm, tastes so good,” he groans, staring straight into the camera. “Please, I want you, need you, I’ll do anything you want…”

>You’re doing so well, Miliy

Viktor has to abandon his cock for a bit, using both hands to type. As much as he needs to be touched, right now he wants to focus on Miliy, doesn’t want to miss a second of the pleasure shining in his eyes. He wants to tell Miliy all the things he thinks whenever he watches a show, wants to pretend he’s the person causing such raw need in the beautiful man.

>Pretend I’m him, Miliy

>I’m standing in front of you, holding your face, thumbs on your pretty cheeks

>I can tell how bad you want me

Mm, please, feels so good.”

Miliy shudders with want, opening his mouth wide to swallow as much of the dildo he can fit. Even though he’s seen it before, something about how he’s doing this for Viktor, and only Viktor, has him feeling almost dizzy.

>Look at you

>So desperate, so pretty with your mouth stuffed full of cock

>I love it when you do this for me

>Want to marry you all over again

Viktor might not have a marriage kink, but he’s definitely got a kink for fulfilling Miliy’s needs in life. The way his eyes blow wide as he reads the words, the slurping noise the dildo makes as it leaves his mouth so that Miliy can moan louder than Viktor’s ever heard him, all of it has precum dribbling down his cock and lightning shooting up his groin.

“Please,” Miliy cries, shakily running a hand through his hair, “Please touch me, Viktor.”

It doesn’t even register at the time, that Miliy couldn’t possibly know his name; right now all it does is make Viktor swear out loud and bang on the keys much harder than he needs to.

>Fuck Miliy

>The things you do to me

>Touch your cock

>Want to see you come

His whole body is on edge, arousal coursing through his veins as he watches Miliy read the words, watches him cry out as he finally touches his cock. Miliy closes his eyes, too focused on the pleasure, garbled versions of please and yes and more spilling from his swollen lips in a steady stream. Viktor turns up the volume, hoping his neighbors aren’t home, and strokes his cock with one hand while the other plays with his balls.

It’s always a beautiful sight, to see Miliy lost in pleasure, body flushed with need and sweat gathering at his hairline. This time, Viktor is the one who brought him there, all on his own. He can’t help the pride blooming in his chest, fighting for space with the painful affection he feels for Miliy. He wants to know more about him, wants to know what he likes to do in his spare time, if he has a favorite book or TV show, if he’s ever watched a figure skating competition…

He lets his gaze travel over soft skin, wonders how that dark hair would feel against his fingers, if Miliy likes having his hair pulled. He wants to know where he’s ticklish, where he would moan the loudest if Viktor licked him…

So close, want to come, please, feels so good!”

Viktor groans, because Miliy is just so beautiful, body straining as he thrusts his hips into his hands, strands of hair sticking to his forehead and eyes clouded over with lust when he peeks through his lashes at the screen.

>Beautiful, Miliy

It’s all he manages to type, too close to the edge, but it seems to be all Miliy needs because he gasps and comes over his hands, quick strokes turning slower before he collapses on the bed.

He imagines fucking him while he’s all soft and sensitive, so overcome with pleasure that he screams Viktor’s name, clenching around him and nails digging into his shoulders and back. It almost feels too real, and he curls in on himself as he releases, lungs aching and throat raw from all his heavy breathing. He feels spent, in a way he rarely feels outside of grueling practice, but in a much more pleasant way.

His body throbs, slowly calming down and becoming sluggish, the fever on his skin cooling.

“Wow,” Miliy breathes, the sound loud from how high Viktor turned up the volume, and he instantly whips his head up to watch the other man gingerly sit up. “Was it good for you? I feel like you did all the work…”

Miliy looks almost sheepish, grabbing a napkin to dry himself off, and Viktor scrambles for one of his own so he can type out a reply.

>You were so, so good Miliy


>Whoever your celebrity crush is doesn’t know what he’s missing

Miliy blushes, a bright red that travels down his neck, and he coughs in embarrassment.

“Oh, he certainly doesn’t know I exist. But it’s okay, thank you for… playing along, I guess.”

>You never told me who it is, by the way

Viktor smiles, because Miliy looks so cute when he’s shy, in a way that makes Viktor want to wrap him up in a big hug and smother him with kisses.

I’m not sure you’d know who he is, depending on where you live. He’s a figure skater.”

For a moment, the world stops. Viktor blinks at the screen, heart beating wildly in his chest. A figure skater? There aren’t that many of them, not at the top level, and if Miliy utters the name Chris he thinks he might have to retire. But then again, Miliy seems the type to be into sex appeal, and oh god, Viktor’s forgotten to answer and now Miliy is looking worriedly at the screen.

>I watch figure skating sometimes!

It’s not a lie, technically, and Miliy lets out a small smile.

“Oh, maybe you like him too? He’s the best skater in the world right now.”

His head spins, his heart doing some complicated somersault inside his chest, and it’s a miracle he hits the correct keys with the way his hands have started to shake.

>So it’s… Viktor Nikiforov?

Miliy smiles, and it’s happy, sweet, everything Viktor wants in life.

“Of course it’s Viktor.”


Of course.


“Come on, Yuuri! You never hang out with us anymore! And I finally have a day off, too…”

Yuuri winces, giving Phichit an apologetic look. It’s probably true, but Yuuri is drowning in homework. He’s almost had to cut back on streaming, though the truth is he’s probably worked more than usual and that’s why he’s so behind.

“I’m sorry, really. I really need to write this report.”

“Hmm.” Phichit, being his best friend in the whole world, is only marginally doubtful of his excuse. “Well, you knew I’d be free tonight so at least you’re not working. Right? Or is your Viktor voice-actor more important than me?”

Flushing from his hairline down to his chest, Yuuri shoves Phichit hard. He almost falls off the couch, which would serve him right.

“It’s not like that,” he cries, knowing he’ll never live down two nights ago when Phichit walked in on him, right in the middle of a private session with GoldVitya.

“Oh, of course not. You just found a random Russian man on the internet who sounds like Viktor Nikiforov, and now you definitely don’t have cam sex five times a week.”

“We don’t- Phichit!”

“That’s not what you moaned the day before yesterday~”

Phichit leans away from him, laughing obnoxiously. While Yuuri is extremely thankful that Phichit doesn’t care what he does for a living, he’s starting to regret telling him.

It doesn’t help that Phichit is, unfortunately, a real life figure skater who has met Viktor in real life. Yuuri is so jealous he could cry.

“It’s just once a week,” he mutters anyway, “sometimes two.”

“Well, as long as he pays you,” Phichit says, serious now. “Don’t sell yourself cheap.”

“I’m not.”

“You should tell him to buy you things! I could use a nice pair of sunglasses in this heat.”

“Phichit, please.”

“What? I bet he’d buy you anything you want.”

“He would not.”

All Phichit does is raise his eyebrows, grabbing his takeaway smoothie and slurping up the last of it.

“You’re not funny.”

“On the contrary, I’m hilarious and you love me. Now go have fun with not-Viktor while I and this empty plastic cup go partying.”

Yuuri sighs, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. He probably would have fun with not-Viktor – who sounds uncannily alike the real Viktor – if he wasn’t busy. When the door slams behind Phichit he sinks even deeper, knowing he really needs to get started on his report. Maybe he should just pole dance professionally instead of as a hobby. Though that would mean even more bruises needing to be covered before he could cam…

It would be a lot nicer than studying, though. Studying abroad isn’t cheap, but it was the one place he could specialize in physical therapy for figure skaters. Well, hockey players too, but Yuuri doesn’t care much for them. What he does care about is Viktor, and the fact that the figure skating season is starting soon. Viktor didn’t do any ice shows in the US this year, which is just tragic, but Yuuri can’t motivate a trip to Europe or Asia with being thirsty.

Groaning, he pushes his computer further away on the coffee table. All this talk about Viktor left him squirming, the first hints of arousal pooling in his gut. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost two months since his first private stream with GoldVitya, or Vitya as he likes to be called. Apparently it’s a nickname for Viktor, and Yuuri can’t believe his luck that another fan of Viktor’s would watch his show. It took a couple weeks, but once Vitya suggested he turned on his mic and role-played Viktor – let’s just say Yuuri has been living in heaven.

It’s the accent, Vitya had said, explaining how he sounded so alike Viktor. That and I’m a huge fan, as embarrassing as it is. Maybe I should make a career out of imitating him!

Yuuri believes he could. He could also work at one of those hotlines selling phone sex. His voice should be illegal. Yuuri always worries that Vitya is getting the short end of the stick during their sessions, when clearly Yuuri is enjoying himself too much. Every time Vitya assures him that it’s just as good for him, and Yuuri is frustratingly curious to know what he looks like.

He sounds like he’s beautiful, though that’s probably because he sounds like Viktor. Either way he has yet to see more than a few selective pieces of Vitya’s cock and hand, though they’re not necessarily his own. They kind of look too good to be true. What are the chances, statistically, that someone beautiful with Viktor’s voice would watch Yuuri, of all people?

Sure, Yuuri has enough subscribers to get by, but there’s nothing special about him. He’s just a university student with a celebrity crush, getting off to some random Russian (or someone good at faking accents) pretending to be said celebrity. And well, he’s alright at pole dancing, which his ballet teacher back home is probably not so happy about.

Other than that there’s really nothing, and he sighs for the umpteenth time as his phone chimes with an incoming message. Too lazy to check – again, Vitya is busy and Yuuri is not in the mood for sexy times anyway – he reaches for the box of Cap’n Crunch standing innocently on the coffee table and pours himself a generous handful.

Not what he should be doing at all, but he’s feeling a little sorry for himself. However, as it turns out the cereals are dangerous to more than his weight, because when he does check his phone he almost chokes on them.



Busy? I got off training a little earlier so I have a break now o(〃^▽^〃)o


That’s great! How long is your break?


Only an hour or so T__T wyd?


Studying:( Want to cam instead?


(灬♥ω♥灬) yes please~


Yuuri brings his computer to the bedroom, setting everything up and snorting at Vitya’s impatient stream of messages. They’re all a variety of slightly inappropriate, ranging from heart eyes to suggestions of what they can do together.



Please give me a treat today, Miliy<3

I’ve suffered so much without you (゜´Д`゜)


It’s barely been three days…




In the few minutes that Yuuri goes to switch his glasses for contact lenses and slick back his hair a little, Vitya has time to send ten more crying emoticons. It’s a little endearing, honestly. It is however something Yuuri has trouble imagining the real Viktor doing. The man of his dreams is always so collected in public, maybe a bit flirty but certainly not clingy. Rather than reply, he gets comfortable and logs into his account, sending the invite to Vitya’s profile for the private video chat.

Miliy,” Vitya moans through the screen, sounding upset rather than aroused. “You made me wait so long…”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Yuuri fusses with the computer a little, checking the camera angle before dropping back on the bed. He hides a smile when Vitya gasps, imagining the man with a dramatic hand on his chest. “I just wanted to look good for you…”

He flutters his lashes, acting coy. Despite only being able to hear the other man he can tell when whiny turns into interested, especially when he rubs a finger against his lower lip before biting it.

Oh, Miliy, you are always stunning. I could stare at you for days.”

Yuuri can’t help it, his praise kink always goes wild when Vitya uses his Viktor voice, as he’s dubbed it. A little deeper, filled with throaty arousal, never failing to send Yuuri’s heart into overdrive. He drags his hands down his sides, cheeks heating up when Vitya whistles – but it’s Viktor now, gently urging him on.

Look at you, Miliy. How am I supposed to focus later at the rink, hm? I might fall on all my jumps and Yakov will yell at me.”

It’ll never cease to amaze him how easily Vitya submerges himself in their role playing. All Yuuri has to do is touch himself to that seductive voice, but Vitya likes to go all in, down to the little details. Maybe he knows how crazy it drives Yuuri, to pretend he really is talking to four-time gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov. Maybe it drives him crazy, too, pretending to be someone famous.

“Viktor,” he moans, teasing the hem of his t-shirt. “Tell me what to do?”

Closing his eyes, Yuuri’s ears strain to pick up each and every sound from the speakers. He can hear a slight rustling noise, and then Viktor laughs breathlessly.

How am I supposed to choose,” he says, and Yuuri gives him a pointed look through the camera. “Aah, but you are so beautiful, Miliy. I really could just look at you for hours.”

Heat blooms in Yuuri’s cheeks and belly, fiery hot and needy at the praise. He might not have been in the mood earlier, but just the thought of Viktor telling him to touch himself has him half-hard in his pants.

“I need more,” he groans, slipping his fingers underneath his loose shirt to press against his stomach, slowly caressing up his sternum. “You shouldn’t tease me when we only have an hour.”

Viktor laughs again, bright and fond, and Yuuri forgets to be bold for a moment. He tucks his chin against his chest, heartbeat a ridiculous hammering against his ribs. While he loves pretending, loves being coaxed into masturbating until he feels so good he could cry, he also loves the intimacy that Vitya makes him feel. He feels real, not just someone randomly horny on the other side of a screen.

And maybe he isn’t really Viktor, but Yuuri can’t help but think that this is as close as he’ll ever get to perfect.

 “But you’re so pretty when you beg,” Viktor purrs, and Yuuri full on shivers with want. “I did have an idea of something we could try?

Yuuri nods eagerly, because yes, anything, as long as he gets to come to Viktor’s praise in his ears. His fingers are so close to his nipples, but he knows he can’t touch until Viktor tells him so. Instead he moans, bucks his hips just a little bit against invisible friction, imagines those piercing blue eyes roaming over his body.

“I’ll let you touch yourself soon, Miliy, but you want to feel like it’s me doing it, don’t you? You want to feel my hands on you, my come inside you…”

“I do, please,” Yuuri gasps, fingers digging into his skin.

“Close your eyes, Miliy. Have you ever seen my- Viktor’s apartment?”

“Yes, yes I have. It was in the interview with this Russian magazine, three years ago.”

“Good,” Viktor praises him, voice a smooth caress over Yuuri’s ears. “Picture it. You’re in the kitchen, waiting for me to come home.”

He stills, letting the fantasy wash over him. Vitya sounds like he wants to step their role playing up a notch, and Yuuri feels something dark shudder within him. How many times has he imagined this, living with Viktor, playing out little made-up scenarios of their life together?

“Okay,” he says, anticipation curling white-hot in his gut. “I’m in the kitchen, what am I doing?”

“You’re cooking for us,” Viktor instructs, “something special. It’s a special day today, and you want to make something for me that you love. What would you cook for me, Miliy?”

I’d do anything, Yuuri thinks, licks his lips and tries to come up with something Viktor might like.

“I would- Something Japanese? What’s the occasion?”

“It’s the most important day after your birthday.” Viktor pauses, and Yuuri shivers with want. He wants to know, wants to please, can so clearly picture himself in Viktor’s kitchen, puttering about as he waits for him to come home. “It’s our wedding anniversary, one year since you made me the happiest man alive.”

Oh. Something clogs up Yuuri’s throat, makes him swallow against the hard lump forming there. Vitya has played pretend-husbands several times with him, but never like this.

“I'll make katsudon,” he mumbles, glancing down at his lap, shy at the admittance of his favorite dish.

“That’s so lovely, Miliy. It smells delicious in the whole apartment, and Makkachin is keeping you company, resting under the table.”

Yuuri moans, dragging his hands down his chest, so tantalizingly close to his need. His cock strains against the fabric of his briefs, his arousal easy to pick up on for Vitya as he spreads his legs just a bit more.

“Are you at practice?” he asks, seeing Viktor gliding smoothly across the ice, spins and steps a blur of seduction.

“Yes. It’s my worst practice in a long time – I can only think of you, my dearest husband, patiently waiting for me. Yakov takes pity on me and lets me go early, or I’ll fall on a jump and hurt myself because I remembered how you gave yourself to me in the morning.”

“You made me feel so good,” Yuuri plays along, and he thinks of early morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds, the warmth underneath the covers as Viktor lazily picks him apart at the seams. “I wore a plug all day, keeping your come inside me, feeling it rub against my sweet spot every time I move.”

“Fuck,” Viktor hisses, and Yuuri wonders if he’s touching himself yet, if those slender hands he’s glimpsed in pictures stroke along his length, already affected by Yuuri’s as of now favorite fantasy. “Of course you did, you’re so good to me, Miliy. My darling husband.”

Blushing bright red, Yuuri keeps his eyes squeezed closed, fingertips skimming the waistband of his briefs. He would have changed into something sexier, but had merely shimmied out of his sweatpants and hoped clothes wouldn’t stay on for long.

Viktor,” he moans, drawing in shaky breaths. “I’m yours, please, I need you.”

“That’s right, Miliy. You’re mine, wearing my ring, carrying my seed. I just texted you, asking if you want me to pick something up on the way home, because I’ll give you anything you want.”

Hearing his earlier thoughts mirrored back at him has Yuuri wetting the front of his briefs with precum, hands gripping at his thighs and lashes fluttering despite knowing there’s nothing to see but himself on the computer screen.

“I just want you,” he whispers, looking into the camera with pleading eyes, pushing his ass down into the mattress. “I’ve been wearing your shirt all day, breathing in your scent, wishing you were close to me.”

“God, the things you do to me,” Viktor exhales, and there’s the distinct sound of a cap clicking open. “Only the shirt, yes? Take your underwear off for me. Show me how desperate you are for me to come home to you.”

Pulse quickening, Yuuri rises to his knees, hooking his thumbs into the hem. Slowly, he pulls the fabric down, letting out keening noises at the feeling of fabric dragging over his sensitive cock. He pretends it’s Viktor in front of him, helping him undress, blue eyes glued to the V of his hips before his cock springs free.  

“So beautiful, Miliy,” Viktor praises him in that low voice of his, a shiver of pleasure running up Yuuri’s spine. “I want your cock bouncing on my stomach while you ride me.”

Yuuri trembles with need, so hard and flushed, and yet he wants to know how long he can be teased, if he can orgasm just from being told that Viktor touches him.

“You’re skipping ahead,” he reminds Viktor, breathless, mind stuck on the dirty image of himself half naked, cooking in Viktor’s too large shirt. “I want to know what happens when you come home.”

“I run home, because I don’t want to wait another second before I have you in my arms. I’m sure you can hear how my hands shake as I turn the key in the lock, but you stay in the kitchen while Makkachin greets me at the door.”

“Makkachin is such a wonderful dog,” Yuuri sighs, missing his own poodle at home.

“He is, the other day he-“ Viktor stops, letting out an amused huff. “Miliy, don’t distract me with the dog!”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

“Well, he’s getting a treat tonight to keep him occupied. Anyway, I join you in the kitchen, breath catching in my throat as I see you, so wonderful and all mine.”

“Welcome home,” Yuuri whispers, imagines Viktor in the doorway, pausing to watch him with a warm smile. “I missed you today.”

“I walk over, cupping your face in my hands and kissing your sweet lips, pressing you into the counter.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri giggles, even as he twists his hands in his shirt. “The food will get burnt.”

“I can’t help it.” Viktor’s voice is rougher now, and Yuuri bites down on a moan. “Every day I fall a little more in love, want you a little more. I run my hands down your sides, sneak them underneath your shirt.”

“Like this?” Yuuri acts out the words, hands gripping at his hips, lifting the shirt to show some stomach. “You’ll see that I’m already hard for you, ready to be taken again.”

He tries not to let the loving words get to him, because it’s just pretend, but he wants to be loved like this, wants to be held and looked at like he’s the most beautiful person in the world.

And he knows that doing this isn’t helping his chances for a real relationship, because Viktor – and Vitya – surely has him ruined for any other man.

“Look at you,” Viktor sighs, and Yuuri spreads his legs, juts his hips out to show more of himself. “I left you all alone today, when you needed me this much. What do you want, Miliy? Tell me.”

Yuuri burns with need, and slight embarrassment. He wets his lips, imagines Viktor’s eyes following the drag of his tongue, narrowing in arousal.

“I want my husband to fuck me.” The words leave him a rush, thighs clenching at the sharp intake of breath from the speakers. “Viktor, please. Pull the plug out of my ass and fill me up.”

Viktor lets out a string of curses in Russian, and Yuuri imagines being spun around, bent over the counter with a firm hand on his neck, the front of Viktor’s pants and the hard bulge of his cock pushing against his cheeks.

“Show me how much you want it,” Viktor commands, and Yuuri falls onto his back and bucks his hips into the air, one hand gripping the inside of his thigh while the other desperately fumbles for the bottle of lube he keeps on his nightstand. “Like that, my love, open yourself up for me.”

 He pours the cool liquid sloppily over his fingers, not bothering to warm it up before plunging two of them inside his hole, letting out a gasp. His cock is swollen against his belly, dribbling precum onto his skin. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to feel Viktor’s fingers rather than his own!

“So sweet to me, Miliy, so good for me. How does it feel?”

“Not enough,” he moans, adding a third finger, body flush with the knowledge that Viktor can hear the squelch of his fingers thrusting in and out of his ass. “Want you fucking me, Viktor.”

“You love my cock, don’t you,” Viktor purrs, and Yuuri is already so wrecked but he needs more. “No other cock is good enough for you.”

“Yes, yes! It has to be yours, Viktor please…”

“You can have it if you’re good, Miliy, will you be good for me?”

Yuuri could cry, lips parted as he pants and moans, head thrown back to expose his neck. He wants Viktor to mark him, wants to feel his weight holding him down against the mattress, wants him hot and thick and fucking into him.

“I’ll be so good,” he promises, mewling as he hits his prostate just right.

“We’re still in the kitchen,” Viktor reminds him, sounding short on breath. “I’ve got you bent over the table, ass up as you finger yourself, holding your cheeks spread for you.”

“Mmh, Viktor…”

“I’m so hard in my pants, Miliy, you’re driving me crazy. But I know you love it when I watch you, when I tell you how beautiful you are. I love it when you’re eager like this, crying out for me. I’m the only one who can satisfy you, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Yuuri groans, sweat gathering at his hairline. “You’re the only one for me.”

It takes a little longer than usual for Viktor to reply, but when he does, his voice is low and gentle, enveloping Yuuri in a different kind of heat.

“And you’re the only one for me, Miliy.”

He swallows, adds a fourth finger to distract himself from the emotions threatening to tumble out. The stretch slows him down, sends tingles of pleasure up his spine and cock, erupting underneath his skin. He can feel the pressure in his cock, building up, and he desperately chases the feeling.

Maybe it’s a little bit pathetic, how easily he falls into the illusion, how easily Vitya spins tales of pleasure with his Viktor-voice, with Yuuri desperately asking for more. He wants to stroke himself, run his fingers through the precum pooling on his stomach and suck it into his mouth, all the while pretending Viktor sees.

There are posters on his wall, covering the spots the webcam never angles towards. Viktor mid-skate, ethereal and glittering on the ice. Viktor with Makkachin, smiling brightly. Viktor in designer clothes, cut-out from a magazine.

“I lean over you,” Viktor urges, “my hands underneath your shirt, playing with your nipples.”

Yuuri’s free hand shoots up, pushing his shirt out of the way to tug and squeeze the hardened nubs. He chokes on a moan, rolling first the left, and then the right nipple between his fingertips, pleasure-pain mingling with the sharp spikes that course through his body as he massages his prostate.

He needs more lube but he doesn’t want to stop, so close and so desperate.

“Do you want me like this?” Viktor sounds eager, his accent caressing Yuuri’s ears. “Making love to you in our kitchen, cock slipping easily inside you, even if the food burns.”

“Yes,” Yuuri gasps, a half smile at the thought of being so irresistible that nothing else in the world matters. “Love me, Viktor.”

An almost shout turns into a moan, and Yuuri’s eyes fall open as he realizes that Viktor just came.

“Did you?” he asks, slowing down just a little, wrist aching a bit from the position it’s in.

“Sorry,” Viktor sighs, “you’re just so- I thought about my cock hitting you deep, and how you’d moan my name and arch your back, and I-“

Oh,” is all Yuuri can think to say, and then he finally grabs the lube again, squeezing it over his cock and the fingers still digging into his hole. “Did you think about coming inside me?”

“Gods, Miliy, if I didn’t before I’m sure doing it now.”

“Good.” Yuuri wraps his fingers around his length, hips jerking into the touch. “I want it dribbling down my thighs as I finish dinner.”

Viktor sucks in a breath, curses in Russian again. Yuuri imagines silver hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks burning with the post-sex high, eyes bright and adoring as he watches Yuuri touch himself.

It doesn’t take long, when Viktor starts praising him. Yuuri is so, so weak to it, mind clouding over as he loses himself to ecstasy. It’s like his veins catch fire, Viktor’s sweet words the match lighting him up, until he trembles and cries and spills all over himself.

“So beautiful, Miliy, so pretty when I pleasure you. I’d spend every day in bed with you if I could, stuffing you full of the come you beg so sweetly for.”

Viktor,” he moans, breathless as he comes down from his high.

He feels wrung out, heavy against the mattress, wishing he could feel Viktor’s warm hands running up and down his chest and legs and face. When he feels a little more like himself, and all of Viktor’s praise has turned ridiculous, he heaves himself up on his elbows and pouts at the screen.

