The first thing Yuuri noticed when he moved from his quiet, sleepy home town of Hasetsu to the sprawling urban capital of St. Petersburg was that the city seemed to be perpetually steeped in noise.
It made him uneasy in his first weeks here, the transition from the peaceful seaside town to the constant bustle of city streets was a shock to his system. He'd had trouble sleeping at first, often lying awake in the early hours of the morning wrapped in Viktor's arms, the Russian slumbering peacefully beside him.
He'd suffered a bit, his gym times taking longer and his concentration waning. He would flub jumps and be slow to heed instruction, and the final straw had been when he'd fallen asleep on the couch one afternoon and left a pot of boiling pasta noodles on the stove to burn.
Viktor, in his concern, had researched Yuuri's lack of sleep until they'd tried everything the internet could think of: white noise machines, clunky ear muffs, herbal teas, relaxation yoga, and long runs around the lake near the apartment just before bed to tire him out.
But the best advice, as it turned out, had come from Yakov who told them: "Just give it time."
And give it time they did, reverting to normal habits as if nothing was out of place. It was harder for Viktor, constantly concerned as both his coach and lover, but he respected whatever boundaries and reassurances Yuuri laid before him with a smile. And sure enough, Yuuri grew used to the sounds of this new city he now called home until he was waking every morning to Viktor's soft kisses after a full night of rest.
It's been three years since Yuuri first moved here, and now imagining anything quieter than the loud blare of a car alarm lulling him to sleep was almost absurd. The only times he really had trouble sleeping anymore was when Viktor was away, but even then Makkachin made a good substitute to at least warm his side of the bed.
The night is dark as he walks the now familiar streets back to the apartment, his gloved hands shoved deep into his coat pockets and his scarf wound high and tight around his neck. His breath exhales in little puffs of condensation, billowing away in the chilled wind as soon as the breath leaves his lungs. The cold winter wind stings the exposed skin of his cheeks and he sighs in relief when he spots his apartment building only a few feet away.
The immediate blast of heat as he enters the lobby is welcomed, even if it instantly makes his glasses fog and the hands still shoved in his pockets start to sweat. He greets their doorman in lilting, practiced Russian, and the man smiles brightly as he bids him a goodnight.
"I'm home." He calls when he enters the apartment. It's dark, the only light is slanting through the window as the moon shines brightly in the night sky. He hears the thump of Makkachin jumping from the bed, followed by the telltale click of her nails against the hardwood as she hurries from the bedroom. The poodle jumps to place her paws on Yuuri's thighs and pants gleefully, giving a soft bark and closing her eyes when Yuuri scratches the spot just behind her ears.
"Good girl, Makka. Did you keep the house safe for us today?" She gives another soft bark and jumps down, padding back to the bedroom with her tail wagging and her tongue lolling joyfully from her mouth.
He sheds the remainder of his clothes, hanging his coat on the rack by the door and stuffing his scarf, hat, and matching gloves in the hood. He toes off his shoes and lays them in the tray by the door that's meant to catch the road salt and melted snow from the harsh winter weather.
(Viktor insisted was a necessity for their home. He never uses it, instead choosing to toe his shoes off right in the way of the door and leaving them there, so Yuuri puts them on the tray when he gets home instead.)
He fills a glass of water from the tap and drinks greedily, the exhaustion of the long day taking hold as he finally relaxes in the comfort of home. He rolls his shoulders to release the built-up tension and stretches his neck, groaning at the familiar pull of muscle. He lays his glass by the sink and pads to the bedroom, eager for the comfort of the warm, feather duvet and the solid feel of Viktor around him.
His husband is sprawled on the bed when he walks in, blanket slung low on his hips and mouth hanging open as little snores pass through his lips. Yuuri thinks this is when Viktor looks the best, even if the man himself refuses to believe it - he somehow seems younger like this, sleep tousled and raw in the light of the moon. There's a comfort in knowing that Yuuri is the only one who is privileged enough to see this side of Viktor; to feel the late night affection and early morning kisses that accompany it.
His sleep-mussed hair is covering his eyes, so Yuuri perches himself on the side of the bed and instinctively reaches his hand to gently tuck the silver strands behind his husbands' ear. Viktor's eyes blink open slowly in the darkness of the room, his smile spreading sleepily and his hand reaching up to intertwine with the hand Yuuri has resting on his cheek.
"You're home," he marvels, voice low and thick with sleep, "I missed you."
"You saw me this morning."
"Mm, I know. Too long." Yuuri laughs (because Viktor is impossible) and continues to card through the hair on his head. He sighs and leans into the touch, moaning appreciatively when Yuuri's nails scratch at his scalp.
