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It starts with one kiss.
Not their first, definitely not their last, but one kiss that stands out like sequins under the rink’s too-bright lights, like a stumble in a routine. It’s not the first time Viktor has kissed Yuuri, but it’s the first time he’s done so with the eyes of the spectators—of Yuuri’s friends and family—of the world—on them.
Yuuri think he understands Viktor’s feelings in that moment more clearly than any other. During his free skate he hadn’t felt Viktor at all, just the calm, almost disassociative blankness of a post-cry. He’d been chiding Viktor and challenging Viktor so much in his head that he’d forgotten to watch him, to see him pump a fist or wince in sympathy at a fall. Yuuri hadn’t kept any eyes on Viktor at all until the end when he waited to see what the verdict was on his disobedience and his daring.
And Viktor had made him work for it, sprinting for the edge of the rink without so much as a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. Something swirled in Yuuri’s stomach then, something like anxiety-turned-nausea and hope-turned-heart-racing. He could hear his own heart beating along to the music of his program as he skated to Viktor and Viktor did…that…
They handle the interviews professionally, because that’s what they are: professionals. The reporters are dying to ask about the kiss—it’s written all over their faces. But Viktor doesn’t let them. He shuts them down with a “that’s about enough, Yuuri needs to rest now,” when they start. They handle the congratulations with grace and Yuuri does his best to ignore the butt slap Chris gives him once he walks into the waiting room.
Yuuri moves to Phichit immediately.
He pulls his friend into a tight embrace. “You were incredible,” he says.
Phichit laughs. “How would you know? Heard you were hiding out in the garage.” His embrace is just as tight, though.
Yuuri laughs too and pulls away, rubbing the back of his head. “Ah, just got a little panicked, nothing to worry about. I could hear the audience cheering for you through the concrete, though. I promise I’ll watch your program later.”
Phichit slings an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you at the Grand Prix Final, won’t I?”
His smile is one Yuuri knows well. He’s caught it in the reflection of windows or in the bathroom after he finishes a flawless program. It’s a smile they both wear, because they know under the layers of anxiety and intimidation that they are the best. They deserve that gold. It’s a confident smile.
Yuuri wraps an arm around Phichit’s middle and squeezes. “You know it,” he says. “I’m coming for that gold of yours.”
Phichit’s dimples show. “I eagerly await your challenge,” he says. And then lower, in Yuuri’s ear, “I think you have someone else to pursue before me, though.”
He lets Yuuri go and moves on to Guang-Hong, who’s doing his best not to cry despite having watery eyes and a sniffle. Phichit embraces his friend and lifts him off the ground into a hug, telling him how wonderful he did and that he’s the most darling skater on the ice. Yuuri doesn’t need to know who Phichit was referring to, though. It was obvious.
Viktor is talking with Georgi and Yakov—well, more like he’s enduring a scolding from Yakov while he and Georgi duke it out on friendly terms and Chris lurks, slinking in like a cat to throw an arm around Viktor’s shoulder. Yuuri watches the way Viktor holds up his hands in surrender under Yakov’s berating and his eyebrows pull together. He’s apologetic for not knowing what to do when Yuuri was freaking out, but the curl of his smile says, Well, he figured it out, didn’t he? And quite splendidly at that.
Yuuri wants to call him out on it. He wants to call Viktor an idiot to his face. He wants to insert himself in the gathering of some of the greatest skaters and coaches in the world and twine himself around Viktor. He wants Viktor to fold himself around Yuuri, brushing off Chris and eyes moving from Yakov to Yuuri, only Yuuri, as he talks. Yuuri wants to push Viktor’s hair back and hold his face and murmur “stupid, so stupid, idiot Viktor,” and kiss him there in front of all his competitors and all Viktor’s acquaintances and—
Stop. Slow down.
Yuuri’s heart is racing.
No. Not yet.
But it’s impossible to not feel the draw, the line between him and Viktor pulling and tightening. The tension can be felt across the room because Viktor knows that Yuuri knows that that little (incredible, life-changing) kiss was not enough. Yuuri knows. He had felt it.
“This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me.”
“Really?”
