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They’re not normal, probably. There's dependency issues, for one.

The honeymoon phase usually fades. Fresh relationships are always exciting – there’s this constant burn, a consistent desire to be near the other. Think of the mall couples you see huddling around a Zumiez, or the stoners sucking face in the school bathrooms.

So time turns. The honeymoon phase is supposed to pass. Right?

Yuuri finishes the Grand Prix. Viktor continues to coach, and Yuuri finds work right along with him. Time turns and turns and turns –

But they’re still so in love. Just as they were. If anything, it’s snowballed, from something small and delicate, into a ball large enough to swallow them whole. Every day, Yuuri discovers a new meaning to the word love. It’s not so set in stone. It’s not all black and white. Love is a thousand and one shades of grey, and Yuuri has the pleasure of experiencing every single shade, right alongside Viktor.

Maybe they’re a little over the top. Maybe they’re too shameless. Yuuri confessed on T.V. Viktor kissed him in front of the press. They vacationed in Cancun. They bought a temporary home in Detroit. The traveling doesn’t bother Yuuri so much – anywhere is home, so long as Viktor is there.  (Ha, how cheesy, but it’s true.)

Viktor traveled without him, once.

A small business trip! Scouting some new skaters, you see~

It was unbearable. The bed was cold, the apartment was quiet. There was no singing in the shower, no one to cook with. Something churned and twisted so hard in Yuuri’s chest – a loud ring of pathetic, pathetic, you can’t even be apart for a week.

It was the worst five days of Yuuri’s life. It was supposed to be the worst seven days, but Yuuri called Viktor with a soft - I miss you-  on day four, and Viktor was home within twenty-four hours.

So they travel together now. Holding hands. Taking pictures on the plane and sharing earbuds. Viktor likes to squeeze Yuuri’s thighs – so squishy!- and Yuuri will pull on Viktor’s ear with a smile.

They’re in Moscow when Yuuri wakes up to the sound of Viktor’s alarm buzzing on the bedside table. His phone vibrates against the wood, slightly moving with every zrrrt, zrrrt, zrrrt-

“Viktor,” Yuuri blindly swats at his naked chest. “Viktor, alarm.”

There’s a soft grrhrhg from the pillows, before Viktor decides to bury himself in the sheets even more.

Yuuri sighs, palms coming to rub at his eyes. They were up way too late last night, watching an old court case of a guy suing for his own foot.

The phone is buzzing closer to the edge of the table, so Yuuri exhales, heaving up into a sitting position. He sleepily crawls over Viktor, pawing for the phone, and hitting the off button. It stops buzzing, and the world returns to normal.

But Viktor, suddenly, is quite awake, twisting onto his back and wrapping his strong arms around Yuuri’s torso.

“Hey-“ Yuuri laughs.

Viktor sweeps in for a kiss,  “Good morning my love.”

Yuuri tips his head back, giggling, dodging Viktor each time he leans upwards, “Stop! Your breath is gross.”

“I want a kiss~”

Yuuri taps his forehead with his finger, “Brush your teeth first.”

Viktor pouts, but the dimple on his cheek is painfully obvious, giving away his desire to smile. Yuuri wiggles up a little, shifting so that he’s lying between Viktor’s legs. Viktor’s hair is sticking everywhichway, some stretching towards the moon, and the others descending into hell.

Yuuri can’t help but giggle, bringing a hand up to push Viktor’s bangs back. “What time is the press conference?”  

“Nooooon,” Viktor purrs, still trying to get that kiss.

Yuuri humors him, pausing to let Viktor peck his lips, once twice three times four –

“It’s ten.” Yuuri yawns, “Should I make breakfast?”

Viktor gasps, hands sweeping up Yuuri’s sides, fingers long and warm, leaving small imprints in his wake. “Will you make ramen?!”

“Ramen for breakfast?”

“I’ve never met anyone that can make ramen as well as you~”

“Ah, yes. My water boiling skills are quite good, aren’t they?”

Viktor laughs at that, swatting Yuuri’s ass playfully, “Stop that. I know you make ramen from scrap.”

Yuuri sticks his tongue out, just a little, between his teeth, laughing when Viktor leans up on his forearms, trying to bite it. Yuuri sucks his tongue back into his mouth and rolls, flopping onto the cold side of the bed, and sticking a leg out of the covers.

