This fic is for Livinglittlelie. Happy birthday. (Everyone please go read her fics. She's amazing and turned me into Yuri on Ice trash and I've been promising her this fic for months).
Hurricane
Viktor Nikiforov was like a hurricane.
Or perhaps a bulldozer.
He did bulldoze his way into Yuuri's life, after all. Arriving in Hasetsu and announcing that he was going to be Yuuri's coach (whilst naked, no less).
(Although apparently Yuuri was the hurricane at the Sochi banquet and he swept Viktor off his feet, but he can't remember that so Viktor is the hurricane-bulldozer and Yuuri's sticking to that).
However, it can't really be said that Viktor bulldozed his way into Yuuri's life, because he was already in it. He was Yuuri's idol. The skater he wanted to be like ever since Yuuko told Yuuri about him. The skater everyone wanted to beat. Living legend, Viktor Nikiforov.
So he was like a hurricane. Breezing into Yuuri's personal life and uprooting anything that seemed remotely normal. A talented, flirtatious, too-beautiful-for-his-own-good, flighty, occasionally forgetful, Russian hurricane.
A hurricane that the world loved and had originally thought Yuuri didn't deserve. It had taken Yuuri a while to realise that he was worthy of having Viktor as his coach. But as he left the GPF with a silver medal around his neck and a new world record, it sunk in.
He deserved to be by Viktor's side.
He deserved to be coached by him and he had proven it. Yuuri might have only just lost the gold, but he was happy and proud that Yuri had beaten him. He was happy with silver and a freaking world record. He was still staring at his silver medal and riding his world record – a world record! – high when he and Viktor finally made it back to their hotel room.
When he finally tore his eyes away from his medal, the first thing he saw was where Viktor had sat crying that morning. Guilt gnawed at him.
"Viktor," he murmured. "I'm sorry about what I said this morning."
Viktor, who up until Yuuri spoke had been bustling around their hotel room, hanging up coats and dumping their bags on the table, stopped and looked at him. "It's alright," he began, "I –"
"It's not!" Yuuri cut him off. "No, it's not! I made you cry and I didn't think things through properly. I was selfish and – mfft!"
Yuuri should have seen it coming. Viktor loved to shock him so the surprise itself shouldn't have been surprising. That said, he was still stunned when Viktor's soft lips pressed against his own and cut him off mid-self-deprecating-babble.
Yuuri had only just relaxed into the kiss when Viktor pulled away; he made a noise of protest and Viktor smiled.
"Yuuri," Viktor crooned in that stupidly alluring voice of his. "It's alright. I was upset this morning, but we sorted it out. I'm going to be your coach and I'm going to skate competitively again. Everything's fine."
Yuuri frowned. "Just because everything is fine now, doesn't excuse how I acted this morning."
Part of him found it difficult to focus on what the Russian man was saying. His brain was still caught up in the kiss. In Viktor's soft lips, his clear blue eyes, his soft silver hair. The other half of him was screaming at himself to pay attention, because an upset crying Viktor was wrong, wrong, wrong and he needed to address his actions of that morning.
"Perhaps not," his coach agreed. "But you apologised and you meant it."
Yuuri felt tears building up in his eyes. "I just – I'm sorry, Viktor."
Viktor took Yuur's face in his hands and gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs. "I'm never any good when you cry," he murmured. "I never know what to say."
Yuuri let out a wet laugh. "No, but you always meet me where I am."
"I wouldn't want to be anywhere other than where you are."
Yuuri felt his cheeks burn and he tried to blink the tears out of his eyes. "Neither would I."
Viktor leant in to kiss him again. It was soft, gentle and Yuuri melted into it. Again, he made a soft noise of complaint when he older man pulled away.
"Well," Viktor said. "We'll just have to always be where the other is."
He said it so matter-of-factly. So Viktor-ly. Like it was just an accepted fact that they'd always be together. Yuuri's heart pounded in his chest at Viktor's words and he felt his blush increase but he grinned and said, "That may be a bit hard when you're jetting off somewhere for competitions."
Viktor pouted. "You won't come to the competitions with me?"
Yuuri's brain slammed on the breaks and he backpedalled. "N-No! Of course! I'd love to go to as many as I can! I just mean that realistically-"
Viktor's pout disappeared and he broke out in a smile. "Oh, Yuuri. My Yuuri. I know we won't always be together. Just most of the time." He put a finger to his lips, looking thoughtful. "Hmm. No, that's not enough. Just as much as we can. No, that's not right either. Every day? Every week? Every year? Always. I take it back; I'm sticking with always."