But it was more than that. That kiss wasn’t just a surprise for Yuuri or done for shock value on the news. Viktor had kissed Yuuri because he could not contain the amount of joy and pride in Yuuri that he felt. The only way he could express it was through physical intimacy, through a kiss that pressed hard against Yuuri’s lips and begged for more, a kiss that knocked him on his back and stole the air from his lungs. It was Viktor’s affirmation that Yuuri was more than just his pet project—he was someone Viktor truly treasured.
Look at you go, dearest, Viktor was saying. Look at how hard you’ve worked. Look at how high you can soar. Your destiny is to challenge everyone you share the rink with and win. And keep winning. You’re stronger than anyone else here. You’re braver than anyone else here. I want the world to know, okay? I want everyone to see how incredible you are and how much I love you for it. How my love for you and your hunger for growth overpowers any of their doubts of us. We’ll stand on top of the world, Yuuri; you’ll take us there.
Yuuri can’t wait any longer.
Viktor’s eyes catch his from where he’s in conversation. Yuuri sees rather than hears the trip in Viktor’s voice, the stumble in his words at whatever he finds in Yuuri’s gaze. Chris tilts his head and Yakov presses his lips together. They don’t need to look at Yuuri to know that’s who’s caught Viktor’s attention. The knowledge of this sets Yuuri afire from the tips of his fingers and toes to his core, heart pumping magma through his veins instead of blood.
Viktor excuses himself and comes for Yuuri. “Are you alright?” he says, eyes a little too wide and mouth not sure whether it should offer a patient smile or a thoughtful frown.
“Yes?” Yuuri says, a little puzzled, a little too hot. “Why?”
“You looked…distressed,” Viktor says. His hands are already at Yuuri’s elbows, thumbs rubbing Yuuri’s skin through his jacket.
“No, not distressed,” Yuuri says. His eyes flicker down to Viktor’s lips for a millisecond before he holds his gaze again. “Anxious.”
“Not about the silver?” Viktor says, settling on thoughtful frown with an edge of concern. “Don’t worry about that, in Russia—”
“Anxious to be alone,” Yuuri specifies. He starts to jiggle his leg. “With you.”
Viktor doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Yuuri can read it in the lowering of his eyelids, the tightening of his grip around Yuuri’s arms. The way his eyes lower to Yuuri’s lips, too.
Viktor says: “Not here,” and he takes Yuuri by the hand and pulls him away.
They weave around well-wishers and competitors and reporters and cameramen. Phichit throws Yuuri a thumbs-up as he passes and Leo whispers something in Guang-Hong’s ear. Yuuri doesn’t care. Viktor pulls Yuuri down into the stairwell and as the door closes behind them, finally, it’s quiet.
Yuuri thinks Viktor is taking back to the garage, but once they reach the landing of the floor below, Viktor tugs Yuuri close to him, spins around and presses Yuuri against the wall. Yuuri has time to make a tiny noise of surprise before Viktor is pressing into his space and kissing him.
It’s good. Hungry, desperate, hot with desire—all the things Yuuri had felt for Viktor but never thought could be returned. Viktor’s a little too hard with him, probably, but he knows what he wants and Yuuri has the pleasure of giving it to him. He opens his mouth as Viktor’s hands slide across his jaw to cup his face and turn him so that Viktor can kiss him better.
Yuuri’s not good at this yet. He’s shy with his own tongue, barely licking at Viktor’s lips, but Viktor seals in all the gaps, lapping at Yuuri’s mouth and sealing their lips together so all Yuuri can feel is the sensation of Viktor’s tongue against his, making him break out into a sweat. His hands scrabble for purchase on Viktor’s back, but instead of gripping he just ends up feeling the muscle running along either side of Viktor’s spine, the strength in his shoulders.
Viktor is pressed flush against him and Yuuri arches his back, pushing against Viktor insistently. Viktor’s laugh vibrates through their lips and he exhales a puff of air through his nose. He pulls back just enough that their noses and lips brush when he talks.
“Well, someone’s excited.”
Yuuri huffs back at that. “Oh, really? Who’s the one who dragged me through a crowd of people so he could throw himself on me as soon as we were alone?” Yuuri drags his fingers through Viktor’s hair.
