#ive never ever seen anyone mention this...i saw someone ask something similar recently and all the replies

[skunkes]

I feel so silly whenever i make "does anyone else" posts due to the nature of how like. No experience is unique but anyway does anyone else ever get these weird overwhelming rushes of positive emotion???

They usually dont last too long but sometimes I feel so. Not even happy but just! A Lot! Obvs not literally but it feels like my heart just welled up in my lungs and blew up + the energy has gone to my limbs and wants to escape but also the happy pressure is still in my chest trying to crack my ribs open. (<- metaphor again)

Kind of like the same, inescapable, ball your hands up into fists + clench your teeth through sensation when you feel cuteness aggression...like a more advanced cuteness aggression but maybe not even toward anything specific or because of its Cuteness, just out of nowhere

[riddleblack246]

Could you maybe do a professor au for spirk?

((You’ve got it! I hope this is okay. Idea taken from this prompt list.))

This was beginning to get a bit… frustrating.

Not that Spock would openly admit to anything being frustrating, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that this event had been occurring repeatedly, on schedule, with no explanation as to who was causing it or why.

Spock continued to stare down at said source of frustration. The mug was unusually shaped, made to look similar Malaya IV, the planet dedicated almost exclusively to medical facilities. So, that had to be something of a hint. This person had been to said planet for some extended length of time, either for themselves or for someone else, and had been attached enough to said planet to warrant the purchase of a souvenir.

The mug was filled to the brim with coffee. A dash of milk, no sugar, as was the way it had been served to him for the past several weeks. It wasn’t the way he preferred it, no, but clearly whoever made him the beverage was aware of the Vulcan avoidance of excess sugar. So whoever had been carrying out this action wasn’t entirely clueless to the biological discrepancies of other species.

He had initially considered the perpetrator to be a student. He had started teaching early morning classes the previous semester and had seen a wide variety of students arrive to his lecture with thermos of coffee, tea, and various other beverages. It wasn’t unheard of to assume that perhaps one had wished to be generous and bring him a mug as well.

However, two matters soon struck down his theory. One - the mugs rotated over the course of the week. While Spock made a point to wash and rinse the mugs and carefully set it aside on his desk at the end of each day, he never saw anyone retrieve the mug or replace it. He supposed someone could come in at night to get it (he didn’t see a reason to lock the lecture hall), but the building itself was sealed at midnight, so there was no way for a student to get in.

Two - The coffee was always hot. Thermos could do a lot with recent technology, including keep beverages as steaming as they were when they were first made. However, such devices could be on the pricier side, especially for students, and it simply was improbable to believe that a student would use an incredibly expensive device for the purpose of providing coffee for their professor every morning, especially if they did not intend to take credit for this act in hopes of receiving extra credit of some kind (though it was not as if Spock even offered such things).

And so he was left to stare contemplatively into the steaming liquid until more students began to file in and take their seats. His gaze flicked up to scan the room before he resolutely took a sip. He supposed that it was not of consequence. The gesture was appreciated and if the person chose to make themselves known, he would express his gratitude. But until then, there was no reason to give it anymore thought.

The ‘mystery’ behind the morning coffee had slipped from Spock’s mind by the time he made his way towards his lecture hall the next day. He was earlier than he usually intended to arrive, but he had been able to get home sooner to meditate the previous day, and thus had set his schedule slightly ahead for the next day. He made his way down the hall, noting the peaceful quiet of an early morning arrival as he adjusted his bag on this shoulder. He was about to push the door to the hall open when he was stopped in his tracks at the sight of a figure in the classroom. His debate over who could be the coffee perpetrator returned to the forefront of his thoughts as he peered through the translucent glass.

A man hummed softly to himself as he moved over to Spock’s desk. In his hands, he held a large thermos, similar to the one Spock speculated the provider to have owned. In his other, he held a standard white mug with a minimalist design made to emulate the Star Fleet insignia. The man placed the mug on Spock’s desk and picked up the one from the previous day. He carefully placed it into his bag before opening his thermos. He poured the coffee into the new mug, mindful not to spill any drops on the papers left on his desk. Spock remained silent as he watched the nameless man return the thermos to his bag and start towards the door. When he finally looked up, he stopped abruptly, eyes locking with Spock’s as the door was pushed open. The pair stared at one another, silence growing between them.