“I’m sweeter than syrniki on a bed of sugar?” he questions, and Vitya laughs, high and carefree and instantly warming Yuuri’s cooling body.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” he teases, and Yuuri tries to force his blush down.

“I wasn’t out that long, was I?”

“Hmm, no, just a couple minutes. Plenty of time for me to practice complimenting you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs, but it comes out too fond to be an actual complaint.

“Only for you, lyubov moya.”

Yuuri bites his lips against a smile, pulling off his shirt and using it to wipe up some of the mess. Vitya has added to his repertoire of pet names, though he still seems to like miliy the most.  

“I’m happy you had some time for me today. I don’t know how I’ll survive next week.”

He can hear the pout in Vitya’s voice, flattered that he finds it so terrible that work will keep him from talking to Yuuri.

“But you’ll watch the competition, right?” Vitya asks, and Yuuri sometimes has to remind himself that Vitya really goes all out with the role play, because he sounds so genuinely excited over Yuuri watching Viktor competing at Skate America.

“Of course I will,” he reassures him, not mentioning the fact that he will do so in person this time.

It’s Phichit’s second season getting assigned to the Grand Prix, and the first time he’ll have to compete against Viktor in it. When they realized the lucky situation, Phichit immediately arranged for Yuuri to come with him, partly to cheer, partly as a cheap physical therapist.

He also doesn’t mention how scary the thought is of meeting Viktor outside of fan meet-and-greets (though Yuuri only ever attended two, back when he still lived in Japan). Phichit has promised to introduce him, and Yuuri can only see two catastrophic outcomes.

Either, Viktor talks and Yuuri gets an immediate boner, or Viktor is not as fantastic in real life as he is in his dreams, and Yuuri will no longer be able to get off to those dreams.

He still desperately wants to meet him. What if Viktor says his name? He’ll die a good death.

Their conversation drifts onto the subject of the Grand Prix, and not for the first time during their sessions. Vitya is a well-informed fan, and Yuuri enjoys bantering with him about whether or not Viktor will finally be dethroned by some younger star. Vitya keeps insisting it’s bound to happen sooner or later, while Yuuri refuses to believe Viktor won’t skate and win forever.

Eventually Vitya’s hour is up, and he has to go back to work. (“Yakov will yell at me if I’m late, and I need to think about his blood pressure you know,” Vitya tells him. It’s almost convincing.)

“I might message you anyway,” Vitya tells him as they say goodbye, then hesitates before adding, “I’ll skate for you, too.”

Sometimes, Yuuri entertains the idea that Vitya is another skater, and he will actually be competing next weekend. Then he reminds himself of the odds, of how utterly unbelievable it is for a skater to have this much time for him, but he still smiles at Vitya.

“Then, I’ll cheer for you,” he replies, blushing when Vitya blows him a kiss and makes him promise to stay safe before ending the call.

He takes a shower, tries to focus on homework, but his thoughts keep drifting to Vitya. What does he look like? What kind of person is he? It’s only when Phichit comes home hours later and he still hasn’t made any progress with his report that the lingering tingling in his chest pulls him up short.


Oh no.

Is he in love with Vitya?

Chapter Text

Viktor shuffles into the hotel, eyes on his phone screen and cup of overpriced coffee in one hand. Milwaukee is like most cities in the US – very American, that is. Though, it’s not like Viktor will see much of what’s outside the hotel and the rink, considering he’s here to win gold. He doesn’t precisely miss St. Petersburg whenever he leaves, but travelling has long ago lost its glamour. There’s about eight hours of time difference, not in his favor, and Viktor fakes smiles at the people he meets on his way towards the elevators.

Since there’s a public practice later in the afternoon he figures coffee is his best option for now, unless he wants Yakov’s yelling to put him to sleep in the middle of the ice. He shouldn’t be so tired, but he’s spent the past nights tossing and turning in bed, wondering how bad the consequences would be if he called up Miliy and accidentally turned the camera on. Would he be happy? Shocked? Sell him to the press? It’s all Viktor can think of lately, the sweet curve of Miliy’s lips as he laughs, the delicious bend of his knees as he bounces on his favorite toys.

On his screen is a half written message, erased and rewritten so many times that he wonders if he’ll ever finish it.

The doors are just closing to one of the elevators as Viktor reaches them, and he quickly punches the up-button with a knuckle, stepping inside once they slowly slide open again.

“Sorry,” he mutters, sparing a glance at the two occupants in the cramped space.

He can feel them staring at him, but he figures he can get away with being a little unsociable right now. Lack of sleep, love troubles, all that stuff. Maybe if he doesn’t write the message as bold as he wants to? A bit more subtle, perhaps?

Movement catches his eye and he spares another glance at the shorter of the men, his distinctly Asian features displaying a grin as he elbows his friend.

Oh, great. Fans. He prepares himself to put on his charming public persona when the man clears his throat.

“Hello, Viktor! I’m Phichit Chulanont, we’ll be competing against each other soon!”

Viktor blinks at the name, reluctantly lifting his head to take in the cheerful look directed his way.

“Phichit, of course!” he says, forcing his lips into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied there. Nice to meet you!”

They shake hands, and then Phichit gestures to his companion.

“This is my friend, Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Nice to-“

The words die in his throat, morphing into some sort of strangled choke instead. He’s Asian as well, but where Phichit is dark-skinned and petite, all cheer and confidence, Yuuri can only be described with one word.


“-meet you,” he finishes lamely, his stretched out hand gently grasped by Yuuri’s slender fingers.

“Nice to meet you, too, Viktor,” Yuuri mumbles, peeking shyly up at him through dark lashes.

He’s wearing half-rimmed, blue glasses, his dark hair is mussed and falling freely around his face, and yet Viktor can’t help feeling like he entered some kind of twilight zone.

That lovely shade of brown in his eyes. The cute bow of his mouth. The perfect shape of his face with a hint of cheekbones. The softness of his voice. The pale shade of his skin – not white as Viktor’s, but a definite contrast from Phichit.

He’s a little shorter than Viktor, reaching his nose, maybe, and everything about him screams demure and shy.

And yet.

He’s seen that smile, sent to him from miles and miles away, transcribed onto his computer screen.

He’s heard that voice, that accent wrapped around a moan of his name, and a shiver involuntarily makes its way down his spine.

There’s just no mistaking it.

“Ah,” Phichit says, just as the elevator stops with a small announcement of the floor number. “This is our stop.”

Miliy jumps, startled by his friend’s voice, and Viktor can only watch helplessly as an adorable blush spreads across his cheeks.

“See you later!” Phichit calls out as he pushes Miliy – no, Yuuri – out into the corridor together with their suitcases, but Viktor barely hears him.

He stares after them, even as the doors close and block them from his view. It feels like his mind is reeling, desperately scrambling to make sense of what just happened. It really can’t be…

But it was. It’s the only explanation, because how could anyone look as beautiful as Miliy without being him? Still, it doesn’t explain anything, and Viktor walks on autopilot to his room once he’s at his own floor, unlocking the door and promptly sinking down to the ground once he’s inside.

Miliy is here.

The man Viktor has obsessed over for months, the man who can make him completely lose himself with just a few words and a smile, is right here.

He needs a drink stronger than coffee.


“Yuuri, oh my god!”

“You can stop now,” Yuuri hisses back, dumping his suitcase inside the door and walking the few steps over to one of the beds, face-planting on it. “Just let me die in peace.”

“But did you see the look on his face. He looked like he found salvation in your eyes.”

“Okay, first of all, that sounded really dumb,” Yuuri snorts, skillfully shrugging out of his coat even as he keeps his face smushed into the mattress. “Second of all, I look like crap right now. He probably wondered what a loser like me was doing at a skating competition.”

“Oh, shut up. You look gorgeous,” Phichit says, sitting down on the bed and poking at the back of his head. “This just proves Viktor Nikiforov has great taste.”

Viktor Nikiforov is not interested in me. And I’m going to take a shower.”

Before Phichit can try to convince him otherwise, Yuuri pushes up from the bed and hurriedly unzips his bag, only to squeak at the contents.

“Phichit! This is not what I packed!”

His best friend attempts to look guilty, but he soon crumbles under Yuuri’s accusation.

“Okay! Sorry! But what you packed really wasn’t good for seducing-“

“I’m not here to seduce Viktor!” Yuuri groans, covering his face with his hands. “I’m here to look like I don’t sell my body on the internet!”

“Oh, come on. Who’s gonna recognize you? With your glasses on you’re like Clark Kent!”

Phichit looks entirely too happy, like he’s doing Yuuri a favor. Yuuri wants to scream. He had definitely not planned on bumping into Viktor in an elevator, all gross and smelly from the (admittedly very short) plane ride. In fact, he’d planned on staying away from him until the competition was over. Just the thought of talking to Viktor before he watches him skate is too much for him. He has no choice but to attend the dinner held at the last night of the event as Phichit’s plus one, but at least if he’s introduced to Viktor then, he won’t need to see him again (apart from watching the exhibition skates the following day) if he screws it up.

“I can see you thinking, Yuuri.” Phichit sighs, and Yuuri ignores him as he digs through his bag for the most non-descript clothes he can find. “I’m just saying, Viktor Nikiforov choked on his words the moment he saw you.”

“He probably just had something stuck in his throat.”

“Yuuri, for real. I’ve seen your subscription numbers.”

“And I’m currently Clark Kent in glasses, so where does that leave us,” Yuuri mutters, settling on a v-necked cardigan over a t-shirt and some dark jeans. “Don’t you dare talk about this on twitter.”

“Why must you hurt me like this?” Phichit whines, but Yuuri shuts the door to the bathroom with a resounding click.

Once inside, he draws in a shaky breath, biting his lower lip so he won’t cry. Viktor is always unearthly beautiful, but seeing him like this, tired and distracted and so very human is too much for Yuuri’s poor heart.

I touched his hand, he thinks in awe, staring down at his own as if he could still feel the warmth of Viktor’s skin. It was larger than his, which he knew already of course, but Viktor had kept holding it until Phichit started speaking again.

And Viktor had been looking at him. Those mesmerizing blue eyes, locked onto Yuuri for the most glorious moment of his life. He doesn’t want to admit it, can’t believe that Phichit was right, but there was something about the way he looked at him… Surprise, maybe? But that hardly makes sense.

Yuuri wants those eyes on him, wants those hands all over his body, wants to wake up to bruises and marks and a dull ache in his lower back. He bites his lips again, this time to ward off the arousal threatening to cloud his judgment.

 It doesn’t work.

He undresses with trembling hands, breaths shallow and quick, letting the shower spray cold water over his heated body.

It doesn’t work, either.

He can still feel Viktor’s eyes on him, and it’s too easy to slip into one of his many reoccurring daydreams. In this one, Yuuri woke up earlier than Viktor after a night of passionate love-making – unlikely knowing how much he hates mornings, but oh well – and decided to take a shower. Viktor, waking up to a cold bed, steps into the bathroom in all his naked glory while raking his eyes over Yuuri’s wet skin. Yuuri keeps his back to him even as he slides the fancy glass door open, allowing chilly air inside before enveloping Yuuri in his arms.

Missed me, Miliy? Viktor would purr into his ear and-

No. Not Miliy.

His hand freezes just short of his half-hard length, breath catching in his throat. He wasn’t supposed to think about Vitya this weekend. There’s a hundred good reasons for not telling him that Yuuri would be at Skate America this weekend, most important of all the fact that he doesn’t want to be recognized on TV. The trick to Clark Kent was always that no one expected him to be Superman – if Vitya knows he’s here, he might see him on screen with Phichit.

Yuuri knows it’s risky to make a living on the internet, using his body. He likes what he does, most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he wants his family and colleagues or potential employers to know about how he financed his expensive studies in America. He especially doesn’t want Viktor Nikiforov to find out – it’s one thing to follow his dream of being Viktor’s personal physical therapist all the way to America, another to pay for it by fucking himself on camera.

Which brings him to the reason he has yet to touch his dick – despite all the good reasons, he still feels guilty for not letting Vitya know. Partly because Vitya is also a fan, partly because he can’t help but imagine Vitya looking like Viktor, which he probably does not. If Vitya knew he was meeting Viktor in real life, what would he say? Would he object to being compared, or would he go along with it?

Not that it matters. Meeting Viktor in the elevator was a onetime thing, and Yuuri won’t talk to him until Saturday night. That’s over 48 hours. He can only hope that Viktor forgets about the elevator thing until then. Besides, Viktor Nikiforov might be good-looking and skates like a god, but Vitya understands his embarrassing celebrity crush. Viktor would probably just feel uncomfortable, if he knew that his competitor’s friend used to run a blog dedicated to him. Vitya demanded a link and wouldn’t stop gushing over how cute Yuuri was even when Yuuri refused to let him see it.

Those are the things that make Yuuri seriously wonder why Vitya won’t show his face – is he really shy? Is he an old man? Does he think of himself as ugly? Until that happens, Yuuri supposes it can’t be helped that he connects the man’s voice with Viktor’s looks. He does sound very alike the skater, after all.

“I’m sorry, Vitya,” he mumbles under his breath as he wraps a hand around his cock, muffling a moan in the crook of his elbow as he leans forward against the shower wall.

He thinks of Viktor’s hand, his eyes, of tugging at silver strands while Viktor mouths at his neck. He thinks of Vitya’s voice, praising him endlessly. He imagines going up to Viktor’s room, knocking on the door and asking if he wants to join them for dinner. (Of course, they would never make it to dinner. Viktor would eat his ass right there, in the hotel room, or maybe order room service and lick the food from Yuuri’s chest.)

The thought of Viktor asking him to stay the night is what does him in, the whine in his throat slipping past his lips as he spills onto the wall and floor. It’s probably not good. In fact, it’s probably bad, but Yuuri wants so desperately to be noticed by Viktor that just imagining Viktor telling him he’s special has him weak at the knees.

Viktor could sleep with new people every competition if he wanted to. He could have anyone. Why would he ever look at Yuuri? But he did look at you, in the elevator.

Yuuri shakes his head, cleans himself quickly and dries off before Phichit can wonder what he was doing in there.

When he comes out, Phichit whistles appreciatively and waggles his eyebrows at him.

“Looking good, Katsuki! Which is great because we’re invited to join some other skaters for dinner after practice is over!”

“Mhm,” Yuuri hums, distracted by his phone.

There’s a message from Vitya, and he tries hard to ignore how his heartbeat speeds up when he unlocks the phone.



Miss you:(

I want to see your beautiful face (´∩`。)


Yuuri smiles, glancing at Phichit before slicking back his still slightly wet hair and snapping a selfie. Ah shit, he forgot the glasses. Once they’re safely placed on his bed, he angles the camera to make sure nothing gives away the fact that he’s in a hotel room. If Phichit notices, he pretends not to care as he keeps scrolling on his phone where he lies on the bed, humming softly to himself.




I’m starting to think you’re not very dedicated to your job



So pretty!!!


I’ve got a break right now!



Why won’t my beautiful Miliy believe me D:


Because you said you would be extremely busy for several days?


Yuuri can only smile as Vitya launches into a detailed description of exactly why talking to Yuuri makes him more productive and that honestly his boss should just start paying Yuuri as well. He still doesn’t know what Vitya does for a living, or even his age or where he lives, but he does know that the man can be utterly ridiculous if no one stops him.

When Phichit announces it’s time to head over to the rink to prepare for practice, Yuuri has already buried his face five times in his pillow because of all the mushy crap that Vitya sends him.

“Maybe you should sleep with Viktor while you have this other guy on the phone,” Phichit teases him as they leave the hotel, sadly managing to dodge when Yuuri tries to smack him.

It is, unfortunately, an appealing thought.


Viktor falls on a jump during practice. That’s right. He, Viktor Nikiforov, face-plants on the ice as he attempts a quad flip, his signature move.

Why? Because he glanced to see if Yuuri was watching, which he should be doing of course. Everybody watches Viktor when he gears up for a jump. That’s just how it is.

But Yuuri was not watching him. Even now, as Viktor stands up and brushes ice off his pants, Yuuri laughs at something told to him by that slimy ice dancer everyone knows is up to no good.

Okay maybe that’s a little harsh, but Viktor had nearly had a heart attack when Yuuri walked into the skater’s lounge area together with Phichit, wearing exactly the same thing Miliy did in the picture he sent.

So, he thinks he should be forgiven for being distracted if the guy he likes is being chatted up by some random dude on the bleachers.

“Vitya! What was that! That’s the worst attempt at a quad flip I’ve seen since you were a teenager!”

Yakov yells, of course, but Viktor shrugs and laughs it off, skating another lap around the rink to loosen his limbs before trying again. This time the jump is successful, but his attempts at curbing his jealousy are not. It’s ridiculous, because Viktor shares Miliy with a lot of people, pretty much pays him to talk to him. There’s no guarantee Miliy even likes him.

Even so, Viktor wants to stomp up the stairs to politely knock on that ice dancer’s shoulder before smoothly taking his spot, so he can kiss Yuuri’s palm and see that lovely blush up close. As awful as the idea is he still entertains it while he runs through a step sequence for his short program, then skates over to Yakov for more yelling.

He nods along to whatever his coach is talking about, drinking some water and sweeping his eyes over the other skaters currently on ice.

“Vitya? Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, Yakov, just something on my mind!”

He smiles, but Yakov narrows his eyes dangerously and Viktor worries that the vein on his temple will finally pop.

“Well, get over it and focus on practice!”

Viktor doesn’t say that he probably doesn’t even need to practice in order to win at this point. None of the other skaters pose much of a threat to him, especially since Chris isn’t here. And even if he was, Viktor would need to seriously mess up his jumps in order to miss gold.

Predictable? Yes. Viktor had hoped that this season a new skater would appear to properly challenge him, but even though many are talented, he hasn’t found anyone to worry about yet. Maybe next year, when little Yuri Plisetsky is old enough for seniors…

Viktor spends the rest of practice focused on his job, actively ignoring Yuuri. He’ll think of something later, a foolproof plan of charming Yuuri in real life. Yuuri already has a celebrity crush on him so it shouldn’t be that hard, right?

Once practice is over, Viktor makes a beeline for Phichit.

 “Hi! Phichit!”

He attempts to be smooth, but honestly there are still cameras around and he can only pray that people watching this will think Ah, Viktor Nikiforov is nice to new skaters! and not Viktor Nikiforov is really, really thirsty for the Thai skater’s friend which is exactly what Phichit seems to be thinking.

“Hello, Viktor,” he says with a knowing grin, immediately looping an arm around his neck and pulling him in to stand next to him. “Selfie?”

“Oh, sure!” Viktor poses for the picture, which is difficult because he really wants to look around to see if Yuuri is coming their way or not. “So, um…”

“Yuuri and I are having dinner with some of the other skaters after this, wanna join?”

Viktor blinks at him, hope flaring in his chest. This must be a good sign, right?

“Yes! Absolutely! Where? I need to get a change of clothes first.”

He needs to look perfect. He wonders if anything he brought would be sufficient for a look of ‘I want to impress a boy but totally be casual about it’. He exchanges contact details with Phichit, and a second later an address pops up in a message on his phone.

“Alright, it shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Viktor hums, biting the inside of his cheek when Phichit grins at him. “Your practice seems to have gone well,” he adds, just to try and salvage his image a little.

“Yep! You should watch your back, I might beat you!”

“Well, I sure hope you try!”

Phichit opens his mouth to reply, but then leans to the side to look behind Viktor.

“Ah, looks like that guy is still hanging around Yuuri, I better go rescue him.”

Viktor turns, and sure enough, there’s the ice dancer shamelessly resting his elbow on the back of Yuuri’s seat.

“Does this happen often?” he asks, catching himself before he frowns.

“Oh, yeah,” Phichit nods, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Too bad he only has eyes for a certain idol of his.”

“That’s… unfortunate,” Viktor says, clearing his throat when Phichit raises his eyebrows and gives him a look.

I know what you’re doing, Nikiforov, it seems to say, and Viktor forces a casual smile onto his face.

“I’ll see you later, then!”

“Oh, definitely!” Phichit starts walking backwards, does a little wave, and then he’s gone up the stairs towards Yuuri.

Viktor realizes he forgot to ask why Yuuri can sit on the bleachers reserved for skaters and their teams, but he’s soon flagged down by a bunch of reporters and can’t do much more than send a longing thought to watching some of the competition together with him.

His fingers itch to text him, even if it would be as Vitya, not himself. Unless he wants to give himself away he has to pretend he’s asleep, since he was an idiot and didn’t say anything about his business trip being somewhere with a different time zone.

It is, honestly, a little weird to think about texting Miliy when he knows that he is also Yuuri, and Yuuri is staying just two floors down at the same hotel. Coincidence? Viktor likes to think it’s fate.

And if fate is kind to him, Yuuri will want him the same way Miliy does.


Yuuri knows that murder is wrong, and tries very hard to remind himself of this as Alejandro refuses to stop talking even as the men’s singles practice is over. Maybe if Yuuri slowly starts inching towards the stairs he can somehow make his escape?

In a way the incessant talking served as a good distraction from Viktor’s perfect form, because just like he’d thought, watching Viktor after talking to him – touching him – has Yuuri’s nerves all over the place. When he glances down at Viktor, who now exits the rink and gracefully puts his skate guards on, all he can think is god I wish he was my husband.

Is it pathetic that he’s had the same dream since he was fifteen years old? It took him about three years to realize that the awe he felt for Viktor was not entirely platonic, and then he had one or two or eleven wet dreams and well. Plastering his walls with posters of his future husband had seemed so rational at the time. If the ice rink in Hasetsu hadn’t closed down when he was fourteen he would have definitely become a figure skater, or at least he would have tried to. All he can do now is steadily work towards his degree and apply for a job in St. Petersburg…

Which, now that he thinks about it, is pretty pathetic too. But at least he’s working towards his dream, and-

Holy shit is Viktor Nikiforov talking to Phichit?! Yuuri forgets about Alejandro, shakes his hand off his arm to lean forwards. Shit. Why are they talking? Viktor looks happy, but-

Yuuri throws himself back in his seat and turns towards (a very confused) Alejandro again, narrowly dodging being caught staring. Though, Viktor probably doesn’t spare him a look. Why would he? Yuuri refuses to look their way again, knuckles turning white against the plastic of his chair.

“Yuuri! I was looking for you!”

Not sure what to expect, Yuuri slowly tilts his head to casually glance at Phichit. He’s alone, and Yuuri doesn’t know if he’s relieved or crushingly disappointed.

“Sorry, let’s go!” he says, ignoring how the man next to him tries to object.

He was only talking about restaurants, anyway, so it’s not like there was anything interesting going on?

“Not your type?” Phichit laughs at him as they make their way down the bleachers, and Yuuri gives him a weird look.


“That guy you were talking to!”

“Oh.” He shrugs, nervously checking the area for any signs of platinum blond Russians. “I don’t know, he just wanted recommendations on restaurants.”

Phichit gives him a look, and Yuuri thinks back on the conversation. Was he subtly asking Yuuri out for dinner? He hadn’t been listening much after he’d laughed at Alejandro’s suggestion that Viktor wouldn’t win the competition.

“Okay, maybe he was flirting a little. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Heartbreaker Yuuri strikes again,” Phichit mock sighs, but then he fires off an impish grin and pulls Yuuri close. “Guess what?”

He has to clear his throat twice before he can reply, because Phichit had just been talking to Viktor, the man Yuuri has thirsted over since his gay awakening.


“A certain someone is going to join us for dinner~”

“Really?” It comes out more breathless than Yuuri intended, but he can already see the million ways he’s going to screw this up.

And he is so totally into you. He’s not even subtle about it! I don’t know what you did in that elevator, Yuuri, but Viktor effing Nikiforov wants to drag you into his hotel room and-“

“Phichit! Stop!” Yuuri smacks his hands over Phichit’s mouth, face burning up as he checks if anyone overheard them. “Also, don’t get my hopes up, please.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Phichit sings once Yuuri lets him breathe again. “You should have seen the smug look on his face when I told him you only have eyes for your idol.”

Yuuri almost faints. He grips at Phichit’s arm with dread, wishing he could run the whole way back to Detroit. It would only take a couple days, right?

“You told him what?!” he hisses, pulling up the lapels of his shirt and begging the universe for forgiveness.

He knows he’s been bad, role playing Viktor Nikiforov’s husband like that, but he hasn’t even been at Skate America for twelve hours and already his life is falling to pieces.

“Relax, Yuuri! It’s not like he knows the idol is him. Then again, he is the best figure skater in the world, so it wouldn’t be weird if he thinks so.”

“I can’t go to dinner,” Yuuri whimpers, gaze stuck to the floor and only walking forwards because Phichit is pushing him.

“Nonsense! Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about? Just wait for me in the lobby while I get changed!”

Not for the first time since he met Phichit does Yuuri wish he had the same kind of positive outlook on life. Sure, Yuuri has dreamt about being noticed by Viktor, but as soon as they actually talk he’ll figure out what a dork he is and then he’ll be so bored, and Yuuri will have to watch him grow less and less interested and then find someone else to talk to as soon as possible.

