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Exceeding Expectations

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Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t stupid.

He may be a little dense at times. He may not have experienced as much eros as other people. He may have only had one real relationship—the one he was currently in with his fiancé, skating legend Viktor Nikiforov. But he wasn’t stupid.

He knew things—like expectations.

The expectation, to be exact, about what couples are supposed to do on their first night together in their new living situation. And those expectations made him nervous, made his stomach clench in anticipation, and his toes curl in the soft carpet of Viktor’s apartment—their apartment.

Viktor pushed his sweaty hair out of his blue eyes and leaned against a tower of boxes that took up most of his living room. He had done much of the moving on his own, bounding around with endless puppy-like energy, and a dazzling smile. Viktor’s joy at Yuuri moving in made Yuuri’s heart overflow, but it didn’t quell his rising anxiety.

“So much stuff, Yuuri. I hope it’s not all posters of me.” Viktor flashed a playful smile. “Though my ego would appreciate at least a few.” He winked.

Butterflies fluttered in Yuuri’s middle. Heat rushed to his cheeks, staining them pink. He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their shaking and took comfort in the warmth of the metal of his ring against his skin.

“Now, why would I need posters when I have the real thing?” he countered, grinning. It was something he would’ve never said a year ago, but love had changed him. And even if he was still worried about the physical aspects of their relationship, teasing Viktor was easy, comfortable.

Viktor tapped a finger against his lips. “You do have the real thing,” he said. He stalked forward, and cupped Yuuri’s flushed cheek in his hand. “Lucky you.”

Yuuri laughed and Viktor smiled, wide and toothy, his eyes dancing with mirth.

It was true though. Yuuri counted himself lucky. He had managed to capture the heart of Viktor Nikiforov—skating superstar, muscular god, giant dork, and massive sap. Viktor had a reputation in the media—unfairly earned, Yuuri would like to add—of being an elusive playboy. He had never refuted the title, and while he did have a string of one night stands, it wasn’t as extensive a list as the media and the groupies would lead people to believe. One reason was that skating took up an awful lot of hours in the day and the time and energy for trysts was regulated to only certain situations. Another, Viktor had confessed to Yuuri, was that he had guarded his heart closely until their fated meeting at the Grand Prix banquet.

Yuuri was privileged to know the parts of Viktor that others didn’t—that he loved his dog, that he gave his whole heart to the people he cared for, and that he was a closet romantic. A romantic who would more than likely have plans and hopes about their night together. A romantic who knew that Yuuri had never had a lover, as he put it, and would probably want to make their first night special.

Thus, the thoughts spinning in Yuuri’s brain and the trembling of his limbs.

“What would you like to do first? A bath? Dinner? A tour of your new home?”

Yuuri shrugged. He wasn’t hungry. A bath might be nice after a day of traveling. Mostly, he was tired, and anxious.

“A tour then,” Viktor said, leaning in, his lips brushing against Yuuri’s ear, his breath a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. Viktor caressed the line of Yuuri’s cheekbone with his thumb. His body was a long line of heat pressed to Yuuri’s front, and his half-lidded eyes never left Yuuri’s face. “Over there is the kitchen,” Viktor said, tossing his head, his silver hair flicking with the movement. “And you’ve seen the living room. The bathroom is around the corner.” He waved his hand. “And the bedroom is this way. Would you like to see it?”

Yuuri gulped. He nodded, because yes, he would very much like to see the bedroom. He’d very much like to see the bed with Viktor in it. Yuuri was a quivering blob of want just from Viktor’s laser-like focus being directed right at him, and the fact that he obviously wanted Yuuri too.

Viktor’s pupils were blown wide, and his cheeks were red. And his mouth curled up in an impish smile.

“I’m so happy you’re here with me,” he said, voice low and painfully honest. Yuuri’s stomach swooped when Viktor pulled him into a quick, tight hug. Then his long fingers encircled Yuuri’s wrist and he all but dragged him down the hallway toward the bedroom with intent, his bare feet padding across the floor.

They entered the bedroom where a king-sized bed took up most of the space. Makkachin was curled on the covers, and were those rose petals thrown everywhere? And did Viktor just light a candle on his nightstand?

Yuuri didn’t get much of a chance to notice anything else. Between one breath and the next, he was being kissed to within an inch of his life.

He made a muffled sound of surprise against the insistent press of Viktor’s lips. Viktor threaded one hand through Yuuri’s hair, cradling the back of his head, and the other wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, his large hand splayed across the curve of his lower back. After the initial shock, Yuuri closed his eyes and melted into the embrace, and the sweet press of Viktor’s lush mouth against his own.

This they had done this several times. This was familiar and wonderful, and Yuuri turned to liquid, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s shoulders to hold on, his heart pounding so hard he was certain Viktor could hear it. Kissing Viktor was a revelation, and it only got better each time it happened, and desire swelled swift and hot in Yuuri’s belly. And he returned Viktor’s passion in equal measure, nipping and sucking on the soft swell of Viktor’s lower lip.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, the vibrations of his voice sweeping down Yuuri’s body, setting parts of him alight. “I have waited for you for so long.”

“We’ve only been a part for a few days.”

Viktor chuckled. “No, not like that. Do you know how hard it was to watch you perform Eros over and over again and not be able to touch?” Viktor shivered, his forehead pressed to Yuuri’s. “May I touch you now?”

And they hadn’t done that before.