With the lined glass no longer hindering his view, Spock was able to get a full analysis of the no-longer-mysterious barista. The man was shorter than him and likely a bit younger. He was a bit on the heavier side, but the weight was mostly muscle with what was likely a bit of excess. His brunette hair curled slightly at his forehead and intense hazel eyes stared into his own. He stood with his chest nearly puffed out in confidence, holding the air of a man that is used to leading and unashamed in being caught in actions that were somewhat… peculiar.

“Professor Spock.” The man greeted, tone managing to somehow be both warm and authoritative at the same time. Spock slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Greetings,” Spock replied evenly, “Admittedly, I am not familiar with your name.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” The man smiled, revealing two rows of sparkling white teeth, “I know I don’t get out much outside of my lectures. I’ve been told I’m something of a workaholic.” He raised his hand, separating his middle and ring finger (albeit clumsily) into the Vulcan salute, “Professor Kirk. But Jim is fine.”

Spock blinked, processing the information. Jim Kirk. He’d heard his name before. Mostly in passing between various students in his lectures and in reference from other professors. Nyota, one of his few friends within the faculty, had mentioned him a few times, about how much the students adore him and how he’s so invested in teaching in the command field that nearly every single one of his students was on a starship within five years of their graduation from the Academy.

Spock raised his own hand, mirroring the gesture. “I would ask what you’re doing here, but it’s rather obvious.” His gaze moved over to the still-steaming mug on his desk before returning to Kirk.

“I believe the more appropriate question would be ‘Why’?”

Kirk’s grin turned sheepish. He shrugged before speaking.

“Well, I just thought it would be the neighborly thing to do. After all, our rooms are right next to one another. And there’s no harm in making a good first impression with the head of the science department, right?”

“I suppose not,” Spock agreed, “However, you have made no attempt to speak to me directly, let alone reveal yourself as the one providing me with coffee.”

Spock watched as the man’s tanned cheeks slowly bloomed pink. He bit his lip, the confidence slowly starting to fade into shyness.

“Uh… yeah, you got me there,” He laughed weakly, “Okay… I’ll be straight with you here. I wanted to make a good first impression because a lot of the staff speaks highly of you. I’m also a big fan of your work regarding inter-species relationships and analysis of genetic compatibility.”

Spock kept his expression neutral, inclining his head ever so slightly to indicate that he may continue.

“So I thought I would bring by some coffee as a way to introduce myself, get to know you. But when I saw you in the hall, I… panicked.”

Spock raised an eyebrow once more. Kirk seemed incredibly confident and, in the command field, panic wasn’t exactly a feeling that should be acted upon.

“I left the coffee and headed out before you could see me. I decided to try again the next day… and the next… at that point, it had become almost a routine, so I just decided… not to stop?”

He ended his explanation like it was a question, as if to silently ask if that was an unusual routine to carry out. Spock folded his arms over his chest.

“And might I ask what it was about me that sent you into a ‘panic’, Professor?”

The pink in Kirk’s cheeks deepened into an intense red.

“Well, I…” Kirk swallowed, shifting his posture as he attempted to formulate a reply, “I must admit that… it was because I find you to be rather attractive.”

Silence, once again, engulfed the room. If Spock were to speak, he would have admitted that that was not the answer he had expected. Intimidation, yes. Perhaps even discomfort over his being Vulcan. But attraction?

“And I wasn’t sure as to how I could work up the courage to speak to you, especially when I not only wanted to get to know you and discuss your work, but also…” Kirk trailed off, leaving his intentions open ended.

“You wished to pursue something more intimate.”

Kirk blinked in surprise. “Uh… maybe not so… intensely, but yes.”

Spock nodded in understanding, moving past Kirk to place his bag at his desk and retrieve his mug of coffee. Closing his eyes, he took a sip. When he opened them once more, he found Kirk still standing in the doorway, unsure of whether he should stay or go.

“There is a dining establishment four point three eight blocks from this building,” He supplied evenly, “When you have completed your lecture this afternoon, you may join me in partaking in lunch. You may see how I actually take my coffee.”

Spock watched as Kirk’s mouth grew into a smile, nodding at his suggestion. “I think I’d like that. See you at three?”

“Indeed. Though I would appreciate it if you will knock this time instead of simply letting yourself in.”

[wenttworth]

warning for a sex scene in part iv but it’s mild i doubt it would be rated more than ‘m’

variations of a theme: nights (five nights spent in hasetsu)

i

“You have my mobile number, right?”