And then Yuuri will have to stay awkwardly at dinner while someone else charms Viktor.

His only chance is to make sure he doesn’t sit anywhere near Viktor. It could work. Except he wants to sit next to Viktor, because when will he ever get to do that again? Even being humiliated by Viktor is better than not being near him at all. Wait, no. If he doesn’t talk to Viktor he can still pretend that Viktor will like him. That’s better. Right?

He spends the whole time waiting by fretting back and forth over the best option, but in the end, when the large group Phichit has gathered reaches the restaurant, Viktor hasn’t arrived yet.


Viktor feels relatively confident about his outfit. He’d texted Chris, but realized belatedly that the other skater was probably asleep by now considering the time in Switzerland. So he’s not as confident as he could be, but clothes are a lot easier than socializing. Besides, what kind of Viktor does Yuuri like? The way he’s portrayed in media, a suave and sought after bachelor? Or the way he’s on the ice, graceful and innovative? Or does he secretly want him to be like Vitya, like Viktor is when the world can’t see him?

Either way, Viktor knows he can’t be anything but impeccable. There will be lots of other skaters there, and as much as he wants to melt into a little puddle and beg Yuuri to spoon-feed him, Yakov would probably not be happy about him embarrassing himself like that.

When he finally finds the restaurant the others have already gotten their drinks, and Viktor slides down at one end of the table. Everyone is, understandably, surprised to see him. He smiles and listens to introductions and comments on the few performances he’s seen before from them, while Yuuri sits quiet at the other end.

It’s hard not to look at him constantly. The dark blue of his cardigan suits him, now that Viktor can see him up close. He can’t help feeling a little disappointed that Yuuri didn’t save him a seat, but why would he? As far as Yuuri knows they’ve only spoken in an elevator, and as far as Phichit is concerned Viktor is probably just like the media says. Yuuri deserves better than some celebrity flirting with him only to discard him the morning after.

Because of this, Viktor plays the polite and interested dinner companion. He discusses pair skating techniques with a Chinese couple, listens to a few Americans from the ladies division talk about current politics. If he hadn’t been so anxious over meeting Yuuri he would have enjoyed it more, he’s sure. As it is he has a hard time keeping his smiles real enough, knee constantly bobbing underneath the table. Maybe on the way back he can walk next to Yuuri under the pretense that they didn’t manage to properly introduce themselves.

“Anyone up for dessert?” Phichit asks over the noise in the restaurant as a waiter picks up their cleared plates.

“Are you for real?” the guy sitting next to him groans, and Viktor has a vague memory of him being introduced as a choreographer. “If I eat more you’ll have to carry me back.”

Viktor silently agrees, glad he picked a relatively light meal and not the ribs and fries that the menu enticed him with.

“At least you don’t have to skate!” one of the American girls joke, and maybe Viktor should remember her name but honestly, he doesn’t care.

The rest of the conversation is lost on him because Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, glancing out into the restaurant, and wow, Viktor has never seen anyone so beautiful? How does he do it? Is it the glossy hair falling into his eyes? Maybe the glasses just add an extra layer to his attractiveness, one Viktor hadn’t anticipated. He pays for his meal on autopilot, leaning back in his seat to stare at Yuuri.

There’s just something about him… It’s possible that it’s just his brain connecting Yuuri’s presence with orgasm, but he can’t help but think there’s a certain glow to him that other people don’t have. Everything about him is just ten times more appealing, somehow.

When everyone gets up to leave, Viktor feels his heart beat rabbit-quick against his ribcage, anxious for a chance to speak with Yuuri. He’s never been this conscious of someone else’s presence before, of how much space is between them. If only he was that smooth prince charming his fans think him to be, then he could simply walk over and sweep Yuuri off his feet.

On the other hand, he realizes as everyone gets up to leave, Yuuri is obviously not here to be recognized. If Viktor is too obvious someone might get suspicious. Despite his so called image, most skaters know that he doesn’t party, or flirt with other skaters and their teams. If Viktor suddenly shows a strange amount of interest in Yuuri, it’ll surely gain attention. But he really, really wants to talk to Yuuri, and so he anxiously hovers at the back of the group when they start to move towards the exit.

Phichit, bless him, lets most of the other people pass while looking at his phone. This means Yuuri is also waiting, and when Viktor comes up besides them the others are already halfway to the doors. Yuuri is pointedly looking towards them, but Phichit looks up and smiles at Viktor.

“Viktor, hi! Glad to see you made it!”

Viktor shrugs, smiling back and trying (but failing) not to glance over at Yuuri.

“Thanks for letting me join,” he says, taking half a step towards the rest of the group before he notices Phichit not making any moves to follow them. “You’re not going back to the hotel?”

“Oh, well, Yuuri kind of wanted to have a drink first,” Phichit says, although there are some strange noises coming from Yuuri’s throat at this. “You’re not too tired yet, are you?”

“I… No, not really.” Confused, and not a little bit hopeful, Viktor looks between a grinning Phichit and a slightly twitching Yuuri. “I could go for a drink.”

“Fantastic!” Phichit exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Make sure to bring him back before midnight, alright?”

And with that, Phichit gives him finger guns of all things and takes a few steps backwards before turning on his heel and running after the others. At a loss, Viktor stares after him, wondering if the distrust of his intentions that Phichit had seemed to feel earlier at the rink had somehow disappeared between then and now.

Maybe he passed some kind of test? A quick look at Yuuri, who seems a moment away from running after Phichit to strangle him, makes him think this was a spur of the moment decision.

“Sorry,” Viktor says, feeling the opposite.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replies, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I mean… he hasn’t turned twenty-one yet.”

“Oh.” Viktor clears his throat, trying to decide if Yuuri looks uncomfortable because his friend set him up with his celebrity crush or because he doesn’t want to have drinks with Viktor at all. “Well, he could have probably had something alcohol free. It’s not a great idea to drink before a competition.”

Yuuri lets out a strangled noise.

“I’m so sorry! You don’t have to drink anything! We can just go back right now, the others can’t have gotten far-“

“It’s okay,” Viktor interrupts him with, trying to keep his smile within the normal range of conversation with a stranger. “I’d like to get to know you, Yuuri.”

Was that too much? Yuuri blushes bright red, and Viktor has to bite the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t cup his face in his hands, cooing over how adorable he looks.

“I, okay, um,” Yuuri smiles bashfully at the floor, and Viktor wants to gather him into his arms and spin him around forever. “Me too.”

Is it too early to propose? Maybe a little. He should at least show some pictures of Makkachin first.

“Should we head over to the bar?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath before nodding at him, leading the way. At least now he knows that Yuuri/Miliy is older than twenty-one. Which is good, since Viktor is going on twenty-seven. In the world of skating he’s borderline ancient.

They find two empty bar stools, and Yuuri orders the first drink on the menu displayed on the wall behind the counter. When the bartender gives him a questioning look, Viktor orders the same thing. He winks at Yuuri once the man leaves to prepare their drinks.

“One drink won’t hurt me, I’m Russian.”

“Oh,” is all Yuuri says, looking torn between another blush and bolting out the door.

Hmm. Viktor needs to come up with that plan of seduction now.

“So, Yuuri,” he starts, leaning on the counter. “You’re Phichit’s friend?”

“Ah, yes. We’re roommates, actually.”

Up close like this, Viktor can see all those little details that webcams just won’t transfer. Yuuri has such lovely smooth skin, his eyelashes longer than Viktor remembers. The glasses have slid down his cute nose, and Yuuri nervously pokes them back into place.

Viktor wishes he’d been brave enough to do it himself.

“Are you a skater?” he asks, wondering if Phichit knows about Yuuri’s camming.

“Oh, no, not at all.” Yuuri grants him with a quick smile, gone as soon as it appeared, and yet Viktor’s whole body is suddenly on fire. “I’m training to become a physical therapist.”

“So you’re good with your hands!” comes out Viktor’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“I-!” Yuuri covers his face with a sleeve, turning his face away.


“Sorry, that came out a bit… wrong,” Viktor coughs, and Yuuri slowly turns back to him.

This is turning out to be a lot harder than he’d originally thought. But it’s so difficult not to shower Yuuri in compliments. Especially since he knows how much he likes it when they talk online.

“I’m not… that great,” Yuuri says, picking at some invisible dirt on the shiny surface of the counter. “But I’m hoping I’ll graduate sometime this spring.”

“I’m sure you’re fantastic,” Viktor muses, running his eyes less discreetly than he should over Yuuri’s neck and shoulder and arm. “Phichit is lucky to have you on his team.”

Maybe Viktor can hire him for the Russian skating team once Yuuri graduates, because then they can both be married and also see each other all the time at the rink. Now all he needs to do is reach the point where proposing feels like a reasonable thing to do, and not just like the best option to make sure no one else has the idea of flirting with his Yuuri.

It’s possible that Viktor’s fantasy is running away with him, but people like Yuuri don’t grow on trees. No, they are probably carefully cultivated in some mad scientist lab, because nothing else could explain the powerful magnetism Viktor’s body feels towards him. It’s illogical, how electrified he feels as their knees accidentally brush when the bartender returns with their drinks.

“I’ll pay,” Viktor offers, feeling Yuuri’s eyes bore into his skin as he hands over his card.

He wants to take him back to the hotel and spend the night touching him, hear those breathy gasps with nothing separating them but a thin layer of sweat.

“You didn’t have to,” Yuuri mumbles, but Viktor smiles at him, something a little less for show this time, something just for Yuuri.

“I wanted to. You can pay for the next round, if you like.”

Yuuri runs a finger along the rim of his tall glass, staring into the rose-tinted liquid with a hint of amusement.

“I’ll consider it.”

Glad that Yuuri seems to be relaxing a bit, Viktor takes a sip of his drink. It tastes sweet, probably more sugar than alcohol. He has so many questions burning on the tip of his tongue, so many things he wants to know about Miliy that he can now ask, because he’s sitting here with Yuuri, the real person behind the screen. But where should he start? He doesn’t want Yuuri to feel like he is being interrogated, and some questions will certainly need to wait for when they get to know each other better.

“You don’t have to sit with me, you know,” Yuuri breaks the short silence with, squirming in his seat. “Phichit means well, but he can be a bit, well. I get it if you’d rather get an early night.”

“Yuuri, I told you already, didn’t I?” Viktor nudges him with his knee, swallowing against the current of electricity running up his leg again at the contact. “I’d like to get to know you.”

Frowning a little, Viktor watches Yuuri let out a breath. He seems to have tensed up again, clutching the glass between his palms.

“Unless you’d rather go back?” he adds, relieved when Yuuri shakes his head fervently.

“No, that’s, no. I’m just a little surprised you’d…” he trails off, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a large sip. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in talking to me, that’s all.”

This is probably the point where Viktor should tell him that they’ve already been talking for months, but there are so many people nearby. He feels like he can trust Yuuri, but anyone else? He can only shudder at the headlines if it came out that Viktor pays for cam sex. And, more than his own reputation, he doesn’t want to accidentally say or do something that would put Yuuri or Phichit in the spotlight, either.

“I’ll admit,” he says instead, poking at the ice cubes in his glass with the plastic stir stick he got with the drink. “I don’t usually do this.”

“No?” Yuuri doesn’t avert his eyes when they meet, and Viktor feels like he could drown in his gaze. “You spend a lot of time training, I guess.”

“I do.” Viktor keeps his eyes on Yuuri, even as the other man turns back to his drink. “Yakov always tells me I’ll have time for romance when I’m retired.”

“That seems a little…”


Yuuri shrugs, and when a few people come up to the bar next to them, Viktor takes the opportunity to scoot a little closer.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri starts, contemplating the question. “I just thought it was sad to think about your retirement.”

Whatever Viktor thought he might say, it wasn’t that.

“So I should find romance and never retire?” he teases, and Yuuri promptly turns red.

“I just don’t think you can plan for romance,” Yuuri mumbles, pushing his shoulders up a bit. “And it’s kind of mean to say that you can only find it after you retire, because what if you don’t find it for years and years? And then you’ve got these expectations, telling yourself that when you have the time it’ll all come so easily, except it doesn’t, and-“

Yuuri stops, wide-eyed and gripping his glass tight.

“Sorry, I said too much.”

“No, I think you’re right,” Viktor says, unable to help himself as he reaches a hand out to place it gently on Yuuri’s arm. “I’m absolutely the kind of person who builds up high expectations. And I worried a lot over whether or not I’d ever find anyone, and if they’d like me for me, and not just the famous figure skater Viktor Nikiforov.”

He can feel Yuuri tense under his touch, watches him duck his head down so Viktor can’t see his expression.

“You probably meet a lot of fans who think they’re in love with you,” he whispers, so quiet underneath the soft music playing that Viktor almost doesn’t hear him.

“Maybe,” Viktor says, trying to keep his tone light. “They usually don’t tell me. I’m a little envious, actually.”

“Envious?” Yuuri frowns, and Viktor dares to let his fingers slide lower along Yuuri’s wrist, until they meet smooth skin.

“They have this person they can think about, someone they look up to but who is also special to them. And they can read interviews about me and look at pictures, and think of what they’ll say if we ever meet. And they can look at wedding magazines and imagine what it would be like, because they know my favorite color.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to be envious of,” Yuuri disagrees, but Viktor shakes his head with a small curl of his lips.

“But it’s nice, isn’t it? To have someone like that, and hope you’ll meet one day.”

Yuuri stares down at their hands, where Viktor is drawing little circles onto the side of his wrist.

“Are you mocking me?”

There’s nothing shy in Yuuri’s expression now, a conflict of emotions passing over his face.

“Are you asking because you think I’m a bad person, or because you’re in love with me?”

Yuuri looks torn for a moment before settling for frustrated dejection, mouth opening and closing like he can’t believe Viktor just asked that.

Viktor can’t really believe it, either.

“You don’t have to answer,” he says. “Maybe I’ve been wanting to meet you, too.”

 “You are mocking me,” Yuuri mutters, but he doesn’t look very upset about it.

“You can mock me in return, if you want. I don’t mind! Ah but,” Viktor touches the hand not lingering on Yuuri’s arm to his forehead, jutting his lower lip out. “Please don’t mention my receding hairline. I’m very sensitive about it.”

It has the desired effect because Yuuri laughs, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking, and it’s such a Miliy thing to do that Viktor almost forgets himself.

“I like your laugh,” he says instead, because I think I love you is not meant for a public setting like this.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri groans, knocking his forehead onto the counter. “I think you killed me.”

“Alright,” Viktor laughs, squeezing his wrist one last time before reluctantly letting him go. “Change of subject. Do you like poodles?”

“You mean do I like Makkachin,” Yuuri retorts, tilting his head to look at Viktor sideways.

Viktor can’t resist, because he’s weak, and Yuuri’s glasses are crooked and he’s still laughing, so he really thinks he should be forgiven for tucking some of Yuuri’s unruly strands of hair behind the one ear he’s not pressing against the polished counter.

“Maybe I should quiz you on Viktor Nikiforov facts,” he suggests, swallowing against his dry throat when Yuuri’s breath hitches.

“Please, don’t.”

Yuuri’s smile is soft and sweet, like he’s enjoying the moment but not entirely sure it’s happening for real. Or it could just be Viktor projecting his own feelings, because surely Yuuri is too wonderful to exist in reality, and now they’re stuck in some liminal space between this world and some other parallel universe where they already love each other.

His fingertips skim the shell of Yuuri’s ear, trailing down to his neck. He can feel Yuuri’s pulse beating rapidly, the warmth of his skin, and Viktor starts to sweat in his thin dress shirt. All the times he’s imagined what it would be like to touch Miliy, and here he is. And yet, Viktor can’t touch him the way he wants to. He wants Yuuri to know how much he means to him, that Yuuri is his own little romantic dream, keeping him going when life bleeds him of all inspiration.


It’s the first time he’s heard Yuuri say his name, and it feels good. He has to bite his lips so he won’t ask him to say it again, say it forever.

“It’s a little unfair,” Viktor complains, tugging once on his earlobe before retracting his hand to clasp it firmly around his glass, “that you already know about my Makkachin, and I don’t even know if you like dogs at all.”

“I love dogs,” Yuuri tells him, pushing up from the counter and turning more towards him, until both their knees slot together like they were meant to do so all along. “I have a poodle, too. He’s back in Japan, with my family.”

“Wow,” Viktor breathes out, because right now he feels like the luckiest man in the world. “I think I wouldn’t mind if you were a little bit in love with me.”

I hope you’re a little bit in love with me he doesn’t say, because otherwise the marriage ceremony might be a little awkward.

Yuuri groans again, slapping his hands over his face. Viktor doesn’t like not being able to see his face, but it’s adorable so he forgives him.

“Too much?” he asks, sheepish, but Yuuri shakes his head and Viktor’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Just,” Yuuri starts, slowly lowering his hands again. “You’re a lot different than I thought.”

Viktor wants to tell him. It’s because of you, he wants to say. The words scream inside his brain, fighting against the fear that someone will overhear. It’s because I already love you.

“In a good way, I hope.”

Another smile, a little shy, a little impish. Viktor can physically feel his heart grow, to try and make room for all the things he feels for Yuuri.

“Hmm, we’ll see.”

“Yuuri! So cruel!”

He’s treated to another of Yuuri’s laughs, and if his own mouth stretches in the sappiest of smiles, well, he hopes no one is taking pictures without sending them to him.

For a few hours Yuuri is all his, and Viktor’s touches grow increasingly bold as the people around them veer down the path of insobriety. He learns that Yuuri was born in Hasetsu, Japan, and that his parents run an onsen. He learns that Yuuri pole dances, and that despite his insistence that he’s no good, video evidence shows otherwise. He learns that Yuuri likes to play games and hates morning runs but do them anyway, and that when he forgets to worry about things he tells outrageous stories that have Viktor snorting into his drinks.

He learns that, when Viktor is bold enough to interlace their fingers, hands safely hidden between their thighs, Yuuri doesn’t hesitate to press their palms together.

It’s a little like living in a dream, and a lot like being on a date. Viktor can’t remember the last time he smiled and laughed so much in someone’s company, besides the instances he and Miliy took some time to talk outside of sex. But it’s different like this, when Yuuri can see him, when they can touch. Viktor can make a funny face and watch Yuuri react to it, can run fingers along the dip of his cardigan and be playfully swatted away. It’s difficult to keep calm, when everything keeps building up inside him. He probably laughs too much and too loud, reveals too much about himself, leans in too close. Yuuri doesn’t seem bothered by it, relaxing more and more with each drink disappearing between his soft lips.

Viktor wants to chase the liquid, taste it in Yuuri’s mouth.

He feels heady with desire, heart a desperate flutter behind his ribs. The more they talk, the more convinced he is that Yuuri is the one. Of course he can’t know for sure, can’t see into the future – but if Yuuri isn’t it, then who could ever be more than this?

“Maybe we should go back to the hotel,” Yuuri suggests eventually, showing Viktor the bright numbers on his phone screen.

It’s almost midnight, and yet sleep is the last thing on Viktor’s mind.

“I guess you’re right,” he sighs, pouting a little. “Yakov will yell at me if he finds out I stayed up this late.”

“You do have an important competition starting tomorrow,” Yuuri reminds him, smile curled with amusement. “I don’t want to be responsible for a lackluster performance.”

Faking a gasp, Viktor puts the hand not holding Yuuri’s over his chest.

“I couldn’t do lackluster even if I tried,” he says, and Yuuri laughs that beautiful laugh of his, cheeks filled with color. “Besides, I have a good feeling about this competition.”

Yuuri hums, turning their hands over in his lap. Seemingly absentminded, he draws patterns on the back of Viktor’s hand with his fingertips, and each point of contact sends tingles up his arm.

“I see,” he muses, gnawing on his bottom lip as if deep in thought. “You won’t need me to cheer you on, then.”

Yuuri!” Viktor whines, drawing out the u for maximum effect. “I think I’ll die if you don’t cheer for me.”

The words make Yuuri duck his head a little, fighting a smile. Viktor’s stomach feels funny, like there’s something stewing in there, something warm and bubbly.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Yuuri mumbles, peeking up at him, and Viktor has to swallow hard in order not to sweep him into his arms and cover his face with kisses.

“No, definitely not.”

For a moment they simply look at each other, and Viktor wants so badly to tell him, just touch his face and go I can’t believe you’re actually real. But there are people moving past them in the crowded bar, loud voices and laughter and clinking glasses, and so Viktor swallows it all down and gives a small nod towards the exit.

Yuuri doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk outside, and Viktor’s heart sings with happiness. He can’t help but look at Yuuri underneath the streetlights, how the light catches in his dark hair and glitters in his glasses, how his lips keep twitching like he’s trying not to smile too wide.

Viktor touched down in America thinking it was just another competition, just another occasion of going through the motions, attempting to dazzle the world but only caring about dazzling a man whose name he didn’t even know. And now that man is here, right next to him, hand warm in his and smiling only for Viktor to see.

He wants to marry him.

He wants to see gold on his finger, wants to kiss the ring and say you’re mine, forever.

But this is nice, too. Just walking down the street hand in hand, lost in their own little world, drowning out the noises of people and cars. His only regret is that the walk is short, because he could do this the whole night, if it meant keeping Yuuri by his side.

When they reach the hotel, Yuuri lets go of his hand. Viktor frowns at him, reaching for it again, but Yuuri dances out of reach.

“There are probably paparazzi here,” he murmurs, scanning the hotel lobby through the windows.

Oh. Viktor hadn’t thought of that. Not that he cares, because he’d love to show Yuuri off to the world, but there are probably better times than the middle of the night. He does his best to look casual as they enter, hands in his pockets, face neutral. There aren’t any obvious reporters inside, and honestly they could just as well have taken pictures in the bar. But if Yuuri feels more comfortable like this, Viktor won’t argue.

It’s when they reach the elevators that he realizes there are a lot of flaws in his plan that he hadn’t accounted for. For one, he never got Yuuri’s number, and they also never said anything about spending the night together. He’s got a feeling they won’t, not with other people waiting to use the elevators as well. He can’t very well suggest that Yuuri come with him to his room in front of other people.

He wants to, but Yuuri is looking increasingly uncomfortable as the group of friends standing nearby keeps sneaking looks at Viktor. He’s just about to ask Yuuri if he’s okay when one of the guys walks over to them, and Viktor’s heart sinks.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you, Viktor, but could you sign something for us?”

“Sure!” he smiles, though it’s his carefully practiced media smile, sitting strange on his face after spending an evening with Yuuri.

The other two come over as well, and Viktor politely asks for their names, signing the small notebooks they pull out.

“We work with the sound system at the rink!” one of them proudly proclaims, launching into an explanation of what exactly it is they do which turns into a discussion on the music used and what they think of Viktor’s music this season and all Viktor can do is smile and nod and scream on the inside.

When an elevator finally arrives Viktor is almost afraid that Yuuri won’t enter it with them, but he does, albeit quietly. Viktor wants to put his arm around him, pull him close and kiss his temple, but the guys are still talking and then they arrive at Yuuri’s floor and Viktor almost decides to follow him out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor,” Yuuri says, face so void of emotion that he feels he could cry.

“Yes, okay,” he replies, recognizing the opposite of an invitation when he sees one. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“I should be the one saying that,” Yuuri smiles, though it’s carefully polite as he backs slowly away and the doors close between them.

“See you tomorrow!” Viktor calls through the gap in the doors, biting his tongue afterwards because how desperate was that?

He takes a deep breath, combing through his fringe, and then remembers he’s not alone. He almost flinches, taking in the wide-eyed looks on the three guys.

He clears his throat, watching them fidget.

“Um, sorry man, we didn’t know you were on a date,” one of them says, the one who first asked about an autograph.

“Oh, no, no that’s not it at all!” Viktor tries to explain, except it totally is and now he has three guys furiously apologizing to him for interrupting things.

He just wants to go to his room and cry. It’s just his luck that they’re on the same floor as him and keep apologizing as they exit the elevator, despite Viktor’s insistence that it’s all perfectly fine.

He never even got Yuuri’s number.

Or a goodnight kiss.

When at last he can shut his door behind him, he lets out a heavy sigh and sinks down onto the floor, dropping his forehead onto his knees. He’s got two more nights, three days in total. Just because Viktor didn’t manage to explain things tonight doesn’t mean it’s too late.

Still, he groans out loud, his whole body wrecked with anticipation, aching for Yuuri’s touch. He hadn’t exactly expected to spend the night fucking him, but now that he isn’t, there’s nothing he wants more. What’s the point of going to bed if Yuuri isn’t there with him?

He knows he has to, because Yakov will surely force him out of bed early for practice. But for all the times he’d imagined Yuuri with him, snuggled close under the covers, knowing he could have had it for real almost physically hurts.

Taking a steadying breath, he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t even know Yuuri that well yet, doesn’t know what his objective is, what he truly thinks of Viktor. And how is he supposed to tell him the truth, anyway? So by the way, that guy you’ve been role playing having sex with Viktor Nikiforov with? Yeah, that was actually me, the actual real life Viktor Nikiforov.