Yuuri hadn’t figured all of it out until the Cup of China when Viktor kissed him on the ice (and even then, it took a few days for Yuuri to accept what had happened). Their schedules were hectic, long training sessions, the Rostelecom Cup, Makkachin’s incident. And even the small moments they did scavenge, there was no privacy at Yuuri’s family home. And then the Grand Prix Final, and the exhaustion, and Yuuri going home to Japan to get his things….

Viktor stared at him, his breathing heavy, his body flush against Yuuri’s, his expression reflecting all the want and longing that scorched Yuuri down to his bones.

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “Yes, Vitya.”

Viktor shuddered in Yuuri’s arms and Yuuri filed the reaction to the endearment away for later. They kissed again and Viktor backed Yuuri toward the bed. Yuuri fell and bounced on the mattress, right onto Makkachin. He barked and whined, and Viktor laughed, as apologies tumbled from Yuuri’s mouth.

“It’s okay. He’s fine,” Viktor said with a grin. Shooing him off the bed, Viktor promised him an extra treat later.

The pause in the proceeding was enough for Yuuri’s nervousness to come back full force, and it slammed into him. He knew Viktor wasn’t laughing at him, but his insecurities made him squirm all the same.

His hands trembled as he pulled off his shirt, and his glasses caught in the material. He wriggled, a blush working its way down his body as Viktor helped to extricate him.

“Impatient, are we?” Viktor teased, setting Yuuri’s glasses on the nightstand by the flickering candle. “It’s okay,” Viktor said, crawling over Yuuri’s body, settling across Yuuri’s thighs. “I am too.”

Propped up on Viktor’s pillows, the bed was warm against Yuuri’s back, and the rose petals stuck to his skin, but those were easy to forget with Viktor over him, pressing him down into the comfort of the bed. They kissed, and moved, and Viktor settled between Yuuri’s spread legs, as he ghosted his hands down Yuuri’s sides.

It tickled, and Yuuri laughed into Viktor’s mouth. He curled up instinctively and kneed Viktor right in the ribs.


“Oof.” Viktor rocketed backward, almost off the edge, his death grip on the sheets the only reason he didn’t end up on the floor. “Ow,” he said, on his knees, rubbing the sore spot.

Yuuri sat up, mortified. “Oh no! Are you okay? I’m sorry!”

Viktor smiled again, but it was pained. “It’s fine, Yuuri.”

It wasn’t fine. Yuuri saw it in the wince Viktor made when he moved, and in the way he put his hand on Yuuri’s knee when he approached again, holding it in place. Oh God, Yuuri was screwing this up massively. He should just resign himself to remaining a virgin. He covered his face with his hands.

“Oh, my God.”

Viktor laughed again. He pried Yuuri’s hands from his face, then leaned down, bestowed a quick, sweet, reassuring kiss before pulling away.

“It seems only fair that you inspect the bruise you gave me,” Viktor said with a wink.

Viktor made taking off his shirt an expression of eros in of itself, and the fabric slithered off his chiseled body. He was perfect in every way, from his broad shoulders to the flat, hard planes of his stomach. Yuuri had seen Viktor naked several times, but not like this, not with him hovering over Yuuri’s own body. Not with his hair standing on end and his skin flushed, and his lips swollen from Yuuri’s kisses.

Yuuri had to touch, was compelled too, and he reached out. His fingertips grazed over Viktor’s ribs, followed the curve of his stomach, to the vee of his hips. Viktor’s skin was incredibly soft, and goosebumps bloomed in the trail of Yuuri’s caress

He did it again, palm sweeping from Viktor’s collarbone, over his chest, down his side, coming to rest at the pale, thin skin of Viktor’s hip.

Viktor breathed out a low moan. Poised on his knees, his eyes closed, head tilted back, silver bangs sweeping across his forehead, he held his body on display for Yuuri’s eyes only. Yuuri’s mouth went dry at the sight and he couldn’t resist another pass. He swept both hands over Viktors shoulders, down his arms and the straining tendons. Then again, over the twitching muscles of Viktor’s abdomen, below his navel. Yuuri dipped his fingers lightly beneath the waist band of Viktor’s track pants, and Viktor’s lips parted on a gasp.

Emboldened, Yuuri sat up from the pillows and pressed a kiss to the center of Viktor’s chest. Then he ghosted his hand further down, over the large bulge in Viktor’s pants.

Viktor groaned, then gasped, hunching over, almost knocking his forehead into Yuuri’s. His face scrunched, his body tensed, and a wet patch grew across the front of the fabric.

Yuuri’s eyes went wide.

“Did you just?”

Viktor looked as mortified as Yuuri had felt a few minutes ago. His mouth hung open, his cheeks were as red as Yuuri had ever seen, and he ducked his head, hair obscuring his face. He rolled away, flopped heavily on his back on the pillow next to Yuuri’s, one arm flung above his head, looking up at the ceiling absolutely stunned.

Viktor didn’t say anything, his breathing ragged, and neither did Yuuri. To be honest, his own erection had flagged the minute he’d nailed Viktor in the ribs and hadn’t really recovered.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said, his voice a croak. “I’ve never… I was too… I can’t believe I….” He rolled to his side and propped up on an elbow. “I will do anything for you. I want you to feel good.”

He said it with such conviction, such love, Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. His nerves abated and he cupped Viktor’s face. “Vitya,” he said, gently. “Cuddle with me?”

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “Did you not want?”

“I did,” Yuuri hastily assured. “But I’m tired from traveling and am just happy to be here with you.”

Viktor’s expression eased. He kissed Yuuri on the tip of his nose. “Give me a moment.”

