Summary: AU where Yuuri and Viktor are still figure skaters, but instead of being Yuuri’s love interest and Coach, Viktor is his friend and another skater who competes against him, like Christophe and Phichit. After a casual ‘friends with benefits’ kind of hook up, Viktor starts to see Yuuri in a different light, and questions whether he just wants to be his friend, or something more.
They’re tangled together – limb entwined with limb as they strip each other of their clothes. There’s the occasional drunken giggle and the knocking of teeth and suddenly their clothes are gone, and they’re kissing and sucking on skin and gasping each others names. Short, breathless gasps of Yuuri and Viktor. The only sounds you’d hear is slapping of skin and gasps and moans as they melt into each other.
There aren’t any feelings here. It’s only platonic passion and emotion and desperate need for some sort of release. However, Viktor let’s himself forget among the desperate pants and moans.
The platonic emotions are back, though, and it’s all over when Yuuri wakes him up.
He’s naked, drowsy and in pain from a hangover. He keeps the sheets over him, and realizes that he’s not in his or Yuuri’s homes, but a very expensive looking hotel room. Viktor remembers last night, but only parts. He’s not naive – he knows what happened with Yuuri. He knows that they slept together. He knows that it was entirely casual and he knows that Yuuri thinks nothing more of Viktor than he would of a friend.
He only faintly hears Yuuri’s voice as he wakes up. His eyes are slowly adjusting to the seeping light but he can see Yuuri’s shape as it wanders around the room. As he adjusts, he can see the exposed muscles in Yuuri’s back flex.
Yuuri isn’t particularly muscular, nor is he tall or typically attractive. But Viktor notices, as the light hits his face in a certain way, that he is unusually beautiful. His face is rounded, slightly, but his jaw is strong enough. His eyes are plain brown, but they’re also a lovely brown, and they look gorgeous behind his glasses.
Yuuri’s voice is barely above a whisper when he sits on the bed beside Viktor. “You need to get up, Viktor.” His hand rests on Viktor’s thigh and he offers a warm smile. “You promised Chris that you’d help him prepare for the party tonight.”
Viktor grumbles and sits up straight, his hand flying to his head as he grimaces. He’s never been his normal giddy self in the mornings. “Why do we need another party? Isn’t the Banquet enough?”
“It’s not an official official,” Yuuri shrugs as he hurries on a shirt. His drawstring pants are loose and start to slip down his waist as he gets up. He fixes them and tightens the string. “It’s just a party that Chris wants to throw in celebration. I don’t know why he’d be celebrating, though. This is the first time he hasn’t placed second in a long time.”
Viktor giggles like a schoolgirl. “Or first,” he reminds the dark haired skater. “Don’t forget, Yuuri, you placed second.”
“Yeah, and you placed first.” Yuuri rolls is eyes. “Like you have every year.” He sighs at Viktor’s mumbled, not every year, and runs his fingers through his hair. “You know, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. In case you’ve forgotten, you were my inspiration since I was a kid.”
“And I’ve admired you since before we met last year.” Viktor grins. He finally pulls himself out of bed and shrugs on a night gown. “You’re too hard on yourself, as well, Yuuri.”
They get dressed in silence. Viktor’s eyes wander to Yuuri again and again, and he sighs. He hates this feeling. Yuuri is one of his best friend’s – to think of him like this is selfish. He hates that his stomach l fills with butterflies every time he looks at him, and he hates that he can’t help but smile whenever Yuuri fixes his glasses or a strand of hair. He hates it.
Viktor has never felt like this about Yuuri before. Sure, he admired him for a good year or so, and he’s definitely thought about how good his ass looks in his costumes, but he’s never really thought about him like this.
Before either of them say anything, Yuuri’s hand is on the doorknob and he’s twisting it and it’s open, he turns back to Viktor and smiles timidly. “I’ll see you at the party tonight.” And he’s gone. Viktor looks around. So this is my hotel room, he thinks. They all look the same, don’t they?
“Yurio~” Viktor singsongs to the 16 year old blond as he walks into Chris’ party. His face is flustered and it’s clear that he’s just been with Otabek. “You look awfully dishevelled!”
Yurio’s eyes are wide as he turns his gaze to the floor, and Otabek walks in behind him. They’ve done this before, Viktor knows it. “Shut up, shit head.” He turns bright red as Otabek stops at his side. “What would you know?” he bumps his hand against his taller friend’s and the older bumps Yurio’s Back.
“I know that whenever your face is that red, you’ve been up to no good.” Viktor hums knowingly with a shit eating grin he knows Yurio hates. “And that your lips are swollen.”
