Chapter Text
On days like these Javier is dead sure Yuzuru Hanyu is terrible at painting. He would assume, a plain wall is a decent canvas for a starter house re-decorator but it seems like he's been mistaken yet again. One thing he's happy about though, is that it never gets boring like this.
By the time Javier comes back from a late night emergency trip to IKEA to salvage lost parts of their kitchen table, Yuzuru's desperate want to have proper human breakfast as he calls it being the reason, he finds his boyfriend engaging in what looks like the hardest activity on Earth.
"Did you purposely splash paint all over your legs?"
Yuzuru doesn't seem to be phased by his words, throwing a mere glimpse at his now mocha-splattered calves and shrugging.
Sometimes Javier thinks the guy who used to have a murderous gaze on his face whenever he stepped on the competition ice and this boy who looks like he just found a paint puddle in his kitchen and decided to dance in it can't be the same person.
"You're really hopeless sometimes." He sighs, settling the box by the opposite wall. Yuzuru hums in response, cocking the hand armed with paintbrush towards the Spaniard. A splatter of pastel paint lands on the kitchen floor.
"Mean. It's fun." His lips are puckered as he sticks out his tongue in Javier's direction. The wild brush continues dripping, splashes of paint landing on Yuzuru's feet and in a puddle forming on the floor.
"Oh god, please stop."
Javier's eyes widen in horror when he notices the terrible waste of precious house maintenance material he spent his savings on.
"Put down the brush." He's carefully eyeing the Japanese boy, steps towards him attentive and slow. For a second he feels like a mouse being hunted by a cheeky cat.
A sly smile appears on Yuzuru's face as he notices Javier's tense body language. The cat is definitely winning so far.
"Why?"
So it's going to be like that, Javier musters. Ever since he started to get to know Yuzuru, he knew about this thing of his. There was always a spark in his eyes, the raw competitiveness seeping through his pale skin, and posture ready to fight even if it was only a silly bet over a can of Pepsi. Throughout those years Javier has learnt not to give in, too.
"Because that's basically liquid gold covering our kitchen floor, sweetheart."
On that moment he's more than glad they had a clear film spread out all over the room, just in case. This particular case in front of him looks very much ready to wreck havoc just about now.
"Get rid of that death stick and I might just come give you a kiss." Javier is so close to his goal he can practically taste the victory. "Please."
It's probably because Yuzuru is really longing for that kiss or he is just genuinely done with this thing he considers painting that he gives up so easily, Javier thinks. The moment of peace ends when he hears the wet paintbrush hitting the wooden floor and his eyes go shut in terror. Of course, what else did he expect.
The paint streak flies an impressive meter forward, landing just a few inches short of Javier's suede shoes. Yuzuru's expression is stuck somewhere between fear and complete amusement.
"I swear, if this wasn't you," taking no more second chances, Javier leaps towards his boyfriend. Arms wrapping around the lanky waist and those noodly hands caged beneath his own, he's finally safe to breathe. "I would've literally kicked your ass and burned your Poohs."
Yuzuru seems unimpressed by the obviously meaningless threat, closer to a giggle than wanting to apologise for anything whatsoever.
"Death stick? Seriously?" He's eyeing Javier in disbelief now, and the man can feel laughter bubbling inside his chest.
"In your hands, dear, that's a whole nuclear missile."
Yuzuru bursts into a laughing fit and Javier smiles into his hair, fingers poking at his sides. The sudden movement makes the boy jump in his arms.
"You're so bad,“ Yuzuru‘s giggling while he speaks and Javi threads his fingers through his hair with a fond smile.
"Not worse than you at painting."
Yuzuru's staring up at him through his eyelashes, a pout on his lips looking like an invitation. Javier doesn‘t hesitate much before leaning in.
The kiss is languid and warm, soft and caring, coming from deep within. They smile as their lips part and reunite again, and Yuzuru chuckles as he deepens the kiss, pulling Javier incredibly closer. It's almost nighttime now, but the Spaniard feels like he's basking in sunshine.