With the loss of his virginity off the table for the evening, Yuuri’s nervousness was replaced with exhaustion. Yuuri closed his eyes. Viktor left the bed, padded around the room and said something to Makkachin in Russian before disappearing. A few minutes later, he returned, and helped Yuuri under the blankets, before getting in and gathering Yuuri into his arms.

Yuuri snuggled in, inhaled the scent of Viktor’s skin, reveled in the soft warmth of Viktor’s bed, and the strength of his embrace.

He felt the press of Viktor’s lips to his forehead and heard a soft, “Rest, my Yuuri,” before he eased into sleep.


Training under Viktor while he trained under Yakov was wholly different than their secluded utopia in Hasetsu. Viktor was demanding in Japan, there was no doubt about that. In Russia, Viktor was brutal.

The underlying tenderness and joy were still there in their interactions, if Yurio’s gagging noises were a barometer, but there was a notable difference between Viktor on the ice training for his own comeback, Viktor the coach, and Viktor at home.

It didn’t help that Yuuri shared ice time with the rest of the Russian team, including Yurio, and he always had an audience. It drove him that much harder, even without Viktor’s influence.

Jump after jump. Quad after quad. Falls and step sequences and spins. Not to mention gym time and running. And with no hot springs to soak in after a nonstop day, Yuuri’s body was sore in places he didn’t even know he had.

Viktor’s own training schedule was hectic. There were days they only saw each other in passing, or on the ice, or in the bed at night.

With all those factors, Yuuri’s virginity was still solidly intact.

However, Viktor was currently working on that. Their shirts were off. They had gotten that far without incident. Yuuri straddled Viktor’s lap, his knees making indents in the bed, his head tossed back as Viktor rained kisses on his neck and collarbone.

Yuuri sunk both hands in the silver strands of Viktor’s hair. And oh, he was on board with this. This was good. This was amazing.

He was hard, so hard, desperate for every kiss and caress. Every time he shifted, he ground down in Viktor’s lap, the friction bliss. Sparks limned his spine with fire and heat, and he tossed his head back and moaned.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmured, his lips skimming the flushed skin of Yuuri’s neck, his hands firm and strong on Yuuri’s back.

“Vitya,” Yuuri responded. “Vitya,” he moaned again when Viktor sucked a bruise into the soft skin of his neck. “Vitya,” he said, as Viktor shallowly thrusted, rubbing their erections together through their pants. Yuuri’s toes curled and he arched his back and— “Vitya!”

Yuuri’s calf muscle burned then clenched and twisted. He gasped in surprise then in agony as the muscle cramped and pain bloomed down the length of his leg. Ow! Ow Ow Ow Ow!



“No!” Yuuri squirmed out of Viktor’s grasp. “Cramp! Cramp!”

Viktor released his iron grip just as Yuuri wrenched backward. He flew off the bed, tumbled to the floor in a flurry of arms and legs. The loud thud of his fall echoed in the room, but Yuuri didn’t register the sound. His mind was too preoccupied with the worst charley horse he’d ever had. How was this possible? Why did it hurt so much?


Yuuri rolled round on the floor, clutching his calf muscle. It bunched beneath his hands, trembling, and tightening. He cried out. Pain. There was so much pain. He curled in a ball, teeth grinding together, eyes clenched shut.

One minute he was on the floor in anguish and the next the weight of his boyfriend fell on top of him. His breath was knocked out of him in an instant as Viktor elbowed him in the stomach. Yuuri gasped and opened his eyes to darkness and fabric. The comforter from the bed had followed Viktor down, and they were both tangled in it.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, his voice a breathless whine.


After an eternity of fighting with the blanket and with Viktor flailing around, finally, finally, Viktor’s hands were on Yuuri’s leg and pulling it straight. Yuuri was on his back in the bedroom floor, blanket pooled around him, his bare, sweaty skin sticking to the hardwood floor, and Viktor knelt at his feet, Yuuri’s ankle propped on his shoulder. Viktor’s strong hands massaged the muscle while he helped Yuuri with a stretch to relieve the pain.

“Is that better?”

Yuuri nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You’ve used a leg cramp to get away from me before. Remember?” Viktor laughed quietly at the memory and Yuuri groaned.

“This one was real,” Yuuri said, blushing. “I didn’t want to get away from you this time.”

The edge of Viktor’s mouth quirked up. “Good to know, Yuuri.” After a moment, Viktor’s smile dropped away. “Did you stretch after practice?” Viktor asked, his expression stern. “Did you drink plenty of water? You’ve been overdoing it. I saw all the jumps you took today. You’ll take tomorrow off to rest and—”

Yuuri smiled. “Viktor,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Viktor dug his fingers into the tender muscle and Yuuri’s wince belied his assurance.

Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” Yuuri said with a sheepish shrug, “maybe it will feel better after pain medication and a hot bath.”

An hour later, Yuuri was still a virgin and his leg continued to throb. He had soaked in Viktor’s large bathtub, and had a heating pad wrapped around his calf. His leg was propped up on pillows and he was tucked into bed. Viktor lay next to him, his silver hair spread across his pillow, his nose tucked into Yuuri’s shoulder, one hand curled over Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri sighed and patted Viktor’s hand fondly. “Goodnight, Vitya.”

Viktor snored.


Who knew showing his love to the whole world through skating routines would be easier than getting laid?

Two weeks into living together and they still hadn’t. And with the Russian Nationals and the Japanese Championships fast approaching, Yuuri didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon.

It became a thing in Yuuri’s head. An oppressive, thought-consuming presence, an idea his anxiety latched onto and could cycle through all the terrifying and hideous consequences of not having sex—Viktor wouldn’t want him, Viktor would ask him to leave, Viktor would find someone else. The thoughts made him shaky and sad.