It’s Otabek’s turn to flush, his eyes growing wide as he looks down at Yurio. Victor’s grin doesn’t falter as they both make their way to the bathrooms in a rush. They’re only in there for ten minutes, and return to Viktor telling a dad joke to Yuuri, who’s eyes wander to the pair and greets them with a grin that almost splits his face in two. “Fancy seeing you two here,” he hums. “I thought you’d avoid a party put together by Chris like the Plague, Yurio.”
“Don’t call me that, piggy.” Yurio spits, no venom in his tone. “Beka forced me to come. He said it’d be rude if I didn’t.”
“He was right!” a voice comes from behind the blond, louder than the music playing over the bustling conversations, and they all recognise the voice to be none other than Chris’. He decided to play all of this seasons music for the party, even the songs from the skaters who didn’t make it to the Grand Prix Final. “You wouldn’t want to be so rude as to not come to your dear friend’s party, would you?”
Yurio scoffs. He grabs a drink from a platter one of the volunteers is carrying around and pretty much downs it in one go. “The fucking Banquet is enough, I only go to it because I have to.” He ignores Otabek bending down to whisper, you don’t actually have to go. “This is bullshit. Especially the fucking butlers.”
“Oh, Yurio!” Viktor sighs dramatically. “Such a foul mouth for such a small boy!”
“Shut up, old man.”
They all burst out in laughter, other than Yurio, of course. Viktor gives Yuuri a sideways glance and his face is fixed on his. His eyes wander across Yuuri’s features and he takes in every wrinkle and curve in the younger man’s face as he laughs.
Yurio notices Viktor staring, and a grin similar to the one Viktor wore earlier splits his lips. “I noticed the piggy leaving your hotel room this morning.” At Viktor and Yuuri’s sputters and coughs, Yurio rolls his eyes. “Did you forget that our rooms are on the same floor, dumbass? What was Yuuri doing in your room last night?” his voice is demanding as he gives the pair an impatient glare.
Viktor starts to panic as he swallows the lump in his throat. He’s about to sputter out some kind of lie before Yuuri speaks up. “I was having a panic attack.” He lies awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “I… Uh, drank a bit too much at the Banquet last night, so… I get anxious when I’m tipsy. When I started sobering up I started getting all weird and panicky so I found Viktor’s room and he helped me out.”
Yurio doesn’t seem to notice Yuuri’s lie, which is strange for thim considering he’s far more observant than most people realize. He murmurs under his breath. “With sex,” but they all pretend not to hear. They all do.
Viktor gives Yuuri a look that the brunette definitely notices. He looks down at the Japanese skater and furrows his eyebrows, as if asking, why lie? Yuuri shrugs and smiles warmly at Phichit as he enters the room, leaving Viktor behind with tinted cheeks.
Viktor has never understood the idea of a tattoo. Perhaps it’s because of his appreciation of the human body, or just the idea of something so permanent and painful. He’s just always found them distasteful.
Well – until now. He’s standing in front of an expensive looking tattoo parlour – one about half way between his apartment and the rink he trains at. He was walking home, but stopped at the sight of it.
He looks down at his bare wrist and shivers. It’s autumn, almost winter, and the cold is slowly creeping into the air. He thinks of what it would be like to have something so terrifyingly permanent as a tattoo against his complexion, and thinks about what he’d even have inked into his skin.
A name. A specific name. With a fancy ‘Y’ and two cursive ‘u’s and an ‘r’ and an ‘i’. Or would he have it in Russian? Or Japanese? English seems most appropriate, considering its the second most common language in the world.
When winter finally arrives, Viktor realises something he wishes he hadn’t.
He sits beside Yuuri at an outdoor cafe, both covered in layers of warm clothing and scarves and jackets. It’s a warmer day, still below ten degrees Celsius. They share a large bowl of chips (they’re both a bit tight on money) and their fingers brush against one another’s. Yuuri’s cheeks turn pink, and Viktor’s eyes widen as he observes his best friend’s face.
How has he never noticed it?
Normally, Yuuri’s eyes are brown. A deep brown that you can get lost the in if you stare long enough. But today? Viktor’s gaze doesn’t stray or falter as he stares and notices them – little flecks of caramel and golden.
It happens again, not a week later. They sit inside on a colder day, beneath blankets as they watch Shrek for the third time that month. Rather than paying attention to the movie (he can probably recite the entire script, by now), he’s paying attention to Yuuri’s eyes as they flicker back and forth across the TV, and he notices them again. Little flecks of golden and caramel hiding in the deep chocolate brown that Viktor can get lost in.
He keeps seeing them. He sees them in the mornings they’re together and the nights they share at each others sides. He sees them when he closes his eyes.
When Spring comes bounding, blinding, they’re gone, and Viktor realises that they’re only there in cold air.