“Get back here-“


Yuuri falls off the bed, but Viktor rolls with him. They’re a big heap of blankets and pillows, limbs everywhere – but Viktor wins, nuzzling into Yuuri’s neck and smothering his body with his own.

“We still have to shower,” Yuuri says, petting his hair.

“Shower together, save water.”

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” Yuuri quotes back. 

“Oh!” Viktor perks up, “I can be a cowboy!”

Yuuri smothers his face with his hand, “Hahaha don’t-“

Viktor does his best American accent – which is god awful –  “How-day ya’ll-“

“Shower!” Yuuri kicks him, laughing uncontrollably, “Breakfast! Up!”

Viktor does eventually tangle himself out of the comforter and the sheets and the pillows and Yuuri’s legs and his own pajama pants- eventually, key word. Eventually.


“Oh my god,” Yurio pauses, hands balling into fists. “Can you guys lay off each other’s dick for like, five seconds?”

“Yurio!” Viktor gasps, “You’re only seventeen! You can’t talk like that!”

“I turned eighteen last month, thanks.” Yurio skates backwards, long ponytail whishing like a horsetail. Yuuri sheepishly shifts away from Viktor – he’s not the coach, technically – so he tries to stay out of the way. It’s not really his fault; Viktor was the one who slinked over, and hid his cold hand in Yuuri’s back pocket.

Mila giggles from across the rink, swirling around in circles, “Are you all that surprised?”

“From the top, then.” Viktor claps his hands, “Stop talking, start skating.”

Yurio rolls his eyes, standing up to his full height, and skating to the starting point again. He lifts his hands up high, but snarks, “You weren’t this snappy when you were coaching Yuuri.”

“Oh, he was.” Yuuri replies, shamelessly slinking an arm back around Viktor’s waist.

Yurio rolls his body, keeping his legs strong, “Bullshit. Everyone knows how he rewarded you for good work.”

Yuuri would feel mildly embarrassed – maybe at one point he was, but not anymore. Instead he just feels warm, laughing, Viktor’s chuckle rumbling in his chest.

 Viktor grins, “How did you get such a pottymouth?”

“A born trait, I’m afraid,” Mila teases.

Yuuri shifts harder into Viktor’s side, and exhales when a gloved hand draws circles on his hip.

“Gross,” Yurio says, as he spins.

“Skate,” Viktor parrots back.



When they grocery shop together, Yuuri always keeps a firm grip on Viktor’s hand.

“Ooh! What about this?”

“We don’t need a pound of squash, Viktor.”

“But look! This one looks like a butt!”

“Put it back.”

It’s sometimes a hassle, but the fun outweighs the trouble. Viktor has this way of making anything appear fun, and Yuuri always gets swept along with his smile.

“Look!” Viktor holds up a bag of minibagels. “They’re so small!”

“Yurio sized bagels,” Yuuri teases, and Viktor laughs with him.

“I’m buying them for Yurio.”

“He’ll be so mad.”

“Exactly,” Viktor pushes the cart along. “He deserves it, for tying my skates together last weekend.”

Yuuri laughs, dipping his finger in the loop of Viktor’s jeans. “Well, you had it coming. I’d be mad too, if you woke me up at 5 a.m.”

“If he wants to win, he has to put in the work.”

“Within reason,” Yuuri reminds him. He picks up a jar off the shelf, “Are we out of jam?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Did you bring the list?”


“One job,” Yuuri teases, and puts the jar in the cart anyways. Viktor shifts, bumping Yuuri’s hip with his own, and Yuuri snorts, smothering Viktor’s pretty face with his palm; they ignore the weird look from the old lady too small for her cart.



Viktor owns a lot of things. Shirts, pants, shoes. Costumes, jewelry. Masks from Africa, dolls from Poland. A cat beanie from New York and a bubble gun from Disneyland. So many things – and even more, he’s bought for Yuuri.

All their homes, in Detroit, Moscow and Japan, are filled with various shiny objects. They’re cool – like the Bonsai tree growing in the corner of their apartment, or the dog fountain in Russia – but nothing compares to this.

