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Yuuri wants his vacation to end, and it’s only the first day.
The night is young, the first day of his vacation not even complete, but he’s underestimated Victor’s fanaticism for, well, everything. Fukuoka is a large city, and Victor had been oddly determined to visit every major attraction the moment their train had pulled into the station. It had been impossible, of course, and it took a lot of reassurance from Yuuri to convince Victor that, yes yes Ohori Park isn’t going to suddenly get rid of their swan boats.
He slouches over his food bowl, staring listlessly at the remains of his creamy pork ramen, and ponders ordering seconds. Anything to soak up the beer Victor keeps pouring for him. The prospect of not having to run a few extra kilometers to make up for it is way more appealing.
“Yuuri!” Victor drunkenly tips his head until it rests on Yuuri’s shoulder, and turns his face into the crook of Yuuri’s throat, breath blowing hot on his skin. The food stall’s owner and its patrons all pointedly avert their eyes from the scene. “Wow! You smell so good!”
The tips of Yuuri’s ears grow warm. “Thank you, Victor,” he mumbles. “You smell like ramen and beer.” He slouches even more and Victor slings an arm over his shoulders. Nuzzles his nose against Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri thinks Victor even places a kiss in the divot of his collar, but there’s no way Victor would go that far in public.
“Excuse me?” The lady on the other side of Victor prompts. “You were talking about the choreography?”
“Right!” Victor straightens up and preens with puppy-like enthusiasm at the woman, arm dropping off Yuuri. “More beer?” Victor asks, refilling Yuuri’s empty tumbler without turning, without waiting for a response. “So, for Yuuri’s short program, I chose the theme eros—”
Yuuri drowns out another one of Victor’s embarrassing conversations, grabs the full glass, and downs the beer in two gulpis. He watches Victor’s slender fingers trace the rim of his own glass, until he notices the lady is watching them as well.
“Victor…” he starts, trying to interrupt as politely as possible, wondering if this vacation is worth it when they could be soaking in the tubs at home right now. Victor doesn’t hear him, too engrossed in discussing every technical aspect of his brilliant choreographies, and Yuuri resists the urge to dash back to the hotel by himself.
A light touch on his back. Victor’s arm returns to settle around Yuuri’s shoulders, and his cheeks warm up. Of course Victor had heard him. He feels silly for trying to interrupt their conversation.
Fingers run through the finer hairs at his nape and card upwards. Yuuri’s eyes drift shut and he melts into Victor’s side, inhaling Victor’s perfume — sweet and refreshing and so familiar. Warmth slowly fills Yuuri up, stirring in his chest and spreading through his stomach and throat and to the tips of his toes and fingers, yet he shivers under the soothing touches.
The ministrations pause — Yuuri almost groans in frustration — and then continue again, nails scratching down his scalp, hand cupping the back of his neck, knuckles digging and kneading into his spine. Yuuri sighs happily, because this is his type of vacation, but then Victor’s hand slips all the way down and around, coming to rest on Yuuri’s thigh.
Yuuri sucks in a breath, waiting for a teasing squeeze or a tease up the seam of his pants. He glances down when the hand doesn't move though, and Victor’s hand is palm facing up, fingers wiggling in invitation.
He accepts, intertwining his fingers with Victor’s, and savors the tiny upward curl of Victor’s lips.
“May I have your autograph?” The lady asks quite loudly, and Yuuri bolts upright, looking to Victor for confirmation.
Victor’s fingers tighten around Yuuri’s. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Official fansigns only. Yuuri!” He loosens his grip, sliding his palm out from under Yuuri’s, and claps twice. “Let’s go try more food!” He stands suddenly to bow, at the chef and the other patrons, and Yuuri scrambles to do the same.
“Okay.” The row of food stalls along the river seem endless and Yuuri holds in a grimace as he follows Victor back into the foray to find more food.
“How about dessert?” A little knot forms between Victor’s brows, but it smooths over just as quickly as it had appeared. “Cake? Ice cream? Taiyaki?”
“I think we’ll have an easier time finding dango out here,” says Yuuri thoughtfully.
The liquor has done nothing to flag Victor’s energy, and for once Yuuri struggles to keep up, letting himself be tugged this way and that. It’s unseasonably warm, and Victor pauses for a moment to unbutton the top of his oxford and fan at the sweat beading down his chest.
Yuuri tries not to stare.
“Yuuri,” whines Victor, “So hot.”
“You are,” replies Yuuri without thinking, and squeaks as Victor grabs him and hoists him into the air.
“So cute!” Victor coos, laughing sweetly and spinning him around a few times before dropping him to the ground.