Tangled together on the couch, Yuuri’s legs draped over Viktor’s thighs, his head resting on Viktor’s shoulder, his attention certainly wasn’t on the movie in front of them. He was warm and comfy, his body lax from an intense practice and a hot shower and a filling dinner. Cuddling Viktor was one of his favorite things and the thought of losing it made his whole body ache. He absently pulled a thread on Viktor’s sweatshirt and unraveled the hem, twirling the loose string around his fingers.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, his voice a sing-song. “What are you doing?”

His long fingers rested over Yuuri’s, stopping the destruction of his sweatshirt.

“Huh?” Yuuri asked. He looked down. “Oh, sorry.”

Viktor heaved a sigh, and Yuuri’s body bobbed with the movement of Viktor’s chest. “Yuuri, is there something on your mind?”

Yuuri blushed. “Not really.”

“Is it the championship? If you skate the way you did at the Grand Prix Final you’ll win no problem.”

“It’s not skating.” That was actually true. Yuuri landed jumps more often now and he had proven he could skate both his routines well.

“Is it Russia? Do you like living here… with me?” Viktor’s arms tightened around Yuuri at the question.

Yuuri frowned. He looked up from the thread in his fingers and caught Viktor looking down at him in concern. His brow furrowed, his blue eyes troubled.

Yuuri’s stomach dropped. “Of course! I love living with you, Vitya.” He hastened to reassure Viktor, grasping Viktor’s hand in his own and squeezing. “I want to be here.”

Viktor’s visible relief made Yuuri’s heart clench. Ugh. Living in his own head, he didn’t realize the effect his moods may have on Viktor—that Viktor might think that Yuuri wanted to go back to Japan, or didn’t want to be there. Fuck, he was a horrible fiancé.

He lifted Viktor’s hand to his mouth and kissed his ring.

“Then what is it, Yuuri? What has you troubled?”

A blush bloomed across Yuuri’s cheeks. The heat of it scorching. His lips trembled and he grimaced. How to put it into words? He swallowed, then looked up to Viktor, leaned in a lightly kissed Viktor’s mouth.

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up and then a look of understanding dawned across his features. He clutched Yuuri even tighter and ducked his head, burying his face in Yuuri’s dark hair.

“Oh,” Viktor said. Yuuri could hear the relief and the smile in his voice. “Is that all?”

“All?” Yuuri said, voice cracking on the single syllable.

Viktor’s shoulders shook with a silent chuckle. “Yuuri,” he said softy, “I know you’ve never had a lover. I’m sorry if I’ve pressured you, if you believe that you must be physically intimate to keep me. I know I can be overwhelming, but I’m ready when you’re ready. And if you’re never ready, that’s fine.”

“What? No. I just,” Yuuri gestured helplessly. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Yuuri hid his face in Viktor’s chest, his cheeks on fire. “I want it to be good, to be perfect, for you, and our last two attempts have been… less than.”

“Yuuri, the first time you stepped on the ice to skate, could you land a quad?”

“You know I couldn’t, Viktor.”

“And it is the same for this. You won’t be perfect the first time or the second and that is fine. When you overthink, you flub your jumps. But when you let the music move through your body, you are brilliant; you are beautiful. The same is true for this. Listen to your body, do what feels good. Tell me what you want and I will give it to you.”

Yuuri shook in Viktor’s arms. Viktor always met him halfway. Yuuri shouldn’t have doubted that he would do the same in regards to this.

He lifted his head. “I want you,” he said softly. He kissed Viktor’s chin then his cheek. Viktor turned his head slightly, and then they kissed, long and slow and sweet. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and Viktor slowly lowered Yuuri to lay flat on the couch.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asked, his body stretched over the length of Yuuri’s.

“Yes, Vitya.” Yuuri nodded quickly.

Viktor smiled and dipped his head and Yuuri surged up, caught Viktor by surprise, and kissed him with all the desire that had built within him.

Yes, he wanted this. He wanted it right then. He wanted Viktor to make him feel good and he wanted Viktor to feel good in return. Yuuri stopped thinking, gave in to the rhythm of his body like he did on the ice, reveled in the sensations of intimacy.

Which is why Yuuri didn’t immediately register the loud pounding at the door or Makkachin barking. Or the fact that Viktor had stopped kissing him.

“Hey Viktor, are you in there?” Yurio’s voice was loud and brash as always. He pounded on the door again. “Pork Cutlet Bowl, are you home?”

Awakening from his sex-daze, Yuuri craned his neck to peer at the front door. Yurio never came over unless cajoled and even then they practically had to drag him from the rink. Yuuri met Viktor’s gaze and saw the same thought cross his features.

“Beka,” Yurio said, voice small and watery then he sniffled, “they’re not here. I told you—”

Viktor was off the couch in a flurry and crossing the room in swift strides. Yuuri sat up and hurriedly smoothed down his hair.

Yurio never showed up unannounced. He never showed vulnerability if he could help it. Yuuri had only seen it twice—in the waterfall and after losing to JJ the second time—and had only seen him cry once. And those were tears of relief and joy.

Yuuri stood and straightened his clothes and waited while Viktor wrenched open the door.


Yurio’s head snapped up. He stood in the doorway, disheveled, hood of his leopard print hoodie pulled up, hair hanging in his face, but Yuuri could see his eyes were red.

“Ah, they are home,” he said into his phone. He wiped his face with his sleeve. “Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

He hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. He hunched on the welcome mat.

“Was that Otabek?” Viktor asked.