He should definitely do it face to face. He picks his phone up, determined to only set an alarm and then not touch it until morning, to make sure he doesn’t-

The screen lights up with a new message, and Viktor almost drops it.

He’d forgotten all about Vitya texting Miliy earlier in the day, and that according to the time in Russia, Viktor should be waking up around now.



Are you awake?


He doesn’t even think before replying, fingers typing out the word and hitting send before the ridiculousness of the situation hits him.





Can I call you?


Please do


Heart beating furiously in his chest, Viktor opens up Skype and waits.


The moment the elevator doors close, Yuuri presses his hands over his face and lets out a noise like he’s dying. It’s been threatening to spill out ever since Phichit left him alone with Viktor, but now he is alone and-

He’s alone.

He wonders what would have happened if those guys hadn’t approached Viktor. Would Viktor have brought him to his hotel room? His whole body rushes with heat at the thought, imagining Viktor’s hand at the small of his back guiding him down the corridor, pulling him close as he opens the door.

The whole night feels like a fever dream, like something taken out of a movie. He’d thought he was prepared for anything, but as soon as Viktor started talking about falling in love, he’d realized he hadn’t prepared for Viktor actually flirting with him.

And why would he? Yuuri is nothing special, not like this anyway. But, despite how mediocre he is, Viktor made him feel like the most interesting person in the world tonight. He’s not sure what to think, how to deal with this. Viktor is so different from what he imagined, so sweet and funny and eager to know everything about Yuuri.

He lets out an incredulous laugh, twisting his fingers in his hair and staring up at the ceiling. It’s just… impossible. Everything about this is impossible, from Viktor speaking to him earlier in the day, to joining them at dinner, to staying behind with Yuuri at the bar when Phichit was anything but subtle.

This is the point where Yuuri’s anxiety usually goes through everything and points out all the reasons Viktor didn’t really enjoy his company, but he’s in too much shock for even that.

I think I wouldn’t mind if you were a little bit in love with me.

Hearing that had been… It was so much more than Yuuri could have ever asked for. He’s glad, in a way, that Viktor didn’t get the opportunity to invite him to his room. He knows that if he gets to taste what it’s like to have Viktor to himself, he’ll never be able to move on with life.

Not that he ever held any high hopes of doing that, but he’d thought that maybe, if he managed to convince Vitya to show his face, he might feel a little better about his feelings. More pathetic than being in love with a celebrity has to be falling in love with someone pretending to be said celebrity, and if he got to know Vitya outside of pretending he could maybe find something more real. It’s so frustrating, because Vitya is everything that Yuuri wants, both supportive and caring and so, so sexy, and yet…

Now that Yuuri has spent quality time with Viktor, he has to wonder if Vitya has met Viktor before. Sometimes when Viktor talked he couldn’t help but think of Vitya. The way he rolled Yuuri’s name in his mouth, the pauses he made during jokes, the accent when he pronounced certain words…

Yuuri has watched each and every one of Viktor’s interviews no matter the language, but even he can’t remember ever hearing him talk like this. At the meet-and-greets he was always charming, but also poised and elegant. This Viktor was a little silly, touching him as much as possible, grinning childishly wide. It was more like the Viktor in Chris’ instagram posts, rare but always going along with whatever shenanigans the Swiss skater thought up for them.

He feels bad, comparing them like this. Maybe Vitya is someone who has worked with Viktor, at some point? Yuuri had checked what other Russian skaters would be at Skate America, but there weren’t any besides Viktor and a skater in the ladies division. If Vitya is actually here, too, would he see Yuuri with Viktor? Would he be angry, jealous?

Then again, Yuuri will have this weekend with Viktor at the most, and then they’ll go separate ways and probably never meet again. It’s strange that Viktor is interested in him, but maybe Yuuri is just his type. Even if Viktor doesn’t have time for dating, surely he has no shortage of people to sleep with when the urge hits. Especially if he’s this forward with everyone.

That’s why he shouldn’t think too much on this, because as long as he knows that this is just for a weekend, he can easily pretend that he’s wanted. It’s what he does, several times a week.

It’s just that, with Vitya, it has started to feel real. And with Viktor he doesn’t have the excuse of being naked on camera, of giving himself to anyone who dares to watch. Vitya might know his body intimately despite never having touched him, but he’s also closing in on his heart, and the fact that he even thought about another person while being with Viktor is testament enough to the impact Vitya has had on his life lately.

It’s frustrating and confusing and wholly unexpected, to be standing in a hotel arguing with himself over whether or not sleeping with the real life Viktor would be cheating on the fake Viktor.

Not that they’re together, or anything, but the past few times they’ve spoken have teetered on the edge of something, and Yuuri-

Yuuri wants to hear his voice.

He wants to ask for advice, wants to be reassured that he is beautiful, and worth attention, and-

He sends the message quickly, trying not to think about it. He can’t ask, but maybe just hearing his voice will make him feel marginally better, or at least answer the question on whether or not real life Viktor sounds better than his pretend version.

When Vitya replies with his please do, Yuuri startles and looks around the empty corridor, wondering what the hell he should do now. He can’t make the call out in the open, after all. He also shouldn’t do it in the hotel room he shares with Phichit, but what choice does he have?

He hurries to the room, slowly pushing the door open. It’s dark inside, and he tiptoes over the threshold.


No reply. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Yuuri toes his shoes off and shuts himself into the bathroom, hands trembling as he fumbles with his phone.

Miliy,” Vitya breathes into his ear as he picks up on the first signal, and Yuuri wonders if he’s been awake for a while or if this is just what he sounds like in the morning. “This is a nice surprise.

“I…” Yuuri searches for some explanation, anything besides I’m trying to work out my feelings between you and the real Viktor Nikiforov. “I just, I needed to hear your voice.”

“Oh. Is that why there’s no video this time?”

Yuuri blinks, phone pressed to his ear where usually he would be aiming it at his face. Actually, they usually talk through his computer. He doesn’t even need to hold the phone to his ear since Vitya is on speaker.

“Um, sorry, I’m not really-“

“It’s fine, zolotse. You can call me anytime you want.”

“Okay.” He sighs a little, settles down on the toilet lid. “You’re not busy?”

“Never too busy for you, Miliy,” is Vitya’s sweet answer, and Yuuri shouldn’t be so flattered but he is. “Is- is something bothering you?”

“No. Well. A little bit? Sorry.”

“Can I help?”

Vitya sounds hesitant, and Yuuri hears rustling fabric, so maybe he’s still in bed.

Yuuri debates telling him, but what is he supposed to say? He can’t tell the man he’s started developing feelings for that he met the man of his dreams and needs advice on how to deal with his life right now.

“Just hearing your voice is enough,” he says instead, because it’s not a lie.

He can hear Vitya swallow on the other end of the line, letting out a breathless little laugh.

“It’s dangerous when you say things like that, Miliy.”

His voice is deeper now, and it sends a thrill down Yuuri’s spine. He loves when Vitya talks to him like that, like Yuuri belongs to him, like Vitya draws him in with his voice and refuses to let go.

“Why’s that?” he breathes, heartbeat speeding up. “You don’t like it?”

God, do you even know what you do to me, when you talk like that?” Vitya’s voice is like silk in his ears, yet sinfully jagged at the edges. “You drive me crazy, dyetka.”

Closing his eyes, Yuuri breathes in and out, trying to stay grounded. He’s been subjected to Viktor’s touches all evening, to his brilliant smiles, his deep blue eyes trailing over his body. Hearing Vitya speak to him like this, so similar to Viktor but also different, somehow, it does things to him.

“Good,” he sighs, holding his phone in one hand and letting the other caress down his chest, legs falling open. “I’m already crazy because of you.”

“Are you touching yourself?”

Yuuri hums in agreement, slipping fingers past the waistband of his jeans.

“I’ve been turned on all night,” he starts, popping the button open. “Want you to fuck me.”

Vitya sucks in a sharp breath, and Yuuri palms himself through his briefs, unable to help a quiet moan.


Licking his lips, Yuuri waits for a reply, leaning heavily against the back of the toilet.

“I think,” Vitya says, sounding like he’s struggling to form words. “I think one of these days you’ll be the death of me, Miliy.”

“You don’t sound like you mind.”

It shouldn’t turn him on, when Vitya isn’t even talking dirty, but maybe that’s precisely what’s so arousing about it – Yuuri has him wrapped around his finger to the point where just knowing how much it affects Vitya has him arching his back in pleasure.

Vitya groans, and Yuuri thinks he must be stroking his cock, mind cataloguing the few pictures he’s been sent of Vitya mid-stroke, or after orgasm. He presses his palm flat against his own dick, trying to patiently wait for Vitya’s answer.


“Sorry, I died.”

Yuuri laughs, feeling some tension leave his shoulders.

“You didn’t come already, did you? I can’t marry someone who can’t even satisfy me over the phone.”

“So cruel!” Vitya whines, and for a moment Yuuri pulls up short. “I’m returning from the dead just to prove myself to you.”

That sounded… a lot like Viktor. He shakes his head resolutely, because he was not supposed to think about Viktor now.

“You didn’t answer,” he points out, biting his bottom lip.

Something feels a little off, but he can’t put his finger on what.

“If I mind? Of course not, lyubov moya. I’d die a thousand deaths for you.”

“Romantic,” Yuuri snorts, falling into the easy banter with a smile on his lips. “I know you like to sweet talk me, but I am a little hard here.”

“And here I thought sweet talk got you off,” Vitya jokes, chuckling a little. “Should I propose instead, maybe?”

 “You could,” Yuuri tells him, lungs constricting at the thought.

He has to remind himself it’s just pretend, that Vitya isn’t planning on marrying him for real… Unless?

“Would you do it?” he asks, feeling a tinge of panic in his chest. “Marry me, I mean.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and Yuuri holds his breath. He shouldn’t have asked, he doesn’t even know Vitya’s real name! And yet he needs this, needs to know if anyone would want him, even if just at a distance, even if it’s just for sex.

“Miliy, I would marry you right now if I could. Do you know what I do, when I miss you?

“No,” Yuuri whispers, crumbling with longing for all the things he can’t have. “Tell me?”

If it was possible to marry someone’s voice, Yuuri would. He doesn’t care at this point who Vitya is, surely he can’t be so terrible that he needs to hide his identity? Yuuri is growing tired of touching himself all the time, of feeling his skin burning up with need. He’s tired of being an object, unlike how Vitya treats him.

“I look at engagement rings,” Vitya confesses, and Yuuri feels faint. “I try to decide which one would look best on you, if you’d prefer gold or silver and what kind of diamonds. And then I scroll through wedding websites, tips for proposing, things like that. Embarrassing, isn’t it? But I…”

Yuuri clutches his phone hard, almost curling in on himself. He’s been on edge all night, Viktor’s presence overwhelming, and now Vitya, and he feels terrible that he still wishes he’d gone with Viktor to his hotel room, like he’s just using Vitya because he didn’t.

“I think you only deserve the best, Miliy. Someone who makes you happy every day. What the ring looks like isn’t the most important thing, is it?”

Yuuri could cry. How can he be so amazing, as if he really, truly loves him?

“You’re too nice to me,” he mumbles, scrubbing at his face.

He wasn’t supposed to get emotional – not that he was supposed to call at all – but he’s still reeling from his meeting with Viktor. At least he thinks that’s it, head a mess and body yearning for the warmth of arms wrapped around him.

“I want to be nicer,” Vitya says, stating it calmly like it’s no big deal. “What do you need right now, Miliy? What can I do for you?”

Yuuri swallows, throat dry, lips chapped. He thinks he’d feel better with Vitya’s cock sliding down his throat, something to ground him, keep him steady when it feels like his composure floats away at the smallest inconvenience.

“I want you to take me apart.”

The words leave him in a choke of air, his thighs twitching at the thought. He wants to be owned, wants to be Vitya’s husband for a night, wants to pretend he has to be a good boy until his lover comes back home.

“I want you to take me until I’m ruined for anyone else.”

He clutches at his cardigan, listening to Vitya’s sharp intake of breath. He wants Vitya here, wants to be in bed with him, safe in his arms and not shivering and lonely in a hotel bathroom.


He hates how small his voice sounds, swallows against the thick lump in his throat. It takes a while for Vitya to reply, and Yuuri begins to wonder when he started relying so much on the other man for comfort.

I heard you, Miliy,” Vitya says, slowly, as if pausing to think between each word. “I want to do that for you. I want you to be mine.

Chest clenching in pain, Yuuri desperately unbuttons his pants, shoving the fabric down past his hips.

“Make me yours,” he begs, tightening his grip on the phone until it digs harshly into his skin. “I want to know what it’s like…”

You sound so desperate, Miliy.” Vitya, in turn, sounds like he’s still thinking too much. “Are you still touching yourself?

“I am now,” Yuuri sighs, wrapping fingers around his length and stroking loosely up and down. “I don’t have any lube...”

If you want to know what it’s like to be mine, shouldn’t you ask for permission from your husband first?”

Yuuri halts his movements, arousal wild in his body at the thought, at how rough with desire Vitya’s voice is.

“Oh, Vitya,” he breathes, retracting his hand to let it rest over his lower belly, ignoring how his body aches for pleasure. “Tell me what to do. I want to be good for you.”

You’re always good for me, zolotse. I want you to know that. You’re perfect, and mine.”

He presses his hand against his abdomen, thighs twitching, a keening noise slipping past his lips. Vitya is so, so good at this, and Yuuri drinks in the praise, soaks in it until it warms him from the inside out. That’s the frightening part, that he thinks he could live on his praise, that he plays it over and over in his mind whenever he feels anxious or stressed or like he’s not good enough.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Vitya asks, teasing, and Yuuri almost groans in frustration.

 “What do you think?” he grinds out, biting his lip immediately, but Vitya only laughs quietly.

Is my poor husband touch starved?” Vitya coos, and there’s rustling noises again as if he’s shifting in bed. “If only I could be there now, holding you. I’d like to have you in my arms while you touch yourself, just keeping you close while you desperately get yourself off.”

God, Yuuri doesn’t know if this is torture or not, but the image settles in his brain and sends his heartbeat into overdrive. He can see it happening, face buried in Vitya’s chest, letting it muffle his moans. He’d tangle their legs together, Vitya’s fingers combing soothingly through his hair as Yuuri fucks into his own hand.

“Vitya, please.”

He wants it so bad, feels the rush of need prickling in his legs and up his torso, too on edge after Viktor’s caresses to pretend he has any dignity left. Opening his legs wider he bites back a groan, imagining Vitya watching him. What would he think, seeing Yuuri like this? Still in his glasses, hair a mess, pants shoved down and begging for it.

“Touch your face,” Vitya says, and Yuuri blinks at the odd request. “Imagine my fingers worshipping you, the way you deserve to be wanted.”

Yuuri’s hand shoots up to his mouth, covering it as his throat clogs up. No matter how many times they do this, Vitya always finds a way to surprise him with how sweet he is.

“You have such a lovely face…”

Swallowing, Yuuri draws his hand aside, fingertips ghosting over his cheekbone. Would Vitya touch him like this? Yuuri could see himself doing it, reverently committing Vitya’s face to memory through touch. It’s harder to imagine Vitya doing it to him, but he closes his eyes and pretends it’s Vitya’s fingers that trace his nose, the brow over his left eye.

“I want to kiss your face, Miliy, drag my mouth down your neck and back to your ear, so I could whisper all the dirty things you make me feel into it.”

Unbidden, the memory of Viktor’s fingers tracing the shell of his ear comes to him, how he’d burned from the touch. Would it feel the same, if Vitya was the one touching him? Like Yuuri had laid his face down next to glowing embers, too hot to bear but addicting all the same.

“What things?” he asks, fingers trailing along his jaw now, wondering how this could feel more intimate than being told to push his fingers into his ass.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Vitya admits, sounding bashful. “You make me feel so… much.”

He can’t help but smile a little at that, a small reminder that Vitya is just a person, not the phone sex operator Yuuri sometimes wonders if he is. Running his hand through his hair he tugs at it, releasing a small moan.

Touch your lips,” Vitya demands, breathless as Yuuri complies. “They look so soft, and pretty. I want them on my cock.”

Yuuri hums, slowly tracing his lower lip with the tip of his index finger. It tingles, and the rest of his body shivers as he pretends it’s Vitya’s cock brushing over it instead. He can’t help but let the finger slip past the seam of his mouth, pushing it inside and sucking on it. He’s always liked the thought of fingers prying his mouth open, preparing him for something thicker and hotter.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Vitya whispers, and Yuuri holds the phone closer to his mouth, releasing the finger with a lewd pop.

“What does it sound like I’m doing?” he murmurs back, sucking two fingers back into his mouth and laving his tongue over them, sloppy and loud.

Vitya whimpers at this, the sound going straight to Yuuri’s groin. It makes him lightheaded, to know he can affect the other man like this, and he wants so desperately to do it in person.

“I wish you’d turn the camera on,” Vitya tells him longingly, then draws in a deep breath. “I wish… I could turn mine on, too.”

“Why can’t you?” Yuuri asks, though he already has so many times. “I want to see you. I want to know what I do to you…”

“Soon,” is the reply and Yuuri almost chokes on the fingers he’d shoved back inside once the words were out. “I promise, Miliy, but until then, let me make you feel good with my voice.”

He almost pushes the issue, because Vitya never told him soon before, and the thought of seeing him for real sends equal amounts of anticipation and dread through his body.

More than that, the thought that Vitya wants to lay things bare between them makes Yuuri wonder where they stand right now.

“Miliy? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Oh, no, no! I was just surprised.”

“Good. I like surprising you. I just hope you won’t be too surprised.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes, glancing down at his poor, untouched dick.

“You know, you’re very easily distracted,” he points out, Vitya laughing in apology. “But I suppose I am, too.”

“Only because I can’t see you right now,” Vitya purrs. “Your voice is sexy, but your body is breathtaking. It’s impossible to look away.”

Feeling his cheeks heat up with a blush, Yuuri gnaws on a finger in contemplation. He doesn’t want to show his face right now, but maybe he doesn’t need to?

“How about a compromise?” he asks, straightening up a little in his seat. “I turn on the camera, and you actually get me off?”

“Yes please,” Vitya agrees, eager at the prospect. “I’ll be good.”

Lips twitching at the corners, Yuuri turns the camera on and aims it as his cock, reaching down to thumb at the head.

“Aah, not your face?” Vitya sounds sad, and Yuuri can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Is my cock not good enough for you?”

“It’s good! It’s- Are you in a bathroom?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not! Hang on, I’ll-“

There’s what sounds like pants being shoved off, a lot of squirming, and all of a sudden Yuuri’s screen switches from the recording of his own cock to Vitya’s.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri breathes out, frozen in shock.

Vitya is naked from the waist down, sitting on a bed with non-descript white sheets. His skin is pale, like it was in the few pictures he’s sent, smooth-looking in the low lighting.

“I should have thought of this earlier,” Vitya hums, hand entering the view and tapping at a strong thigh. “It seems a bit unfair that I always get to see you, but I don’t really give anything back.”

“You give plenty back,” Yuuri manages to choke out, eyes wide as he runs them over the muscled legs, the curve of his thick cock. “You’re gorgeous.”

“So you still want me to fuck you?” Vitya teases, but there’s a hint of nervous in his voice as well.

Please,” Yuuri says fervently, tracing the flushed length to the glistening and engorged head, then back down to the base where he’s perfectly shaved. “Every day. Morning and night. Maybe lunch as well.”

“Oh Y- Miliy,” Vitya sighs, the way he trips over his name not registering in Yuuri’s ears. “I’m not sure I have enough stamina for that, but for you, I’ll do my very best.”

Fuck, Yuuri wants him. He’s a bit silly and a whole lot of sweet, and his dick looks like it’ll make Yuuri cry from pleasure.

“Your cock looks so good I feel like I’m getting pregnant just from seeing it.”

Vitya sucks in a breath so sharp he chokes on it, coughing and causing the camera to shake a bit.

Wow,” he says, “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.”


 Yuuri can’t stop looking at it. Is he drooling? Maybe.

“Don’t be sorry. Just marry me and it’ll be all yours.”

Even though he knows Vitya says it mostly as a joke, Yuuri can’t help the way his body flushes with warmth. At this rate he might orgasm from getting proposed to.

“Touch yourself?” he asks, chest heaving as Vitya’s hand closes around the base of his cock.

It really is thick – not porno thick, but enough that Yuuri can tell the stretch will feel delicious. He tries to keep his breaths silent, nails digging into his thigh as Vitya lazily strokes himself, keeping the touch light.

“Let me get the lube,” Vitya mutters, the camera angling to his hipbone as he stretches out of sight.

Yuuri could lick that hipbone for days.

Vitya pours some of the clear liquid onto his groin, then dips his fingers in it and warms it up between them.

“You should be the camboy,” Yuuri moans, half turned on, half jealous at how effortlessly sensual Vitya’s movements are.

“Mm, but there’s only one person I want to see me like this.”

And that – that is just not fair, is it? Yuuri can’t believe that Vitya exists in reality, that he’s so perfect in every way. He watches, enraptured, as Vitya squeezes his cock underneath the head, hand now slick with lube. A bead of precum peeks out of his slit, foreskin pulled back as Vitya lifts his hips to fuck into his hand.

 Yuuri wants to lick that, too.

His throat feels raw, aching with arousal, mouth watering at the thought of taking Vitya past his lips, tasting salt on his tongue.

“You’re so quiet,” Vitya says, and Yuuri almost drops his phone as he’s startled out of his fantasy.

“I was… busy.”

“With? I haven’t seen you move your hand at all.”

Vitya groans then, his muscled thighs tensing as he braces his feet on the bed, hips thrusting faster now.

Yuuri almost – almost – manages not to whine pathetically. He knows that if he starts touching himself now, he’ll finish embarrassingly fast.

“I don’t think I need to touch myself,” he whispers, licking his lips and moaning when Vitya rubs his thumb over the smooth gland.

He’d never really understood the appeal of watching someone else on camera, only accepted that people enjoyed it and gladly took their money. He’s not sure he would want to watch anyone besides Vitya – but oh lord, does he want to watch.

“Do you think,” Vitya starts, voice dark with lust, cock flushed red with arousal, “that if I fucked you like this, you’d come without being touched?”

Yuuri’s cock twitches, and he drags his nails along the inside of his thigh, begging the pain to distract him from the question. Maybe he’s into pain, maybe Vitya’s voice is impossible to ignore; all Yuuri knows is that his body aches with the need to be filled, even as he knows his own fingers wouldn’t be enough.

“I’d want to,” he moans, thinking of Vitya pushing him down on those white sheets, mouth hot against his ear and chest pressing against his back. “I want to beg for it until I cry.”

Vitya swears, in Russian – and surely this must mean he is Russian? – and Yuuri feels his whole body shudder at the words. It’s as if Vitya has conditioned him with his Russian expressions, so that Yuuri immediately connects them with sex.

“I didn’t think I was into crying,” Vitya pants, and Yuuri bites his lip at the amusement he can hear in his voice. “But I think if it’s you, I’d love anything.”

“I have a lot of kinks,” Yuuri confesses, though mutual cam sex should have been an obvious one.

He always tries not to look too much, when it’s someone else.

“Which one is the strongest?”

“You,” he blurts out, slapping his hand over his face right after, groaning in shame.

“That’s… also a lot sexier than I expected,” Vitya says, and when Yuuri peeks at the screen he can see that his hips have stilled, his hand moving instead in slow and steady strokes. “Or did you mean when we role play?”

He should say yes, take the easy way out when it’s offered to him.

“It’s more than the role play,” he mumbles, squirming a little.

To his surprise, Vitya’s hand stills, and Yuuri can hear him draw in a shaky breath.

“What else?”

Yuuri doesn’t want to reply. He wants to go back to getting off, because Vitya panders to him so much even when he doesn’t have to, and he doesn’t know how to explain that more than the kinks, it’s the thought of all of Vitya’s promises being real that really does it for him.

“I won’t touch myself again until you tell me.”

“That’s blackmailing,” Yuuri counters, but he’s not upset, just… anxious.

“Hmm, I see, not one of your kinks then.”

Despite himself, Yuuri laughs, almost turning the camera to give Vitya a look before remembering he doesn’t resemble SpicyKatsudon92 right now.

“Is finding out about my kinks a kink of yours?” he asks instead, wondering why they keep getting distracted lately.

Rather than sexually frustrated, maybe Yuuri is emotionally frustrated, taking it out on poor Vitya. It wouldn’t be too farfetched, considering the probable crush he harbors for him.

“Ah, well, when you say it like that…”

Yuuri isn’t sure what to say, how to turn things around again, but he doesn’t have to when Vitya continues talking.

“You know, I always did wonder what kind of Viktor you liked the best.”

“What- what do you mean?”

Yuuri’s heart squeezes in his chest, because he thought-

He thought this was between him and Vitya? Was Vitya still pretending to be Viktor, even now, even as they spoke as intimately as this?

“I mean, what sort of Viktor turns you on?” He sounds hesitant, and if he were there, Yuuri would shake him for being stupid. “The one the media likes to present? The husband version? Maybe the-“

“I’ve been calling you Vitya, haven’t I?”

