Works in Challenges/Collections
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In which Makkachin eats Victor’s skate lace just before his first Grand Prix assignment, and Victor needs to manage.
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When Victor was not quite four years old, he made a bargain with a minor deity. He could, for the rest of his life, win at anything. In return, no human would ever come to love him.
There is only one way to break the bargain—a magical kiss from the exact right person. Victor has been looking for that exact right kiss all his life, but now that he’s found Yuuri, the matter has taken on some urgency. He knows who he wants to kiss for the rest of his life, but before he can get there, he’s going to have to kiss someone else first…
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Victor has never told anyone that he’s a seagull shifter, which is a perfectly natural thing to be and actually really useful for cross-training as a figure skater, thank you. It’s never really come up, but it turns out that seagulls mate for life, and Yuuri is becoming more and more important to him…
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Yuuri wakes up in Victor’s room the night after the Sochi Grand Prix Final banquet. Did they sleep together? No. Instead, last night, Drunk Yuuri taunted Victor that he hadn’t earned the right to get in his pants…and spelled out exactly what Victor would have to do to get there.
Now, Victor intends to do everything on that list…
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“The conversation,” Victor says, “went something like this. You said I wasn’t getting in your pants that easily.”
Victor says this in a normal tone of voice. Anyone could hear him. Yuuri looks around, but if anyone is paying attention, they’re pretending not to.
“Naturally, I asked what I would have to do to get in your pants.”
“Ah.” Yuuri blushes. “How embarrassing. What do you mean, naturally? Why would you ask that?”
Victor tilts his head. “Because I want to get in your pants. I thought that much was obvious by now.”
~
Note: Yuuri is not in a great headspace post Sochi Grand Final, and this fic necesssarily touches on mental health issues so please check the tags.
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As chief communications officer on board the Interstellar Alliance Fleet’s Star Ship Victory, Yuuri doesn’t have to think about who he actually is on his home planet. He just has to listen to his captain, do his job, and…not fall in love with his best friend, the ship’s science officer, Victor Nikiforov.
Well. Two out of three’s not bad.
Then his mother calls with the worst possible news: She, the Empress of New Nihon, has arranged Yuuri’s marriage.
There’s only one thing Yuuri can do: Fake a boyfriend, and fake one fast. Who better/worse to play that role than the friend he wishes was more? What can go wrong? It’s not like Yuuri can fall more in love... -
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Victor learns Japanese while in Hasetsu. He doesn't tell Yuuri, and things get dicey when he overhears Yuuri and Mari talking about him in Japanese. Repeatedly.
(The subtitle of this fic should be: Victor Nikiforov really needs a hug. Luckily, he gets one. Eventually.)
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“No,” Victor says, skating up to Yuuri on the ice, “you have to push all the way from here, or you’ll never get the height you need for that axel.” He sets his hand on Yuuri’s ass, tracing the muscle group he’s referring to. “Not here.” He taps Yuuri’s thigh. He doesn’t know the words for the muscles in English, only knows how to show him.
Yes, technically he’s grabbing Yuuri’s ass, but how else is he to communicate?
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AU. Before the Grand Prix Final starts in Sochi, Yuuri finds Victor's phone. He returns it--and hijinks and heavy flirtation ensue.
(Just about everything that happens at the Sochi GPF happens here, so if something that happens there might bother you, check the tags?)
Now with bonus epilogue!
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Yuuri hated looking at pictures of himself. His hair had started sticking up again. And he had that horrible star-struck smile on his face. Plus, he was blushing, and blushing always made him look so young.
“Aaaaaah.” Yuuri winced. “I look so…”
Victor winked at him. “Cute!”
Before Yuuri could protest, Victor dropped the photo into Instagram and started typing a caption.
My champion! I thought I lost my phone this morning, but look who returned it? Our very own…
Yuuri watched as Victor’s agile thumbs (so agile, and no, he was not going to think about what else Victor could do with them) stopped moving. That fan-struck part of him that had been screaming mentally in the back of his mind came to a slow halt.
Victor didn’t know his name.
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AU in which Yuuri still doesn’t remember the banquet, somehow doesn’t blow Japanese Nationals, runs into Victor at the World Championships, and has absolutely no idea why his idol is suddenly friendly and incredibly handsy.
Does Yuuri care about his reasons? No. It’s Victor Effing Nikiforov.
Basically this is an excuse for total fluff.
And porn.And shit-talking with bonus smut. (Edited for accuracy.) Happy birthday, Victor.~~
Victor turned back to him, supernova smile in place once more. “I really, really like you. Promise you’ll still dance with me at the banquet if you take gold this time around.”
Yuuri stared at the man. He looked at their entwined hands—he hadn’t wanted to pull away—and their thighs, pressed together despite there being plenty of room in the backseat of the cab. That scent of Victor’s cologne—just a dab, lightly applied somewhere on his neck—swirled around him. This was too real to be a dream, too physical for him to have imagined it.
“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said slowly. “But…have we talked before?”