Viktor wishes he had never noticed the golden caramel flecks in chocolate brown, because he selfishly decides that he wants nothing more than to hold Yuuri in a cold place for the rest of their lives
That night, at Chris’ party, when Yuuri told everyone that whenever he has a panic attack he goes straight to Viktor and that was why he was there the night before – he wasn’t telling a complete lie. He does have panic attacks and when he has them, who’s the first person he thinks to go to?
Viktor.
He’s sitting on Viktor’s love seat in his living room now, his head in between his bouncing knees and cradled by his own hands. Viktor’s hand is against Yuuri’s back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades as he whispers to him.
“Are you alright?” Viktor’s voice is soft and soothing to Yuuri as he continues rubbing his back. When Yuuri slowly nods his head, the silver haired Russian frowns because he knows that his friend is lying. He always knows when he’s lying. “I know you like hot baths. I’ll run you one, alright?” When Yuuri doesn’t move, Viktor smirks. “I’ll fill it with scented bubbles~”
Yuuri tenses and hesitates before he finally nods.
As Viktor fills up the bath he sits and stares and wonders. He watches the bubbles fill the bath and pictures Yuuri lying there, giving Viktor the look he always gives him. Losing himself in Viktor’s eyes like the Russian got lost in his.
Viktor imagines a future. He imagines a child in the bathtub in a home far away from the city. He pictures Yuuri trying to cook and failing miserably and he pictures the two of them at one another’s side on the lounge in the living room, looking down at a child grinning up at them from the carpeted floor.
Viktor has to shake his head to get the picture of it out of his head.
When he returns to the living room, Yuuri stares at him with wide, anxious eyes, and his fingers are tangled and fiddling. Viktor sighs and sits beside him, and Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor’s torso straight away.
“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice is small, unlike his normal, boisterous tone. “What set you off?”
Yuuri’s reply is so small, Viktor almost doesn’t hear it. He does, though, and once the brunette has mumbled out the small, timid “You,” he’s holding on to him like his life depends on it without giving a single care about the hot bath turning cold. He can draw another one later.
They’re walking along a beach when Viktor finally does something.
His eyes are fixed on the sand as they dawdle along the beach at each others sides. Yuuri is smiling at Viktor and telling a story about the friend of his from Hasetsu who used to help him with his skating, but Viktor isn’t listening.
He notices a pebble that kind of resembles a heart shape, and he closes his eyes as he stops completely. Yuuri looks back at him. “Viktor, are you alright?”
The Russian doesn’t reply. He reaches for the pebble and stares at it in his hand. He has a rock in his other hand, suddenly, and starts chipping at the pebble. Yuuri’s eyes are fixed between Viktor and the pebble in his hand and he narrows them. “Viktor. What are you doing?”
Viktor looks down at the pebble in his hand, satisfied, and hands it to Yuuri. “If you can, use some string and make it into a necklace. You could wear it, if you want. I think it’d look nice on you.”
He doesn’t notice the tear rolling down Yuuri’s right cheek until he really looks, and suddenly, he feels one trickle down his own cheek – hot and barely even there.
And now Yuuri’s smiling up at Viktor, lopsided, awkward and nervous, just like all of his beautiful smiles. They’re contagious – Viktor noticed this a long time ago, so he smiles down a got Yuuri, and suddenly their fingers are tangled and they’re both silent.
They stay like that until they’re both going home.
Viktor isn’t entirely sure how, but it happens again.
For a second time, they’re a mess of limbs and lust but this time, they aren’t drunk. They’re completely sober as they dance through the routine another time – kisses and gasps shared. They cling to each other, pulling one another closer with each passing moment. Yuuri lies beneath Viktor and moans his name, over and over. He’s never been particularly crude – profanities aren’t his style.
Viktor is the same. His mouth only let’s sweet pants and gasps tumble out and he’s looking down at his best friend with adoration in his eyes and admiration in his features.
For a second time, it’s all over when Yuuri wakes him up.
This time, they’re in Viktor’s apartment, and Yuuri isn’t wandering around the room without a shirt on and only drawstring pants. Yuuri lies beside Viktor, just as naked as the Russian. His snores are loud and he understands how he woke up.
He treads lightly into the kitchen once he’s dressed and makes two cups of tea. Yuuri’s is a Japanese herbal tea that Viktor knows he loves. He tiptoes into his room, and gives a small smile when he sees Yuuri, sitting up in his bed. “Good morning,” the brunette mumbles. “Did you make tea?”
Viktor nods and hands him his mug, sitting beside him to drink his own.
“It’s the herbal one I told you about.” Yuuri notices as he inhales the scent. “I can’t believe you remembered.” He sips at his tea, his face lighting up as it warms his face and body.
Viktor watches him. He watches how his lips wrap over the edge of the tea cup and how his fingers are long and slim. He watches Yuuri’s eyes, too, and notices the wrinkles at either side of his face when he closes them. He watches him and stares at every part of his face, and looks down to his own hand.
