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Viktor’s presence in his room was something he could never really get used to, no matter how much it happened. Even in the three months he’d been in Hasetsu and the month or so that their relationship had begun perceptibly shifting, one’s childhood idol lazing about casually on one’s bed was not something that should be normal.
He’d asked Yuuri to join him on the bed, but the way he spread himself out left little room for him, so instead he was sitting, cross-legged, on his desk chair reading. Or pretending to read, because Viktor’s eyes hadn’t strayed from his face in almost ten minutes.
Having one’s idol sprawled on one’s bed, head hanging over the side to look at one from an upside-down vantage point, probably barely able to breathe from the large poodle curled up on his chest, was not something that should be normal. And yet it was Yuuri’s norm.
Yuuri gave up pretending to read–he hadn’t even turned the page in the past ten minutes when he’d realised Viktor was watching him–and shut the book with a snap. He finally met Viktor’s eyes and was greeted with a slow smile.
“What?”
He tilted his head to one side, hair falling back from his forehead in a way that revealed that his hairline probably was receding, if Yuuri was to compare it to one of the many posters still hidden in the bottom of his underwear drawer. It was ridiculously endearing, partly from the gesture, and partly from the trust Viktor had in him to show him his (what he saw as) faults. “What?” he echoed, and Yuuri sighed, unable to stop the smile from reaching his face.
“You’re staring.”
“I know I am. Can’t help it.”
Ah, there it was. He was slightly out of breath from Makkachin’s weight on his chest.
A couple of months ago, it would have sent Yuuri into fits of anxiety that Viktor was playing and toying with him only to break his heart in the end, but he wasn’t entirely blind to his surroundings. Even if Viktor teased, Yuuri knew it was no less a game to Viktor than it was to him. It was like a dance between them, slowly getting closer before pulling apart, and even if it heightened the tension, it also increased the familiarity and trust between them.
So rather than pull away, he slid off the chair to kneel in front of him. “You only need to look so intently when I’m on the ice, Viktor,” he teased, though he was fully aware his actions said something completely different. Viktor’s eyes flickered to his lips for the shortest second before he tapped Makkachin to get him off his chest. He rolled to his front once he was freed. Yuuri stopped breathing once his eyes fixed deliberately on his lips.
“I like looking at you,” he said. It was an obvious invitation, but he didn’t move any closer. Yuuri swallowed, unable to close the distance. It would be too much too soon, as tempting as it was. Even Viktor’s eyes felt like fire on his skin; his heart would either stop or beat right out of his chest if he actually touched him. Especially in this room, where he’d spent most of his formative years thinking about him in some way or other.
He leant away and gave a short laugh. “You’ll make me self-conscious.”
Viktor smiled serenely. “Can I put some makeup on you?”
Yuuri blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden subject change. “Uh… if you want? I guess?” He and Phichit had spent a few free afternoons experimenting with clothes and makeup in Detroit, but apart from for competitions Yuuri hadn’t worn much makeup in the past couple of years. “I don’t really have much, though.”
“That’s fine. We can use mine,” Viktor said, hopping off the bed. Yuuri petted Makkachin until he returned, laying out various pallets on the duvet with a furrowed brow. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the space between him and the headboard. Yuuri obeyed, watching him drift his fingers over the different (and probably ridiculously expensive) products. “Do you have your own foundation?” he asked, and Yuuri went to his desk to collect the small bottle, leaving his glasses on the desktop. Viktor got to work straight away, only pausing to tell Yuuri to hold his fringe back. He let his eyes close as the foundation was brushed into his skin. Viktor was humming something under his breath–Stammi Vicino, Yuuri realised with a jolt–and Yuuri felt like he could stay here, in this self-contained universe between them, for the rest of his life and be perfectly content.
“What colours are you going for?” he asked in a whisper, unwilling to break the calm between them.
“Gold,” Viktor answered. Yuuri opened his eyes to level him a mildly unimpressed look. “Stop; it suits you.”
“Don’t tell me you have gold lipstick.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not with me, no. Close your eyes.”
“But you do own some?”
“When I was younger I experimented a lot with makeup. I had most colours.” Yuuri didn’t tell him that he already knew that, He could still remember going through the pictures of whatever social media it was that he used, hardly understanding how he felt at the low-quality pictures of Viktor with whatever hairstyle and makeup he’d decided to try for that day, but knowing that it was a part of him, as much as his love for skating and Vicchan and his affection for his family and few friends.