Yuuri looked up from his uninspiring dinner, pausing to glower at Viktor’s half-empty bowl of katsudon, and frowned at Viktor. He sounded so sure, although Yuuri couldn’t fathom why. Maybe all the skaters typically had each other’s numbers. Maybe they had group texts and inside jokes and he’d accidentally rejected it all with his asocial tendencies.

Logically, he knew that was ridiculous. Phichit would have told him if there was a wider group chat than the one between the two of them, Leo and Guang-Hong. But still he let the thought run its course and leave his head.

Regardless, he and Viktor had spoken maybe two times before he showed up in Hasetsu, so why would he have his number?

“No? Why would I?” he asked.

Viktor visibly flinched, which only confused Yuuri more, but he had to be fine, because he was looking at Yuuri with a bright smile. “Give me your phone, Yuuri,” he ordered.

Partially the strong tone, partially the fact that this was Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri would probably do anything he asked, had Yuuri handing it over immediately.

“What’s your passcode?” he asked.

“My birthday.”

He tutted something about safety and how easy that was to guess, but inputted it as Yuuri shook his head to clear the fog. This was getting ridiculous. Viktor could tell him to strip and pole dance on a telegraph pole and a part of Yuuri worried that he’d actually do it, because it was Viktor Nikiforov that was asking.

“Don’t lose it,” he said, locking the phone and passing it back, before eyeing the dregs of katsudon with a sigh and leaving to bring it to the kitchen. Yuuri blinked at the spot he’d just vacated, and looked down at the screen before unlocking it again. It opened straight to his contact page, where ‘Viktor’, along with an alarming number of hearts was listed as his newest contact.

It was probably rude not to text him so he had his number too, and Viktor was his coach, so he sent ‘why all the hearts?’ and watched as Viktor pulled his phone from his pocket as he was talking to Mari.

Viktor didn’t look at him, but Yuuri could see his smile as he replied, and when his phone vibrated against the table he looked down to see a single winky face that made him laugh out loud.

The onslaught of text messages that night was unprecedented for someone who could just talk at the wall and be heard. Yuuri would know, he’d spent a couple of restless nights since Viktor arrived listening to him talk on the phone—either in Russian or French, so he didn’t feel bad for eavesdropping—but Yuuri couldn’t complain. They were… cute.

>Makkachin wants to say goodnight!

>>well goodnight to him too

>Download image?

>Image downloaded

>cute, right?

It was. Yuuri tried to ignore the fact that Viktor was topless in his selfie with Makkachin—he saw the man naked on a daily basis, this should be nothing—and sent back a heart, which Viktor replied to with an obnoxiously long line of hearts.

>I heard you laughing

>>the walls are thin

>>to be fair you don’t need to text me I could probably hear you if you talked

>>I hear you baby talking to makkachin all the time

>it’s part of my charm

>who would want to go out with a man that doesn’t baby talk to their dog? Especially one as cute as makkachin

This was paired with another photo, this time of Makkachin as a puppy, with what must have been twelve year old Viktor, all big blue eyes and fluffy silver hair down to his shoulders and blowing in the wind. The puppy was gathered in his arms. Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. There weren’t many casual photos of Viktor before social media became a thing; his guardians seemed to have been careful in not sharing too much of his personal life, and seeing a Viktor without the steely, competitive determination in his eyes was enough to have his heart aching and yearning for…something he couldn’t quite articulate.

>still just as cute now

He sent another recent photo through, of Makkachin sitting in the snow in a little woollen jumper and looking up at the camera with devotion clear in his eyes.

>did you bring that jumper with you?

>>yes I did

>>also the matching human-sized one

>>why don’t you come into my room and see? ;p

If he knew how little phrases like that affected Yuuri, had the freer part of his mind begging him to just go in there and see what happened, he wouldn’t flirt like that. Yuuri choked back the wave of disappointment and curled up onto his side.

>it’s late, viktor

>>okay. Sleep well, sweetheart xxx

>sleep well

 ii

Although Viktor was still physically demonstrative and affectionate, it had toned down significantly since their talk on the beach, and Yuuri couldn’t help but be equal parts relieved and disappointed about this change. A part of him had been revelling in some sort of fantasy dream-world, where Viktor was affectionate for a reason other than him being naturally flirtatious and maybe having a need for validation. Every touch now seemed to have a purpose, to push him a bit further into his stretch, to demonstrate from where he was currently pushing and from where he needed to push, when they were messing around and practicing lifts.

