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The first sips of Yuuri’s coffee were life-bringing.
Sunday mornings were fast becoming his favorite part of every week. He breathed in the hint of cinnamon and cardamom Viktor had added to the grounds before his run. They woke up his senses enough to find the ingredients for breakfast, and as he poured a little more almond milk in his cup, adjusting the strength of the brew, he watched the liquid slosh and swirl, a simple morning meditation.
Normally, he’d be out running with his husband and Airedale terrier, Bronte, but a twisted ankle had him on light work for this particular cheat day, so he decided to get a head start on their extravagant cheat-day breakfast.
Buttermilk pancakes. Chocolate chips. Whipped cream and strawberries. His mouth watered just thinking about the final product. Coffee would have to do, but even the coffee begged as he sipped to be paired with something sweet and carby, something so delectably forbidden as to only happen once in a blue moon.
Sunday mornings were movie mornings. Neither man had any students, neither man had coachings. They scheduled around Sundays as best they could, because Sundays were a day for rest, recovery, and romance. It was something they decided upon mutually in an effort to enjoy life to its fullest. Viktor would come home and change back into his pajamas, the pancakes would be crafted and dressed up until they were too sinful to look at anymore, then they were devoured while Viktor and Yuuri watched through one movie each from their shared “To Show You” list.
This week was Breakfast At Tiffany’s and The Wind Rises , a pick of Viktor’s and one of Yuuri’s, and it was just cold enough that they’d need to bring the duvet into the living room for proper warm cuddles. Movie mornings were definitely about watching films, but they were also about maximum physical contact, the ultimate lazy snuggle. They hardly made it through one of their little marathons without moving from couch to floor to loveseat, just a tangle of limbs and laughs and love.
Yuuri pulled two eggs out of the fridge, along with the milk, buttermilk, and butter. He could make these pancakes in his sleep by now, and he has, teetering on the spot and hardly registering his actions until the meal was almost finished. Some sort of dreamy jazz-and-hip-hop mix was playing through the wireless speakers on the counter, and the sun was bright and warm, flooding into the room in long, slowly-shifting channels of light. He hoped Vitya was having a nice run. It looked beautiful out there.
“Dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way…”
The music made it all quite nice. Yuuri mixed the batter slowly, deliberately, stopping only to decide whether he wanted to use baking powder or baking soda and ultimately choosing both. He used more than the recommended amount of vanilla extract, the way his mother had taught him, but his real secret was in a special reserve jar he’d hidden in the back of the cupboard, a tightly-sealed container where he made use of discarded vanilla pods by tucking them into some white sugar to absorb their aroma. He only used this for coffee and small bakes like pancakes. It was easy to go through it too quickly, to have to re-make it and let it sit for long enough to get a good infusion, and that was only if Vitya didn’t know about it.
Vitya was a shameless sweet tooth. He referred to their movie mornings as ‘Sunday Sugar’. It took Yuuri a long time to realize how many meanings that phrase really had.
He was lucky enough to have cake flour on hand after a birthday party commission from one of the rink moms, and though he didn’t usually sift his dry ingredients for home baking, he couldn’t resist taking breakfast to the next level while Viktor was out.
While he was at it, he decided to give the egg whites a little whip, too, separating them out from their yolks once they’d warmed to room temperature and attacking them with a whisk until they were white and nebulous in the bowl. It would make the cakes so nice and airy; he couldn’t wait to see Viktor’s excited, heart-shaped smile when they were plated.
The trick to good pancakes, especially souffle pancakes, was mixing them well without over-mixing. It took a careful arrangement of whisking, scraping, and folding to get the batter fully incorporated, and even then Yuuri had to remind himself to tolerate a few lumps. They’d come out in cooking. He had to trust that it was okay to not overwork in pursuit of perfection. He’d learned that lesson over and over again since meeting Viktor.
He set up a station next to the stove: the bowl of batter, a cup measure to use as a scoop, a piece of parchment to set the batter-covered cup on after each scoop, and a little glass bowl of bittersweet chocolate chips.
He popped a few of those last in his mouth, a reward for being such a good breakfast cook. A brilliant house husband. So freaking domestic, and all with a bum ankle, and later he was going to get amazing head in return for it, he was sure. Sunday mornings were amazing. Sunday mornings with Viktor were more than anything Yuuri could have asked for. He watched the first scoop of batter bubble and spread as it went down in the pan, taking the moment’s wait to have another sip of delicious spiced coffee.
He’d gotten into baking on mere accident, a combination of stress and loneliness one week while Viktor was away teaching a masterclass in Canada. He’d come home from a day’s work at the rink, tired and tense, and with no one there to help him unwind, he’d turned to a popular ASMR baking channel on YouTube to help him relax. It hadn’t really even been intentional; he’d bounced around in his recommended videos, tried some game reviews and some music videos, but nothing had caught his eye until he’d caught sight of a beautiful, light pink layer cake with peeled peaches on top. The creator never showed his face. He was just two hands, working slowly and deliberately to make something so beautiful it was near perfection.
