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Summary
“I guess I’m just trying to say, thanks for seeing something in me.”
Viktor hummed softly, folding an ankle over his knee. Then his elbow on his leg, and his chin settling in his hand. “Easy enough to accept someone sees something you don’t,” he said, his words lacking his typical playfulness. His gaze sharpened, honed in on Yuuri, and it made him squirm in more than a few ways. “But for this to work, Yuuri, for you to perform your best and win gold, I’d like you to see in you what I see, on your own terms, and in your own words.”
As always, the brutal honesty was like too much sunshine on a plant starved for water.
Ruthless in his own sweet way, Viktor continued, “Even if I’d come to you as the perfect coach, I could mold you, perhaps, but what shines through are your qualities, Yuuri. Your beauty, your passion. Your eros.”
His eros?
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Or, exploring a canonical timeline, moments where the sexual relationship between Viktor and Yuuri alter in big ways.