Viktor’s old shirts from the nineties. They’re gym shirts, over washed and over worn. They’re stretched, the shoulder seams now hitting the bicep, instead of the center front. The graphic has long faded, just little specks of color left on the tee.

Still, this item smells the most like Viktor, therefore, it is Yuuri’s favorite.

Yuuri won’t say something cheesy  like - he smells like peppermint and tastes like strawberries – because it’s not true. Viktor in every sense, smells and tastes like a man. Like something deep and distinctly human. But it’s addictive, and it has Yuuri breathing into the shirt collar like a creep.

Viktor is passed the hell out when Yuuri’s stomach decides that it’s hungry. He patters out into the kitchen, snatching Viktor’s shirt off the top of the dirty laundry pile. He’s too lazy to find pants, but does hunt down some slippers, because let’s be honest, Yuuri isn’t ready to face the cold tile floor yet.

He closes the bedroom door, flicks on the kitchen lights, and starts hunting around for something to cook. The sun is trying it’s best to crawl through the blinds, so Yuuri shoves them open as he washes his hands at the kitchen sink.

Waffles, actually, sound the best right now. He heaves out the waffle maker – they have one that shapes batter into little barn animals, because Yuuri’s impulse buying has worsened since he moved in with Viktor.

It’s a soft morning, whisking the batter in a bowl, cracking eggs, listening to the birds outside. It’s spring here – but when they go back to America, it’ll be winter. Weird, how the earth is round like that.

Just as Yuuri is pouring the batter into the waffle maker, he hears their bedroom door creak open. Yuuri really needs to fix the squeak – all it needs is a dab of olive oil, or maybe some wax –

Yuuri is washing out one of the bowls, when sturdy arms fold around his torso. Yuuri doesn’t jump, but he does startle at the warm, minty breath that exhales by his ear.

“Yuuuuuri,” He drawls. “You’re awake.”

“I got hungry,” Yuuri says. He sets the bowl aside to dry, and grabs another dirty dish, “You can go back to sleep. We have today off, yeah?”

“Come back with me,” Viktor huffs, arms tightening, chest pressing up against Yuuri’s back. Yuuri exhales, feeling Viktor’s arms move with his breathing. Viktor is warm and shirtless, like always.

“We can eat, then we’ll go back to bed,” Yuuri decides, setting another dish aside.

Viktor gives an unsatisfied hum. He continues to breathe against Yuuri’s neck, fully knowing that it gives Yuuri goosebumps. His hands smooth down the front of his navel, until they reach the hem of the shirt. It barely reaches Yuuri’s ass, so Viktor purrs, “Is this mine?”


“I thought I threw this in the laundry basket.”

“I fished it out.”

Viktor grins against his ear, “Why’s that?”

“Because it smells like you,” Yuuri answers, hands washing the same spatula over and over again. Is it clean? He’ll wash it one more time, just to be safe-

“My clothes always look so good on you.” Viktor sighs, “Whenever you skate in my costumes, I lose my mind.”

Yuuri smiles, “I haven’t worn your costumes in ages.”

“I’ll never forget your eros performance.” Viktor mouths against his neck, hands now finding an agenda around his hips. “Your eros has only grown.”

Yuuri is having a hard time responding. Viktor’s hands are pushing up the shirt, fingertips pressing into the squish of his stomach, up and down his navel, so strong but tender. It makes his stomach do flip flops.

“I’m cooking,” Yuuri replies, too breathily.

“And you’re doing a beautiful job, at that.”

Yuuri looks to his hands, where he’s holding just a wet sponge. He shakily reaches to dry off his hands, before gripping the edge of the counter. He eyes the wafflemaker – but jumps, when he feels Viktor grind against his ass.

The mood shifts, just like that, the movement making Yuuri’s blood sink.

“God.” Yuuri exhales, “What’s got you like that? It’s ten in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Viktor says, unapologetically. “I had a dream about you.”

Yuuri bites back a noise, tightening his grip on the counter, and grinding back against Viktor’s crotch. Viktor’s breath hitches, and his hands suddenly smooth down and around Yuuri’s hips, thumbs brushing past bone.

“About me?”


Yuuri chews on his bottom lip, feeling his skin lightly tingle, everywhere Viktor touches. “A good dream, then.”