The part of Yuuri that wasn't drowning in the desire to kiss the man in front of him idly wondered how Viktor could so easily say such things. Yuuri would probably blush, stutter and flail around a bit. Actions. Yuuri had always been better at actions than words. It showed when he was on the ice, speaking through skating instead of verbally. It was a language he and Viktor communicated well in, but there was no ice this time. There was just him and Viktor and so many words and feelings that needed to be expressed. Yuuri knew he wouldn't be able to voice them properly, but he could show Viktor.
Before he could do that, he took off his medal, putting it gently on the table of their hotel room. There. That way nothing would happen to it during Yuuri's attempt to prove to Viktor how much the Russian skater meant to him.
"I'm so proud of you," Viktor said, throwing Yuuri off course and making him pause in his (admittedly short and not really thought out) plan to just throw himself at the man. "Getting silver and breaking my record. You were amazing, Yuuri. Perfect."
But because he was always far too hard on himself and despite the fact he'd won the medal in question and broke Viktor's record, he replied with, "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to kiss the gold medal. I'll get it for you next time."
Viktor shook his head, as if he thought Yuuri was being ridiculous and reached out to take his right hand. "As much as I am looking forward to that," he said. "If you ask me, this is the far better gold to kiss." Viktor held Yuuri's hand up so that the ring glittered in the light and then he pressed a soft kiss to it.
Yuuri flushed and then pulled his hand out of Viktor's grasp. Much like how the Russian did at the cup of China, Yuuri jumped at him, wrapping his arms around Viktor and kissing him firmly on the mouth. There was no fall backwards, like their kiss on the ice, as Viktor's arms came up to catch him. Viktor caught him and supported him, like he always did. He held him tightly, pulling Yuuri even closer to him as the kiss deepened.
They clutched at each other. While their two earlier kisses were sweet and gentle, this was anything but. It was hard and desperate. With hands grasping at clothes, tongues playing and lips bruising. The kiss was hungry, passionate. It sent desire thrumming through Yuuri's veins.
It was eros.
There was one kiss, two, three, four, until eventually Yuuri lost count. Numbers didn't matter. Nothing else did. Not the number of kisses, not the GPF, not Viktor's insane and yet exciting idea to coach and compete at the same time. Nothing. It was just him and Viktor and that moment.
Viktor pulled away from him and Yuuri made a whine of protest, chasing his lips. It quickly turned into a small moan as the other man kissed, nipped and sucked at his neck. "Viktor," he gasped.
He could feel the man smiling against his neck. "Yuuri," Viktor hummed in response. "My Yuuri. Moya lyubov."
It was then that Yuuri realised that maybe – just maybe – he had a thing for Viktor talking in Russian, even if he had no idea what he'd just said.
"Moy-what?"
Viktor raised his head and smiled at him, adoration shining in his eyes. An adoration Yuuri was certain was reflected in his own.
"My love," Viktor translated. "Yuuri, I love you."
Yuuri's breath caught and his stomach did that excited, back flip routine it used to do whenever he would watch Viktor skate. Except this routine was entirely different, even if the cause of it was the same person.
Viktor loved him. He loved him.
Yuuri had loved Viktor for years, of course. That was never a secret. However, while his initial love had been one of loving and admiring an idol, it had morphed into something else during his time with Viktor. Somewhere along the way, his love had turned to romantic. His eros had gone from katsudon to the man standing in front of him.
The man who'd just confessed his love.
While Yuuri had never been good at opening up and saying how he felt, he knew he could say this. He had to say it. There was no way he was leaving Viktor's words unanswered.
"Viktor, watashi no ai," he said in response. "My love. I love you too."
Yuuri knew he'd never forget the look on Viktor's face in that moment. He could tell the instant his words really hit home, because utter delight bloomed on Viktor's features. Happy tears formed in Viktor's eyes and then Yuuri was being quite thoroughly kissed once more.
As Yuuri lost himself in the moment, swept up in Viktor's joy and exuberance, he couldn't help but marvel at how far the two of them has come. They were a far cry from drunken dances at Sochi or a flustered meeting in an onsen.
Yes, Viktor was like a hurricane, breezing into Yuuri's life and changing it drastically. But as he and Viktor stood together and in love in their hotel room, Yuuri knew that he'd never been so happy to be lost to the winds.
A/N:
So this is my first ever Yuri on Ice fic. But it's been sitting in my fic folder for months and I was determined to finish it for Livinglittlelie's birthday.
If the Japanese and Russian is wrong, I apologise. I just used google translate.
Please let me know what you thought in the reviews!
Much love,
Leisey.