So…better and worse. It was different if he instigated, by pressing into Viktor’s warmth if they were sitting beside each other, sometimes reaching over to take his hand when they were walking home after training. Viktor would shift automatically if Yuuri did that, so that he could settle more comfortably, change his stride so he was completely in step with Yuuri. They were slowly working through a line, and Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what kind of intimacy lay on the other side, whether purely physical, purely spiritual, or a mixture of both.

His confusion about where they were going and how they would get there bled into his routines, and one evening after a long day of cross-training and then skating Viktor stopped him halfway through Eros to stare at him in confusion for a while.

Yuuri bit back on the sarcastic, angry retort he really wanted to make—he was angry at himself, after all, never at Viktor—and raked both his hands through his hair with a sharp exhale.

“I know,” he said dully. The problem was, he couldn’t parse through his feelings for Viktor, and Viktor was so ingrained into his skating that he’d always skated for him, long before Viktor ever asked him to. The problem was, Eros and Yuri on Ice were wildly different accounts of similar stories. The problem was, he couldn’t tell Viktor.

Viktor would be horrified if he knew how much Yuuri cared for him, as more than a coach, more than even a friend. He knew that Yuuri had a tendency to idol-worship him, but was working through that quickly by accidentally showing off his wide array of endearing flaws. Right at this point, he was at an awkward stage between ‘I am so attracted to you’ and ‘what we have transcends anything physical’, and he couldn’t fit them into a cohesive pattern.

Viktor watched him silently.

“I know,” Yuuri repeated.

“What do you know, Yuuri?”

“That I’m communicating nothing with my skating.”

Viktor made a small sound of contemplation and tapped his finger against his lips. Which didn’t help Yuuri’s train of thought. “At least you know.”

Yuuri winced, but couldn’t begrudge him that observation.

“What do you want to communicate with Eros, Yuuri?”

“It’s your choreography,” Yuuri grumbled under his breath. Viktor gave no clue about having heard except for a slight tightening around his eyes. “I don’t know. Seduce the audience, I guess?” He winced at the thought. Surely it was presumptuous to assume that he could seduce anyone, let alone an entire audience.

Viktor seemed particularly displeased at that, and Yuuri froze. “Well…it’s Eros, right? So it’s about seduction.”

“How so?”

Yuuri paused. He wasn’t made for this type of honest discussion. He’d kept any mentions of his sexuality between him and the few partners he’d had in Detroit, not broadcasted them to the entire world. “Physical seduction.”

Viktor shook his head. “No. That’s not the only part of it. Eros is a jealous, possessive type of love. Not necessarily something unhealthy, but…” He skated up to Yuuri and cupped his cheek, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes darkening into something primal. “It’s a demand to look only at you, as a celebration of beauty in its purest form.” He tilted his head, his fringe brushing over his forehead. “Skate so that the only person I can see, the only person I could ever want to see, is you. So that you become beauty itself to me.”

Yuuri’s knees were weak when Viktor dropped his hand. He would never be able to do that, he knew, but Viktor was so convinced that he could.

“I’ll start the music. Get into position.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he imagined the low tone to Viktor’s voice, but it still sent a shiver through him. One night. He just had to capture and hold Viktor’s entire being for one night.

He skated to the centre, cocked his hip, and even if he knew it would hurt later, let himself truly feel all the desire he had for Viktor.

 iii

In general, Viktor, and his high training load, had become such a distraction that Yuuri hardly had the time or strength to think. For that reason, he had started to hate days off. Especially days off where Viktor would explore by himself, and parts of Yuuri’s mind would think about how easy it would be for him to take the train to Fukuoka and then fly back to St Petersburg.

(Luckily, Viktor didn’t leave much room to worry about it, sending him pictures of things he’d discovered, which Yuuri responded to with just as much enthusiasm even though he’d seen them almost every day of his life. He always told Yuuri exactly when he was back, and once he stepped over the threshold said ‘I’m home!’ with relief and obvious happiness. Yuuri wondered when he’d decided that the ice was no longer his home. Yuuri’s mother would greet him and fuss over him as if he was Yuuri or Mari, and he would settle next to Yuuri and lean into him as if Yuuri’s heart wasn’t going triple speed in his chest.)

But sometimes, even the most bone-deep exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep the demons at bay. He sent messages to Phichit, but kept the tone light and happy, not wanting to waste what was now precious time with his best friend by dragging him into his troubles. It probably didn’t work—Phichit was scarily competent at figuring out his moods—but he didn’t push for an explanation, just sent him pictures of his sister’s new dog with a myriad of heart-eye emojis.