Viktor is speaking against his ear, words sounding especially enunciated and wet. It’s such an erogenous zone, that Yuuri’s legs go weak. “You were on your knees,” Viktor whispers. “Begging for my cock like you needed it.”

Yuuri tips his head, showing off a smooth curve of skin. Viktor immediately dives for it, mouth lightly opening to press sloppy wet kisses down to Yuuri’s shoulder, where the oversized shirt has slipped.

“That’s not a dream.” Yuuri jokes, swallowing hard. “A memory, more like.”

The noise Viktor makes is so hot, needy and whiny, sexy enough for blood to rush south – fast enough to make Yuuri dizzy.

Viktor slurps against his neck, making Yuuri laugh, before he turns to nibble on the bumps leading down his spine. Viktor’s mouth is always so sinful; it’s never ashamed, never hesitant. He licks behind Yuuri’s ear, grinds against his ass, pushes Yuuri so far forward, that his crotch presses into the edge of the counter.  

“Ah.” Yuuri bites, head lolling.

“You’re so soft,” Viktor tells him. “I like how your skin feels after you sleep.”

“Nn, that, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does to me!” Viktor beams, hands slipping down to squeeze Yuuri’s ass through his boxer-briefs. The shirt is a wrinkly mess, pulled in every direction, over stretched and lightly damp from the spray of washing dishes.

Viktor’s hands don’t stop, sweeping up his chest, thumbing into his stomach. He’s fully hard, and he’s shameless in the way he grinds into Yuuri’s backside, and kisses beneath his ear.

“Hh, Viktor,” Yuuri breathes. “We’re in the kitchen.”


"The food will be done soon.”


“If they burn, I might kill you,” Yuuri jokes, but Viktor is crafty, twisting Yuuri around halfway, just enough to kiss him. Yuuri makes a surprised mmh! – noise, but soon submits, falling into the long, open mouthed kiss. Yuuri turns around the rest of the way, slinking his arms around Viktor’s neck, just to pull him closer. “Rude,” he kisses.


“Can’t you wait?” Yuuri says, hypocritically, threading his fingers through Viktor’s hair and tugging on the strands.

In reply, Viktor heaves Yuuri up by his thighs, setting him on the counter a few inches to the right of the sink. Yuuri inhales – why manhandling is such a turn on, Yuuri will never know – but in turn, he kisses Viktor, tongues slippery and soft as they taste the other. It’s a little messy – different, from their soft, gentle kisses in bed – but it’s good. With Viktor, it’s always good.

Yuuri is blatantly hard; at least Viktor has sweatpants on. Yuuri is straining against the boxer briefs, hard just from the breath against his ear, and the mouth that was previously against his neck. Viktor knew it was a weak spot. He knows every button on Yuuri, every weakness.

But Yuuri isn’t an idiot. He knows how to turn Viktor into a puddly mess. So as payback, he kisses Viktor hard, pulling at his hair, keening against his lips and rutting against his hip. Viktor lets out this surprised noise, palms hitting the counter with a loud slap.

Yuuri yanks Viktor’s head back, giving himself just enough room to latch onto his lower neck and suck.

“Yuuuuri,” Viktor whines, shifting, “Ah, god-“

Yuuri is sloppy, mouthing up his neck, across his cheek, sucking on his lower lip and opening his eyes just to watch Viktor’s long eyelashes brush his cheeks.

“I’m,” Viktor exhales, pressing closer. “Yuuri, we gotta’ do something now, or I’m not gonna’ make it.”

Yuuri laughs, “What does that mean?”

“I’ll go jerk off in the shower, if you don’t wanna-“ Viktor presses their foreheads together. “But I’m soo hot Yuuri. Feel, feel-“

Viktor brings Yuuri’s hand against his crotch, and yeah, yeah. Yeah, he’s really hard. Yuuri exhales, shifting a little on the countertop. Their breath is warm, ghosting across the other, but it only adds to the tension winding in the air.

“Five seconds.”  Yuuri exhales, looking at his timer. “If you can grab the lube in five seconds, I’ll let you fuck me before the waffle timer goes off.”

Viktor’s face lights up, dark eyes suddenly swirling bright. Yuuri grins, mouth opening to whisper, “One.”