It’s silent on the other side, like Vitya’s stunned. Yuuri doesn’t understand why.

“I thought this was just between me and you?” he whispers, unsure.

Maybe Vitya doesn’t like him, after all. Maybe he just loves role playing Viktor that much, and Yuuri isn’t important, only a means to an end. Anyone would do. But, he’d been so nice to Yuuri even before that?

“Oh,” Vitya breathes at last, the phone lowering, showing only the upper part of his thigh. “I didn’t think you- I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Do you… dislike not pretending to be Viktor?”

Vitya lets out a laugh, sounding vaguely hysterical to Yuuri’s ears.

“No, that’s-“ He pauses, inhales. “Miliy, there are… things I should tell you.”

Yuuri’s heart is heavy in his chest, pounding inside him in a way he does not want to be pounded. He feels dizzy, a thousand scenarios flashing before his eyes. His fingers clench around his phone, and he’s so glad that Vitya can’t see his face right now.


Vitya sighs, and Yuuri wants to cry in the bad way. He knows it wasn’t realistic to think they could ever meet, much less be together somehow, but like this it’s just cruel.

“I’d rather tell you face to face. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to call now, when my mind is… all over the place.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, the apology automatic.

He ruined both the mood and whatever there is between them, didn’t he.

Then the first part of what Vitya said registers.

“Face to face?!”


Whatever Vitya was about to say is drenched by the bathroom’s door handle rattling, and Yuuri lets out a shriek.

“Yuuri? You in there?”


Yuuri presses the end call button before he can think about it.

“Yes! Sorry!”

He scrambles to dress, wondering if he should flush and pretend he’d just been using the bathroom like a normal person.

“I heard your voice so I just wanted to check,” Phichit says around a yawn, and when Yuuri shakily opens the door he’s met with bleary eyes.

Phichit is a morning person, but very much not a middle of the night person like Yuuri is.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a frown, taking one look at Yuuri’s disheveled appearance. “Did something bad happen?”

“No, no definitely not.” Yuuri flounders, waving his hands around, only succeeding in making Phichit’s worry turn into a smug grin.

“Were you jerking off?” Phichit asks, laughing obnoxiously when Yuuri’s face turns the shade of a ripe tomato. “Your date with Viktor was that good, huh?”

Yuuri doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, sweeping past Phichit, ignoring the fact that he hasn’t brushed his teeth, much less feels any sort of tiredness.

“Sorry for interrupting.”

Phichit doesn’t look very sorry, but Yuuri turns his back on him as he pulls his clothes off, rifling through the sheets to find his sleepwear. Once he’s in bed he throws the covers over his head, lowering the brightness on his phone screen before opening up the app he uses to message Vitya.



Sorry, my roommate knocked on the bathroom door


He doesn’t know if he wants Vitya to reply, but he doesn’t want him to think Yuuri ended the call in anger or something. He’s not happy, but…



Oh, okay!

I thought you might be upset

I mean you probably are

I’m sorry



Mostly confused


It takes a while for Vitya to reply this time, and Yuuri gnaws on his thumb until it’s sore.



It’s kind of complicated


Well, isn’t that just code for really, really bad?



I guess that’s not helpful


Well, no shit. Yuuri considers ending the conversation there, out of spite. Maybe dump Vitya and have really hot sex with Viktor instead, since he’s actually available.



Miliy, I didn’t mean to mess up

I’ve been thinking so much about what I can do to make you mine

That I didn’t realize you might want me, and not me-as-Viktor

Fake Viktor, that is


Oh. Yuuri hadn’t considered that. To him, it was so obvious that he likes the Vitya he talks to, while Viktor is simply a celebrity crush. A rather real celebrity crush now that they’ve met, but Vitya doesn’t know that. All this time Vitya had hesitated about showing himself, thinking Yuuri would be disappointed because he isn’t Viktor.



I’d like it if you were just Vitya from now on


Again, it takes a while for Vitya to reply, and Yuuri listens to Phichit’s quiet snores, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. It strikes him as he feels his phone vibrate with Vitya’s new message, that Vitya probably isn’t his real name anyway and Yuuri’s request is ridiculous.



Solnyshko, I like you so much

I’ll tell you when I’m ready

And hope you forgive me


Yuuri’s heart breaks a little, because he can’t imagine ever not forgiving Vitya. This is the man who gets off to thoughts of them being married, after all, and Yuuri’s not precisely a catch. He clutches the phone to his chest, trying to calm himself before answering. He hates not knowing, and this isn’t some trivial thing he can ignore.

But it’s Vitya, and Yuuri just has to trust him. What else can he do?



I hope so too

I should probably sleep



Sweet dreams, Miliy



Have a nice day!


Yuuri cringes at the last message, but it’s too late to change it. When Vitya seems like he won’t reply again, Yuuri emerges from the too hot covers, drawing in a deep breath. He can’t do much more than wait it out, and in the meantime try to figure out what he’s supposed to do about Viktor.

That is, if he didn’t embarrass himself entirely, and Viktor for some mysterious reason wants to see him again.


An hour later, his phone lights up with new messages, but by then Yuuri has turned his phone to silent, face buried in the pillow.



I just want you to know

That when I say I like you

I mean it

I probably like you too much

If that makes sense

And this might be very selfish but

Until I manage to tell you everything

Please don’t flirt with anyone who isn’t Viktor Nikiforov



It is with mixed feelings that Viktor steps onto the ice for morning practice. Yakov is grumpier than usual, and Yuuri is nowhere in sight.

He hasn’t received a reply on his last messages, which is probably just as well. Last night still has him reeling, his mind elsewhere as he skates laps, avoiding the other skaters. He and Phichit are not in the same practice group, Viktor’s starting earlier. Maybe Yuuri is still sleeping…

Stretching his arms, Viktor attempts to focus. It’s not like he’s that excited about competing, but retiring due to an injury is not the way he wants to go. It works for all of a few minutes until Yuuri’s voice comes creeping back to him, ringing through his ears despite how soft-spoken he’d been.

I thought this was just between me and you?

Viktor should have told him. He should have, but something had held him back. It wasn’t the right moment. It wasn’t the way he wanted to explain himself, and, worst of all, he still doesn’t know what to make of Yuuri.

It wasn’t until Yuuri had told him clearly that he wanted Vitya that he had understood exactly what it meant to pretend to be himself. To Yuuri, he is two people. Two very different people with different qualities, and how is he supposed to feel about Yuuri picking the person that is truer to his real self, while simultaneously possibly dismissing the person he is in public?

If Yuuri doesn’t want to see Viktor again, how can he ever tell him?

He’s not used to this, second-guessing his own actions. He always relies on his public persona, and while he’d dropped parts of it at the bar, he had still been constantly aware of other people’s eyes on them.

Then again, how could Yuuri not know already?

Pop music blares through the speakers, and Viktor smiles and waves at the audience closest to the rink barriers. He should get started on actual practice, can feel Yakov’s disapproving stare boring into his back. The inside of his head feels quiet, subdued.

Logically, it should be obvious that Viktor is Vitya. How else would they sound so alike? How else would Vitya know all those things about his own life? He never pegged himself to be any kind of actor, especially not a convincing one. On the ice he tells stories, off the ice he only tries to please his fans. And Yuuri is a very dedicated fan, one that should be able to tell the real Viktor from an impostor.

If Yuuri had told him he was going to Skate America…

No, Viktor can’t blame this on him. What are the odds that your favorite celebrity would watch your porn, after all? Yuuri isn’t world famous. He’s just… beautiful. Underappreciated. Too good for Viktor, who lies and hides his identity.

He has to tell Yuuri tonight.

Whether or not Yuuri will use that information for his own gain, Viktor will tell him.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this uneasy on the ice before.

When Yakov finally signals to him that practice is over, he heaves a relieved sigh, not bothering to smile at the cameras as he accepts his skate guards, leaning on his coach to get the ice shavings off his blades. His body feels foreign to him, the weight of the situation sitting heavily in his gut. There’s no guarantee that Yuuri will forgive him, or want him as Viktor.

He’d thought it would be easy, had felt confident that things had gone well, had relished in the connection between them.

And then Yuuri had called Vitya, had told him goodbye in the elevator without as much as a hint that he wanted more from Viktor than he’d already gotten.

At first, Viktor had thought that meeting him in real life had turned Yuuri on, and he had just wanted to role play a bit to get rid of the tension.

Now, he doesn’t know anymore.

Had turning on his camera been a bad idea? Had it made Yuuri decide to let go of Viktor, to pursue Vitya instead?

He can’t believe he’s competing with himself for the affection of one man.

Is this punishment for all the soap operas he followed as a teenager?

“You’re distracted,” Yakov grunts next to him, which is Yakov-speak for I’m worried about you.

“I’ll be fine once it’s time to compete.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Viktor shrugs, accepting his red and white jacket and water bottle. He wonders what it’s like to fall in love in a more normal way, just meeting someone cute at school or work or in the dog park.

“Why is love so complicated?” he sighs, jutting out his lower lip when Yakov looks at him like he grew an extra head. “Maybe you were right when you told me to wait until after retirement.”

“Vitya,” Yakov starts, narrowing his eyes. “What’s going on?”


“Clearly not nothing.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking you for love advice so don’t worry your balding head over it!”

Unfortunately, Yakov does not rise to the bait. He merely presses his hat further down his head, harrumphing at Viktor.

“As your coach, I’m not interested in your love life, only things that might mess with your performance.”

It is, at that precise moment, that Phichit and Yuuri enter the arena from the skater’s lounge.

Whatever reply Viktor was about to make dies in his throat, clogging it up until he forgets how to breathe. Yuuri is dressed in the same blue peacoat and black scarf as yesterday, his hair is just as mussed, his glasses still perched on his nose.

Viktor has never seen anything as beautiful in his entire life.

Please marry me.

“I need one advice,” he says to Yakov, running a shaky hand through his fringe. “What’s the best way to apologize to a Japanese man?”

“What?” Yakov rubs at his face, perhaps following his line of vision to see Yuuri in the distance, perhaps not. “Vitya, what did you do?”

Yuuri glances at him, immediately turning back to Phichit, a hint of red dusting his cheeks. Viktor’s heart hurts.

“I’ll see you later, Yakov,” he mumbles, walking over to Yuuri, heedless of the stares following his path.

His mind screams at him that this is a terrible idea, and yet his body seems to move on its own.

“Viktor! Good morning!” Phichit smiles wide at him, terribly cheerful.

“Morning,” Viktor says, eyes on Yuuri.

“How was practice?” Phichit continues, as if oblivious to the tension between his friend and competitor.

Not that Yuuri is looking at him, his face downturned, fingers playing with a button on his coat. Viktor barely stops himself from reaching out to grasp his hands with his own, pulling him close enough to look into his lovely eyes.

“Not bad,” Viktor replies, glancing at the knowing look on Phichit’s face. “I hope yours goes well.”

“Thanks! I should probably head over to the ice now! See you later, Yuuri!”

As Phichit sets off towards the rink entrance, Yuuri’s head snaps up as if to beg him to stay. Did Viktor make such a bad impression, then? Upon closer inspection, Yuuri looks like he didn’t get much sleep, dark circles under his eyes that weren’t present yesterday.

“Are you okay?” Viktor asks, clenching his fists as Yuuri startles.

“I- Yes! Yes, I’m fine, sorry.”

He side-eyes the people around them, relieved to find no cameras nearby pointed at them.

“Can I… see you later?”

Yuuri stares at him, searching his face.

“You want to see me?”

I want to love you, he doesn’t say.

“Of course! Unless you’d rather not?”

He holds his breath, praying Yuuri won’t reject him. He’s not sure he could handle that in public. The love of his life looks nervous, checking their surroundings before stepping in closer, close enough that Viktor can smell his shampoo. He wants to bury his nose in his hair, inhaling until the scent sticks to him permanently. With Viktor in his skates Yuuri only reaches his chin, making it much too tempting to go through with it.

When their eyes meet, Yuuri tilting his head up, Viktor almost chokes. This is the face of Miliy, the dark brown of his eyes boring into Viktor like they own him, like Yuuri knows all his dirty wishes and aims to fulfill them. A small shudder runs through his body, his tracksuit too warm in the chilled air. If he could drag Yuuri into a bathroom stall right now-

He draws in a breath, forcing himself to act calm.


Something touches the hem of his jacket, and when Viktor looks down he finds Yuuri’s right-hand fingers trailing up his chest, unashamed. They move slowly, both of them following their path upwards, until they close around the zipper and tugs.

Blood rushes to his cock as Viktor chokes on air, Yuuri’s narrowed eyes trained on his mouth. His hands twitch, desperate to grab the back of Yuuri’s head and pull him in for a kiss, mindless of the audience. Hot arousal brews in his gut, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I would see you right now, Viktor,” Yuuri breathes, gaze flickering up for a second before it moves on to caress his neck and the hollow of his throat. “Whenever you want.”

“Now,” Viktor gasps, swallowing harshly. “Right now is good.”

Yuuri searches his face again, the tip of one of his fingers dipping into the opening in his jacket, tracing the outline of Viktor’s left collarbone through his sweat-dampened shirt. It makes him shiver, heat travelling down his chest to add onto his growing problem. Whatever Yuuri’s looking for he seems to find it, because his mouth softens into a smile that almost brings Viktor to his knees.

“No interviews?”

Viktor shakes his head, beyond words. Yuuri’s fingertip still traces little circles onto his bone, and he tilts his head in thought. Viktor can’t believe he’ll get to touch Yuuri soon, will be able to rip open the coat covering too much of him and worship Yuuri’s body.

That is, unless Yuuri was thinking of some activity better suited for daylight, but-

“I’ll meet you in your hotel room in thirty minutes,” Yuuri mumbles, barely loud enough to be heard, but once Viktor registers the words he has to bite his tongue against a moan. “Sixth floor, right?”

“Room 607,” he whispers, the end of the number turning into a groan as Yuuri presses his palm flat over Viktor’s heart.

“Don’t change out of this,” Yuuri orders him, and then he’s gone, Viktor’s self-restraint gone with him.

He stares after him, heart hammering against his ribs. Yuuri swerves between people, looking for all the world like a nervous Japanese physical therapist headed for his skater. Viktor wishes that skater was him.

Thirty minutes, he said.

Viktor might die.

It takes all his willpower not to run out of the arena, keeping his nerves tightly in check as he unlaces his skates in the locker room and makes stilted small talk with one of his competitors. His body crawls with buzzing impatience, telling him to hurry up, to ignore the bruises on his feet and Yakov’s disapproving frown when Viktor announces he’ll spend the free time inside his room.

He reaches the hotel with five minutes to spare, closing the door on himself with his heart in his throat. He takes a moment just to breathe, leaning back against the door with closed eyes. Somehow the man he’s been dreaming about is coming to his room, and Viktor feels the rush of anticipation take him over. All the times that Yuuri moaned his name, begged for him to fill him up, and finally Viktor can fulfill all his desires. On the way back he bought condoms and lube, the bag feeling heavy in his hand. So many times he’s imagined visiting Yuuri, or inviting Yuuri over to St. Petersburg, and then their first time together will be in a hotel room at Skate America.

Biting his lip against a grin, Viktor kicks off his shoes and walks into the room, throwing the bag onto the nightstand. Should he brush his teeth? Change his underwear? Maybe-

His phone vibrates, and Viktor takes it out of his bag to put it on silent, except it’s a message from Yuuri.



Funny you would say that.


Viktor stares at the words, wondering what they mean. Why would Yuuri wait to text him until now? And the way he phrased it… Did he figure it out?

There’s a knock on the door, and Viktor turns his phone from vibrate to silence, throwing it on his sports bag, heart hammering in his throat. He dries his hands on his pants, pops into the bathroom to check his reflection, then takes a deep breath before heading over to the door.

Yuuri stands outside, and all the air leaves Viktor’s lungs. He’s lost his coat and scarf on the way to Viktor’s room, has slicked his hair back like in his shows. Viktor’s eyes run helplessly down his body, takes in the tight pair of dark jeans, the silky blue dress shirt open at the collar, clinging to him in all the right places.

“Hi,” Yuuri says, but Viktor’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. “Are you going to let me in?”

He’s still wearing his glasses, and somehow the combination of Miliy’s outfit + Yuuri’s glasses has Viktor’s dick instantly straining against his tracksuit pants. He’s so gone for this man, drawing in a desperate gulp of air as he steps to the side, Yuuri sashaying into the room like the porn star he is.

Gods, Viktor really is going to die.

There’s no longer room for thought in his brain, not when Yuuri’s ass looks so delicious, and he fumbles with the door in order to close it. He can’t believe Yuuri walked to his room like this. Doesn’t he know what a menace he is to poor, gay men?

“Nice room,” Yuuri tells him politely, taking in the queen-sized bed, Viktor’s Louis Vuitton suitcases, one hand on his hip and Viktor needs him.

“I…” he starts, trying to shake some sense into himself. It’s so hard, when Yuuri twists to look back at him, lips drawn into a seductive smile that has Viktor weak at the knees. “Yuuri, there’s something I need you to know-“

The words die in his throat as Yuuri turns fully, closing the distance between them in a few steps and grabbing the ends of Viktor’s collar in both hands. He pulls Viktor close, presses his body into Viktor’s until every inch of him feels on fire. The slide of Yuuri’s thigh between his own makes him choke on arousal, Yuuri’s hot breath washing over his mouth as he speaks.

“Don’t bother,” he murmurs, dark brown eyes boring into Viktor as if they own him, and they do, because Yuuri owns every part of Viktor, owns his heart and mind and soul. “I already know.”

Viktor sucks in a sharp breath, fingers moving to clutch at Yuuri’s hips, bringing him in closer, foreheads touching. He doesn’t think it will ever be close enough, because he’s greedy like that, wants Yuuri permanently glued to himself, wants him by his side every day and every night for eternity. But does Yuuri really know? Does he understand the depth of Viktor’s feelings, the pain in his chest pounding at his ribs, rendering him unable to speak them out loud?

“Yuuri,” he whispers, feels Yuuri’s nose nudge his own, his hands sliding over Viktor’s shoulders to twist fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want you so much…”

He sees Yuuri’s eyes darken with want, eyelids lowering as his gaze tells Viktor clearly of his desire. Their lips brush, the touch gentle but filled with promises of pleasure, tingles erupting all across Viktor’s skin as he presses a kiss to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. His body feels heavy with need, his fingers digging into the soft flesh at Yuuri’s hips, his thighs flexing around the one Yuuri keeps between them.

The room feels too warm, the air shimmering with anticipation. He wants so much that he doesn’t know where to start, wants Yuuri’s skin burning under his palms, wants marks blooming on his chest and thighs and neck, wants Yuuri to be his.

“You have me,” Yuuri whispers back, a dark blush spreading over his cheeks when Viktor draws back just enough to see his face.

His eyes are downcast now, shy and lovely and Viktor has him.

“Whatever way you want me, you have me,” Yuuri continues, and Viktor’s heart sings as he embraces Yuuri’s waist, pulls him tight against his chest, burying his nose in Yuuri’s neck.

“I want all of you,” he confesses, running his nose along the length of Yuuri’s throat, relishing in the shiver it elicits. “Ever since I first saw you, that’s all I wanted.”

Yuuri lets out a strangled noise, forehead falling onto Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor trails kisses up and down his neck, drags his teeth along the shell of Yuuri’s ear.

“Oh god, Viktor,” Yuuri whimpers, leans into him even more, clutches at his hair. “Please…”

What kind of man would Viktor be if he didn’t listen to his lover’s pleas? He pushes his hands underneath Yuuri’s shirt, drags them over Yuuri’s heated skin, mouths at the spot underneath his ear.

“Tell me what you need, Yuuri,” he urges, sucking harshly at the spot until Yuuri bucks his hips in desperation. “Let me give it to you.”

Yuuri moans, and Viktor wants him naked right now, wants him squirming on the bed, begging for Viktor to take him.

“I need you inside me.” Yuuri pushes his head up, voice rough with want, fingers sliding higher up Viktor’s head to tug at his hair insistently. “I need you to fuck me hard and fast and make me yours.”

There’s a wild sense of urgency filling Viktor, begging him to slam Yuuri against the wall and take him over and over until he’s a sobbing mess, until Viktor has claimed him. No one else should ever see Yuuri like this, glasses askew as he clings to Viktor, breaths in quick puffs of hot air against his skin.

His hands shoot down to Yuuri’s ass, fingers digging in possessively as he forces Yuuri to rub himself on Viktor, groaning deep in his throat at the feeling of friction on their hardening cocks. He catches Yuuri’s mouth in a heated kiss, licking into his mouth when it opens eagerly. The little noises of pleasure leaving Yuuri as he sucks on his tongue are addicting, and he chases more of them, biting into Yuuri’s soft lower lip, massaging Yuuri’s ass cheeks and the back of his thighs until he’s trembling in his arms.

He loves the thickness of Yuuri’s thighs, the arch of his back as he leans into Viktor, the way he drags his fingers through Viktor’s hair to tilt their heads, slotting their mouths perfectly against each other. He loves Yuuri¸ how he drives him crazy until all rational thought is driven from his mind. Slipping his hands between their bodies, Viktor battles the buttons on Yuuri’s shirt.

“This needs to come off,” he mutters, considering just ripping it apart and buying Yuuri a new shirt instead.

It doesn’t help that Yuuri keeps squirming impatiently in his arms, starts kissing his jaw and biting teasingly into the bone. Later, Viktor wants to take his time with Yuuri in a shirt like this, wants to admire every piece of skin revealed and kiss it reverently.

Now, he wonders where all the grace he shows on the ice has gone, leaving only a hurried clumsiness that has Yuuri giggling into his neck.

“Shush,” Viktor says, embarrassed, deciding to simply lift it over Yuuri’s head and ignore the last buttons.

The silky fabric slips easily over Yuuri’s head, Yuuri hurrying to save his glasses, and Viktor can’t help but kiss him as soon as his face is in view again. He throws the shirt aside, runs his hands down Yuuri’s naked arms, grabs Yuuri’s hands and gently walks him towards the bed.

“That shirt was expensive,” Yuuri mumbles, lifting their hands to hold them between their chests, his disapproving frown ruined by the flush on his cheeks.

“I’ll buy you an even more expensive one,” Viktor promises, Yuuri’s protest lost when the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls onto it, Viktor climbing after him. “Scoot up.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes but does as told, leaning over to place his glasses on the nightstand while Viktor licks his lips appreciatively at the sight. Even though Viktor has seen him naked a hundred times, nothing can compare to reality. The strength of his arms, the definition of his pecs, the little pudge on his belly that Viktor has dreamt of squishing, the V-line between his hips leading down past the hem of his jeans…

“So beautiful,” he hums, the praise falling easy and true from his lips, though Yuuri turns a bright red color.

Viktor can’t stop looking, so used to not being able to touch that he hesitates. Yuuri leans back on his forearms, legs falling open in invitation, and Viktor chokes on air. He’s still red-faced, but the look in his eyes is determined, challenging, chest rising and falling rapidly with his breath. He’s still wearing his shoes, Viktor realizes as his eyes run hungrily down the length of his legs, and he reaches a finger out to trace the shiny leather of his brown loafers.

“I should have taken them off,” Yuuri apologizes, but Viktor shakes his head.

He puts Yuuri’s foot on his lap, stroking the shoelaces before pulling the bow open, slowly loosening the laces until he can pull the shoe off. Yuuri dresses up so nicely, and Viktor is achingly hard for it. The shoe lands on the floor with a soft thump, and Viktor switches to the other foot, repeating the process.

Yuuri’s jeans are rolled up at the cuffs, and he caresses the revealed skin, easing the socks off as well. He wants to kiss Yuuri’s feet, but even as Vitya he hasn’t discussed that particular kink with him, so it is with reluctance that he squeezes Yuuri’s ankles and pushes his legs apart again.

“I want you so much I feel like I can’t wait,” Viktor starts, voice thick with need, “but I also want to just sit here and touch you for hours.”

“That’s-“ Yuuri splutters, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. “That’s way too long.”

“Another time,” Viktor says, grinning when Yuuri peeks at him. “As for now…”

He settles between Yuuri’s legs, gripping at the insides of his thighs. The fabric feels surprisingly smooth underneath his hands, stretched to fit Yuuri’s muscle. Viktor wants to feel them clench around his head as he sucks Yuuri’s cock. He wants to fuck them, sloppy with lube, until he comes all over Yuuri’s stomach. He wants to-

“Viktor,” Yuuri sighs, his hands landing on Viktor’s and guiding them higher, caressing up his thighs and hips, nudging him towards his groin. “Please.”

Viktor runs his thumb along the outline of Yuuri’s cock, swallowing with some difficulty as Yuuri’s hips thrust into his touch.

“What do you want, Yuuri? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

When Yuuri lets out a groan of complaint, thrusting up again, Viktor grabs his hips and pushes him down into the soft mattress.

“What was that?” he teases, heart palpitating when Yuuri glares at him.