“Yeah. He said… he said hi.” Yurio shifted. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Viktor held the door open wordlessly and Yurio stomped inside. He kicked off his shoes and walked into the living area. With squinted eyes, he took in Yuuri, and then his gaze flicked back to Viktor. Viktor’s hair stood up on end, and his shirt was twisted around his body, and his lips were red and swollen.

“Ew, gross. What were you two doing?”

Viktor raised a silver eyebrow as he shut the door. “Yurio, why are you here?”

Yurio shrugged. He had his hands shoved into his pockets and he looked… fragile. He held his body as if he might break apart. “You said I could come by whenever.”

“We did,” Yuuri said. He studied Yurio closer. He did look like he had been crying—his cheeks were tearstained and flushed. “Yurio, are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, loser.” Then he sniffed. He used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the corner of his eyes. “But Grandpa is sick and he’s at the hospital.”

“Oh, Yurio,” Yuuri reached for him but Yurio flinched away.

“I don’t want your pity!” Then he sighed. “But Beka said I should…” He trailed off. He swallowed and locked his gaze on the floor. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course, Yurochka.” Viktor came up behind Yurio and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Yurio didn’t shy away from it; in fact, he relaxed into Viktor’s hold.

“We were just watching a movie.”

Yurio snorted. “Right.”

Yuuri blushed. “Do you need anything? Something to eat?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pork cutlet bowl around, would you?”

“No, but I think we have all the ingredients.”

Yurio perked up at that. “Really?”

They spent their night making pork cutlet bowls following Yuuri’s mother’s recipe. Then they ate them in front of the television with Makkachin ready at their feet in case of any dropped morsels. They watched bad action movies in English. Yuuri and Viktor squished Yurio between them, offering silent comfort and not commenting when the occasional tear leaked from the corner of Yurio’s eyes. Makkachin lay on Yurio’s feet. Otabek texted a few times and the three of them took a selfie to confirm that Yurio had followed Otabek’s advice to seek out comfort.

During the third movie, Yurio received a call from his family alerting him that his Grandpa was released from the hospital and going home.

Yurio texted Otabek quickly. Then, with a scrunched, red face, he cried. Viktor was still clueless when it came to crying people, so Yuuri took the quilt from the back of the couch and draped it over Yurio’s shaking shoulders. Yurio turned his head and buried it into Yuuri’s shoulder, surprising Yuuri for a moment before he folded Yurio into a hug. Viktor awkwardly rubbed his back with a vaguely panicked expression on his face.

After a few minutes, the sobs subsided, and Yurio shyly pulled away, leaving a wet spot on Yuuri’s shirt. He kept his head bowed and scrubbed his eyes before he excused himself to the guest room for the night.

Yurio stopped at the entrance of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He kept his back turned to them, and his shoulders bunched up around his ears.

“Spasibo,” he said softly.

“Pozhaluysta, Yurochka.”

Yurio gave a slight nod then went to bed.

Yuuri and Viktor followed a few minutes after.

“I’ll text Yakov in the morning and let him know that Yurio will need an easy day,” Viktor said, as he changed into his pajamas.

Yuuri nodded as he slid into the bed. He turned on his side and Viktor spooned him from behind, his lips on the back of Yuuri’s neck, his arms wrapped around Yuuri’s body.

Yuuri smiled, contentedly. “I’m sorry we were interrupted but I’m glad Yurio came to us.”

“Me too. Yurio thinks he is an adult but he’s only fifteen. He needs us to watch out for him.”

“I love that you care for him.”

Yuuri felt Viktor’s soft smile against his skin. “He is the closest I have to a little brother.” Viktor snuggled closer. “Now rest, Yuuri. We have a big day at practice tomorrow.”

Closing his eyes, Yuuri sighed. Of course. But he couldn’t complain. His friend was safe down the hall. His fiancé was curled around him. At least now, he could stop thinking about sex.


Yuuri couldn’t stop thinking about sex.

It was a constant buzz in the back of his mind. It was there when he performed his Eros routine. There when he landed his quad flips. There when he and Viktor played around on the ice and pair skated their exhibition. There whenever Viktor’s gaze lingered on him too long, or when Viktor stepped off the ice after practice, sweaty and tired and glowing. There when they changed in the locker room or when Viktor stepped out of the shower at home.

Always there.

All he could think about was Viktor’s skin, and his shiny hair, and his smile, and how it felt when his hands brushed over Yuuri’s body.

Worse, he knew everyone could tell that he was thinking about sex. He was sure of it.

He was going to explode. It was going to happen. Boom! Right on the ice. He’d burst into flames.

Oh, now he was beginning to sound dramatic like Viktor. Something had to be done.

But Viktor had pulled back recently, too stressed, too worried, too busy. The Russian Nationals loomed in front of them and the Japan Championships were at the same time. Viktor was trying to figure out how to compete in Russia and be Yuuri’s coach in Japan, and it vexed him. A small wrinkle appeared in the middle of Viktor’s brow when he thought about it and with the stress and the practices and with Viktor worrying about not being there for Yuuri. Yuuri couldn’t in good conscience drop anything else in Viktor’s lap. Like himself. Literally.

“Yuuri, I have it figured out,” Viktor said, padding down the hallway, his wet hair leaving scattered droplets on the floor. He flopped on to the couch, dressed in pajama bottoms and a robe. He held a pad of paper in his hand and tapped a pen against his lips. “I will compete in the Nationals and after I win I will skip the exhibition and fly right to Japan. I won’t make it in time for the short program but Minako and Nishigori have agreed to be your coaches for a few days before I get there. And then I’ll take over for the free skate. What do you think?”

