hahahaahaha for the meme - viktor/yuuri, 8. “Do you think they like me?” “I like you so it doesn’t matter.” “Wait what?” “What?”
Ahh this prompt has been in my inbox for ages, and I meant to write some porn for it…which came out much longer than expected. Explicit material under the cut (and visual references for the position at this extremely NSFW site https://gaysexpositionsguide.com/danseur/ ). Warnings for handwaved condoms and not-lube as lube (enthusiastic consent all around)
Yuuri thought Victor was going to kiss him, after the free skate in China. The way Victor came flying at him, arms outstretched, their faces so close together…but then Victor was embracing him instead, and they fell to the ice, Victor’s weight heavy and welcome and unexpected on top of him. Yuuri blushed and smiled, and it was as much from happiness and exhaustion as shame at what he almost did, caught Victor’s mouth with his own as Victor came near. In front of all these people, on camera, no less.
Victor stood up, offering a hand, and Yuuri thought how strange it is that just being embraced by Victor Nikiforov was a disappointment now.
He slept well that night, at last. In the morning he skated his exhibition routine at the gala, the simplified version of “Stammi Vicino” that brought Victor to Japan all those months ago. He kept catching sight of Victor at the wall, bobbing his head along with the music and lifting his arms at the jumps. The way he does it, it almost feels like they’re skating the routine together.
So now they’re at the banquet, which is loud and hectic as always, once the competition is over. Yuuri keeps himself to two glasses of champagne, mindful of the terrible hangover he had in Sochi last winter. Tonight he isn’t hunched in the corner, feeling shy and miserable, but it takes a different kind of bravery to make the rounds of the room on Victor’s arm.
Victor knows everyone, and everyone loves him. They smile at Yuuri too, friendly enough, but he sees it again and again, the puzzlement in their eyes. Why him?
Eventually he loses Victor to a crowd of ISU officials, and Phichit pulls him aside to play a game they made up years ago with buffet snacks and plastic cups, flicking them at the end of a table. Phichit, who won gold in his first major event of the year, and looks like he’s been wanting to get Yuuri alone all week.
“Are you…doing it?” he whispers, flicking a small cracker into the cup Yuuri’s holding. “With him?”
“No,” Yuuri hisses back, glancing around to make sure no one heard. “He’s my coach.”
“I still can’t believe that,” Phichit says, shaking his head. He flicks another cracker.
“Neither can anyone else,” Yuuri mutters.
Victor comes to find him at last, face lighting up when he sees Yuuri. That’s another thing Yuuri can’t get used to, the way Victor always seems to be so happy around him, because of him, even. All those years that Victor was a picture on his wall, a figure on the far side of the rink, and now he’s here with his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, eyes sparkling.
“Did you get enough to eat? Did you talk with the director? I know she wanted to speak with you…”
“I’m tired,” Yuuri says, moving out from under his grasp. He glances around again, feeling like everyone is looking at them, all wondering what Victor could be thinking. “I’m ready to go up to the room.”
“All right, if you’re sure,” Victor says. “Wait a moment and I’ll come with you.”
He strides off, raising his hand and addressing a short man in a suit. Yuuri can’t help noticing how well Victor’s own suit fits him, pulling tight across his broad shoulders when he lifts his arm.
Beside him, Phichit whistles. “Up to your room? Get it, Yuuri.”
Yuuri flushes. “It’s not like that.”
He hurries after Victor into the banquet room, going to wait by the door. There’s a table nearby, clustered with full champagne glasses, and he feels a pang of guilt as he snags one and drains it, fast. Three’s not so many for him. He barely feels it.
Then Victor comes back, and Yuuri feels everything.
They shared a room at the block competition. They’ve shared a room here too, the last few nights. There’s nothing different between then and now except three glasses of champagne, a silver medal, and the way Victor paraded him around the banquet room tonight, showing him off. The way Victor embraced him last night, and the heart-stopping certainty Yuuri had that it was going to be a kiss instead.
Victor hanging on his wall was easy. Across the ice, too. Now is the hard part, when Yuuri keeps feeling the right to something more, and just as strongly the sense that he should never ask, that just thinking it is too much. He didn’t have to risk anything with a picture, or an idol. Back then Victor just smiled.
Now Victor shuts the hotel room door behind them and reaches forward to take off Yuuri’s suit coat, fingers grasping Yuuri’s collar. Yuuri startles, but relaxes his shoulders and steps into the room, letting Victor pull the fabric down his arms. He turns, a little dizzy. “I’m sorry I didn’t, uh, circulate the room tonight, like you wanted me to.”
Victor’s already got the closet door open, hanging up Yuuri’s coat and his own, and his voice is muffled. “Don’t be sorry. I just hate to see you waste opportunities.”
Yuuri doesn’t even know what Victor means by that, not fully. Sponsors and federations are still a mystery to him; someone’s always offered just enough money to supplement what his parents can afford, and he’s able to keep going. He wouldn’t even know how to have the kind of career that Victor does.
“I just feel so awkward around people I don’t know well, even the other skaters.” Yuuri twists his hands, and it must be the champagne because he’s horrified to hear himself ask, “Do you think they like me?”
Victor sticks his head back out of the closet. “Well, I like you, so it doesn’t matter.”
Yuuri just stares at him, knowing his mouth is open. “Wait, what?”
“What?” Victor shuts the closet door. He pauses a moment, and Yuuri sees him swallow hard, throat working. “Yuuri, did you not know? What did you think?”
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