Viktor jolts, turning on his heel and booking it toward the bedroom. Yuuri counts, “Two.”

There’s rustling from the drawer.


Yuuri jumps off the counter, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs. “Four.”

Viktor skids back around the corner, jumping on one leg as he tries to take off his sweats. Yuuri giggles, tongue forming, “Five-“

But Viktor grips him by the hips, turning him around and bending Yuuri over the counter. Yuuri gasps, the strong movement making his knees go weak, and his head spin. That’ll probably be hot, like, for forever. Yuuri is suddenly very, very aware of how badly he wants to be fucked against this kitchen counter. To be filled up like a wine glass. To be lost to everything Viktor is.

Those hands. Those long, slender fingers. They’re quick and rushed, tugging down Yuuri’s underwear, and tossing them somewhere.

“You’re okay with this?” Viktor asks, breathily and forced.

“Viktor,” Yuuri turns his head.

“Yeah?” He leans forward, body trapping Yuuri against the counter. Yuuri, in turn, leans close enough to see every shade of blue in Viktor’s eyes. They’re hovering, lips barely touching, the world swirling around them.

“I want you to fuck me as hard as you can,” Yuuri says, without wavering.

The look in Viktor’s eyes is priceless – that’s all the O.K.  he needs.

A hand presses down on Yuuri’s upper back, and another flicks open the lube. Yuuri stays where he’s told, forehead pressing into the granite, as wet hands spread his ass, and fingers prod at his hole. It’s not like it’s anything new, but the intrusion still makes Yuuri jump. It feels fine, but does little to burn the need simmering in Yuuri’s gut.

“All your fault,” Yuuri says, jokingly.

“I’ll take all the blame,” Viktor purrs, and god. God, his voice is so deep. It suddenly fills the room. Makes the kitchen seem a lot smaller than it actually is.

His fingers are deft, circling his entrance, teasing before pushing in, and pulling back out. It’s dull, until Viktor starts twisting his fingers, rolling them in patterns that aren't fair.

“Faster, Viktor,” Yuuri groans.

“I will, love.” Viktor thumbs across his hole, and rumbles, “But you know how I love that voice of yours.”

“You want me to beg?” Yuuri asks. “I won’t.”

“Oh yeah?”

His fingers graze slow, slooow, against his rim, and Yuuri’s voice chokes.

“Fuck, nevermind, god, please-

Viktor laughs, digging his index finger in hard, “Louder, baby.”  

“Please. Christ, please.” His voice echoes, pitch rising,  “Viktor. Viktor.”

“Getting you like this,” Viktor’s fingers screw in, “is my favorite thing. Subject to none else. As beautiful as skating.”


“You’re sucking me in,” Viktor observes, voice smooth but shallow. Like it’s full of disbelief and arousal. Three fingers press in – and yep, there’s the burn, but it’s wet and smooth and his fingers are curling, god, they’re curling, and Yuuri is losing his mind.

It always starts this way. Viktor begs first, whining, needy – and then he flips them. Like a sweet metal coin, turning Yuuri into the wet mess. It’s some kind of reverse phycology that Yuuri has no time to look into.

Viktor angles right, and Yuuri’s forehead smacks against the countertop.

“There,” Viktor mumbles to himself. He presses in hard, and Yuuri shouts, body arching higher up on the counter.

“Ahh! Ah, fuck.

It’s a hot wave, a thick, winding snake, that rushes through Yuuri’s blood. He’s close, he’s close-

Viktor pulls out, and Yuuri feels his cock bob between his legs. So close, so-

“As hard as I can, you say….” Viktor whispers. Fingers squeeze the flesh of his ass. Legs kick his thighs farther apart.

“Keep me from walking tomorrow,” Yuuri mumbles, this time with a grin – because Viktor chokes a little, thumbs digging harder into Yuuri’s thighs.

Viktor shoves his own tight-fitting underwear down beneath his ass, the fabric pulling taut. The first grind of bare skin on skin is killer; Yuuri wishes he had something to hold on to, other than the lip of the countertop.