He wants to lean down and mouth at Yuuri’s cock through the fabric, wants to rip his pants open and swallow him down his throat, if only Yuuri would say the words…

Viktor,” Yuuri groans, hands clutching at the pillow above his head, body straining against the hold Viktor has on him.

He looks so good like this, lovely and needy in Viktor’s bed. Viktor wants him in his bed at home, wants to do all the cheesy couple things they could possibly think of, wants to lift his right hand and kiss the ring on it, the ring that Viktor would have put on his finger when he proposed…

“Yes, solnyshko?”

Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, stills under Viktor’s hands.

“You don’t like being called that?” Viktor asks, searching Yuuri’s face.

His eyes are closed, lips thinned into a line, but then he seems to relax again, exhaling slowly.

“Use my name,” he mumbles, and it’s Viktor’s turn to hold his breath.

All this time, Viktor has been forced to rely on pet names for Yuuri, not knowing his real name. Had Yuuri suffered from it, too? Not that suffer was the correct word, precisely, but there’s something so freeing about being able to chant Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, even if every name that Viktor has called him is just as true to his feelings.

Yuuri,” he says, letting the name roll off his tongue in admiration. “I love your name.”

Yuuri smiles, but it’s tiny, so Viktor leans over his body to kiss at his lips, repeating his name over and over again until he’s laughing and swatting him away. Yuuri should never look sad, he thinks, not when his laughter fills the world with sunlight.

“Will you tell me what you want now?” he asks, leaning his weight on one hand as the other lovingly caresses Yuuri’s cheek. “Your smile is beautiful, but I think I’d like you wrecked with pleasure first.”

This time, Yuuri’s smile turns impish instead as he lifts a finger to press it into Viktor’s bottom lip.

“I already told you what I want,” he says, tongue running along his bottom lip when Viktor bites at his fingertip. “Surprise me with the rest.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, Yuuri’s finger still in his mouth. Would proposing be too predictable? No, Viktor wants to do it the proper way, when he has a ring and a plan for the future. He can feel goose bumps erupt along his arms despite the heat, Yuuri’s request inspiring liquid fire to run through his veins. There’s so much he could do, with full access to Yuuri’s body. He’s so hard, should probably take his pants off before there’s a suspicious wet spot at the front of them that will dry and show on camera.

And yet, the thought of everyone seeing the proof of what Yuuri does to him makes something dark swell inside him, something fierce and proud. He wants the world to know that he belongs to Yuuri, and to Yuuri alone.

“The things you do to me,” he whispers, pushes a stray lock of hair from Yuuri’s forehead. “I wonder if I could really surprise you more than you already surprised me.”

Yuuri frowns at him, but before he can say anything Viktor straightens up, fingers hooking over the waistline of Yuuri’s jeans.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he says, tugging Yuuri’s hips into the air.

When Yuuri’s thighs twitch, a choked moan slipping past his lips, Viktor has to take a deep breath to steady himself. His hands move to the button, popping it open as Yuuri digs his heels into the mattress to hold himself up. It leaves his body taut, and Viktor places one hand on his tensed stomach, stroking up and down to feel the strain of the muscle before moving lower to cup his dick through his pants.

“So good for me, Yuuri.”

The praise causes Yuuri to shiver, and his hips fall down again, putty under Viktor’s touch. He presses down with his palm, drags the heel of it along Yuuri’s shaft, drinking in the ragged moan Yuuri gives him.

“So, so good.”

Viktor is sweating in his tracksuit now, uncomfortably warm, but to stop touching Yuuri for even a second feels impossible. He tries to calm his furiously beating heart, pulling down the zipper on Yuuri’s pants. The way Yuuri’s body squirms is downright sinful, his skin flushed and so inviting. Leaning down, Viktor licks a long stripe through the gap in Yuuri’s pants, shuddering at the knowledge that Yuuri isn’t wearing anything underneath them.

He leaves open-mouthed kisses along the way to Yuuri’s navel, dipping his tongue inside. Yuuri’s hands find his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it and tugging, his back arching into Viktor’s mouth. A broken version of Viktor’s name leaves him, repeats when Viktor pulls at his jeans.

“Take them off,” Yuuri orders, kicking at Viktor’s shin.

“But you look so good like this,” Viktor says, leaning back up to admire the sight.

The base of Yuuri’s cock peeks out from the opened zipper, trapped to one side still. Viktor ghosts his fingertips over it, traces the length of it underneath the fabric until Yuuri’s hips lift into the touch.

Viktor has mercy on him, grabbing at the hem and pulling the fabric down to mid-thigh, Yuuri gasping with the force of it. Bending Yuuri’s legs a bit he pulls the pants the whole way off, letting them join the shirt on the floor. Once Yuuri is fully naked he swallows down a moan, raking his eyes over him. He’s already committed Yuuri’s whole body to memory, but now he does it again, walking his fingers over Yuuri’s knees and along his thighs.

His fingers come to a stop at a bruise, blooming blue and green on the inside of his thigh.

“What’s this from?” he asks, the thought of someone else kissing marks into Yuuri’s skin heavy like lead in his chest.

He has no right to expect Yuuri to have been committed to him before, but he eyes it with distaste all the same.

“The bruises? Pole dancing.”

Viktor blinks at him, and Yuuri blushes.

“What did you think they were from?”

Shaking his head, Viktor bends to place a light kiss onto it. The kiss turns into a bite, and Yuuri hisses at the slight pain. He’s not sure how to reply, tucking the question into the back of his mind where all his apologies and explanations for everything else waits. When he sits up, Yuuri is frowning at him.

“You’re wearing too much,” he says, sitting up as well. “I like this jacket, but…”

He touches Viktor’s chest, traces the R and U printed in red. Something seems to be on his mind, troubling him for a moment before he takes hold of the zipper. He sends Viktor a look, swallowing before pulling the zipper down, opening the jacket to show Viktor’s black athletic shirt instead.

“I don’t mind if you want to undress me,” Viktor tells him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple, squeezing his thighs just because he can.

Yuuri hums in thought, fingering the fabric of Viktor’s jacket. Maybe he doesn’t want Viktor to take it off. Maybe he jerks off to thoughts of Viktor fucking him while wearing his Olympic tracksuit. Viktor has no problem indulging that fantasy.


Startled, Yuuri sends him another look, then pushes the jacket off Viktor’s shoulders. Once it’s off, instead of throwing it aside to work on Viktor’s shirt, Yuuri slips his hands into the arms of the jacket and shrugs it on.

It’s too big on him, the sleeves covering half his hands when he holds them up in wonder.

Viktor is in love.

With the sight, with Yuuri, with Yuuri in his jacket.

“I-“ Yuuri starts, making a move as if to take it off again, but Viktor holds his wrists.

“Can I fuck you like this?” he asks, breathless, cock begging for release.

Wide-eyed, Yuuri’s lips part as he stares at Viktor. Viktor reaches out to brush his thumb along the seam of his mouth, shifting closer.

“Can I?”

Yuuri swallows, the sound audible in the otherwise silent room. Viktor’s entire body hums with the need coursing through him and he desperately pushes his other hand down his pants, groaning at the long-awaited friction on his cock. He doesn’t know how much longer he can handle this build-up, not when Yuuri looks at him like wants to be shoved face-down against the mattress and fucked until he screams.

Maybe Viktor will do just that.

Foregoing a vocal reply, Yuuri throws his arms around his neck and kisses him. Viktor holds him tight, pulling him onto his lap. Yuuri’s legs lock behind his back, ass on Viktor’s groin, cock smearing precum over his shirt. He combs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, messing it up, licking hungrily into his mouth. The kiss soon turns wet and sloppy, lips bruising. Viktor wants to kiss him forever, wants to keep Yuuri in his arms until they give out from exhaustion.

He runs his hands down Yuuri’s neck and back, all the way down to his ass. He slips a finger through the crack between his cheeks, and Yuuri tilts his hips forward, a high-pitched keen spilling into Viktor’s mouth. Finding his hole, Viktor circles it with his fingertip, Yuuri grinding down on him until Viktor gasps his name.

“Viktor, please,” Yuuri begs, tilting his head back as Viktor presses the pad of his finger against his perineum, rubbing it slowly. “Please, I need you in me.”

He kisses down the front of Yuuri’s throat, licks the hollow of his throat. Yuuri’s nails dig into his shoulders, twisting the fabric of his shirt as he shudders under Viktor’s touch.

“You’re so pretty like this, Yuuri,” he mumbles into his skin, raising Yuuri’s hips just enough to slip his fingers further down between his legs, teasing at his balls. “Wearing my jacket, desperate for my cock.”

One of his hands finds Yuuri’s hair again, pulling his head back, forcing his back to bend as Viktor kisses down his sternum. Yuuri’s thighs quiver as he struggles to hold the position, Viktor’s thumb pushing at his hole even as he continues to lightly scrape his nails over the sensitive skin on his balls.

 “Do you like it?” he asks, voice rough with arousal. “Being mine, letting me pleasure you like no one else can?”

Yes,” Yuuri sobs, head falling to rest on top of Viktor’s.

“You’re mine,” Viktor repeats, finding one of Yuuri’s nipples and closing his mouth around it, Yuuri twitching his hips forwards.

He bites down on it, gently, but Yuuri cries out and jerks against him. Viktor straightens up again, pushing Yuuri down on his back. He hits the mattress with a soft noise, Yuuri’s chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. Grabbing his shirt behind his neck, Viktor pulls it off in one smooth move, allowing Yuuri a few seconds to drink him in.

Now that he thinks about it, it’s the first time Yuuri has seen him like this. Viktor doubts there’s a spot on Yuuri’s body that hasn’t been subjected to his webcam, but Viktor’s photo shoots usually have him in clothes. There are only two instances that Viktor’s chest has been on full display, something Yuuri has bemoaned several times.

“Want to take a picture?” he asks, but Yuuri turns bright red and shakes his head quickly.

Maybe Yuuri prefers the real deal, now that he has it to himself. Viktor certainly does. Leaning over Yuuri he takes one of his hands, placing it on top of his abs.

“All yours,” he says, and Yuuri sucks in a breath.

Viktor isn’t arrogantly vain – in fact, he often worries about his appearance – but Yuuri looks at him like he’s beauty personified, and Viktor doesn’t ever want him to stop. There’s something painful tugging at his heart as Yuuri runs his palm over his chest, eyes following its path with hunger burning in them.

He knows that Yuuri likes his body, never doubted that – it was always his personality that was questionable. Ideally, Yuuri would reassure him of that, too, but all he does is splay his fingers across Viktor’s right collarbone and stare at it.

“Something wrong?” Viktor asks when it’s been more than ten seconds, Yuuri reluctantly tearing his eyes from his hand.

“No,” he says, letting his hand fall back onto the sheets. “I just… can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

Viktor chases his hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of it.

“Sometimes, reality is even better than fantasy, don’t you think?”

Yuuri doesn’t reply, closing his eyes and exhaling instead. Viktor kisses his hand again, wishing he could read Yuuri’s mind.

“Turn around,” he says, letting go of Yuuri’s hand to nudge at his side.

He wants to get rid of this serious mood, wants to go back to the part where there’s no doubt in Yuuri’s eyes. While Yuuri turns he grabs the plastic bag waiting on the nightstand, ripping the lube from its package and popping the cap open. He settles between Yuuri’s thighs, traces the curve of his gorgeous ass. Spreading the cheeks apart he hears Yuuri’s breath hitch, watches him push his hips off the mattress in anticipation.

“Look at you,” he coos, touching the base of Yuuri’s spine, slowly tracing up the line of it under the jacket. “So ready for me, so eager.”

Yuuri shivers, and Viktor pours some of the liquid onto his fingers, warming it up between them.

“You’ve been so good,” he praises, relieved when he sees Yuuri relax as he talks to him.

Maybe it’s more familiar like this, when Viktor uses his voice? Then Yuuri won’t have to focus so much on the fact that he’s Viktor. He takes a long look at Yuuri’s body displayed before him, perfectly draped in Viktor’s jacket. Can he bring Yuuri with him to the kiss and cry, later? Yuuri can still wear his jacket, warming Viktor up with his kisses.

He wants it so much, feels a lump form in his throat as he lies down on his side next to Yuuri, slick fingers slipping between his ass cheeks as Viktor presses his mouth to Yuuri’s ear.

“Yuuri,” he mumbles, pushing the tip of his middle finger past the ridge of his hole, feeling it reluctantly open up to him as he pulls it out and back in a few times. “Let me take you apart, let me pleasure you.”

Yuuri’s breath leaves him in a rush, his shoulders tensing for a moment before relaxing again.

“Then why are you going so slow?” Yuuri asks, tilting his head to give Viktor a one-eyed frown. “I can take it. I want it.”

Viktor moves closer, until he feels Yuuri’s breaths against his mouth, shaking his head a little to get his fringe out of his eyes. Yuuri looks at his fringe like he’s never considered it before, that it can get in the way at times like this.

“How much do you want it?” Viktor asks him, slipping the finger in deeper, tugging a little.

He drapes a leg over Yuuri’s thigh, holding him in place when Yuuri squirms from the feeling.

“That’s,” he starts, turning his head to bury it in the pillow again. “That’s not really fair to ask, is it?”

Viktor pushes a second finger inside, knowing how often Yuuri opens himself up, with fingers and plugs and dildos that he’s oh so jealous of. Yuuri twitches, moaning into the plush fabric as Viktor twists his fingers experimentally.

“I still want to hear it,” Viktor whispers, tilting his head down to kiss Yuuri’s shoulder, biting playfully at the smooth skin. “Won’t you tell me, Mi-“

He catches himself, swallowing the pet name he so dearly associates with his Yuuri.

“Yuuri, won’t you tell me?”

Pushing his fingers deep inside he searches for his prostate, mouthing at Yuuri’s neck, bracing himself on the arm not busy pleasuring Yuuri. When Yuuri moans his name and desperately fights against the leg holding him down, Viktor smiles in triumph. He rubs at the spot, murmurs praise into Yuuri’s ear while he claws at the sheets, shifting closer to press his still clothed cock to Yuuri’s thigh.

Please, Viktor,” Yuuri groans, panting loudly as Viktor circles his fingers, tries to open him up for Viktor’s cock. “Oh please, I need you.”

Viktor presses a hard kiss to his neck, pushing himself up. Feeling the weight leave him, Yuuri raises his ass into the air, Viktor’s mouth watering at the sight he’s seen so many times on his computer screen. Removing his fingers he sits between Yuuri’s meaty thighs, spreading them, pushing Yuuri up on his knees until he has to brace himself on his forearms.

“Perfect,” he sighs, and drags his blunt nails down the back of Yuuri’s thighs, Yuuri’s gasp turning into an outdrawn moan as red blooms on his skin. “You’re so perfect, Yuuri.”

Viktor!” Yuuri pleas, a desperate note to his voice, one of his hands reaching for his cock.

Viktor reaches around his body to swat the hand away, finding the head of Yuuri’s cock on his own instead and smearing the dribbling precum all over it.

“Do you want to come?” he asks, squeezing the tip between two fingers until Yuuri chokes on a sob. “Is that what my Yuuri wants?”

“Yes, yes, please!”

Viktor clicks his tongue, removing his fingers to grab Yuuri’s ass cheeks instead, pulling them as wide apart as possible.

“My Yuuri is so greedy,” he says, enjoying how the words feel on his tongue.

 My Yuuri.

He rubs a thumb over Yuuri’s twitching hole, leaning in close to blow cool air over it. Yuuri’s legs quiver, and Viktor tightens his grip.

“I am,” Yuuri moans, pushing back into Viktor’s hands. “I’m greedy and desperate and oh god, I need your cock filling me up.”

Viktor is so, so hard, has been for a while now, but Yuuri’s words make him feel impossibly harder. He shoves his pants and briefs down, gripping at his cock to prevent an orgasm. He wants to jerk himself off and come all over Yuuri’s glorious thighs, but Yuuri wants him inside, and Viktor would never go against his wishes.

“That’s alright, Yuuri,” he says, voice weak and strained as he tries to calm the burning arousal swirling in his gut. “I’ll give you what you want, I’ll fuck my come into you over and over again until you’re properly mine.”

Yuuri shouts into the pillow, the sound muffled but enough to send Viktor’s heart into overdrive. His hand trembles as he grabs for the pack of condoms, and he swears as he all but rips it open. When he finally rolls one of them onto his cock, feeling like he’s going to explode any second, Yuuri turns around and sits up. He hauls Viktor in for a kiss, teeth clacking, more desperation than pleasure at this point.

“Fuck me, Viktor,” Yuuri breathes into his mouth, the jacket slipping off one shoulder, his eyes heavy-lidded and burning Viktor to his core. “Ruin me, please.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor sighs, kissing his nose, his forehead, his lips again.

He pours more lube over his cock, then throws the bottle aside as he pulls Yuuri closer, coaxes him to straddle his lap. Yuuri cups his face, pushes his hair back to run his eyes all over it, and Viktor thinks he’s never seen anyone so beautiful staring down at him before. There’s an electric current running rampant in his veins, born from Yuuri’s body heat, and he runs his hands up and down Yuuri’s naked thighs before digging his fingers into them.

He never knew that it was possible to love someone this much, to crave their body more than air. Words were insufficient, useless, stuck in his throat as Yuuri’s eyes hold him willing captive. If Yuuri asked him to skip his short program and make love to him instead, Viktor wouldn’t think twice about the choice.

The hands cupping Viktor’s face tilts it up for a sweet kiss, Yuuri’s lips lingering on his for a moment before he lets go, letting Viktor fall onto the mattress. His eyes never leave Viktor’s face, and Viktor shudders at the intensity in them. Perhaps Yuuri is the possessive one, and Viktor a fool to ever think he held any power over the other man.

“Don’t take your eyes off me,” Yuuri says, his voice a dark caress in Viktor’s ears, and then he reaches for Viktor’s cock and sinks onto it in one swift move.

Viktor cries out, the heat and tightness enveloping him like a dream come true, but he keeps his eyes open wide as Yuuri ordered.

And Yuuri does look like a dream, his slicked back hair falling apart as he rolls his hips, the red and white jacket swaying as he moves.

Viktor,” he moans, head tilting back, hands braced on Viktor’s hips. “Aah, it’s so deep.”

Swearing, Viktor can’t do more than try not to fall apart as Yuuri’s hips undulate on top of him, Yuuri fucking himself on his cock. His dark hair is damp with perspiration, stray strands sticking to his forehead. There’s a look of ecstasy on his face, cheeks and chest flushed pink, long eyelashes fluttering as he moves with the grace of a dancer. Viktor claws at the sheets, afraid to touch in case Yuuri disappears like the dream he is.

“Amazing,” Viktor groans, hips thrusting of their own accord, seeking more of Yuuri’s heat. “How are you so amazing?”

Yuuri’s cock bounces against Viktor’s lower belly as he speeds up, swollen and glistening with precum. It’s so different from watching him pleasure himself, Yuuri’s thighs clenching around his hips, his warmth reminding Viktor that he’s real, he’s here. One of Yuuri’s hands leaves Viktor’s hip, reaching for him, and Viktor immediately takes it, fingers lacing together.

I love him I love him I love him.

When Yuuri opens his eyes to look at him, so wrecked and pleading, Viktor throws his other arm around Yuuri’s waist and pushes him to the side. He wastes no time thrusting into Yuuri again, the arm underneath him keeping his hips perfectly aligned and their joined hands falling beside Yuuri’s head.

Like this he can keep his promise of hard and fast, and Yuuri lets out broken sobs and cries as Viktor fucks into him. Yuuri’s free hand grabs a fistful of Viktor’s hair, and Viktor wonders if he’s got a thing for it. Viktor might have a thing for Yuuri having a thing for it, at the very least. He buries his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck, Yuuri’s legs in a crushing lock behind his back, urging him on.

More,” Yuuri begs, arching into Viktor’s body, trembling with need. “I want to come, I need more.”

Viktor is about to protest, he’s already hitting Yuuri’s prostate, going as fast and hard as he can, but when Yuuri gets like this his needs aren’t physical. Viktor knows what he wants, lifts his head to capture Yuuri’s lips, slowing down his thrusts until Yuuri glares at him.

“You already have all of me,” he mumbles, pulling Yuuri’s lower lip into his mouth to suck on it briefly. “You have me now, and later, and all of the future.”

Yuuri’s eyes grow wide, the fingers in Viktor’s hair losing their strength.

“I told you, didn’t I? You’re mine.”

A gasp, and Yuuri seems to melt, becoming pliant under Viktor’s touch. It feels like he’s become heavier, his legs slipping from Viktor’s back to rest against his sides, mouth falling open as Viktor keeps driving his cock inside him.

“Whatever happens,” Viktor mumbles into his cheek, “I’ll always want you.”

He kisses down his jawline, and Yuuri turns his head with a lewd moan that has Viktor’s hips stuttering. Sucking into the spot underneath Yuuri’s ear, determined to leave a mark, Viktor switches to quicker thrusts that don’t require him to pull out as far.

“Do you feel that?” he whispers thickly into Yuuri’s ear, moaning when Yuuri tightens around him. “How much I need you? How desperate I am to feel you close to me?”

His legs and arms tremble with the effort to hold Yuuri up, but Viktor doesn’t want to come yet, not until Yuuri does. Yuuri’s moans have become short and cut-off, matching Viktor’s thrusts, hand falling off Viktor’s head to lay limp against the mattress. He looks utterly wrecked, too spent to do more than beg for release, broken versions of Viktor’s name spilling repeatedly from his kiss-swollen lips. It’s all Viktor can do to keep it up, gritting his teeth against the orgasm threatening to take him over.

“Come for me, Yuuri,” he says, voice rough in its demand, mind clouded over with pleasure. “Won’t you be good for me? Let me fill you up, my beautiful husband…”

With a shout, Yuuri comes in spurts of white that land on his stomach and chest, tremors wrecking through his body as he wraps himself around Viktor.

“Yes, yes, just like that, oh Yuuri,” Viktor rambles, thrusting furiously a few times before he follows after, groaning into Yuuri’s shoulder. “So good for me, Miliy, so, so good.”

He stays like that for a while, buried deep in Yuuri, breathing in his scent with labored breaths until he starts to come back to his senses again. He finds Yuuri in much the same state, face turned away from him, drawing in a sharp breath as Viktor places a loving kiss to his temple. He pulls his arm from underneath Yuuri’s back, pushing himself up with it though his body protests. Yuuri makes a small noise, drawing his hand out of Viktor’s to wipe at his eyes.


Yuuri shakes his head, and Viktor gingerly pulls out, discarding the condom in the general direction of the trash can. Yuuri did say that he wanted to be fucked until he cried when they talked last night, but something about the stiffness in Yuuri’s shoulders makes Viktor believe that something is wrong.

“What’s wrong, lyubov moya?” he asks, wincing internally at the pet name as he reaches out to touch the hand covering Yuuri’s face.

When Yuuri pushes the hand away, Viktor’s heart sinks. He tries to remember what he did wrong, and then-

“Ah, is it about the pet names?” he asks, and Yuuri lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a sob.

Pet names,” he repeats in disbelief, lowering his hands to stare at Viktor.

His eyes are wet with unshed tears, and Viktor feels a sharp pang of regret through his chest.

“You called me Miliy.”


Viktor had been wrong.


Yuuri didn’t know.

Chapter Text

Solnyshko. Dyetka. Zolotse.




Yuuri,” Viktor had said. “I love your name.”


So good for me, Miliy, so, so good.”


It’s hard to breathe, when Viktor stares at him like that.

“Ah, is it about the pet names?” he asks, and Yuuri lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a sob.

Pet names,” he repeats in disbelief, lowering his hands to stare back at Viktor.

He’s probably crying, and part of him thinks he deserves it.

“You called me Miliy.”


Time might as well have stopped. Yuuri isn’t sure how he ended up here, what choices he made in life to have Viktor Nikiforov know everything about the embarrassing fan that Yuuri is, to know and not tell.

To know and use that knowledge to fuck him better than anyone has ever fucked him before, and probably ever will.


“I’m sorry,” Viktor says, a little helplessly, and for a second Yuuri thinks he got it wrong, that Viktor isn’t Vitya after all. “I thought you knew.”


Yuuri can’t be here anymore. He has to go. There’s a chasm of hurt inside his chest, where every single piece of scraped-together confidence crumbles and disappears into.


“I thought I knew, too,” Yuuri says, and sits up.

He has to awkwardly move his legs around Viktor to swing them over the side of the bed, has to grab his glasses from the nightstand like his hands aren’t shaking.

“I-“ Viktor stops, chokes on the word. Yuuri refuses to look at him. “I want to fix this. Please Yuuri, I’m so sorry.”

Even with his glasses on Yuuri can’t see much through the blur of tears, and he wipes at his cheeks with the sleeves of Viktor’s jacket.

“Don’t,” he forces out, fighting the hard lump in his throat. “Just. Don’t.”

“Yuuri, please Yuuri, I can-“

Stop saying my name!