His hands are kind of pale, like the rest of him. His fingers are slim and bony, and his hands are thin and you can see a few veins. He looks at his finger – his forth finger – and sighs. He thinks to himself, wouldn’t a ring look nice there?
His exhale wavers as it leaves his lips and he looks at Yuuri. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. Looking at Yuuri. “I’ll be back,” Viktor snaps suddenly, wincing at his tone as he makes his way to the balcony. He grabs a pack of cigarettes and grimaces at the photo on the packaging .
He hates the feeling of smoking. He feels gross and he hates himself for it but he can’t stop. He started about three years ago, just after he cut his hair – he was going through a kind of phase. An existential crisis when he’d questioned his skill and career and he decided then to say fuck you to his health and his iconic hair.
He doesn’t smoke very often, so he’s never done it in front of Yuuri or any of his friends other than Chris. He supposes that’s why he grimaces and frowns when Yuuri pads onto the balcony, giving Viktor a disappointed stare.
“You didn’t tell me you smoked.”
“I don’t do it very often,” Viktor sighs, taking a long, soothing drag from the cigarette. “I’m not like one of those chain-smokers who can smoke a pack a day.”
Yuuri’s face twists into a cringe when he smells the smoke, and he turns his nose away. “I hate the smell.” He says. “My sister smokes and I’ve been trying to get her to stop but she won’t listen to me.”
“Mm,” Viktor takes another drag, then puts it out in an ashtray he’s hidden so no one can find it without looking for it. “I’ll try and quit. For you.”
Yuuri stays silent.
For some reason, Viktor opens his mouth again. “Yuuri, how do you feel about marriage?”
Yuuri’s eyes were wide as they snapped up to meet Viktor’s, and he stars stuttering as his fingers automatically fiddle. “Well… Technically, I can’t get married, but it seems nice…” He alerts his intense, nervous gaze from Viktor’s eyes to the floor.
The silver haired Russian frowns, silently cursing at himself for being the reason that saddened gaze sets upon Yuuri’s expression. He nods and hums solemnly, and jumps when Yuuri asks, “Why?”
Viktor is caught off guard with how close Yuuri suddenly is to him, which makes him want to laugh. He looks down at the brunette and heaves a great sigh from his lungs before looking away.
Being this close to Yuuri is like being in the eye of a storm. It’s calm, quiet and seemingly peaceful, but something always happens to get Yuuri out of this shy, nervous state and into his Eros persona – the storm.
Viktor knows that he feels something for Yuuri beyond a sexual attraction; he’s not naive. He knows that the feeling he gets whenever he looks at Yuuri is something far more. The feeling of overwhelming affection seeping through his chest and enveloping his heart – it was almost suffocating and he needed to do something about it.
“Viktor?” Yuuri’s voice brings him back to where he’s standing; on his balcony, the brunette’s hand comforting on his own. “Did you hear me? I want to know why you asked that – you know what? Never mind.”
For a second, Viktor thinks Yuuri’s going to kiss him. He’s close enough – just another inch and their lips would be slotted together, sending sparks along their spines. But Viktor thinks, if he’s going to kiss me, he’s really taking his time. Because Yuuri is close, but not moving, and it’s driving the Russian mad.
So, to put them both out of their misery, though he believes it’s only his, Viktor finally jerks his head forward, and finds himself a mess of affection, dancing tongues, saliva and an oddly excessive amount of fireworks.
The first time they kissed, there wasn’t nearly as much boom to the display of sexual tension. It was nice – but it was messy. The first time they kissed, they were both drunk and giddy from the aftermath of the Grand Prix Final.
Now, barely a year later, they’re sober and giddy from the aftermath of a second ‘casual’ hook-up, lips pretty much glued together as they whimper and moan at the feeling of one another’s hands running along their bare skin below the fabric of the little clothing they were wearing.
Unlike their kisses shared before, this one isn’t heated and rushed. It’s sensual and slow, and Viktor brings his hands to cup Yuuri’s face and to bring the brunette closer. Yuuri’s hands are on Viktor’s waist and he’s pulling the Russian closer and now they’re pressed against each other and their lips are joined with tongues dancing between them.
Viktor has never felt so alive.
Now Viktor’s hand is exploring the brunettes chest and he feels it – the pebble from the beach. Attached to a string, it sits perfectly against the part of Yuuri’s chest where his heart would be and Viktor feels his eyes watering.
He decides, suddenly, that he’s in love.
He doesn’t realize he’s pulled away until he’s gasping for breath and struggling to keep tears from trickling down his cheeks. Yuuri looks at him, aghast, gives a lopsided smile. There’s a look in the brunettes eye and Viktor knows it’s one of understanding. It’s saying, you don’t need to tell me. I already know.
Viktor gives a look back. What about you?
I do.
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