Viktor worms the head of his cock in first, the stretch welcomed, Yuuri's body remembering Viktor beautifully. Yuuri expects the soft rock in, the slow thrusts, until Viktor is buried deep – except what he gets is a full thrust, hard, thighs meeting thighs. Yuuri makes a noise? More like a scream, actually. His right hand flies up to the back wall, bracing his palm against the tile, as Viktor pulls out halfway, and slams back in.

Yuuri’s mouth is permanently open, because sweet Jesus, it’s good. It’s a rough slide, but the angle couldn’t be any better, with one leg hiked up higher than the other, due to Viktor’s palm. His flexibility is a gift, in this sense.

Viktor might be saying his name, but Yuuri isn’t sure. As soon as Viktor builds up a steady rhythm, Yuuri’s ears rush with blood.

With every thrust, the nails in his thighs dig harder. Viktor’s pants are everywhere, hot and wet against Yuuris neck, saying words too complicated for Yuuri to understand. Instead his brain narrows in, focuses only on the burning between his legs, and the way he just feels full. Fuller than ever. 

It’s a tease, with the rhythm so fast. Viktor keeps thrusting against his prostate, and it feels so good, that Yuuri’s body is too overwhelmed to come.

His nails are scratching at the wall, and the granite. He’s drooling, he’s begging. His body thrums, thrusts back, begs and arches and just becomes worthless.

“Mhh! Vi-ahh- Viktor please. Fuck, fuck.” Yuuri rambles, “I’m gonna’, I- I gotta-“

His stamina is shit this morning; but its just too much. Everything, the hands, the lips, the cock up his ass. 

“Hold on just a little longer,” Viktor says, free hand slipping around his navel. Yuuri’s cock jumps with just the slight movement, excited at the thought of Viktor giving him any attention at all. Ahh, but it’s not what he wants, because the hand wraps around his base and squeezes.

“Ahhh!” Yuuri shrieks, body trembling. Viktor is ramming in, skin slapping, so consistent and good like a piston- and Yuuri is there. Hanging off the edge by a string. Cut the string! Let him go!

But Yuuri has no control – he doesn’t want it, really. His cock pulses harder, just with the idea that Viktor is controlling him so. Using him, and loving every second.

So good Yuuri.



Soft, wet, tight-

It’s too much. The words feel malleable, but that hand, it’s squeezing Yuuri’s cock painfully, ripping him back, making his throat rev like a jet engine.

“I love you so much,” Viktor all but sobs. “So, so much.”

And Yuuri’s vision whites, and darkens. Turns a thousand colors, dick bobbing in Viktor’s hand. His voice is screeching, way, way too loud, because he needs to come, needs to right now, he’s so hot, he’s sweating, he’s trembling, he’s-

“You’re doing beautiful.” Viktor rumbles, hips slotting up, and hesitating. “Your, ah, your voice.”

Yuuri’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He leans up on his tiptoes, thrusts into Viktor’s hand, begs-

And Viktor’s pace increases, every slap sending Yuuri higher up on the counter, until both hands are pressed against the wall, and his right foot is toeing at the handle of the drawer.

“Together,” Viktor tells him. “Together, baby. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, please,” Yuuri shakes.

“Want, ah, want me to pull out?”

“No.” Yuuri bites, “Inside, please-“

Viktor groans, a long, drawn out noise that makes Yuuri keen and whine. Suddenly the fist around his cock begins to move, and Yuuri feels so good, he can’t even moan.

He says nothing when he comes, eyes screwing shut so hard, he gives himself an instant headache. His orgasm is brutal, clenching around the cock in his ass – the one pressing up against his prostate, nailing him time and time again. Viktor is so good to him, kissing his neck, fucking until he’s trembling, gripping Yuuri with a strength unparalleled.

Viktor’s harsh exhale sense Yuuri into a round of aftershocks- he feels Viktor come, fingers shaking as they press into Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri’s world is spinning. His balls ache, from nearly coming his brains out. Viktor lets go of his cock, and Yuuri exhales a hard sigh of relief. Viktor pulls out slowly, and Yuuri nearly gets hard again, just from feeling his cum seep out his ass, and down his leg-

Beep! Beep! Beep!

They both startle, heads whipping over to the waffle maker. It’s beeping instantly makes them jump, Yuuri accidentally hitting his knee on the countertop. Viktor yanks up his underwear, and hobbles over to the waffle maker, pulling the plug, and ending the beeping.

