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The water’s pleasantly warm against his naked skid, and Victor’s heated gaze makes him all the warmer. Whenever Yuuri would be bathed at the zoo, punctually ushered out of the woodland exhibit by one handler or another, that handler—usually Phichit—would turn around while Yuuri stripped and settled in. But Victor watched Yuuri slowly drag Victor’s own sweater over his head, after he’d quietly told Victor: “Watch me.” Sometimes when they’re together, Victor’s confidence spills into Yuuri’s body, and he directs it right back at the only human he’s ever wanted.
Then he settled down into the water, and Victor knelt down beside him, grinning broadly and eyeing Yuuri up. Yuuri feels like a particularly tasty sapling growing deep inside the forest, and Victor’s the hungry serow come to gobble him up. In this case, Yuuri doesn’t mind.
He closes his eyes as Victor starts the ritual—massaging odorless ‘shampoo’ into Yuuri’s hair. Victor’s long fingers are careful around the stray tufts of his ears and the hard lines of his horns, threading through the black strands all around them. Yuuri’s glasses are already set aside, so there’s nothing else between him and Victor, nothing for Victor’s hands to catch on. They brush Yuuri’s messy bangs across his forehead, and Victor hums, “I may have to cut this soon.”
Yuuri nods agreeably. He doesn’t care how he wears his coat—only that he looks good for Victor. He always let Phichit groom him however the patrons might like, but now Victor’s the only audience that matters, and he trusts Victor’s judgment. Victor finishes with the shampoo, only for Yuuri to whine when his skilled hands withdraw. Then Victor’s scooping up tiny puddles to pour over Yuuri’s head, and Yuuri obediently tilts back to let it slide down his neck and spine.
Victor’s cabin is a cozy little place, particularly so in the cramped bathroom, where they work in silence. Sometimes they do play music—either just the radio or whatever piece Victor wants to skate to next, sometimes what he wants Yuuri to skate to, and Victor always finds the most heartfelt songs. Yuuri never knew much of music before Victor, and he never cared much for it until he heard Victor humming Russian jingles around the house. Now he enjoys it, but he enjoys the silence too, filled only with the gentle splash of bathwater and the steady thrum of Victor’s breath. As Victor moves a bar of soap to Yuuri’s chest, he purrs, “Tell me if I’m scrubbing you too hard.”
Yuuri sighs happily—Victor always scrubs him just right. It feels so good to have Victor touch him like this, so intimately and yet so peaceful. It’s different than when Phichit used to scrub him clean, but it’s also different than when he lies in Victor’s bed at night. Yuuri has his knees pulled up to his chest, but he lets them go and moves them back to give Victor more room. Victor dips the soap beneath the water, tracing Yuuri’s stomach, and Yuuri glances over to Victor’s lips—they look just as warm.
Yuuri leans across the space, mewling his want, and Victor answers. He’s given a soft kiss while the soap still moves. When Yuuri nuzzles his face into the crook of Victor’s neck, he’s careful not to soak Victor too much; Yuuri’s hair is still damp, and it still needs conditioner. Bathing, at least, is something he’s learned well.
He murmurs across Victor’s throat, “Thank you for this.” He means it for every time.
Victor chuckles and tells him, “Not at all. I love any excuse to see you in your glory, and to touch everything... and to care for you...” Yuuri blushes, just as much from Victor’s promising tone as the words. With his free hand, Victor captures Yuuri’s chin, and he tilts Yuuri in for a much deeper kiss, his tongue tracing the entirety of Yuuri’s eager mouth.
Yuuri’s the first away, because he’s smelled something in the doorway—and sure enough, Chris has wandered by. They never bothered to close the washroom door before, because there was only ever just the two of them, and other handlers often walked in while Yuuri was with Phichit anyway. Chris doesn’t go on about his duty as they always did—he tilts his head and looks at them, handsome face tinged with faint concern. He asks, “Should I rescue you, Yuuri? I always hate it when my master makes me bathe.” It’s the first time Yuuri’s ever heard Chris profess to dislike something, and his lilting voice still sounds as strangely alluring as it does when he speaks of things he loves.
But Yuuri, blushing thicker, admits, “I like it.” It isn’t even just having Victor touch him—it’s that feeling of being taken care of. He can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t like it, at least, not if they really liked the person washing them. But then, cats are very different animals.
Yuuri glances at Victor, expecting him to explain how good it is, but instead, Victor pouts. It’s both comical and adorable. He demands of Chris, “You don’t think I give good baths?”
Chris answers Victor’s silly question with a silly smile, chuckling, “I’m sure you give excellent baths, but I’d rather feel your hands on my body when they’re dry.” Before Yuuri can react, Chris looks to him and winks, adding, “Or your hands, Yuuri.” And then he’s turning, wandering off again, out of view, to do whatever it is cats do with all their time.
Shaking his head, Victor gets up and moves to shut the door. Then he returns to Yuuri’s side, grants Yuuri another kiss, and breaks out the conditioner.