Yuuri shook his head. He had missed most of Viktor’s spiel because he had zeroed in on the warmth of Viktor’s arm against his, and Viktor’s scent—a mixture of Yuuri’s shower gel and his own lotion—and the way his robe slid down his shoulder, revealing the long column of his throat. His lips had moved, but Yuuri could only concentrate on their fullness, and the glossy shine of Viktor’s expensive lip balm.


“Huh?” Had Viktor spoken again?

“What do you think? Are you comfortable with that arrangement? Depending on how you do in the short program and the lead you will have over the other competitors, we will adjust your free skate. I don’t want you to injure yourself before the Four Continents and since you’ve been inconsistent with the….”

Yuuri couldn’t handle it. Something had to be done or the want would burn him up from the inside. He moved, fast as lightning, and straddled Viktor on the couch, his knees on either side of Viktor’s hips.

Cupping Viktor’s jaw, Yuuri tilted his head up, and kissed him. Viktor made a muffled sound against Yuuri’s mouth and he grasped Yuuri’s hips. Yuuri went for it, swiped his tongue over the seam of Viktor’s mouth, and at Viktor’s gasp, deepened the kiss. Viktor responded, and his grip tightened, his fingers digging into Yuuri’s sides.

But Viktor pulled away, his chest heaving. “Yuuri,” he said, admonishing, “if you think this is going to get you out of—”

Yuuri dove back in, catching Viktor’s bottom lip between his and sucking. He tangled his hands in Viktor’s hair, and tried to grind down, but Viktor’s hands were firm. Undaunted, Yuuri went for Viktor’s neck, sucking and biting along the soft skin of his throat, licking at the collarbone.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, “you won’t distract me. Your quad flip today was sloppy. Your step sequence wasn’t crisp. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you have not been focused on practice recently. Yakov thinks you might be homesick. Even Yurio said you’re not practicing up to standards.”

Yuuri pulled back from where he had finished sucking a spectacular bruise below Viktor’s collarbone. Incredulous, he stared at Viktor’s stern expression.

“You’re seriously telling me off? Right now?”

Viktor was unimpressed. “It’s important we talk about this. I want you to be ready for the championships since I won’t be there.”

“I’m trying to seduce you and you’re coaching me?”

“How scandalous, Yuuri!” he said with a smile. “Trying to seduce your coach. What would the skating world think?” His smile slid into a self-satisfied smirk, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Is it working?”

Viktor’s smile turned soft. He ran his thumb over Yuuri’s bottom lip. “We should wait.”

Yuuri groaned. The statement was like a bucket of ice poured over his head. He tipped to the side and fell dramatically onto the couch. Oh God, he was never going to get laid. Worse, he was becoming Viktor.

“Now,” Viktor said, tapping his finger against his lips, “we have much to plan. First, we need to book flights and hotels then coordinate with Minako. Should we hire a pet sitter or should Makkachin come with you? Oh, and how do you feel about—”

Yuuri grabbed a throw pillow and shoved it over his face.


Viktor won the Russian Nationals. Yurio came in an angry second place.

As they planned, Viktor skipped the exhibition much to Yakov’s chagrin. He watched Yuuri’s short program sitting in the airport on his phone waiting for boarding. Minako and Nishigori acted as Yuuri’s coaches. Despite the absence of Viktor’s calming presence, Yuuri scored well, ending up in first at the end of the day.

Viktor arrived in Japan the morning of the free skate severely jetlagged after a ten-hour flight and the time difference. They ate breakfast together, and Viktor escorted Yuuri to the rink, his steps sluggish, his eyes red-rimmed.

“Are you okay, Viktor?”

He flashed a smile, but it wasn’t as bright as usual. “I’m fine, my Yuuri. Ready to watch you take the gold.”

Yuuri flushed. “You just want to kiss the medal.”

“I want to kiss you,” Viktor murmured, voice low. “But we’ll wait until after the competition.” He winked.

Yuuri sputtered as he took off his skate guards and stepped onto the ice for public practice. Viktor laughed.

Since he was in first, Yuuri skated last. Viktor kept him calm with hugs and silly jokes while they waited. Yuuri didn’t break any records, but his performance was clean. In the kiss and cry, Viktor was abnormally subdued. His smile was wide and his hug was warm, but Yuuri could see the lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth, the slump in his posture, and the yawns he attempted to hide.

“Did you sleep on the flight?” Yuuri leaned over and asked after the podium ceremony, gold medal around his neck.

Viktor shrugged. “Adrenaline from winning,” he said. “And nerves that I wouldn’t make it here in time.”

Yuuri frowned. He’d forgotten it was Viktor’s first time competing in a year and the high emotions he might have experienced after. He hadn’t forgotten Viktor’s concerns and promises about being at the championships for Yuuri. It had been a source of a few frustrating discussions, but in the end, Viktor was determined to support Yuuri in person.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful, Yuuri. You were brilliant. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Yuuri blushed. “Aren’t you—”

“It’s time for reporters,” Viktor said, cutting him off. He draped his arm over Yuuri’s shoulders and guided him toward the mass of camera flashes and microphones. “Let’s take questions.”

After talking with the press, they shared a celebratory dinner with Minako and Nishigori, despite Yuuri telling Viktor he could leave to rest. Viktor waved away his concerns and, despite his obvious fatigue, kept Minako and Nishigori engaged the entire meal, praising them both for their coaching efforts, and Yuuri’s performance. Much later, Yuuri and Viktor retired to their hotel room, Yuuri’s arm looped through the crook of Viktor’s elbow, guiding a sluggish Viktor down the hallway.