Even that wasn’t distracting enough. He bid Phichit goodbye, and found himself staring at the wall that separated his room and Viktor’s. They’d spent enough time in each other’s rooms by now. Viktor, for some reason, delighted in dropping in unannounced in the mornings to wake Yuuri by dropping onto his bed and pulling him into his arms, and half the choreography discussions had been in Viktor’s room. He hadn’t completely given up with asking Yuuri to sleep together, either.

Yuuri let out a sigh, for some unknown reason smoothed down his hair, and padded to Viktor’s room. Makkachin lifted his head with a doggy smile and wagged his tail as soon as Yuuri slid open the door, but Viktor was still soundly sleeping. Ah, that was probably why Yuuri had subconsciously smoothed down his hair. Even asleep, when any reasonable human being would look awful, Viktor looked like he’d dropped off the pages of a fairytale.

Makkachin army crawled along the bed to beg affection from Yuuri, dragging Viktor’s covers down with him, and Viktor frowned in his sleep. When Yuuri said his name, his eyes opened, and softened inexplicably when they met Yuuri’s.

“I can’t sleep,” Yuuri mumbled, focussed on petting Makkachin, wondering if Viktor would laugh and mock him at the childish reason.

Instead, his face lit up, and he pulled the covers from under Makkachin. “Want to sleep here?” he asked. Yuuri nodded, and climbed into bed beside Viktor before he could psyche himself out. Viktor immediately wrapped himself around Yuuri, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as Yuuri pressed against him.

(A while later, he overheard Mari asking his mother, “When did Yuuri start sleeping in Viktor’s room?”

He dropped his chopsticks with a loud clatter, but stared resolutely into his rice as Viktor startled and asked him what was wrong.

“About a week, I think?” his mother answered. Yuuri groaned and they both shot him amused looks as Viktor looked between them all with wide eyes. “That’s when I noticed it anyway.”

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asked again, putting his hand on Yuuri’s.

“Nothing,” Yuuri mumbled, his face heating up, but some part of himself he didn’t particularly want to acknowledge was pleased that people knew he and Viktor were…something.

Viktor gave him a small, encouraging smile, and kissed his cheek. Yuuri attempted not to make plans to commit homicide when Mari winked and gave him two thumbs-up.)

 iv

Viktor fell asleep against his shoulder on the way back from the airport.

Yuuri wasn’t surprised, he’d looked exhausted and unravelled in a way that Yuuri had never even believed he could be. He knew what relief Viktor felt at that moment because he felt it too; Makkachin was safe across their laps and the two of them were finally together again. Viktor didn’t stir when he pressed a kiss to the top of his head, didn’t stir when the train stopped at the stations between Fukuoka and Hasetsu, and Yuuri gently shook him awake when they arrived at Hasetsu. An hour’s sleep wasn’t enough to make Viktor look any more alive, but he still kissed the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, and took one of his suitcases. Their free hands found each other by instinct, and Makkachin followed them through the darkened streets. The onsen was dark and quiet, and Yuuri watched silently as Viktor removed his shoes, sighing in contentment as he crossed the threshold, the last of the tension melting from his shoulders as if he’d come home.

He startled a little when Yuuri stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing his nape.

Something had shifted. Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what, but when Viktor’s breath stopped and his hands caught Yuuri’s to keep them in place, he knew that Viktor could feel it as well. He said nothing as Yuuri took the scarf from around his neck, turning so Yuuri could push his coat off his shoulders and do the same to Yuuri. He was afraid to speak, that he would break this spell between them. The purest communication between them was always that which didn’t need words, and when Viktor took his hand and lead him to Yuuri’s room, Makkachin trotting into Viktor’s, Yuuri knew they didn’t need words.

When Viktor kissed him, it felt like the first time. The world narrowed to nothing but their points of contact, the way Viktor gasped against his mouth when Yuuri pressed their bodies together, even through layers of clothes. He backed Yuuri up against the door, and the muffled thump was cacophonous in the silence they’d created.

Yuuri played with the button at the top of his shirt. “Okay?” he whispered, almost silently. He felt, rather than heard, the yes, please, against his lips, and quickly worked at it until he could discard the fabric to the floor as Viktor pulled away for the second it took to take off Yuuri’s jumper. Viktor pulled him to the bed, his hands shaking against Yuuri’s skin as they splayed across his back, and Yuuri straddled his lap as soon as he sat, heat pooling low in his stomach as Viktor pulled him closer and kissed him with a little more desperation.