“There’s the dango stall,” Yuuri says, perfectly steady after years of pirouettes. “Oh! No no no. I’m going to get fat again!” He frowns as Victor rushes ahead, ignoring him.
“Then, we will share one! This is your vacation, Yuuri!” Handing over a coin, Victor selects a skewer and practically skips back to Yuuri, flourishing the dango like a magic wand. “Eat!”
Obediently, Yuuri does, clasping Victor’s wrist so his eyes aren’t poked out, and bites the first gooey treat off the stick. Sweetened red bean bursts in his mouth, and the taste is so good that he slaps his hands to his face and drags his cheeks downwards. “So good,” he moans, licking his lips.
Victor’s eyes widen.“What?” Yuuri asks cautiously, quickly letting go of his wrist.
“That good, yes?” Victor leans in, mouth closing in on Yuuri’s — breath hot and sweet with beer, Yuuri swears his heart skips a beat — but Victor’s other hand comes up at the last moment to brush at Yuuri’s cheek. “A sesame seed. One more?”
“You eat one too,” insists Yuuri, and Victor delicately tears the next piece off with his teeth, chewing it with a thoughtful expression. “It’s good, yeah? I really like the sesame seeds; they taste so good with the red bean! But hanami dango is my favorite because of the pretty colors, but we can only get it in the…” He trails off, fingers twitching.
“In the?” Victor urges, leaning forward again.
“In the springtime. For the flower viewing season.”
“Hmmmm. We will have to be patient then,” says Victor, as if eating hanami dango with Yuuri next year is infallible. “The last is yours,” he continues, plucking the dango off the skewer and bringing it to Yuuri’s mouth.
Yuuri takes the dango into his mouth, slowly, between hollowed lips, tongue curling briefly around Victor’s fingers, and pulls away after seeing Victor’s satisfied smile.
“Delicious,” Yuuri says weakly.
“Perfect! More dessert?” Victor suggests, and nearly darts out of Yuuri’s reach, but Yuuri is quicker. He grabs Victor’s elbow and jerks him back. “Hmmm? We can always find ways for you to burn off the calories if you’re worried.”
Yuuri’s face burns. “I’m—” He sighs, taps a toe against the ground, and bites his lip. “I think I’m sleepy?”
“Wow, where is your stamina, Yuuri? Did I wear you out today? Do you want to stay in tomorrow? Do you want to go to sleep? I can always carry you back to the hotel~”
“No!” Yuuri exclaims, and claps a hand over his mouth.
"Yu~u~ri,” Victor sing-songs quietly and crosses his arms. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I just—!” Yuuri steps forward, entwines a hand around the hem of Victor’s oxford, averting his gaze from the sweat at Victor’s throat. “I just really want to go back. To relax.” He gestures hopelessly at the surrounding crowd. “Alone. With you.”
He waits for a surprised gasp or a bemused quip. For Victor to once again run off on a tangent. For everything he’s been daydreaming of since they sat for dinner to be crushed. He tightens his grip on the hem of the shirt, and he waits.
A finger hooks under his chin and tilts his head back. A kiss, daring and fleeting, presses to the corner of his lips. Victor’s fringe covers most of his eyes, but the contemplative pout of his lips and scrunch of his nose is unmistakable.
Yuuri holds his breath.
Victor gently pries Yuuri’s hand off his shirt and spins him around. “As my prince wishes,” he whispers into the shell of Yuuri’s ear, sending tiny little shivers up Yuuri’s spine again. He nudges Yuuri in the direction of their hotel.
Just as he does at home in Hasetsu, Victor exuberantly greets the other strolling tourists. Yuuri is used to it, as much as he is with Victor’s incessant friendliness and living in the limelight of diehard fans. But now, he feels restless. Every startled glance or starry-eyed stare thrown Victor’s way just makes Yuuri wish Victor would stay quiet for once.
Yuuri keeps his face slightly downcast and peeks up through his fringe. He wants to fiddle with his phone, or close his eyes, or do anything to shut out the scrutiny that inevitably slides from Victor to him. Yuuri isn’t performing, he isn’t skating, he’s just walking. So why can’t they just keep their curious eyes on Victor?
“Good evening!” Victor beams at a passing older gentleman glaring at them.
It can be worse, Yuuri realizes with trepidation, when he notices a trio of beautiful women staring at Victor, giggling and covertly pointing at the tall, handsome foreigner strolling under the moonlight. They don’t glance at Yuuri at all, and after all, why should they? The night’s drinking has left a blush high on Victor’s cheeks and a playful gleam in his eyes, accentuating the pleasant natural charm of his features.
He is beautiful, and Yuuri’s chest tightens.