"S'good." He mumbles after a moment, his eyes closed, "come to bed?"
"Yeah," he responds with one last scratch and a soft kiss to his forehead. He stands and pads over to the walk-in closet at the other side of the room, rummaging through a set of drawers to find a clean set of pajamas.
"No pajamas." Viktor calls from his spot on the bed when Yuuri finally finds a pair and lays them on the chair in the corner of the room, "I haven't touched you all day, Yura."
That's all Viktor gives as an explanation and Yuuri can't help but roll his eyes, smiling. He should probably be used to Viktor by now, his dramatic and affectionate husband with his insatiable need for contact.
Viktor is always touching him: holding hands while they're skating at the rink, a hand at the small of his back as Viktor winds them through busy streets and press lines, or the hand on his thigh during this morning's breakfast with nothing but the basic need to touch behind it.
(Yuuri loves that about him, feels like something so special that Viktor can't get enough of.)
He leaves the folded pajamas on the chair and removes his shirt, throwing it in the hamper that sits just outside the closet. Viktor is laying with his head on his folded arms, watching as Yuuri removes his clothes with a newfound alertness. Yuuri's pants go next as he slides the tight, dark denim from his legs, stepping out of them without bothering to pick them up. He removes his socks by stepping on the toes and pulling his feet out, kicking them aside where they land under the chair.
When he's down to the white Calvin Klein boxers (that Viktor insists he wears) he moves towards the bed, but Viktor reaches out and stops him with a firm squeeze to his hip, looking up at him from under long lashes with a soft smile.
"These too," he murmurs, looking back down and hooking his long fingers into the waistband resting low on Yuuri's hips. His touch is like fire as they brush against his skin in a painstakingly slow whisper. Viktor watches as Yuuri becomes beautifully on display, leaning forward to press a kiss above the course patch of curling hair just below his navel. Yuuri blushes, carding a hand through Viktor's silver hair before wriggling the rest of the way out of the boxers when Viktor can't reach beyond his knees.
"You're so beautiful," Viktor whispers breathlessly, his eyes soft as he takes in his husband standing bare before him. Yuuri never knew someone could get so lucky, but every time Viktor looks at him feels just like the first, so gentle and striking that he can't believe it's real.
Viktor smiles at him and grabs his hand, pulling Yuuri down to the bed as he rolls on his side to make room. Yuuri settles on his side, and no sooner is Viktor tangling their legs together and wrapping long arms around his torso, nuzzling sleepily into the skin of Yuuri's neck like it's the only place he was ever meant to be.
(If there's one thing Vitya loves more than touching him, it's pressing their naked skin flush together until it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.)
(Yuuri guesses he likes it too.)
"Better?" Yuuri asks, hands coming to rest on Viktor's bare hips beneath the blanket. He feels the hum of affirmation against his neck, followed by the soft press of Viktor's lips before he's pulling back to look him in the eyes.
"Always better with you, moya dorogaya."
Yuuri smiles at the name, but can't help the yawn that cracks his jaw as the exhaustion of the day sinks deep into his bones. Placing one final, loving kiss to his lips, Viktor shifts them so that Yuuri's head rests comfortably on the pillow of Viktor's chest, arms around each other in a silent promise of nights like this forever.
"Sweet dreams, my Yuuri. I love you."
"Mm, love you too, Vitya." Yuuri mumbles sleepily into the skin of his chest. Viktor smiles, his heart full to bursting as he brushes a hand through his husbands' hair, sleep beginning to take him as his breathing evens out.
So Yuuri falls asleep as he does every night, now – with the sound of his true love's heart beating steady and strong in his ear, the blaring sounds of the bustling city below like the accompaniment of an orchestra to a song only they can hear.
"Yuuri…" a voice singsongs, kisses pressed against his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, "Wake up, my beloved." Yuuri groans, eyes closed as he reaches out to wrap his arms tightly around his husband.
"M'Sleepy." He murmurs, hauling Viktor back down, the warmth of his skin a welcome heat as Viktor continues to pepper kisses over Yuuri's face.
"Mm, I missed you yesterday." Viktor leaves a trail of wet kisses down Yuuri's neck, and he tilts his head with a moan when Viktor begins sucking a mark into the sensitive flesh. "I thought about touching you all day."
"All day?" Yuuri asks disbelievingly, but Viktor slips on a sly grin and kisses his way down the planes of Yuuri stomach, "All day. I will never get enough of you, Yuuri. For all the days of my life."