There was something poetic about it, Yuuri thought with a small curve of his lips as Viktor lowered him, not breaking the kiss off. He’d spent so much of his life looking up at the posters in this spot and thinking about what it would be like to skate on the same ice as Viktor, to be his equal. And with accepting each other in this way, as well as the myriad of other ways, they had become equals. Yuuri no longer saw Viktor as an unreachable deity, someone to aim for but never quite reach.

He could feel Viktor mirroring his smile, breaking away to press kisses along his jaw and down his neck. “What?” he asked between kisses.

“Nothing,” Yuuri breathed, although he couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face. Viktor looked at him, hair still dishevelled and fatigue betrayed in his eyes, but still looked at him as if they were the only people in existence, as if he’d searched for years and finally found what he was looking for. “I’m happy,” he continued, and Viktor fluttered kisses over his cheeks and forehead and chin until Yuuri was breathless with holding back laughter.

He finally pulled away, enough to hold his hips, tracing along his waistband questioningly until Yuuri nodded, and swiftly divesting them of the rest of their clothes. Yuuri raised himself to meet Viktor in another kiss, tugging at his shoulders until they’d switched positions and he could kiss and touch as much as he wanted. Viktor let out little sounds that betrayed his pleasure, ran his hands along Yuuri’s sides and his back as Yuuri arched into them. Clumsily, he took off his glasses to place them out of the way on the bedside table and dug through the drawer to find the bottle of lube. Uncapping it with shaking hands, he squeezed the bottle a bit too impatiently and felt Viktor jerk, a yelp muffled against Yuuri’s mouth as the cold gel hit his chest. Yuuri jolted back, groaning as Viktor muffled laughter into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he couldn’t help smiling in response to Viktor’s laughter. Viktor was always beautiful, of course he was always beautiful, but right now, with pure delight and adoration in his eyes he’d never been more so.

“It’s fine, zolotse,” he said, reaching up to run his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and drawing him close again. “You’re perfect.” He laughed again when Yuuri sighed and collected the lube from where it had splattered against his chest, and it melted into a moan as Yuuri finally took his length into his hand and moved experimentally. No teenage fantasy or previous partner could have prepared him for it, the way he dropped his head back and bared his throat, the way his breath hitched and his legs tightened around Yuuri’s waist, the way he rocked his hips up into Yuuri’s hand. The moment was building to eternity, electricity crackling along Yuuri’s spine as he pressed desperate, open-mouthed kisses to his neck and met the movement of Viktor’s hips with his own. When he did, Viktor gasped out his name in a plea, his hand pressing against the small of Yuuri’s back as Yuuri pulled him back to a kiss that tore everything from him.

It didn’t take long for Viktor to finish, and Yuuri committed everything to memory, seared it into his mind carefully, from the way he said Yuuri’s name to the contented affection in his eyes when he came down from the high. That it was Viktor Nikiforov beneath him, looking at him in such a way and pulling him into a final kiss as his hand joined Yuuri’s was enough for him to follow. It wasn’t the most earth-shattering orgasm he’d ever experienced, but he’d never felt so much like they were bearing souls rather than just bodies. The final piece slotted into place, and he knew Viktor, knew his hopes and dreams as he already knew his love.

He seemed close to tears when Yuuri opened his eyes, and Yuuri brushed his hair back. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling back, wondering if somehow he’d hurt Viktor, but Viktor trapped him against his chest.

“Nothing,” he answered. “I’m…overwhelmed, I think. I didn’t know that it would feel so…” he trailed off, and Yuuri pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I know,” he answered. He still felt exposed and raw, even with how safe he felt. Quickly, he leant towards the still-open bedside drawer to pull a few tissues out to clean them up, aware of Viktor’s gaze, hot and heavy on him. Viktor tugged him straight back down once he threw them in the general vicinity of the bin.

He was lulled to sleep by the quietening and slowing beat of Viktor’s heart, and let himself hope that it would be the same way for the remainder of his life.

 v

“You don’t actually flirt with people a lot, do you?”

Viktor had been intently watching a video of Yuuri’s free skate at the Rostelecom Cup as Yuuri pretended to watch but was actually entirely focussed on the way the lights played along the planes of Viktor’s face and danced in his eyes.