The kitchen smells like waffles now, rather than the smell of sex – which Yuuri isn’t sure if he misses, or not. He’s still trying to catch his breath, still trying to come back to his body, for goodness sakes.

Viktor is the first one to break out into a small giggle, reaching for a towel off the oven, and wetting it by the sink, “You’re a mess, baby.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri exhales, head dipping back down – his knees feel like jelly, but Viktor wraps a strong arm around his hips, and wipes softly between his thighs.

It then becomes Viktor’s job to carry Yuuri to the living room, serving the waffles up on plates before they crawl back into bed, and snuggle all day. 

You couldn't seperate them if you tried. 



“This is fucking ridiculous,” Yurio grits through his teeth.

“No, I got it,” Yuuri shifts, the jacket pooling around his wrist, off his shoulder-

“Just stop holding hands and-“

“Never.” Yuuri and Viktor say together, as they stand on the street corner, trying to make miracles happen. With the sun, came a sudden heatwave, and they’re too petty to let go of the other’s hand.

“I can’t believe you’re both older than me.” Yurio deadpans, eyes rolling to the sky. “God, why did you do this to me?”

“I almost got it,” Yuuri twists – the light turns green and Yurio leaves them behind, walking across the street with his hood pulled up.

Viktor starts laughing – Yuuri is still trying to roll out of the sweatshirt, while walking, and suddenly it’s a goddamn circus act.

Yurio turns and barks, “Stop! It’s literally impossible.

When they step up on the curb, Viktor lets go of his hand, for just one single second, long enough for Yuuri to take off the sweatshirt and sling it over his shoulder.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Yurio continues to talk. “Why am I thirdwheeling? Why do I hate myself this much?”

“Keep talking, and you’ll pay for your own ice cream,” Viktor jokes, slapping Yurio on the back. Yurio tenses, like a bird ruffling its feathers, but the promise of ice cream is still too good of an incentive – even for a twenty year old, because lets be honest, the moment you don’t care about free ice cream, is the moment you lose all childlike wonder.

They swing their hands as they walk, because Yurio continues to pace ahead, and the onlookers are nothing but flies on the wall.



Deciding to get married isn’t the tough part – that was a no brainer.

Deciding where to get married is a whole other deal. So many people with opinions, so many who say Russia! Japan! The beach in LA! Come to the Thailand! China!

It’s a thousand headaches packaged into one; the stress of organizing something suddenly so big makes Yuuri want to barf, maybe, but Viktor’s hands are always a godsend, smoothing down his back and making the tension melt out like a forgotten chocolate in a car door.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Viktor grins, snuggling into his side. “What’s going on up there?”

“Too much,” Yuuri sighs. He opens up his arm, and Viktor shifts over, and under it. Silvery hair rests against his shoulder, and the weight is more comforting than Yuuri ever gives it credit for. Hands come down to squish his thighs, and Yuuri finds himself lost in the movement, studying Viktor’s finely manicured nails.

“I can’t wait to be married to you,” Viktor says, almost soft.

“It’s just a paper,” Yuuri seeks out his hand, and Viktor takes it. “It’s not like anything will change.”

“Yes…but…” Viktor turns Yuuri’s hand over, and traces across his ring finger, “…there’ll be a nice little band here that says mine.

Yuuri laughs, turning to smother his giggles in Viktor’s hair. “Everyone already knows about us. It’s old news by now.”

“It’s for my own benefit,” Viktor explains. “I get to parade around as yours too, you know.”

“Mm, I guess that is a plus.”

Viktor grins and squeezes Yuuri’s hand, once again bleeding out the tension left there. Yuuri sighs, and bonks their heads together affectionately.

They really can’t stand to be apart – but with the wedding, it becomes easier. There’s something about that wedding band that brings comfort. Something that says you’re mine and I’m yours, even when we’re thousands of miles away.

It’s still hard, when Viktor leaves on away trips, and Yuuri gets into teaching tiny babies how to ice skate- the distance almost hurts. But rather than a scorching, painful burn, it’s just a dull ache of a promise; we’ll be back together soon.

Yurio still calls them pathetic, and maybe they are.

Or, maybe, they’re just really really really in love.

Either is fine with Yuuri.