“Your leg is pressed between mine,” Viktor points out, voice warm with amusement.
Yuuri’s fingers freeze in Viktor’s hair before he scrubs his hands through it and Viktor laughs, shaking his head like a dog. “Okay, okay!” He laughs. “No more teasing!”
“Honestly,” Yuuri says. And then in a lower voice, “You must really want me. To kiss me in front of all those people and international news? That’s pretty daring. We’re going to be all they talk about, you know.”
“Mm-hmm,” Viktor says. He noses at Yuuri’s neck and Yuuri tilts his head to the side to give him access.
“What were you thinking?” Yuuri scolds. “My parents and sister and Yuu-chan and her family were watching. Minako-san is in the stands somewhere. Phichit teased me for it earlier. You just…kissed me. Like it wasn’t a big deal but at the same time like it was the biggest deal in the world. You amaze me so much.”
“If it’s going to be that big a deal,” Viktor says, lips against the skin of Yuuri’s neck, “then let’s give them something to talk about.” He bites at Yuuri’s skin and Yuuri gasps, hands fisting in Viktor’s hair.
Viktor sucks hard on the spot on Yuuri’s neck, teeth pressing in and sending sparks of pain-pleasure down Yuuri’s back. He arches further into Viktor, panting.
“Someone could come,” Yuuri gasps. “Someone could see.”
“Do you mind that?” Viktor asks, drawing his tongue over the sore spot.
“No,” Yuuri says after a moment. “I don’t care. Let them see. Let them all see.”
“That’s right,” Viktor says, kissing the mark. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
He kisses Yuuri again, softer this time. This time, it’s Yuuri who attacks, moving his mouth against Viktor’s like he belongs there, like he can become one with Viktor just by kissing him. Yuuri surges against him, running fingers over the lightest of stubble and the angle of Viktor’s cheekbones and wonders, is this really all mine?
“Are you really all mine?” Yuuri murmurs, eyes half-lidded. He presses a series of chaste kisses to Viktor’s lips.
“Yes,” Viktor says. “Every piece of me belongs to you now, dearest.”
“Good,” Yuuri says. “I like that. I don’t like sharing.”
“You know,” Viktor says. “When you get possessive like that, it really makes me…” He leans in to kiss Yuuri again.
It's aggressive again, the two of them fighting for power. No--not quite fighting. It was more like they were dancing, reading each other's movements and communicating through the touch of thier lips and the press of their hands to guide each other in the right way to achieve the contact they desired. Yuuri hadn't done pair-skating much, but this reminded him of it; the ebbing and flowing of control and the reliance on another's body to get what he wanted. He nips almost petulantly at Viktor's lips and Viktor growls. VIktor's hands fall to Yuuri's hips and he pulls them together so that their bodies fit together.
Yuuri lets his eyes fall closed, but when he opens them once more, he spies some unwelcome additions to his tryst with Viktor. He pulls away and Viktor makes a confused sound, but follows Yuuri’s gaze.
“Phichit Chulanont,” Yuuri says. “What, exactly, are you teaching those kids?”
“Hey!” Leo protests. “I’m only one year younger than him!” Guang-Hong puffs up his cheeks at Leo’s side.
“Sorry, Yuuri,” Phichit says, laughing. “Viktor had such an intense look on his face, I had to see it for myself.”
“You mean for your Instagram followers,” Yuuri says dryly.
“Oh, who knows,” Phichit says, whistling innocently.
“Yuuri,” Viktor whines. “Can’t we get back to kissing?”
“You’re right,” Yuuri sniffs. “Who cares about some perverts?”
“Alright, alright,” Phichit says. “We’ll cover for you if someone comes looking. C’mon, you two.”
Yuuri doesn’t see them leave. He crushes Viktor to him again, Viktor laughing quietly and kissing the pout away from his lips until they’re soft and pliable again. And then it’s just him and Viktor in the stairwell together, no sound but the beating of their hearts in tandem and the sound of the piano from Yuuri’s program playing in his head as clear as a bell.
Well, it’s not like Yuuri’s ever needed anything else.