He paused the video and looked at Yuuri curiously. Yuuri wasn’t sure when they had gotten so comfortable in each other’s presence that they could be naked in bed together, not even after having sex, but just for the comfort derived from feeling skin against skin, but he would never complain. Even if it wasn’t meant to last, and Viktor decided to go back to Russia without him, this was a memory and feeling he could treasure jealously for the rest of his life.

“Rarely, unless I’m in front of the cameras.”

Yuuri shook his head and hooked his arm around Viktor’s, tangling their legs together as Viktor put his phone to one side. “I don’t understand, then. Where did the playboy image come from?”

The easy intimacy in how Viktor brushed Yuuri’s fringe back from his eyes had his heart twist for a moment, and he almost thought he betrayed that on his face, but Viktor was too far away to notice. “I think it’s because I tended to have a few boyfriends a year when I was a teenager. And sometimes I would date a couple of people at the same time. Nothing serious, because no one understood why I was putting so much time and effort into skating. And they’d always comment on how bruised I was and how unattractive that was.” He smiled and smoothed away Yuuri’s frown with a kiss. “I never minded what they said. You’re the first serious relationship I’ve had, and the only one in…” he paused. “I think about five years. But by that time my ‘reputation’ was set. Yakov and I decided to use it to our advantage.”

“It didn’t bother you?”

“Not really. Your opinion is the only one that matters to me.”

He sighed when Yuuri kissed his shoulder, and manoeuvred them until they were under the covers and lying down facing each other.

“But…”

“Hm?”

Yuuri chewed on the inside of his lip. “You flirted with me.”

“What?”

“When you first got here you flirted with me.”

Viktor let out a small laugh, almost a giggle, and looked away, whining out Yuuri’s name when he sat up to stare at him. “What are you looking at?” he said, trying to pout but not able to stop the brilliant smile from breaking out.

Yuuri poked at the tell-tale pink on his cheeks, pinning Viktor’s hands over his head as he tried to bat him away. “You’re blushing,” he exclaimed, watching in wonder as the blush deepened.

“Of course I am,” Viktor grumbled. “You don’t point out when someone is flirting with you. That’s bad manners. You’re supposed to flirt back.”

Yuuri tilted his head to one side. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?”

Viktor gave him an unimpressed look, cocking one eyebrow. “You’re telling me?”

“O-oh.” He settled back against the pillows and Viktor propped himself up on one elbow.

“See, because I have good manners I won’t be pointing out that you’re blushing right now,” he said lightly, kissing his cheek.

“So why did you flirt with me?”

“Why did I flirt with you?” He had an odd tone to his voice, and Yuuri pointlessly worried that he would say something like ‘because you were the only available male close to my age’. That wasn’t true, he knew it wasn’t, but his mind still played treacherous tricks on him. “Because I had a massive crush on you.” He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, something that Yuuri could never have doubted.

Yuuri blinked. That, he hadn’t been expecting.

“Honestly, my feelings did take me by surprise. At some points I thought it was love at first sight, but if I compare how I feel now with how I did then,” he stopped, watching Yuuri pensively. “Well, it isn’t comparable. I mean, the intense physical attraction is still there, obviously—”

“Still?” Yuuri asked weakly.

“—but it’s more now. You know what I mean?”

Yuuri was pretty sure what he meant. At least, he knew in the way that it was how he’d developed his feelings for Viktor from first sight to now, tangled in bed as if the world outside didn’t exist. But there had to be something he was missing, because why would Viktor’s feelings be so close to Yuuri’s?

(A part of him rejoiced, maybe, if Viktor spoke the truth, it meant that he wouldn’t go back to Russia alone, he’d let Yuuri come and slot himself into his life the way Viktor had into his own. The more rational part scoffed and told him not to get his hopes up.)

“So…your feelings now?”

Viktor’s eyes softened. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you.”

Yuuri stared at him, feeling as if the world had been torn under him only to let him fall somewhere infinitely better. He reached up to cup Viktor’s cheek.

“I’m in love with you too,” he replied, and the sweet smile Viktor gave him was compensation enough for his fear of putting his heart on the line. Viktor ducked in to kiss him, chaste but lingering and Yuuri wondered how he ever managed to live without this soul-deep connection to Viktor. He was dazed when Viktor pulled away, and gathered him into his arms, unwilling to leave any space between them.

“Sleep,” Viktor said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m waking you early tomorrow.”