Yuuri’s fists are clenched over his thighs, and he’s-

He’s still naked. He and Viktor are both naked, and this is absolutely ridiculous and Yuuri wants to disappear. He wants to go home and delete his account on camboyheaven and spend the final months just working at a coffee shop or something. Forget that this ever happened. Forget that he ever felt beautiful and wanted and-


“I’m leaving,” he says, only half aware of the fact that he gets up and somehow puts his pants on, somehow grabs his shoes and shirt and somehow ignores that Viktor cries, too.

“Can’t we talk about this? Yu- Please, just let me explain-“


Yuuri slams the door behind himself.


He’s not sure how long he stays curled up in his own hotel bed, crying tears and snot all over Viktor’s jacket and thinking he deserves to have it ruined. Maybe Yuuri won’t even give it back. Maybe he’ll bury it deep in his closet and take it out on days when he feels particularly miserable, thinking of how he was once in love with two people and both of them screwed him over simultaneously.

He hadn’t known what to think, waking up to Vitya’s messages in the morning. Don’t flirt with anyone who isn’t Viktor Nikiforov? As if implying that Yuuri never could, in fact, manage to flirt with Viktor. As if Vitya only liked Yuuri when he liked Viktor. As if Yuuri was supposed to just sit around and wait for some mysterious explanation.

In hindsight, he probably should have waited.

Instead he’d sent that message. Funny you would say that.

Funny you would say that, because I just had sex with Viktor Nikiforov and it was the best moment of my life.


The thing is, Yuuri can’t bring himself to hate Viktor.

He just can’t believe that Viktor is Vitya, that Viktor knows things about Yuuri that he never wanted him to know. That Viktor successfully paid Yuuri through his semester. That Viktor sent him dick pics. That Viktor Nikiforov, the best figure skater in the world, Yuuri’s inspiration in life, told Yuuri I wouldn’t mind if you were a little bit in love with me while knowing that Yuuri absolutely was in love with him already.


It hurts.


At some point, Phichit opens the door to their shared room, humming a happy tune from The King and the Skater. Yuuri knows all the songs by heart, knows that Phichit must be in a good mood and Yuuri is about to ruin it because he’s such a mess of a person.


It doesn’t sound like when Vitya says it. When Viktor says it, he corrects himself. He wants to scream into the pillow, settles for burying his face in it.


It takes Phichit a lot of coaxing, a lot of petting Yuuri’s hair and cursing Viktor Nikiforov to hell and back to get Yuuri’s face out of the pillow.

“I swear, Yuuri, I’ll cut him with my skates. I’ll get my hamsters and have them eat him. I’ll-“

“Go to jail?”

Yuuri’s voice is raspy, weak. He tilts his head, wondering if fresh air always tasted this depressing.

“I’d go to jail for you. We’re best friends. It’s what we do!”

Phichit looks entirely too serious for Yuuri to dismiss the claim.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the past couple of months. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t ice rinks and hamsters in jail.”

“The point,” Phichit says, rearranging himself on the bed as Yuuri gingerly turns on his side. “The point is that Nikiforov can be however good he wants at skating, I’ll still cut him for making you cry.”

“You usually call him Viktor.”

“He doesn’t deserve it. Yuuri! Why are you looking at me like I’m overreacting!”

It’s weird, but Phichit being upset makes Yuuri less upset. Everything is so surreal that he might as well laugh instead of cry. He shrugs.

“Yuuri, what happened? You told me you were going for a one-night-stand because, and I quote, ‘Viktor Nikiforov probably flirts with someone new every competition’. Which first of all I don’t believe but also, the way he looked at you?”

Phichit shakes his head, disbelief and disgust on his face.

“I don’t know, I just got the feeling he was genuine about it.”

Yuuri chokes on a sob, throws his hands over his mouth.


I’ve been thinking so much about what I can do to make you mine

That I didn’t realize you might want me, and not me-as-Viktor


He doesn’t understand. Why would Vitya write those things to him? Why would he role play being married, why would he make Yuuri think over and over that Vitya wanted every single part of him when he is actually Viktor Nikiforov.


“Yuuri, there’s something I need you to know-“


For once in his life, Yuuri hadn’t wanted to hear something Viktor Nikiforov wanted to say. And who would want to hear the person they like say you know this is only a one-time thing, right? Yuuri knew that. He knew not to expect anything, not to mistake it as his silly little dreams being fulfilled. And he was fine with it.

He is not fine with Vitya lying to him.

“Hey,” Phichit says, ”Yuuri, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll-“

Phichit stops talking as Yuuri grabs the pillow and puts it over his head, hiding underneath it. He’s not ready to face the world after all.

“Yuuri, are you… wearing his jacket?”


“Did you steal it? I’m proud of you.”

“I forgot I was wearing it.”

It’s hard to wallow in angst when Phichit goes from upset to absurdly cheerful between one breath and the next.

“Yuuri, this is amazing. Can I vague post about him on twitter? Please, can I?”

“Viktor’s the one I’ve been talking to. Online. He’s the Russian Viktor voice actor.”

Saying it out loud is so much worse. It makes it real, makes Vitya transform from someone he could possibly love to… someone Yuuri isn’t worthy of.


Losing Vitya hurts more than Viktor being a dick to him ever could.


The fact that Phichit doesn’t speak for an entire minute is telling in itself.

“I’m going to murder him. No. I’m going to beat him and humiliate him and no one will ever care that he ever existed ever again!”

“That’s impossible,” Yuuri sighs. “Viktor is perfect.”

Phichit slumps on the bed, groaning out loud.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, and when Yuuri peeks at him his face is scrunched up in confusion. “Are you mad at him or not? Did he hurt you or not? You look upset but you’re still wearing his jacket?”

“I don’t know.” Yuuri feels small, like if he curls up tight enough he’ll finally disappear. “I am upset but… I don’t want to take it off.”


“You’re mine.”

“Sometimes, reality is even better than fantasy, don’t you think?”

“Whatever happens, I’ll always want you.”

“Won’t you be good for me? Let me fill you up, my beautiful husband…”


Yuuri cries. What else can he do? It felt like how he imagined being with Vitya would be like. It felt like being loved. It felt like it meant something.

There’s a knock on the door, and Phichit leaves to open it. Yuuri can hear Celestino’s hushed voice, tries to block out Phichit’s hurried explanations. He doesn’t want to be a burden like this. He was so excited to go, to cheer for Phichit and catch a glimpse of Viktor. It would have been enough, to maybe be in the same room as Viktor. To see him in reality even if from a distance.

He wants to go back in time to that moment before Viktor stepped into the elevator, and push the button for the door to close before he makes it inside. He wants to go back to last night’s phone call and demand an explanation, right now. Or maybe to the bar, where he would tell Viktor that he’s already a taken man, and if Viktor really was Vitya he would have had to tell Yuuri right then and there.

“I’m okay,” he tells Phichit, tries to brave a smile. “I’ll come cheer for you later.”

“It’s fine if you don’t,” Phichit says. “Then you won’t be there to stop me from kicking Viktor Nikiforov right in the balls.”

Yuuri shouldn’t laugh, because nothing about this is funny. It’s just that Phichit tends to have that effect on him, and Yuuri is so, so thankful to have met him. Who knows what kind of hermit tendencies he would have had otherwise.

“You can’t do that.”

Phichit snorts, affronted.

“I’ll make it a figurative kick in the balls. Even if he’d deserve it!” A small pause, and then he frowns at Yuuri. “Are you going to forgive him? What did he say to you, anyway?”

Picking at some lint on the sheets, Yuuri lowers his eyes.

“He didn’t really… say anything. I just figured it out because he used that pet name for me. And it’s just that-“

Biting his lips, he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. He doesn’t want to admit what he thought in that instant, that feeling of shame and embarrassment and hurt coursing through his body.

“It’s just that, I kept thinking it was too good to be true, that Viktor Nikiforov would want me. But it was okay if it was just one time, if I was just someone he happened to look at and thought why not.”

“Yuuri, that’s-“

“But,” Yuuri continues, drawing in a shaky breath. “But that’s not what happened. He saw me and he knew, he knew, that I’d do absolutely anything that Viktor Nikiforov asked me to do.”


And yet, it doesn’t make sense. The puzzle pieces don’t add up. Yuuri can’t hate Viktor because he can’t believe that Viktor would both be Vitya and do something like that. But the other option-


Solnyshko. Dyetka. Zolotse. Miliy.

Lyubov moya.


Yuuri looked them all up a few days ago, because Vitya wouldn’t tell him. He imprinted their meanings into his heart, felt them vibrate through his chest whenever Vitya used them. It was different from when others called him things like baby, things like sugar. When Viktor called him solnyshko it felt like its meaning was ruined, reduced to something common which is ridiculous because those are absolutely common pet names.

But they were special to Yuuri. Vitya had told him that they were for lovers, and Yuuri had looked up more words, had wondered if there was something he could call Vitya in return but hadn’t dared to ask yet.

And somehow, when Viktor called him Yuuri it felt like his existence was being acknowledged by the man of his dreams. He wasn’t just anyone, someone who would do.

He was Yuuri.


“Ah, is it about the pet names?” Viktor had asked him.

At first it was. Yuuri wanted to live in the dream that Viktor had noticed him, plain old Yuuri, in his glasses and messy hair, Japanese physical therapist Yuuri who’s a little bit boring and a whole lot of awkward.

He’d felt like he didn’t need to doll himself up and purr at a camera to gain Viktor’s attention.

He should have known it was too good to be true, to think that he had any qualities outside of the bedroom…


“Yuuri,” Phichit says, voice firm, one hand on his shoulder. “I’m here for you, okay? We can talk when you figure everything out.”

Yuuri has a feeling he’s been saying other things, too, that he simply didn’t listen to.

“Okay.” He pulls the covers tighter around himself, wishing Viktor’s jacket didn’t smell so nice even as he breathes in deep. “I’ll watch you from here.”

Despite how reluctant he looks, Phichit walks backwards to the door and makes his way through. He probably has lunch to eat and pictures to take and interviews to do. Yuuri was supposed to be there for him, not get caught up in some kind of romance drama plot.

Or maybe it’s a porno. Hot love on ice. Starring Viktor Nikiforov and a slutty physical therapist student.

Yuuri may or may not have imagined it before. His hands on Viktor’s thighs as he kneels between his legs. The way Viktor would tug at his hair before telling him to open his pretty little mouth. He never asked Vitya to play out that particular fantasy, now that he thinks about it.  

The worst part is that Yuuri can still feel it. Viktor’s mouth on his skin, Viktor’s weight above him. The sound of his breaths, of his moans. The strength of his orgasm, rippling through his body as Viktor fills him deep.

It’s a strong enough memory that he has to bite his lip, breath catching in his throat. He wants that moment back, that short space of time between his orgasm and Viktor calling him Miliy, when everything was perfect.

The thing is, Yuuri is so, so angry at him for ruining that perfect moment. For a few seconds he’d let himself believe in a fairytale, that he was Viktor’s husband and they were so in love and–


The thing is, if having sex really is all Viktor wants from him, if Viktor asks to sleep with him again…

Yuuri isn’t sure he’ll want to say no.



Viktor almost begs Yakov to let him skip the six minute warm-up. It’s an idiotic thing to ask for, but a whole lot better than being forced to pretend that everything is fine for a small eternity. His body feels sluggish and unresponsive, his brain capacity on minus. Before Yuuri, Viktor had found himself caring less and less for skating.

After Yuuri-

He can’t think like that. There shouldn’t be an after Yuuri. There should be Yuuri, period.

Yakov had taken one look at him and almost choked on his words.

“What the hell did you do?”

Viktor knows what he did. He thought with his dick, like some kind of caveman. He can’t blame Yuuri for that, but it’s simple fact. Yuuri doesn’t need to do more than exist for Viktor to lose all rational thought.

Even though he should, he can’t bring himself to smile at the audience or the cameras. The first six skaters have already completed their short programs, but Viktor had spent that time pretending the world didn’t exist outside of the corridor he jogged up and down, went through his choreography in.

He’s last in line, which means he has to wait the longest, which means he has a lot of time listening to how quiet his phone is. Messaging Yuuri through his Vitya account feels all sorts of wrong, but what else is he supposed to do?

He still doesn’t have Yuuri’s number, or facebook or instagram or anything at all.

All he has is the sinking feeling that he messed up the one thing in his life that made everything better.

When they finally announce that practice is over and Viktor has barely even thought about attempting any jumps, someone skates up alongside him.

“Yuuri deserves better,” Phichit says in greeting, side-eyeing him. “He’s not some boy-toy for you to play with.”

“I know that.”

It’s hard to breathe, and he struggles to keep his face neutral, pretends he has to readjust his costume.

“That’s why I’m going to fix this.”

He says it with more confidence than he has, Phichit’s eyes boring into the side of his skull. They reach the opening in the boards, quietly accept their skate guards from their coaches. It’s not until they’re hidden from the audience and cameras that Phichit grabs his arm to hold him back, makes him wait until the others get ahead of them.

“I want my best friend to be happy.”

His voice is low, but the words ring loud in Viktor’s ears and threaten to dissolve what little composure he’s got left.

“And he was happy with you. Well, he was happy with the fake you. So maybe-“

“That wasn’t fake me.”

Viktor is so much taller, so much older, but when Phichit looks at him he feels like he doesn’t know anything about life, after all.

He certainly didn’t know it was possible to hurt this much, when he’s more used to feel nothing at all.

“Well,” Phichit says, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “Maybe you should have told him that. Before you, you know.”

Viktor opens his mouth, frustrated when he doesn’t have a good reply.

“Aren’t you up next?” he asks instead, vaguely remembering the starting order for their group.

He desperately needs a moment alone. Yuuri still hasn’t replied and maybe he never will, but Phichit telling him that he was happy, past tense, isn’t helping him solve this mess.

“You know, Yuuri keeps telling me that you’re perfect.  He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.”


But Phichit is already walking back towards the rink, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. Viktor stares after him, heart beating heavy in his chest. He’s about to resign himself to Yakov’s yelling when Phichit turns around again, whipping his arm out to point at him.

“I’m going to beat you, Nikiforov, and then you’re going to beg on your hands and knees for Yuuri to forgive you but all you’ll have to offer him is silver.”

It’s probably meant to be threatening. Perhaps it would be, if Viktor actually cared about the competition.

“I’m sorry I can’t watch you skate.”

There’s a pause, neither of them knowing what else to say, short only because Phichit’s coach comes looking for him. Viktor would really rather not go find Yakov right now. He finds a restroom instead, checks his phone. There’s a lot of twitter notifications, a couple less for instagram. He’s not supposed to keep his phone in his pocket while he skates, but it’s not like he did any jumps anyway. There’s a message though, and Viktor hesitates before opening it.



You okay?


If Chris noticed, the rest of the world probably noticed, too. He wonders what the commentators think about his listless practice. He wonders if Yuuri is watching.

He pulls up his conversation with Yuuri instead, knowing full well that he needs to keep his muscles warm instead of standing awkwardly on his skates in a cold restroom.



Funny you would say that



I’m so, so sorry

Please let me explain?

I messed up I know

I should have made sure you knew and I’m so sorry

I’ll do anything, please just talk to me


Drawing in a deep breath he slowly starts typing, hoping Yakov won’t find him until he has to skate. Actually, he’d rather not be found at all. He’s not sure he can skate like this.



I talked to Phichit and he’s right, you deserve better

But I need you to know that I was never pretending

I never said anything as Vitya that I wouldn’t say right now, as Viktor


The door slams open, revealing Yakov’s face, red with anger. And maybe Viktor isn’t good for anything but skating, and maybe today he isn’t good enough for even that, but he’s not going to let Yuuri think he isn’t good enough.



You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met



It’s dark underneath the duvet. Yuuri has made himself a sort of cave, the brightness of his phone screen illuminating the cramped space. Before the short program started he somehow made it into the bathroom, freshening up a bit. It’s possible that he’s still wearing Viktor’s jacket, but he’d made a good job of ignoring the fact up until Viktor appeared on screen, getting ready for warm-ups.

Ever since Viktor’s very first Olympics many years ago, he’s been wearing an Olympic jacket. That’s just how it is. Except today, because Yuuri is wearing it instead, and Viktor wears the blue and white standard team jacket.

It looks so, so wrong on him.

Yuuri didn’t even know he had one, and he is literally Viktor’s number one fan.

“The jacket’s new,” one of the commentators says. “He wasn’t wearing it earlier at practice.”

He buries his nose under the collar, Viktor’s scent slightly faded now.

“Never mind the jacket,” the other one says. “Is it just me or does he look like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now?”

Viktor is frowning, arms crossed as Yakov speaks to him in rapid Russian. He’s not even nodding along, simply bends to remove his skate guards once it’s time for the six-minute warm-up.

It’s surreal, watching him like this.

“Maybe someone spilled coffee on him,” the first commentator jokes. “It’s rare to see Viktor in a bad mood. Practice went splendidly earlier today, so we’ll see if something happened after that to change his chances.”

“It will come as no surprise if he takes the lead in the short and keeps it the whole way through. He may be getting up in the years but the Lombardia Trophy was an easy win to start off the season, and no one has even come close to his records in the past years. It’s going to take a lot to push Viktor down to silver, don’t you think?”

Yuuri considers turning off the sound. There’s an upbeat pop song in the background, and the camera follows Phichit instead as he goes through a smooth step sequence.

“Here we see Thailand’s Phichit Chulanont, definitely going for the top spots this time around. His personal best is 84.36, not bad but of course a long way from Viktor’s usual scores. I would say though that Phichit and Cao Bin have a good chance at taking silver and bronze.”

As the commentators move over to the other skaters, Yuuri tunes them out. If Viktor is in view he barely blinks, afraid to miss a single expression on his face. It takes the commentators approximately four and a half minutes to notice what took Yuuri four seconds – Viktor is in terrible shape.

“I don’t know what it is but it doesn’t look good,” the second one says, as Viktor rolls his shoulders and frowns, when he should be outclassing everyone else with his practice jumps.

“Maybe he’s strained something? We haven’t gotten any info about a possible injury, and his coach looks ready to blow a fuse.”

It’s probably Yuuri’s fault. He gnaws on the zipper, guilt eating away at him because of the unread messages that Viktor sent him. Viktor has the wrong jacket and the wrong expression and the wrong warm-up and Yuuri fights the urge to bolt into the bathroom so he can hide from all of it.

“Well, that’s it for warm-ups and Viktor hasn’t attempted a single jump. And- It looks like Chulanont is worried about him as well?”

Oh no. Dread fills Yuuri at the sight of Phichit sidling up to Viktor, giving him the look that Yuuri has named I-know-what-you-did that’s usually reserved for the hockey players that sometimes talk to Yuuri while he’s watching Phichit train.

(“It’s not even their rink, Yuuri! You can’t tell me they weren’t hitting on you!”)

The camera aimed at them isn’t picking up any sounds, but the conversation is short.

“Worried or angry, it’s hard to tell. I’d like to know what they’re saying for sure.”

Most likely, they’re talking about him. Sure, Phichit is super nice to everyone he meets and loves making new friends, but Yuuri has a feeling that ‘making friends’ is not what he’s doing with Viktor.

 A few hours away from everything that happened, Yuuri can tell that Viktor isn’t doing much better than him. The difference is that Yuuri can hide in bed while Viktor has to skate in front of all his thousands of fans, and maybe Yuuri shouldn’t have run out on him. Maybe he shouldn’t have stolen his jacket. Maybe he could have been there, waiting for Viktor as he stepped off the ice, handing him his bottle of water…

Daydreaming about Viktor is just second nature at this point. It probably says something about how bad Yuuri’s got it that even after finding out that Viktor’s been paying him to masturbate for months, he can’t help but wish for those small, everyday things.

He wants to hold hands, like they did last night. He wants to giggle into his drink as Viktor mimics Makkachin, wants to lean against him and look at funny pictures that Mari sent him of Vicchan. He wants to believe that Viktor didn’t mean to lie to him…

Phichit enters the rink, looking great in his costume. He smiles and waves at the cheers, popular not only because of his skating but for his social media posts, too. Yuuri is so proud of him, so upset with himself that he couldn’t even make it the short distance from the hotel to stand with Celestino and cheer like he should. Some friend he is, crying over boys when his friend needs him. Though, Phichit looks perfectly focused as the music begins to play, sure-footed on the ice and charmingly excited. Yuuri holds his breath for the first jump, and-

His phone vibrates.


Vitya sent you a new message


The stream shows Phichit going into his step sequence, a flying sit spin interrupted by another message, then another one during a close-up of Phichit’s determined face. The tech score steadily climbs in the top left corner as Phichit does another jump, nailing it. He can’t pause Phichit’s skate to read Viktor’s messages, but there’s a churning in his stomach, the burning need to know. His teeth are digging into the metal of the zipper, fingers clenched around the phone. What the hell is Viktor doing, using his phone before skating? So many interviews mentioned Viktor handing his phone over to Yakov before entering the arena, to make sure he’s fully focused. He’s a top class athlete. He shouldn’t be texting his booty call before an important competition.


“And I worried a lot over whether or not I’d ever find anyone, and if they’d like me for me, and not just the famous figure skater Viktor Nikiforov.”


Yuuri hugs his legs, struggles to keep his breathing even as Phichit goes through the familiar steps leading into his final spin, the audience clapping along. Up until now, Yuuri thought of Viktor and Vitya as two separate people. Putting them together means challenging all the things he thought he knew about Viktor, things from interviews and twitter posts and vlogs. But, it also means challenging what he thought about Vitya, all those questions he had about who he was, what he looked like, where he came from. He has to merge them in his head, and try to figure out why someone like Viktor Nikiforov would want to pretend to be himself. It’s not just hiding his identity to do things that the public shouldn’t know about, or having a fake account on a fan site to see what people said about him. This was for Yuuri’s sake, and his alone.

There’s one more message, and Yuuri lets the stream go on after Phichit’s ending pose, opening up the app where he talks to Vitya. Viktor.

He reads the last one first, then scrolls to the top and reads them all, then scrolls up and down until they’re about to announce the score.

Phichit breaks his personal best, with a 91.24.

Viktor thinks Yuuri is amazing.

The most amazing.



I never said anything as Vitya that I wouldn’t say right now, as Viktor


Yuuri scrolls up, further and further back, reads through their conversations and forces himself to believe that this was Viktor. Viktor being silly. Viktor whining and pouting and overusing emojis. Viktor calling him beautiful, Viktor asking about his day, cheering him up by sending links to cute dog videos on youtube that Yuuri had already watched.

It’s so weird, to think that he knows Viktor. That he called Viktor after his date with Viktor because he wasn’t sure which Viktor he liked best.

Yeah, he’s just making himself confused now.

However, there’s no getting away from the fact that his long-time idol has been listening to him gush over his skating, body, and general existence. Yuuri’s been asking to pretend that he and Viktor are married and Viktor agreed every time. Encouraged it, really. Is that a normal thing to do with a fan?

Maybe it did mean something. Maybe there is that other option, even though Yuuri doesn’t want to consider it because what if he’s wrong? It’ll just hurt all over again.

Yuuri’s head is almost spinning when the skater before Viktor finishes his program. No matter how he tosses and turns the facts over and over, there are only two options that make any sort of sense. It’s just that, one of those options he really doesn’t want, and the other?

Yuuri isn’t as oblivious as Phichit sometimes accuses him to be. It’s just easier to think that no one is flirting with him so that he doesn’t need to deal with it. No one was ever good enough compared to Viktor, anyway. Call him pathetic, but no hockey player or party guy or random staff member ever gave him the feelings that merely looking at Viktor did.

And yes, Yuuri was in love with someone he didn’t know in person, but he never aspired to make Viktor fall in love with him in turn. Real life is complicated enough as it is, without throwing dating into the mix.

Vitya was a strange exception, entirely too lenient with Yuuri’s Viktor Nikiforov obsession. It probably says something, that the only person he managed to develop feelings for besides Viktor was, well, Viktor.

“Alright,” the first commentator says as the scores for Cao Bin are announced. “So far we’ve got Chulanont still in the lead, with Cao Bin as a close runner-up. Usually I’d say the results are already settled, but looking at Viktor now I’m just not so sure about tonight’s scores.”

“He looks tense, that’s for sure. He’s got two quads planned, the flip in the first half of the program and then the toe-loop combination, but as we saw earlier he didn’t even test them out.”

Yuuri grits his teeth, wants to shake the commentators and shout in their faces that there’s no way Viktor won’t skate like always. He’s unshakeable. Divine. There’s a reason he holds all the records of the past four or so years, a reason he hasn’t placed lower than first in the qualifiers since Yuuri was in high school. No one’s beaten him the past three years. No one even comes close.

“He’s got a rather solemn theme this year, but his costume is spectacular as always.”

“Smooth edges, spin’s looking good.”

“First jump coming up now, the flip, and- It’s a triple?”

“And a shakier landing than it should be, he looked fine going into it. I’d expect a reaction of sorts but maybe he planned it that way?”

“I don’t know, he looks like he’s struggling with his program today…”

Yuuri holds his breath, stares wide-eyed at the screen as Viktor puts a hand down on the triple axel. Viktor, who’s known for his flawless jumps, pops his quad toe-triple toe combination completely.