It hit him, as it did sometimes, that Viktor was here. As a companion, a coach, and he reached forwards to touch his shin with the tips of his fingers, just to prove that he was there, nothing like he’d imagined when he’d stared at the posters years ago, but so much more flawed and better. Not untouchable, not unreachable.
Viktor edged forwards, tangling their legs together so Yuuri could reach him easier. He curved a hand over his knee, tracing patterns with his thumb as Viktor let out a shuddering breath. He’d injured that knee almost ten years ago when he was eighteen at the Grand Prix final, as Yuuri, fourteen and utterly enamoured, had forced back his tears at the obvious pain in Viktor’s face. It had been as if he could feel the pain himself. That had been the first time Viktor had attempted a quad flip in competition, and the next year when he was finally recovered enough to compete again Yuuri’s heart had been in his throat as he attempted it again, to land it successfully with a wide, breathtaking smile. That year had been his first gold in the senior division.
He scrunched up his nose at the tickle of the brush over his eyelids, and stayed as still as he could when Viktor said, “Liquid eyeliner now.” He kept his eyes closed when the cold liquid passed just above his eyelashes and as Viktor brushed something over his cheeks, only opened them once he’d started applying the lipstick.
It was probably a mistake. Viktor’s eyes were fixed on his lips but Yuuri could see how his pupils were blown wide, the blush over his cheeks. He ducked his head down a little when he noticed Yuuri staring, letting his fringe obscure his face a little more. Yuuri smiled at the bashfulness of the action, the knowledge that Viktor was just as affected enough to let him reach up to hold his fringe away from his face.
Viktor’s hands were shaking as he rummaged through the various tubes of lipgloss. “Why did you cut it?”
“My hair?”
Yuuri nodded.
Viktor smirked as he finally chose a lipgloss, a shade or two lighter than the deep red lipstick he’d just applied. “I used to straighten and curl it a lot, and the heat damage became too much to deal with. I was trying to brush it before a competition and got annoyed with it. Happened to see a pair of scissors so I cut it off. Yakov wasn’t pleased.” He reached up to tug on a few strands. “Still feels strange sometimes. Before then I always had long hair.”
He finished with the lipgloss, capping it as Yuuri let his hand drop to his leg again. “You should wear this for Eros,” he said, brushing over Yuuri’s bottom lip with his thumb.
“Would it seduce you?” he asked.
It was the first time he outright said that it was Viktor he tried to seduce when dancing, though he was fairly sure Viktor knew anyway. His breath hitched in his throat and he leant forwards to press his face against Yuuri’s shoulder. “Yes,” he mumbled into Yuuri’s shirt.
Yuuri was sure that Viktor could hear his heart pounding furiously, but still pretended not to be affected. “We need to get to the rink,” he said cheerily, his voice only wavering once. “I’m gonna go take this off.”
“Sure you don’t want to stay here?” Viktor asked, pitching his voice low, and close enough that his lips brushed Yuuri’s neck.
He was tempted, but with how much he’d adopted his seductress persona it would be a waste to not practice it on the ice. He turned to Viktor, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re being a terrible coach right now, Viktor.”
Viktor looked at him dumbly for a moment, looking like he was about to protest as Yuuri untangled their legs to leave. “Wait! Selfie before you take it off.”
“What?” Yuuri grumbled, but he let Viktor put an arm around his waist as he unlocked his phone, turning his head to kiss Yuuri’s cheek as he took the picture. He leapt back, grinning at the phone in a self-satisfied way.
“You can go now,” he said cheerily.
Yuuri eyed him. “Don’t post that anywhere.”
Viktor just smirked, letting himself drop back onto Yuuri’s bed and carding his fingers through Makkachin’s fur.
v-nikiforov
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v-nikiforov <3 <3 <3
phichit+chu @v-nikiforov @katsukiyuuri yuuri is that your lipstick on viktor’s cheek???!!!
katsukiyuuri @v-nikiforov @phichit+chu Σ(°△°|||) i told him not to post it!!
v-nikiforov @phichit+chu @katsukiyuuri I had to show off my masterpiece!
katsukiyuuri @v-nikiforov i’m stealing makkachin tonight