It was one of nearly 800 uploaded videos. Yuuri watched all of them with two days to spare before Viktor came home, so he filled the emptiness in the days that followed with baking attempts of his own. Viktor returned to about five dozen cookies and a large, fluffy cheesecake that was definitely not on either of their diets.
Not until Sunday, that is.
When it was almost time to flip, Yuuri started placing chocolate chips, enough to get more than one in each bite without overdoing it, spaced out evenly and melting into the batter as they warmed. Each side was its own little stage for the little hotcakes; each side rose slightly when on the heat, giving the cakes their signature white band in the middle. They were all about timing; Yuuri loved getting meticulous and making them even in color, even if no one ever noticed but him.
When the first pancake was finished, he wiped down the pan to remove all the lingering chocolate and made to pour his next portion, his cup measure heavy and heaping with the light, airy batter. The disc that he made in the pan bubbled and spread just like the first, but the bit that still clung to the cup began to drip as Yuuri pulled his hand back, and quickly he jerked his arm upward, positioning himself right beneath the droplet and licking up, cleaning the side in one swift motion without any mess or loss.
If pancakes were sinful, pancake batter must have been what made angels fall from heaven. It was such a guilty pleasure, one that Mari and Mom used to tut over as Yuuri and his father snuck fingerfuls from the sides of bowls and mixing spoons. Yuuri couldn’t help himself; he liked it, even if it was a relic of his life in Hasetsu, even if it was a memory from a time when no one worried about salmonella or raw flour.
“Mm! Smells delicious, my dove! I can’t w--”
The thump of the door closing and the jingle of Bronte’s tags as she bounded through the kitchen made him start, his finger frozen inside the batter-lined cup, already fishing out another bite. There was nowhere to hide; he’d been caught raw-handed, and the look of horror on Viktor’s face wasn’t going away.
This was it. Sunday was canceled. Emergency evacuation was in order. Yuuri did his best to blink out of existence.
“Yuu, are you eating--”
“Do you have to ask?” Yuuri sighed, popping his finger in his mouth anyway; he’d been caught, so he was beyond reproach at this point, right?
“Oh my god.”
Viktor’s voice was somewhere between a grimace and a giggle, and Yuuri could do nothing because Yuuri knew it was rightfully-earned. He was twenty-seven and licking the batter out of a measuring cup like some sort of pancake animal, and he’d been caught by not just his husband, but his beautiful , part-time model, full-time champion of an Olympian husband who’d once called him a pig to his face through a mouthful of fried pork.
It’d taken him years to be convinced that Viktor had meant it as an endearment, a compliment to the highest degree, because piggies were cute and his second favorite animal after dogs.
He couldn’t disappear, not with a pancake still on the burner, so instead he wiped his finger on his sweatpants and turned back to the stove, trying instead to will the past five seconds out of existence. Viktor had to have known; they couldn’t have made it four years without Viktor realizing he’d married a trash-loving scavenger of the finest of forbidden snacks. He knew Yuuri sipped an occasional coffee creamer, ate the odd spoonful of ketchup here and there. This could be the final straw in the sheer disgust that would finally push him away.
He gave extra attention to the chocolate chips this time around, meticulously spacing them out, not daring to look up lest he see the twist of disgust in Viktor’s expression.
As he grabbed the turner to flip the cake, Yuuri felt warmth at both his sides and then the press of Viktor’s body against his back as he was enveloped in a tight hug. Viktor smelled like a morning run, musky and just a little too hot.
“Oh my god, you are so cute when you cook,” Viktor whined, pressing the words into Yuuri’s neck as he spoke, his face still prickly with pre-shower stubble. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
“So… what?” Yuuri laughed. “I’m pretty sure you just watched me eat pancake batter.”
“Yes, and now I can’t stop thinking about your lips as you did that, and how so very you it was, and how excited I am to eat strawberry pancakes with you under the duvet.”
“Really, anything you want to do under the duvet, I’m okay with,” Yuuri mumbled, turning in Viktor’s arms to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Viktor grinned, his fingertips peeking just under the hem of Yuuri’s sleep shirt, cold enough to make Yuuri jump.
“Stop! Go shower!” he squeaked, rubbing his sides where Viktor had touched. “If this pancake burns, it’ll be yours!”
“I like them burnt,” Viktor said with a smirk, turning to hang up Bronte’s leash. “Besides, you’re the one who kissed me. ”
Yuuri turned back to the stove just in time to avoid burning, and he portioned another one out, this time making sure to just return the drippings to the bowl. “If you give me a few more minutes, I’ll finish these two and come for a shower with you.”
Viktor’s face lit up. “I could ask for nothing more,” he said, his voice soft and low. “I can think of no better way to start my Sunday.”
Yuuri couldn’t, either. He watched Viktor skip off to the bedroom, one last look of excitement cast over his shoulder, before hunching over the bowl and sneaking another quick lick of sweet, fluffy batter.
No shame in it. Together, he and Viktor were learning how to enjoy life to its fullest. That’s what Sunday Sugar was all about.