Yuzuru is everything to him, from clueless to precious, wild to tamed, bright to mysterious. He's smiling now, head quirked to left and eyes glistening in the white light. His body is soft, leaning against Javier's frame and fingers holding onto his t-shirt slightly. He‘s no gold medal or eternal goal, yet to Javier Yuzuru looks happier than he's ever seen.
"You're pretty today,“ the words are so simple, but Yuzuru's voice makes them sound like a hidden confession.
Sometimes Javier still finds himself wondering why this person chose him. Sometimes he‘s wondering why he settled down for him. So many things could still be reached, so many heights conquered. It made Javier confused but at the same time his heart would flutter at the thought in pride. Sometimes he would laugh to himself because Yuzuru made him feel bigger yet again, all by simply loving him.
Everything about this is so precious to him, be it the mess at his feet, paint specks drying on Yuzuru‘s bare legs, the warm embrace or merely the idea of being able to call this home.
„Thank you, Yuzu,“ he speaks silently, a content expression on his face. „You‘re always pretty though. Even if you‘re standing in half a bucket of wall paint.“
Yuzuru‘s nose scrunches at the Spaniard‘s words and he pulls away from the embrace to pick up the long forgotten paint brush. Pose ready, he aims the drying tip at Javier‘s face.
„Careful with words, I‘m armed.“
He takes a cautious step towards the man, swinging the brush towards his face with the skill of a swordsman. The image of Yuzuru as a cat prowling for its prey makes its way back to Javier‘s mind.
„No mercy today. Meet your doom, Fernandez.“
Yuzuru gets even closer, the semi-wet paint getting dangerously close to Javier‘s cheek. A sly smirk is plastered on his lips as he takes a sharp swing. A mocha colored streak appears on the tip of the Spaniard‘s nose.
Normally, Javier would not let this slip through his fingers and take the matters into his own hands. He would try to steal the damned brush and throw it away, probably doing more damage than this wild kid did on his own. He would catch his lanky arms and tackle him in a hug, just to prove who‘s stronger.
And yet, the sight in front of him makes him want to snicker more than anything else. Yuzuru is standing in an overly defensive pose, clad only in an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers, legs dappled in paint and feet smudged in the puddles he made all over the floor. A loud growl of Yuzuru‘s stomach finally makes Javier crack up.
„Ugh,“ the boy grumbles, rubbing his tummy. Clearly dissatisfied in the outcome of his game, he pokes Javier in demand. „Need food. Javi cooks because I worked all day.“
The man raises his eyebrows in question.
„Really? I just went on a late night trip to IKEA to buy your majesty a table and all you did was a rain dance in the kichen. If anyone is cooking the redemption dinner, it‘s you.“
Javier can see the want to argue so clear on Yuzuru‘s face, eyes glaring at his boyfriend with all the might contained in his body. A salvatory thought comes Javier‘s mind, saving him from the wrath that is about to be unleashed.
„Okay, how about we order a take out?“ the grumpy gaze immediatly shifts to a curious one. „Pizza? Chinese, sushi? Whichever you like.“
There‘s not much to be considered at this point and Yuzuru nods his head eagerly.
„Pizza tonight.“
„Okay, honey, since I came up with this glorious idea, you do the call,“ Javier exclaims, spinning on his heel and making his way to the living room. „And put down that god damn brush, it scares me.“
***
The alarm clock on the counter reads 1:38 AM as the two settle on their makeshift bed in the living room, an old movie re-run on TV, an empty Pizza Hut box on the floor, and the IKEA box long forgotten. The pastel dot on Javier's nose is still visible and Yuzuru has scrubbed most of the color off his calves. His head is getting weary against Javier's chest as he feels the muffled noises from the screen lulling him to a peaceful slumber.
Sure, Yuzuru Hanyu might not be a god in everything he does, but Javier likes it that way. As he turns the TV off and pulls the cover over the boy's shoulders, he feels happy.