Chapter Text
Yuuri’s pretty sure that Victor, being one of the best figure skaters alive, is aware that most of the community, including Yuuri, worships the ground he steps on.
He’s just, um, he’s just not sure Victor knows just how much Yuuri adores him.
…
It starts one day, when Yuuri least expects it.
Victor asked him to go live in St. Petersburg with him a few days ago, still high from the silver medal, and he accepted without thinking, using the time they could’ve used to plan to instead make out as much as possible.
But moving from one country to another, moving to a new house, means packing. It means many boxes, personal effects, and more not fun stuff. So they fly to Japan once more, both of them, despite the fact that Yuuri tries to get Victor to leave for Russia directly (“I’m not leaving my fiancé for one second, now that I have him.” “...Alright.”), and start preparations.
First comes the announcing the arrangement to his family and friends here in Hasetsu. It’s hard, even though Yuuri feels a little embarrassed to admit it. He’s already 24, but he’s spent the last few years either away in Detroit or spending most of his time training, and leaving once more makes his throat close up. His parents look a little misty-eyed when he tells them, but congratulate him and Victor on their engagement, hugging them enthusiastically and yapping away about wedding preparations and what-not, to Yuuri’s horror. They just got engaged, do they have to talk about the wedding yet? Don’t they get time to… rest?
Yuuko and Takeshi get slightly more emotional (“My little Yuuri is getting married !” “Yuuko, you’re not that much older than me!” “Stop making your mother cry, Yuuri.”), and the triplets exhort an oath from Victor in which he vows to send them exclusive pictures of them in their day-to-day lives so they can post it on their Instagram. Yuuri chooses to ignore it.
The point is, that mostly goes over well. After the cheesy bits, Yuuri requests a permit so that Russia isn’t able to kick him out until he’s allowed citizenship, gets his papers ready, and finally feels like he’s really, really doing this. And that means that they have to start getting his stuff into suitcases, even if it’s just enough clothes to survive until he starts buying his own stuff in Russia.
Yuuri, innocent, forgetful Yuuri, thinks, Well, two people pack faster than one, right? and I can totally give kisses in exchange for making him lift heavy stuff , and asks Victor for some help taking care of the stuff in his room.
Which is what brings them to the current situation:
“Yuuri,” Victor asks, his voice suspiciously cheerful. “What’s this?”
“What’s wh-?” He turns.
Victor is holding a poster. Not just a poster, though. The poster. The 2013 Victor Nikiforov doing a swimsuit spread for Vogue poster that he hunted for for endless months.
“You weren’t supposed to find that,” Yuuri says. His voice sounds very far away.
“Oh yeah,” Victor continues, smirking. “It was in a glass box. As if to be displayed . I figured it was very important to you.”
He reaches down, picking up a cardboard box. Yuuri is too stunned to move, despite the fact that he knows this is about to get worse. Much, much worse. “But not as important as the framed picture of me you have in your night table drawer. Or the life-sized poster you have of me in my grand prix outfit from two years ago.” He winks, “That one’s a signed copy.”
Although he knows it’s pointless, Yuuri racks his brain for any, any possible way to explain himself that doesn’t include the sentence: “I was obsessed with you and I maybe jerked off to you when I was 15 once or ten times.”
“...I have a confession to make,” Yuuri whimpers, not meeting Victor’s eyes.
…
“There’s one thing I don’t quite get,” Victor holds up a long white plastic bag marked in black marker. There are two words in English written on the front: VICTOR COSPLAY. “What’s this?”
Yeah, Yuuri’s deleting his Tumblr account.
“Oh, wow . My 2008 costume covered much more skin, Yuuri, you know.” He pauses. “Actually, I’m having a small problem, would you mind trying it on for me and refreshing my memory?”
…
The next level of complete and utter humiliation happens another day into their meticulous packing, after Yuuri has banned Victor to the couch indefinitely, to his parents’ worried concern (“Are things okay between you two, baby? You just got engaged…”), and it happens the second that Victor finds his short skate undies.
His short skate undies are, by the way, his custom-fitted, commissioned baby blue briefs with the front and back of Victor’s head on each side, and a cute speech bubble that says, “Hit some quads in bed for me?”
Yuuri throws Victor’s make-up set out the window in retaliation for the ten minutes he spends laughing, calming down, looking back at the briefs, and starting to laugh all over again.
