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Yakov used to call him shameless. Viktor was inclined to agree. In his opinion, shame was rather overrated. So when Katsuki Yūri barreled into the bathing area, he paid his state of (un)dress only little mind before he greeted his new pupil with a flourish. Yūri, on the other hand, flushed furiously and averted his eyes, all Japanese propriety.
His frame looked a little broader than Viktor remembered. His face had rounded with excess fat. He definitely wasn’t in shape, and yet he had managed to skate in a way Viktor hadn’t in weeks.
“Yūri, starting today, I’m your coach. I’ll make you win the Grand Prix Final.”
Coaching Yūri was nothing like Viktor had imagined it. Probably since Yūri himself was nothing like he’d pictured him. The man in the video Yakov had shown him had looked like a breathing piece of art and made it look absolutely effortless. His movements had exuded confidence. In person, he exuded self-consciousness and unrest. Viktor found himself inexplicably charmed by this disparity. It made him want to draw all doubts out of Yūri and replace them with the image ingrained in his head: beauty and grace condensed into a human form. Yūri on ice.
It took more than Viktor had bargained for to realize this goal. Yūri teemed with contradictions. Shy and stubborn at the same time, unsure but not without ambition, a skeptic and a dreamer in one body. Viktor had never met anyone like that before. It was electrifying and terribly distracting.
When Yūri was in the room, his attention would automatically zoom in on him and stay there, for hours on end. The more Viktor learned about Yūri, the more he wanted to know. His mind wouldn’t rest until he had gotten to the bottom of every last Yūri-related mystery. One question spilled out of him after the other. Often Yūri could barely keep up answering them.
Yūri wasn’t comfortable talking about himself. It seemed that he didn’t think he merited a very interesting or relevant topic. Once he got a chance to speak, he always changed subjects, favoring Viktor and his career. He pouted cutely whenever Viktor gave him a vague answer and turned the question around at him.
These days Viktor didn’t like talking about himself either. There was no point because there was nothing new to say. The media had already covered everything noteworthy about him. His Wikipedia article detailed his accomplishments and history better than he ever could. Yūri’s, however, was yet riddled with gaps and secrets that begged Viktor to unwrap them. But he would wait. He wanted Yūri to discover them first. He wanted Yūri to see what potential he had, how many wonders he was hiding unbeknownst to himself. He wanted Yūri to show them to him of his own volition.
His eros was the first one. Admittedly, Viktor had to corner him a little so Yūri could finally set it free, but the result was worth it. As Yūri danced across the ice, the sheer force of his performance hit Viktor like a torrent of lava. He sank into it and let it consume him.
The second came after the bath that evening. Viktor had issued his usual invitation for Yūri to come in his room, just for the inevitable blush that followed. Yūri did not disappoint, color rising from his neck across his cheeks up to his ears. Then he strode forward and said, “Yes.”
Briefly, it felt as if the ground was stirring, wood cracking beneath his feet, tectonic plates shifting. Viktor swallowed. The blood in his veins tingled auspiciously.
“Come in.”
As soon as the door had clicked shut, Viktor surged forward and grabbed Yūri’s shoulders. Face inches away from Yūri’s, he said, “Are you sure?”
In lieu of replying, Yūri closed the remaining distance between them with a kiss, lips pressing against Viktor’s chastely. Viktor chased them when they backed away again and deepened the kiss. Yūri melted into it, slinging his arms around Viktor’s neck. Neither of them could tell how long they stayed like that until they broke apart for air.
Yūri’s chest rose and fell in staccato bursts. He was redder than ever. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
“Me?” Viktor laughed helplessly. Yūri’s brows furrowed with honest confusion. Viktor brushed a few stray strands from his forehead and smiled. “You’re the beautiful one, Yūri.”
Yūri squirmed in Viktor’s hold, embarrassed but not displeased. “You can’t just say that. Not with—with your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” Viktor asked, amused.
“I-it’s.” He made a few indecipherable gestures with his hands. “It’s your face.”
Shaking his head, Viktor hid his laughter in the crook of Yūri’s neck. “I wonder if I’ll ever understand you,” he said.
The uncertainty thrilled him and left him lightheaded. He began to kiss his way up the line of Yūri’s quivering throat.
“Yūri,” he said. “I like you so much.”
Yūri froze. Afraid he’d said too much, Viktor lifted his head. With eyes as huge as saucers, Yūri gaped at him. He opened his mouth to speak, and then he closed it again, apparently thinking better of it. Instead he took Viktor’s face in his hands and pulled him into another kiss.
Viktor’s heart beat against his ribcage, hard, harder than during every Grand Prix he’d ever competed in. He licked into Yūri’s mouth, and Yūri opened it wider. A broken groan slipped out between their mouths. Viktor felt Yūri push even closer against him, sending a bolt of electricity down his spine.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he panted, nipping at Yūri’s lower lip.
“You—ah—you have no right to say that.”
Viktor bit down a little harder, for good measure.
“Bed,” Yūri hissed.
A spark of rationality lit up in Viktor’s brain. “Wait,” he said and sucked in a deep breath. “Have you done this before?”
“Oh,” Yūri said, a little dazed. “Yes. In Detroit, a couple of times, but.” Suddenly, he looked down. “I don’t have a lot of experience. Sorry.”
Viktor placed a hand under his chin and nudged it upward. Yūri looked mortified.
“Don’t worry about that,” Viktor said. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
Ducking his head, Yūki took a few steps away and sat down on Viktor’s laid-out futon. He fixed Viktor with a determined stare that nearly caused his brain to short-circuit.
“I want you here. With me.”
With a grin Viktor sauntered over to him. “Your wish is my command.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way,” Yūri said, sounding amazed and a bit scared, and nuzzled his face in Viktor’s neck.
It took Viktor, who had been dozing off in his afterglow, a moment to process that. “Are you afraid?”
Yūri glanced up at him. “Kind of, yeah,” he admitted. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Viktor kissed his forehead. He wasn't yet ready to reveal that he felt much the same way Yūri did. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. I like you the way you are,” he said.
Grinning dopily, Yūri shook his head. “You always know the right thing to say, don’t you?”
Viktor winked at him to hide his own nervousness and drew him closer for a lazy kiss. When they parted again, he said, “We’ll figure this out together.” With a small surprise, he noticed that he meant it. Part of him began to imagine that, together with Yūri, he could probably do anything.
Yūri smiled, cheeks dimpling, and for a second nothing else mattered. “Together,” he agreed and settled back into Viktor’s arms.