“You want to hold onto me, yes?” Victor breaks Yuuri’s reverie, dipping his head down to peer under Yuuri’s fringe.
Startled, Yuuri blinks owlishly at him, stomach churning at the question. “Yes?”
“Good!” Victor smiles broadly at his response, and reaches out to Yuuri, capturing his hand and lacing their fingers together. Victor swings their hands in shallow arcs and begins to hum a cheerful tune befitting of the evening festivities along the boardwalk.
Yuuri feels the tightness in his chest surge. The handholding is seemingly innocuous; they have done more brazen things in public, like holding a hug for a bit longer than what is expected or Victor pecking his cheeks in salutations and celebrations. The sneaky kisses Victor had placed against his throat and lips.
Yuuri is sure that every passerby can sense the unabashed flush of his cheeks, the haste of every stuttering breath, the wild thudding of his heart.
He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. Like this, at least, he can focus on the warmth of Victor’s palm in his. He briefly squeezes Victor’s hand and sends him a cautious smile, even though Victor is busy taking in the sights of the city’s nightlife.
Yuuri nearly faceplants the ground when Victor suddenly veers off the riverside, their clasped hands the only thing keeping him upright, and he's pulled across the street during a lull in traffic. His heart nearly stops in terror.
“Victor! The crosswalk!” Fortunately, they’re not hit by a car, and Victor leads them into a narrow alleyway, darkened by the towering buildings and lack of neon signs. A passage, to cut through the busy intersection, but empty as of the moment.
Victor gently pushes Yuuri against the concrete wall and his hands come up to frame Yuuri’s cheeks. Yuuri’s brain short-circuits and the world spins into a dizzy as Victor leans in.
“Can I kiss you?” Victor asks intensely, pupils blown under half-lidded eyes.
Yuuri merely nods, not trusting himself to speak. Not with Victor looking at him like that.
And so Victor leans in, and kisses like everything else he does: skillfully, seductively, spellcasting magic to captivate any audience.
It’s feather-soft at first, sampling the bow of Yuuri’s lips and caressing delicately over his bottom one. He feels the stubble on Victor’s chin brush against his own smooth skin, and then hands slide back to thread in Yuuri’s hair, tilting his head up. Yuuri’s heart is still hammering away in his chest, but he molds against Victor and twists his hands into the collar of Victor’s shirt.
Yuuri has always known how to kiss like this, in theory, but it has always been an act that he could never quite see himself participating in. Until Victor came along. Victor and the earthy aroma of his favorite beer. Victor and the remnants of red bean at the corner of his lips. Victor and his magnetism and ingenuity that served to validate Yuuri’s years of yearning.
Victor curves into him, presses close, and Yuuri opens up under the tongue seeking along the seam of his mouth.
(They are in public. Anyone could walk by.) Victor licks into his mouth. (He should keep his eyes open and lips shut.) Yuuri curls his own tongue around Victor’s. (Should push him away and continue to the hotel.) He tugs Victor closer by his shirt. Angles his head to deepen the kiss. Answers Victor’s muffled moan with a desperate whimper.
Yuuri is sure that without the wall to his back he would have already sagged to the ground. He’s hyper aware of Victor’s hands tightening in his hair. The way Victor’s legs interlock with his. The way Victor rocks back when Yuuri’s hips helplessly roll forward. The way Victor steals a tiny whine from Yuuri’s throat.
Time turns hazy and indeterminate, and the only awareness Yuuri settles into is Victor, Victor, Victor, his hands slipping from Yuuri’s hair to under Yuuri’s shirt to slide hot on his skin, wet lips on his neck and teeth down his throat, down and down, the blood rushing in his ears as Victor sucks and nibble at his collarbone.
“Yuuri,” he whispers, voice cracking, against Yuuri’s shoulder. The sounds of their heavy breaths penetrate the relative silence of the alleyway. Yuuri tries to pull him back in for another kiss, but Victor keeps Yuuri firmly at a distance. “Let’s hurry to the hotel,” he says with a throaty laugh.
Tinkling music plays from the pocket of Victor’s pants, and Victor's red, swollen lips become pronounced as he forms a perfect pout. “Ah. A moment.” He steps out of Yuuri’s space, but not before brushing a finger across Yuuri’s lips, wiping away the saliva that had collected there. “Breathe,” he winks and pulls the phone from his pocket.
“My friend!” Victor gives Yuuri an apologetic look as he brings the phone up to his ear. “Lev! How are you!” Victor switches to brisk Russian, and Yuuri lets the looping intonations wash over him as he slowly breathes in. Breathes out. Shifts around to covertly adjust his pants.
