we were together; i forget the rest
By: TG
Summary: His morning greeting is whispered against Yuuri's soft, warm mouth, because he can't seem to stop kissing him once he's started.
Warnings: none
AN: a drabble collection! enjoy!
Viktor wakes slowly, brought into a drowsy sort of awareness by the late-morning light streaming in through the curtains and the dip of the mattress as Yuuri shifts next to him. It's a new feeling waking softly like this, without the incessant ringing of an alarm or the relentless, driving obligation to practice until perfect. He's spent his whole life answering the call of the ice and the podium, conditioned to keep going even through the doubt and the confusion and the boredom and wondering if the next gold would bring the fullness he craved.
But there is no alarm clock today, nothing to disturb the tranquility and contentedness that suffuses all the muscles and ligaments in his body. He is warm and comfortable in the best way he knows, so he allows himself the luxury of waking slowly, of taking careful stock of his senses. There's the crispness of the sheets at his hips and the heavy weight of Yuuri's arm draped just beneath them, and the faint silver glow of the winter sunlight seeping in through his closed eyelids, and the clean, simple scent of Yuuri's body wash. 'Trapped' as he is in the circle of Yuuri's arm and beneath one of his legs he's never felt freer, happier now than all the times he's received gold and flowers and recognition.
Viktor's right hand is pressed against Yuuri's chest, curled in toward his own body with the back of it resting against Yuuri's heart, like maybe Yuuri had held it there against his chest but in sleep had decided that Viktor's hand wasn't enough, that he'd needed to feel more of him. Viktor turns it around, charts light, wandering patterns over his skin like clefts left behind in the ice. The engagement ring winks at him in the feeble sunlight and fills his chest with warmth.
It's not that he was unhappy with his career, not that he didn't treasure every medal and every fan –he could never hate it, since it brought him to Yuuri. It's just that now his career and his happiness hold equal importance, and Yuuri is there at the confluence.
Now he doesn't have to feel like putting on his skates each day is a rote practice, doesn't have to feel guilty about taking time off -because, no matter what, Yuuri is next to him. He gets to wake up in the mornings knowing that Yuuri will be with him at the rink, and knowing he gets to come home with Yuuri too. He thinks of seeing Yuuri there in his apartment, sitting on their couch cleaning his glasses, or playing with Makkachin, or standing over a steaming pot with fogged up glasses. His heart flutters just as much at those tender moments as it does when Yuuri's fingers tangle with his right there on the podium for all the fans and the cameras to see, and the fact that Yuuri is such a fixture in his life -not something fleeting or uncertain but there always- gives him a strength and a peace he hadn't known before.
Yuuri shifts again, and this time there's no pretense of slumber -he's awake, and his body is rolling right up into Viktor's, closing the negative space that lingers between them like their bodies were made to fit. He's all heat and smooth, hard lines and soft lips puffing damp breath against the ridge of Viktor's collarbone, and that alone is enough to set his Viktor's blood pumping a little faster beneath his skin. He wonders if he will ever get used to this -to having Yuuri in his space, to going to bed with him at night and waking up with him in the morning, to having someone who loves him so fully.
God, he hopes not.
"Morning," Yuuri murmurs. His hand slips tighter around Viktor's waist and he presses himself up for a lingering kiss that leaves Viktor a little breathless.
His morning greeting is whispered against Yuuri's soft, warm mouth, because he can't seem to stop kissing him once he's started.
He knows how the world sees him, and how it sees Yuuri; he knows that everyone sees him as the heartbreaker, and Yuuri as the one who is distant, cautious, reserved -maybe even a little cold, except in those few minutes when his blades touch the ice and he transforms himself into something so beautiful and expressive that it'd been impossible to look away. It'd been hard for him to reconcile those two parallels of the man he'd come to coach, but it hadn't taken long for him to learn that Yuuri is complex -not black and white but swirls of bright color all mixing together like watercolor. Yuuri is heat and ice and soft pastel blushes and hard lines and incandescence; he is fervor and grace and artless tenderness; he is sweetness and fullness and elegance and sultriness; he is the thief who stole Viktor from the world and stole Viktor's heart from his chest.
Sometimes Viktor is full of words for Katsuki Yuuri. Maybe there are too many to list. Maybe Yuuri is a little bit of everything, so it'd be pointless to try to come up with a consummate list of everything that Yuuri is to him. Viktor's heart is full, his life is full, his head and mouth and eyes and fingertips are all full of Yuuri already.
Most of his life he'd been reaching for the podium thinking that the transient euphoria of winning was it, but now he has something more enduring. Now the only gold he needs is the ring on his finger and the taste of Yuuri on his tongue.
AN: pls go check out the yurionicebigbang fan event on tumblr!