“Ouch, there goes a lot of points.”

“He needs to shape up in the free skate if he wants to claim that gold, Phichit had some great jumps, nailed both his quads-“

“Look at the audience, I think they might be crying. I don’t think anyone expected something like this to happen.”

Of course they didn’t. Viktor is supposed to be in great shape, supposed to go through his short program like a breeze. He wasn’t supposed to be upset when Yuuri left. He wasn’t supposed to know Yuuri existed, much less care what he thought and did.


I think I’ll die if you don’t cheer for me.


Viktor enters his final pose, eyes closed and chest heaving, and Yuuri can’t do this anymore.

He needs to know what Viktor was thinking, spending all his energy on Yuuri instead of his program. He needs to know if it really is Yuuri’s fault, if Viktor feels as upset as he does, if he wants to explain as badly as Yuuri wants to hear him do it.

Vitya would want Yuuri to be there, and that’s all he can think as he throws the covers off, grabs his arena pass and runs.


Viktor has never felt such relief when finishing a program. Perhaps he should be dissatisfied with his performance, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to skate the way he feels – like complete and utter crap.

Once he’s allowed to escape he’ll send Yuuri another text, let him know that it’s okay if he wants to take his time. Viktor can wait, won’t put any pressure on him. He’ll explain and apologize any way that Yuuri wants.

It occurred to him that maybe Yuuri was upset because he liked Vitya better, that Viktor being a celebrity athlete wasn’t what Yuuri looked for in a partner. That maybe Viktor was a good one-night-stand, and-

Yuuri wouldn’t think like that. Viktor might not know everything about him, but he knows one thing – Yuuri is much too good for him. The way he looked at Viktor before he left is not the way you’d look at someone you don’t care about, which just makes everything worse. Viktor got so caught up in his own happiness that he forgot to make sure that Yuuri felt it, too.

He is not going to repeat that mistake.

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” Yakov grumbles as he steps off the ice, all but shoving skate guards and water bottle at him. “That was embarrassing to watch.”

“Why yes, Yakov, I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

They walk over to the kiss and cry, Viktor shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders and wondering if he remembered to thank the audience. There’s probably too many speculations going on about the reason he’s clad in blue instead, but he doubts any of them will come close.

“I’m your coach, not your therapist,” Yakov says, sitting down with a huff. “Whatever’s going on you better fix it before the free skate tomorrow. It’s clearly not a skating-related problem.”

“Harsh with the truth as always, Yakov.”

Viktor sighs, but doesn’t take it to heart as he joins Yakov, attempting a smile and a wave at the camera. He knows all too well that one time is nothing, twice is a habit he can’t afford. There’s really no reason good enough to not medal at this competition, except if he fails then maybe he can retire in disgrace and buy a country house somewhere nice where he and Yuuri can raise dogs together.

If that’s what Yuuri wants, of course. Viktor’s flexible. Maybe he could even try a career as a camboy, if Yuuri’s willing to teach him his secrets.

The TV screen before them shows a replay of Viktor’s program, and he winces at the half-assed triple axel. He should feel lucky he didn’t fall on his ass, though a failed landing is better than no jump at all.

“Vitya,” Yakov says after thirty seconds of watching Viktor mess up. “Tell me that is not the Japanese boy you were mooning over earlier, wearing your jacket.”

Viktor whips his head around, gaze flickering wildly over the audience and the few people milling about behind the boards.

“Where? Yakov, where?”

Yakov mutters a few terribly rude words, nodding at the nearest exit leading backstage.

Sure enough, Yuuri peeks at them from behind a couple photographers, though Viktor has to lean pretty far in order to see him.

“Vitya, no,” Yakov tells him, pulling him back by the neck like some disobedient child. “Listen to your scores.”

He’s about to tell Yakov that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about his scores when the loudspeakers come to life, asking for their announcement.

He glances at the screen, sees the 81.56, nods in half surprise. His presentation score is high as always, but he’s a far cry from the combined base value of his technical components.

“Fantastic,” he says, Yakov clenching his fists in preparation of a long tirade. “I have to go.”

There’s not much to be done about the lack of grace that comes with walking in skates, but Viktor makes it through the cluster of photographers before Yakov has the presence of mind to even yell at him. Once through he falters, frozen except for his heavily beating heart.

Yuuri hovers by one side of the spectator stands, draws in a breath when Viktor catches his eyes. He looks okay, compared to earlier, and Viktor swallows down the lump in his throat. He wants to move, wants to call out to him, wants to dare hope that Yuuri doesn’t hate him.

There’s a pounding in his ears, his knees weak with exhaustion.

“Yuuri,” he breathes, so quiet he can barely hear himself, choking on a half sob when Yuuri gives him a tentative little smile.

He doesn’t think, only throws his arms out wide, holds his breath the few seconds it takes before Yuuri rushes towards him.

Holding Yuuri in his arms is better than any score or gold medal could ever feel.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, pulls him tight against his chest. “I’m so, so sorry.”

In his skates, Yuuri only reaches his chin. Viktor uses the height difference to press kisses to the top of his head, his whole body shivering and hurting with the release of tension he hadn’t noticed before.

When Yuuri presses his face against his collarbone and clings to his back, Viktor can’t help the way his heart flutters pathetically.

“What should I do, Yuuri? I want to make you happy, and instead I made you upset…”

Yuuri’s fingers dig into the fabric at his back, his ribcage heaving with uneven breaths in Viktor’s hold.

“I was supposed to cheer for you.” Yuuri’s voice breaks, his face hidden from Viktor’s view. “I just-“

Viktor waits, rubs circles into Yuuri’s back and nuzzles his hair with his nose. It’s strange to think that he knows so many things about Yuuri now, but his scent is still new. Still, there are many things he doesn’t know, that he desperately wants to find out.

“I don’t understand what you’ve been thinking,” Yuuri forces out, followed by a small hiccup that makes him let out a laugh. “Nothing about this makes sense unless-“


Yuuri pulls one arm towards himself, dries his face with hand and sleeve before leaning back a little. He won’t look at Viktor, but he doesn’t try to loosen Viktor’s embrace either.

Viktor wishes he could kiss him better, wishes he could convey with touch what his words fail to communicate.

“Do you want to know why I want to become a physical therapist? Why I moved to Detroit?”

Surprised at the change of subject, Viktor nods, tries his best to look earnest when Yuuri glances at him.

“I wanted to work for you.” The words leave Yuuri in a mumbled rush, one hand still on Viktor’s back, the other pulling at his zipper. “It’s such a silly dream, isn’t it? I thought if I studied hard and got really good at English I could apply to work in St. Petersburg, or maybe work for some other skaters or at competitions and somehow get to meet you.”

Viktor opens his mouth but Yuuri shakes his head and gives him such a vulnerable look that his heart catches in his throat.

“I was upset because none of that mattered, in the end. I didn’t get to meet you as Yuuri, I didn’t get to talk to you as Phichit’s friend, or the physical therapist that really admires your skating.”

It’s hard to breathe now, as if Yuuri’s words coil around his throat and cut off the air from his burning lungs.

“And even though I really like Vitya, he knows about my embarrassing fan page and all the dumb fantasies I have, and he knows that Viktor Nikiforov only needs to look at me and I’ll do anything for him.”

Yuuri’s eyes bore into him now, keeps him tongue-tied and so, so filled with regrets.

“I just couldn’t figure out why you would talk to me about all those things unless-“

A deep breath, a step closer, Yuuri frowning at him like a riddle he’s determined to solve.

“Unless you actually enjoyed it.”



Isn’t enjoy a tad too weak of a word to fully acknowledge how far gone Viktor is for Yuuri acting out lust-fuelled fantasies of the two of them together?

“Oh, Yuuri,” he sighs, takes Yuuri’s hand in his and laces their fingers together. “I already liked you when we started talking, remember? Who wouldn’t want to know their crush made a fan page dedicate to them.”

Seeming to struggle with words, Yuuri blushes bright red when Viktor kisses the back of his hand.

“A lot of people,” he manages eventually. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

Viktor frowns at him, wondering if feeling embarrassed over being a fan really was the reason Yuuri ran off like that.

“No, it’s fine, I mean I did some-“

“And you didn’t seduce me just because I’m a fan and you knew I’d say yes to anything you asked?”

Someone clears their throat, and Viktor tears his eyes off Yuuri’s lovely face to find Yakov much too close for comfort. Behind him are the photographers, awkwardly hovering instead of passing by them to leave the arena.

Above, several pairs of eyes blink down curiously at them, phone cameras out and aimed for maximum infringement of privacy.

“If I really thought that,” he starts, returning his gaze to Yuuri who seems not to have noticed their audience at all. “If I really thought you’d say yes to anything, I’d have asked you to marry me. God knows I’ve been thinking about it constantly.”

There are gasps, and Yakov’s swearing, but it’s all background noise to Yuuri’s little oh, slipping past his soft lips.

“You just said that in front of everyone,” Yuuri whispers, eyes wide in disbelief.

“I thought you hadn’t noticed them,” he whispers back, and Yuuri bites his lip against a smile. “But maybe we should go somewhere else to talk?”

When Yuuri nods he straightens up, puts his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and guides him towards the exit. He knows he only has a few minutes to spare before Yakov will drag him off for interviews, but he’s too ecstatic to care. Yuuri doesn’t hate him!! Yuuri wants to talk about things!! It fills his heart with hope and his thoughts with urgency, planning out all the things he can possibly say to make things right.

The corridor is short, soon splitting in two directions, and Viktor figures it’s better to head towards the changing rooms than the press room.

“Vitya,” Yakov grunts from behind them, Yuuri giving him a worried look. “You get ten minutes.”

“That’s too short,” he complains, but Yakov gives him no room to argue as he shuffles over to where a mass of reporters no doubt await his arrival. 

He turns to Yuuri instead, who looks confused at the exchange of Russian.

“He says I only have ten minutes until I have to do interviews.”

“That’s alright! I just ran here without thinking anyway, so I’ll wait for you, um…”

Viktor can’t help the grin spreading across his cheeks, hugging Yuuri close and pressing his lips to his forehead.

“You ran here for me?”

Yuuri rubs his neck, looking to the side. He seems nervous, but well – Viktor would be too if he wasn’t so overjoyed that he can barely stop himself from lifting Yuuri and spinning him around.

“Because your skating was so awful… I mean! Not awful, just. Not like it should have been.”

“It’s okay, Yuuri,” Viktor says, pretends to be sad over his lack of points. “It really was awful, wasn’t it? But let’s not think about that!”

He’s more careful when he pulls Yuuri to his chest this time, lifts a hand to brush fingers along his cheek.

“I want to apologize properly to you. When you said you knew I should have made sure we were talking about the same thing. I’m really, really sorry. I messed things up.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri sighs, ducking his nose under the collar of Viktor’s jacket.

“Also,” he says, swallowing hard now that he has the time to actually appreciate the fact that Yuuri is still wearing it, that anyone who looks at him will instantly know he wears it for Viktor. “I should give this to you. You look amazing in it.”

He gets a look for that, reminding him that he’s supposed to apologize, not shamelessly flirt. Yuuri swats his hand away from where he tugs at a sleeve, but places it at his waist instead.

“I forgot to change,” Yuuri tells him, and is that a teasing spark in his eyes?

Viktor feels lighter than air, sneaks his hand underneath the fabric and trails his fingers over naked skin.

“You make it so hard to use my brain, zolotse.”

His breath hitches as Yuuri tilts his head up, his mouth so close that Viktor wouldn’t need to do more than lean down in order to kiss him.

“I like it when you call me that,” Yuuri mumbles, eyelids lowering as he gazes up at Viktor.

A shiver makes its way through Viktor’s body, blood rushing south, and all he wants is to push Yuuri against the wall and ravish him until–


 Viktor bites back a frustrated sigh. As ecstatic as he is about Yuuri showing up, he's not sure what he thinks of being interrupted all the time.

Yuuri, on the other hand, squeaks.


Sure enough Phichit has snuck up on them, shaking his head with mock disapproval.

"In the corridor?" he asks, clicking his tongue. "There are children here."

Behind Phichit is another small figure, a fierce blush on his face. Viktor vaguely recognizes him as a skater.

"We weren't doing anything," Yuuri protests, taking two steps away from Viktor. "Just talking!"

"I've heard what you define as talking," Phichit grins, and well, if Viktor had any doubts left that Yuuri's friend knows about his job they're all gone now.

The comment has Yuuri flailing, gurgling noises making their way out of his mouth. All Phichit does is snicker, but then he glances at Viktor with a calculating look. Perhaps he’s considering whether or not he needs to shovel talk Viktor again, but Yuuri collects himself with a deep breath and reaches out to tentatively hold Viktor’s hand.

He grips it tight in response, fires off a brilliant smile that makes Yuuri stare at him a little too long before talking.

“You should probably go do your interviews…”

Viktor immediately deflates.

“But Yuuri,” he complains, “we haven’t really talked at all.”

“Um,” Yuuri says, eyes flickering to the floor. “Phichit is probably right. We’ll talk better in private.”

Talk,” Phichit snorts under his breath, and Yuuri glares at him.

“Let’s talk all night,” Viktor adds, not helping at all but it’s worth it when Yuuri’s cheeks heat up again.

“Text me when you’re done?”

Viktor nods, trying to stay calm. It’s difficult, when Yuuri looks at him like he’s not mad at all, like Viktor can fix this and then they’ll get married and live happily ever after.

He can’t wait.

“It won’t take longer than an hour,” he promises, pulls Yuuri in for one last hug.

He fits so perfectly in Viktor’s arms, melting against his chest like he belongs. Viktor is almost certain that he does, in fact, belong there.

“Okay,” Yuuri mumbles into his shoulder, squeezes him one last time before letting go completely. “I’ll see you at the hotel.”

He’s so beautiful, and Viktor aches. He wants to cup his face and tell him how lucky Viktor is, to have a chance with him.

“I’ll do things right this time,” he tells Yuuri, holds his eyes for a few seconds. “I’m not sure how yet, but I’ll figure something out.”

“You could start by explaining yourself,” Phichit suggests, raising an eyebrow. “Right now.”

“Phichit,” Yuuri sighs, but Viktor shakes his head, reaches out to tuck a few strands of dark hair behind Yuuri’s ear.

“I want to explain,” he says, a nervous coil settling in his stomach. “I’ll try to, ah, make it child-friendly?”

The young skater hiding behind Phichit peeks at them, and Viktor still can’t place him. Not that he cares, much. He’s a lot more interested in Yuuri, the way he combs his fingers through his hair where Viktor just touched him.


It’s Yuuri, and as softly spoken as the word is, Viktor feels the intensity of his gaze.

“No, I think we should-“ he pauses, crosses his arms, licks his lips. “I think we should talk later, so we can do it… properly.”



“I am perfectly fine making it not child-friendly,” he blurts out, which is probably as close as he can get to say I want Yuuri naked on top of me when I tell him I love him while being in public.

“Wow,” Phichit says, “I’m so glad I’m recording this for your wedding.”

There isn’t much more time to talk after that – Yakov comes back, and Viktor reluctantly presses a parting kiss to the back of Yuuri’s hand.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks, holding his breath in case Yuuri changes his mind and decides not to forgive him, after all.

“Soon,” Yuuri confirms, and Viktor walks backwards until Yakov grabs his elbow with a sigh and gently turns him around again.

“I don’t even know who that boy is,” Yakov mutters under his breath, and Viktor smiles wide, giddy with the knowledge that he and Yuuri can work through this.

“Oh Yakov,” Viktor says, shaking his head. “How could you not know my future husband?”

The look on Yakov’s face is almost worth the last few hours of pain.




~A few months earlier~


Viktor sucks in a breath, biting his lip as Miliy rolls his hips for the camera. The frayed jeans shorts he’s wearing are short enough to barely cover half his ass, cutting delicious lines into the flesh. His back is towards Viktor, his thumbs hooked into the edge of the shorts, dragging along the swell of his ass cheeks until Viktor can’t help the moan struggling to escape his mouth.

Mm, want you touching me,” Miliy groans, stretching his arms up instead until his t-shirt rides up high, shows a bit of skin at his waist. “I’m so lonely without you here…”

Miliy rolls his hips again, a sinful sway of hips that has Viktor’s cock twitching in his briefs. He wants to touch him so bad, wants to bury his face in the curve of his ass and make him scream.

>Turn around, solnyshko

He resists the urge to palm himself, wants Miliy to push him until he almost comes untouched. With a tilt of his head Miliy reads the words Viktor sent him, sends a lustful look towards the camera.

You’re so greedy, Vitya,” he says, drags his hands down his sides. “Don’t you love my ass anymore?”

Of course he does. Miliy has the most gorgeous, perfect ass that Viktor has ever laid eyes on, and he dreams of one day clutching it possessively while walking together in public.

The thing is, Miliy isn’t wearing just any old t-shirt today. He’s wearing one of Viktor’s t-shirts.

Well, not one that Viktor has personally ever owned, but the one he modelled for a year ago for one of his sponsors. It’s tight, first of all, and Miliy must have bought a size too small because it clings to him like a second skin, rides up at the waist even without the help of his wandering hands.

It’s white, soft, a little see-through and it has Viktor’s autograph on it.

>I’m honestly curious where you got your shirt

It might be the least sexy thing he could possibly write, but Miliy blushes and squirms and runs a finger down the length of Viktor’s signature as he turns.

“I thought you were a fan of Viktor, shouldn’t you know already?” Miliy teases him, the dark brown of his eyes glittering beneath his supposed shyness.

>I know they were limited edition and expensive

Miliy bites his lower lip, Viktor clenching his fists at the absolutely lewd heat spreading through his body at the sight.

“Some things are worth the money,” Miliy shrugs, and Viktor–

Viktor wants to marry this boy.

He’s hard and aching and Miliy is wearing a shirt he’s touched, and if that’s enough to reduce him to a weak mess rocking down into his chair, he’s almost afraid to think about what seeing Miliy in clothes he’s worn will do to him.

>You’re so beautiful

It’s not enough. He needs to tell him, needs to breathe the words into his mouth while they kiss.

Before he can think twice about it he clicks the mic button, swallows against the dryness of his throat.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

The way Miliy’s eyes widen has his pulse racing, has him gripping the edges of his desk with force.

Did you… turn on the mic?”

He sounds breathless, like how Viktor feels. He almost lets out a laugh, can hardly believe he surrendered so easily, but also can’t believe it took him weeks of private sessions.

“I did. Wow. I should have done this sooner.”

There’s a light feeling in his chest, exhilaration curling his toes.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

Miliy shakes his head, still wide-eyed with surprise.

No, no of course not, um. I just thought, you kind of sound like… like Viktor?”

Right. There was that little detail which kept him from turning on the mic before. Viktor frantically tries to come up with some explanation, some kind of believable lie. He doesn’t want to lie to Miliy, but he has a feeling he wouldn’t believe Viktor even if he said the truth. And, to be honest…

He likes hearing Miliy talk about him, thinking he’s just another fan. Maybe it’s conceited, probably immoral, but disregarding the fact that he can’t put his public image on the line even for Miliy he’s not ready for him to treat him like Viktor.

“Oh, well, I actually… get told that a lot? We have similar names too so it’s a funny coincidence.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, it’s because you sound like you have a Russian accent. Not that I think all Russians sound the same! Just! I somehow thought of Viktor when you started talking and I…”

Miliy clamps his mouth shut, shoulders tense.

“And you…?”

Another furious blush, and Viktor’s eyes are drawn to the bulge at the front of Miliy’s shorts, follows the clear outline of his hard cock.

I just got really turned on,” Miliy whispers, folding his legs underneath himself and curling his fists onto his lap. “You have a nice voice.”

Something within Viktor preens at that, makes him wink even though Miliy can’t see him.

“I am so glad you think so,” he purrs, watches with hunger as Miliy licks his lips. “I want to make you feel so good, Miliy.”

Oh,” Miliy breathes out, perfect lips shaped around the sound. “So that’s how you pronounce it.”

“Do you like it?”

Eager nods, and then Miliy spreads his legs a bit, glances at the camera.

Talk me through it?”

Viktor moans, wishing he could reach through the screen and push Miliy down on the mattress, so that he can press his mouth to the shell of his ear and tell him all the dirty things he’d like to do to him.

“Touch your chest,” he sighs, swallows around the thick arousal in his throat. “No, no- through the shirt.”

With slight surprise, Miliy pinches his nipples through the soft fabric, rolls them between two fingers until a shiver runs through his body.

“Feels good,” he moans, tugging at them and letting out a choked noise at the heightened pleasure. “I wish you’d suck on them.”

It takes Viktor a second to remember he’s supposed to say something, mesmerized by Yuuri’s erotic expression, the flush on his cheeks.

“I want that too,” he says, splaying his hands over his own thighs or else he’ll touch his cock and come too soon. “But this way it’s like I’m- Like Viktor’s touching them, right?”

Ye-es.” Miliy tugs harder, throws his head back to show Viktor his pretty neck. “You really, it’s just, you sound like…”

Heart fluttering in his chest, Viktor gives up control.

“Like Viktor?”

Miliy nods, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. He’s still working on his nipples, alternating between pinching them and squeezing his pecs. It’s impossible to look away, not when Viktor knows his hands have touched the fabric embracing Miliy’s body, not when those thick thighs tense to grind his hips against air.

“Then pretend I’m Viktor,” he says, voice darkening with want. “I’m Viktor and I’m looking at you, and I’m so hard and desperate for you. I want you so much, Miliy.”

Miliy gasps, chest heaving. He seems to struggle for a moment, but then his hands shoot down to pop the button on his shorts, pushing the fabric aside with force.

Yes, yes yes yes, watch me Viktor, I’ll be good for you, I’ll do anything, just please-“

“So beautiful, Miliy. So good for me… Will you touch yourself for me?”

Oh god, please, Viktor please.”

With one hand Miliy pulls his cock free from his shorts, squeezes it with a needy little noise. With the other he fumbles for the bottle of lube discarded earlier when they started, and Viktor finally gives in to the same urge and rubs the heel of his hand over his length.

“So pretty,” Viktor praises him, wishing he could lick the bead of precum peeking from Miliy’s slit. “I wish I could fuck you like this, begging for me to make you come.”

He can feel blood rush through his entire body, like his skin is burning with the need to feel Miliy underneath him. He wants to grip his legs and pull them apart, wants to expose his hole that has taken so many toys but never Viktor, wants to fill him over and over again until he’s so full of Viktor’s come that it keeps leaking out of him.

Viktor,” Miliy groans, eyes half-lidded as he pours lube all over his groin. “Want you in me, want your cock. Want you fucking me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

“I want to have you,” Viktor confesses, lungs struggling for air as Miliy strokes himself slow but tight. “I want you to be mine.”

His words make Miliy suck in a breath, eyes closed and skin flushed all the way down his neck. He wants to know what he’s imagining, if in his mind Viktor takes him over and over, makes him scream into a pillow as he watches himself sink into Miliy’s tight heat.

Please,” Miliy begs, mouth falling open as his hand speeds up, his thighs twitching with the approach of his orgasm. “I’ll be yours, you can have me, Viktor-“

The way Miliy says his name… Viktor holds back a curse, drinking in the sight of Miliy in his shirt, moaning his name, fingers wrapped around his cock and playing with his balls, hips jerking into his hands. He’s beautiful like this, stunning, with dark hairs plastered to his forehead and lips red from being bitten.

Viktor wants to preserve this image in his brain, make Miliy immortal in this moment. He wants to reach out with his hands and pull him close, let him rest against his beating heart. There are so many things he wants that he can’t possibly contain them all inside his chest.

“Viktor, I’ll come, so close, oh please I need-“

“Let me see you, solnyshko,” Viktor breathes out, a painful ache in his lungs increasing with each breath. “You’re so perfect, so lovely, all mine…”

Miliy makes a keening noise, low in his throat. He’s trembling, nipples hard under his shirt, so tantalizingly close on the screen. Viktor can feel his own orgasm building up in response, tremors of pleasure threatening to overtake him. He wants to see Miliy first, wants to hear him come to Viktor’s real name, wants to pretend for just one moment that he’s Viktor’s.

It’s only a moment – a few more broken moans around Viktor’s name – and then Miliy spills over his stomach and hands, droplets of sticky come splattering across Viktor’s hand drawn signature.





“Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, you’re so-“

 Viktor wants to do this every day of his life. He wants to make Miliy pass out from pleasure, wants to drive his cock inside him until he’s all soft and pliant, wants to watch him ride his dick until it’s Viktor begging for mercy.


There are other things he wants to do, too.

He wants to hug him, press kisses to his temple until he smiles and laughs.

He wants to wake him up with gentle fingers and teasing whispers, wants him sleepy and wanting and warm.

He wants to hold his hand, and take him to his favourite places just because.

Wow,” Miliy sighs, on his back now, looking like a hot mess and Viktor wants. “I should have known wearing my lucky shirt was a good idea.”

He smiles, laughs a little to himself, and Viktor-


Viktor is in love.