Enthusiasm must run in Victor’s circles of friends, for through the tinny sound of the speaker, his friend sounds equally emphatic. Victor listens attentively at whatever his friend is saying; it’s cute, the way his eyes light up in delight with obvious affection, but then those same eyes slide back to meet Yuuri’s and they narrow, focusing on something Yuuri can’t see.
What, Yuuri mouths, but Victor shakes his head, lips upturned at the corners, and circles his free hand around Yuuri’s arm. He tugs Yuuri away from the wall and heads out of the alley, continuing in the direction of their hotel. Once he ensures that Yuuri is following him, he lets go of Yuuri’s arm to gesturing animatedly while he talks.
Adrenaline is coursing through Yuuri, and he wants to grab Victor by the hand and race to the hotel. It’s only a few more blocks; he can make it, he can make it like this, wound up, coiled up, ready to spring at the lightest touch.
“Bye bye~” Victor trills, even cutely waving at his phone as he thumbs off the call and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. “How are you, Yuuri?”
Yuuri clears his throat and hopes for enough articulation to give Victor an appropriate answer. “Yes.”
There’s an amused snort, a hand back in his, “Come, Yuuri,” and a quickened pace in Victor’s guiding steps as the hotel emerges in view.
Yuuri keeps his hands to himself in the lobby, in the elevator, in the corridor. He wants to reach out, to hold Victor, to reassure himself that Victor is just as wanting and willing. His cheeks burn in remembrance of their debauchery in the alleyway; the least he can do is wait for the privacy of their room.
The door doesn’t unlock when Victor swiftly swipes their key card. Yuuri bites his lip. If their card is deactivated, Yuuri has no idea how he can face the hotel staff while they prepare a new one. Victor swipes again with a puzzled frown, and then again, before fumbling and dropping the card altogether. He mutters something under his breath and bends to pick it up, turning gracefully to face Yuuri.
“Ah,” he says with a sad look.
Yuuri holds out a hand for the card and swipes it evenly across the reader. The green light flashes. The door clicks open. Victor plucks the card back, and they’re in.
Yuuri stands at the entrance, slips off his shoes, and watches Victor do the same with his back to him. When Yuuri doesn’t follow him towards the bed, Victor turns and tilts his head questioningly.
He stands there, feeling stupid, eyes flickering from Victor’s face to the satin sheets. He suppresses the urge to run away, to leap into Victor’s arms, or — the most forefront idea — to crumple to the floor right there.
Victor walks forward — slowly, deliberately — and runs a finger across the arm of Yuuri’s glasses. “May I?” He says with a short bow of his head.
“Yes,” Yuuri says around the lump in his throat, and before Victor can remove them he reaches up to do it himself, carefully pulling off the frame and handing it over. He’s not entirely blind, the edges of his world now just as fuzzy as his mind, and he waits, frozen, until Victor returns again.
“Are you okay,” asks Victor very quietly.
“Yes,” replies Yuuri too quickly.
Victor pushes the fringe out of Yuuri’s face, smoothing the hair back out of Yuuri’s eyes. “So soft,” he smiles and drops a kiss on Yuuri’s forehead. “You’ll tell me, yes? If you are not okay.”
“I want—” Yuuri unfurls his hands, not even remembering when he had curled them into fists, and sucks in a ragged breath. “I want you.”
“Me too!” Victor chirps, and Yuuri almost giggles at his outburst. “I want you too,” he says more softly.
Victor lets go of his hair and turns to the bed. Yuuri’s mouth goes dry as Victor starts unbuttons the rest of his oxford, slip from his shoulders, and tosses it to the floor without looking where it lands.
“Come,” he beckons, and Yuuri stares at the toned muscles stretching across Victor’s back and at the slim band of briefs peeking up from his jeans. It’s sight that he will never tire of, Yuuri thinks, and that thought thrills him, sends a chill up his spine, and he shakes his head to clear his mind.
He follows, and Victor falls to the edge of the bed, sitting straight and pulling Yuuri to stand between his knees. “Kiss me.” Victor’s hand comes up to cup Yuuri’s jaw, palm gliding across his cheekbone. Up to lightly tug at the hair at Yuuri’s nape. Down again to run a thumb across Yuuri’s lips. “Please?”
“Where?” Yuuri breathes out, falling forward and tipping Victor back with a gentle push. They hadn’t bothered to turn on the lamps in the room, but the city lights reflecting through the window is enough to illuminate a shine in Victor’s eyes. Yuuri leans over him, trembling, palms pinning Victor’s shoulders to the pillows, and pokes a tongue out to wet his lips.
Victor tilts his head to the side, baring the delicate curve of his throat, and his lips curl in a lascivious grin.
“Anywhere you want.”