Yuuri showered first then waited for Viktor on the bed in his pajamas while Viktor took his turn, half afraid Viktor would fall asleep in the bathroom.

Yuuri was relaxed and happy, tired in the way that followed a great day, but not exhausted. He stretched in the bed, his body pleasantly sore, and allowed himself to think about Viktor and the possibility of sex. They’d both won. They had a full day to themselves before flying back to Russia to start training for the next rounds.

Warmth pooled low in Yuuri’s belly and he was aroused before Viktor walked out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam with his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. Viktor toweled his wet hair. His muscled chest was bare, his smooth skin pebbling from the cooler air of the room. He raised an eyebrow at Yuuri sprawled across the sheets watching him.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, voice a sultry sing-song, “what are you doing?”

“Just thinking about things you can kiss other than my gold medal.” Yuuri flushed as he said it, but Viktor’s expression was worth it.

Viktor’s smile turned flirty as he tossed the towel to the floor. He crawled onto the bed. “I can think of several things I want to kiss.”

Yuuri laughed as Viktor hovered over him then kissed his cheek. He flopped down onto Yuuri, between his spread thighs, and nuzzled into Yuuri’s neck, kissing and sucking at Yuuri’s jaw and down his shoulder. Yuuri ran his fingers through Viktor’s damp hair, scraped his fingernails across his scalp in a way that usually made Viktor moan.

Except—Viktor didn’t.

Instead, his kisses slowed, his body grew heavier, and his usual litany of endearments became quiet murmurs of nonsense.

“Vitya,” Yuuri said, nudging Viktor’s side. “Vitya.”


“Are… are you asleep?”

Viktor snorted. He slid off Yuuri and wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s body, burying his face in the pillow. “I’m sorry, my Yuuri,” he said softly. “It appears I’m….” He trailed off. Then he snored.

Yuuri chuckled fondly. He petted Viktor’s head and brushed his silver hair from away from his face. Yuuri kissed his forehead, then managed to maneuver them both under the blankets.

Sighing, Yuuri took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand before he switched off the light. Somehow, he was Japan’s figure skating champion, GPF silver medalist, Viktor Nikiforov’s live-in fiancé, and still a virgin.

This was beginning to border on ridiculous.


Viktor won the European Championships by the skin of his perfect teeth. Yurio placed second again and Yuuri was worried he’d grind his teeth to powder on the podium.

After the exhibition skate, they flew back to Russia. And within the week, they flew to South Korea for the Four Continents. Yurio accompanied them without giving much of a reason. Viktor was certain it was to cheer Yuuri on since they’d grown closer. Yuuri thought it had more to do with wanting to see Otabek. Whichever it was, Yurio sat beside them on the plane and fell asleep on Yuuri’s shoulder, drooling on Yuuri’s jacket. Viktor took a picture and uploaded it to Instagram to the delight of Yurio’s Angels.

Yuuri was third after the short program, JJ and Otabek beating him out. Yuuri would have to be perfect to overtake either of them. He spent the days before the free skate a sweaty ball of anxiety. Viktor and even Yurio had to talk him down more than once.

But in the end, Yuuri skated almost as well as he had at the GPF. He won the gold while Otabek took silver and Phichit won the bronze. After the podium ceremony, a small group gathered outside the rink, intent on finding a place to celebrate and unwind. Most of the skaters were there, including JJ and Leo and Seung-Gil.

“Worlds is going to be very interesting,” Viktor said, smiling, tapping his lips. “I must skate my finest to beat you, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri clutched the gold medal in his hand. “Who said you’re going to win?” he teased, the edge of his mouth curling up.

“I didn’t.” Viktor leaned in. “May I kiss the gold?”

Yuuri lifted the medal and offered it to Viktor. Viktor studied it for a moment, then batted it away, and kissed Yuuri’s mouth instead.

Yuuri shuddered as Viktor’s hand spread across his flushed cheek and tilted his face up to devour him. Yuuri gasped into it, his toes curling in his shoes as Viktor hauled him closer, a strong arm around his waist, his body a wall of heat. Yuuri grasped the medal in one hand, the other fisted in the lapel of Viktor’s jacket, and dared him to pull away.

“That’s going on Instagram!” Phichit crowed.

Yuuri jerked back, their kiss ending with an audible pop.

Yurio made a noise in his throat. “That’s disgusting.”

Otabek elbowed Yurio in the ribs, smiling softly. Leo covered Guang-Hong’s eyes.

“Phichit, no,” Yuuri whined.

But it was too late as Yuuri could hear the notifications pinging from Phichit’s phone. Phichit was unapologetic, dancing away from Yuuri’s reach as he tried to steal it and delete the picture.

The group laughed and talked and while they figured out where the celebration would begin, Viktor leaned in close, his breath hot against Yuuri’s ear. “I’d rather celebrate privately.”

Yuuri’s body thrummed. Adrenaline was still present in his system, mixed with the heat and want from Viktor’s proprietary kiss, he wouldn’t mind celebrating privately as well. He licked his lips, and Viktor’s arm squeezed even tighter around him.

“Sorry, but I think Viktor and I are heading back to the hotel. I’m really tired.”

Viktor muffled a laugh beneath his hand. Phichit’s and Yurio’s expressions showed how they didn’t believe him at all. Phichit raised an eyebrow. Yurio opened his mouth but Otabek stepped on his foot. Leo’s cheeks reddened.

Yuuri’s own face flushed but he didn’t care. With a few last goodbyes and promises to see everyone at breakfast, Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s hand and pulled him toward a taxi.