…
Two days later, Yuuri opens his bedroom door to find Victor standing on the corridor proudly, hands on his hips in a Superman pose, wearing nothing but briefs with a picture of Yuuri’s face stapled to the front.
Yuuri begrudgingly removes the bed ban.
…
“You named… you named your dog after me?” Victor’s smirking now. “That’s...kinky.”
“I was ten , Victor,” Yuuri swats at him with his passport, glaring. “You can let the teasing go now.”
For a few minutes, Victor does, holding his hands up in surrender and leaning against Yuuri to press a kiss on his forehead, rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs, “Alright, alright. I just think it’s cute. Am I allowed to just ask things if I don’t make fun? I always want to know more about young Yuuri Katsuki.”
Yuuri grumbles, tilting his head up to receive more kisses as an apology.
“... Did you dress the dog up in my outfits, though? Because otherwise I think it’s a missed opportuni - “
“ Stop .”
…
“Yuuri, why does your mother know my favourite song and my grandfather’s last name?”
“...There was a competition on Victor Nikiforov trivia, okay? I had to practice!”
Victor smiles, “What was the prize?”
He sighs in defeat, “A ticket to one of your exhibitions.”
His fiancé lifts him up in a hug, squeezing him tight and pressing their cheeks together, “I can’t believe you’re this precious.”
…
“Um, Yuuri, why did your sweet old neighbour tell me she’s glad that ‘I finally came to see my husband, after being so long overseas’?”
“No comment.”
…
“You know,” Victor starts the day before they have to leave for St. Petersburg, with all their bags prepared. “I was wondering if…” He hesitates, biting his lower lip.
“What?” Yuuri hums from his place on the armchair, his fingers threading through Makkacchin’s fur softly. It’s been a hectic couple of days, especially with trying to put his skating gear in his checked baggage in a way that doesn’t scream ‘terrorist’ when he has more blades inside there than any respected butcher would own.
“Well, you seem to have admired me quite a lot,” Victor touches the top of his hand gently, as if to remind him that he doesn’t mind. “I just… Did I do it?”
He frowns, “Did what?”
“Meet young Yuuri’s expectations,” Victor shrugs self-deprecatingly, a small, unsure smile on his lips, the type of one Yuuri’s never seen before. “I understand that my real self is less… glamorous and fun than what the magazines make it seem, and I’ve, uh, gotten older, so my body isn’t what it used to be before I did five quads in a program.”
For a moment, Yuuri is absolutely and completely shocked into silence.
He’s sparked into action pretty soon by the vulnerability in Victor, though, standing up from the armchair and moving until he’s sitting on the couch beside his fiancé (mentally apologizing to the poodle for ceasing the petting session), swiftly catching his hands.
“Victor,” Yuuri says, firm. “Look at me.”
Hesitantly, Victor does.
“I was a huge Victor Nikiforov fanboy, alright?” his cheeks redden, but he carries on. “I was a total stalker, and you were my idol, I’m not denying that. I’m not even denying that you might have played a small, insignificant role in my sexual awakening.”
That makes the edges of Victor’s lips twitch, just slightly.
“But that means that I was also terrified of you,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb over Victor’s wrist reassuringly, meeting his eyes again. “You were a big celebrity who charmed the pants off cameramen and who ate Grand Prix for breakfast. I couldn’t even ask you for a picture when we first met!”
“You had no problem asking me for more when you were drunk,” Victor adds, because he’s still bitter about the fact that Yuuri doesn’t remember that.
He holds up a warning finger, “We’re not discussing the banquet. What I mean is, I was really shy before I got to know you, remember?” He smiles a little, when he thinks about the first few months Victor spent at the onsen, wandering around in a lazily tied yukata and drinking his way around Hasetsu’s most touristic spots. “I only managed to actually stand close to you once I was comfortable around you, once I knew you.” He hits him on the forearm lightly, almost a little bit offended, “I fell in love with you , Victor, not my teenage wanking folder.”
“Wanking folder?” Victor just can’t let it go, can’t he?
“Oh, shut up,” he hisses. “I can’t have one conversation without - hmph!”
And well. Yuuri can take kissing on the couch.
…
Yuuri’s favourite thing about living with Victor in St. Petersburg in their cozy, warm flat filled with big rugs, is that whenever Yuri comes into the place and sees the two matching walls with Yuuri and Victor memorabilia displayed proudly, he turns a rather entertaining shade of green.
fin