The ride to the hotel was filled with incidental brushes against Viktor’s body, and Viktor’s accidental touches of Yuuri’s knee, the crook of his elbow, the indent of his waist, the curve of his back. By the time they made it to the hotel, Yuuri was keyed up, his pulse thudding hard under his skin, his pants uncomfortably tight.

The only indication Viktor was feeling the same was the scribble of pink across his cheeks and the hot focus of his gaze on Yuuri’s lips. His grip on Yuuri’s hand was firm and unrelenting as he pulled him into the hotel and straight for the elevators. Luckily, they were alone, the air thick with promise and desire, and Yuuri was about to vibrate out of his skin.

Yuuri fumbled with the key card, impatient, anxious, but determined. Finally, the sensor turned green and they stumbled through the doorway.

Yuuri had enough time to drop his bag before he was spun and pushed roughly against the door. Viktor kissed him, his mouth hot, tongue insistent, and Yuuri went weak in the knees. He returned Viktor’s ardor, sucking and biting, pushing Viktor’s coat off his shoulders to the floor.

“What do you want?” Viktor breathed into Yuuri’s skin, his mouth a trail of fire down Yuuri’s throat.

“Everything,” Yuuri answered, voice low and trembling.

The last few months had been building to this—to the rapid toss of clothes, to the bounce of the mattress, to the quiver of muscles and shared breaths. Overwhelmed, Yuuri hid his burning face in Viktor’s bare chest as he straddled Viktor’s hips. Viktor murmured endearments in mangled English and Russian as he slid a calming hand down the sweat-slick curve of Yuuri’s back while his other hand, fingers dripping with lube, twisted inside of Yuuri, opening him up.

Yuuri mindlessly mouthed at Viktor’s skin, his collarbones, his throat, his jaw. The tip of his cock rubbed along the ridges of Viktor’s muscled stomach, aching for friction, hot and throbbing between his legs.

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice was a plea, wrecked, desperate.

“More,” Yuuri whispered. “More, Vitya.”

Viktor shuddered. He tossed his head back, his silver hair falling away from his face, his blue eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth parted and kiss-swollen, his cheeks red, his throat covered in mouth-shaped bruises.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed. He’d done that. He’d left those marks. He’d wrecked Viktor. Yuuri surged forward, caught Viktor’s mouth with his own, and threw his arms around Viktor’s shoulders, holding him close, begging Viktor to feel the rapid beat of his heart. This beats for you. This is yours. I’m yours. Yuuri tried to convey it all in the fierceness of his kiss and the movements of his body.

Viktor guided him down, down, down, until Yuuri was full, joined in pleasure on Viktor’s lap. Tears sprang to Yuuri’s eyes, and it was his turn to arch, Viktor’s strong hands spread across his back, holding him as they rocked together.

“Beautiful. Beautiful, my Yuuri.”

“Yours,” Yuuri choked out. “Vitya!”

Viktor’s rhythm faltered, his muscles tensing, and he stripped Yuuri’s cock as he fucked into Yuuri’s body.

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut as pleasure built low in his belly with each touch and thrust. His orgasm crested over him and he came, his body squeezing around Viktor inside him, his come splashing over Viktor’s stomach and chest. Viktor’s hands were vises on Yuuri’s hips as he followed, grinding upwards, Yuuri’s name a muffled cry.

After, when Yuuri’s breathing evened, and his body was sated, he realized his hips hurt and his legs trembled and everything that was hot a few moments before was actually kind of gross and messy.

Yuuri laughed into Viktor’s shoulder as Viktor brushed Yuuri’s sweaty hair from his forehead.

“Why are you laughing?” He didn’t sound wounded or hurt, just curious, and his own tone was light.

“I need help,” Yuuri said, chuckling. He gestured to how they were positioned and Viktor laughed.

Together they carefully disentangled, and Yuuri ended up gracelessly falling to the bed. Viktor rolled and wrapped around him like an octopus, his legs and arms sweaty, the covers bunched uncomfortably around them.

“Was it everything you hoped for?” Viktor asked, nuzzling into Yuuri’s neck.

Sated and happy, adrenaline finally bleeding out of his system, Yuuri’s allowed his eyes to flutter closed. He’d just won the Four Continents. He had just had sex with Viktor Nikforov, living legend and his live-in fiancé, and he was pleasantly sore and sticky.

“Yes,” he said, softly. “Everything.”

Viktor hummed happily and pressed a messy kiss to the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “Rest, darling,” he said softly.

Yuuri gave into satisfied exhaustion and slipped into a doze, Viktor curled around him.


Yuuri woke up later due to a rumbling stomach. They ordered room service, and after, Yuuri seduced Viktor into another round.


In the middle of the night, Yuuri slid between Viktor’s legs and woke him up with several rolls of his hips.


Before dawn, Yuuri threaded his hands in Viktor’s hair as Viktor bobbed between his thighs.


After breakfast and before their flight, Yuuri wore only his gold medal and gasped into a pillow while he writhed, Viktor behind him.


In the bathroom at the airport, Yuuri wrapped a loose fist around Viktor in the stall.

Flushed and debauched, Viktor tucked his shirt into his pants and attempted to fix his hair. “I’ve created a monster,” he said as he peered into the mirror and tried to adjust his collar to hide the love bites.

Yuuri grinned. “Making up for lost time.”

Viktor wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist and guided him from the restroom. “Come on, darling. Let’s go home.”

“I can’t wait,” Yuuri said, face flushed but smile smug. “I have expectations.”