Author's Notes: For those who might've seen this chapter go up much earlier in the day, I deeply apologize. m(_ _)m On a reader's feedback, I've chosen to revise and add to some bits of this chapter, so here is the new version. Again, sorry for the changes, and please enjoy!
The club is dark, lit only by the colored strobe lights whirling round the dance floor. It's filled with people, wall to wall, twisting, turning, jiving to a metallic, synthesized beat. Beams of light capture every motion like a frame-by-frame animation, flowing from one shot to the next.
As he follows the others, deeper and deeper into the darkness, Yuuri feels his heart pound in time with the heavy bass. The crowds, the lights, the noise – all of it overwhelms him, clouds his senses with pure stimulation. Even the youkai within him is cringing with displeasure. His fingers twitch, itching to pull his weapon out of its strap, hold onto it as an anchor to sanity, but he knows he can't – he shouldn't – not unless he wants to attract potential enemies.
He jumps when someone grabs his arm.
"Stay at the table," Yurio yells into his ear, "Victor's getting the drinks, while Otabek and I go find our informant."
Table?
Yuuri glances down, amazed to find that he's standing in front of a small side booth. He really wasn't paying attention, was he?
He gives Yurio a nod, before sliding into booth, hands tapping restlessly against the tabletop.
Sometimes, he misses home.
St. Petersburg is a beautiful city, with unique architecture, spacious streets, and gorgeous sunsets that bleed orange-red into clear, blue waters.
But it's different.
The food, the people, the language; Victor's portable translator, unfortunately, doesn't include Russian. He at least had a small, albeit doubtful, grasp of English when he was in the United States. A large part of him feels sorry for Victor, who must have felt just as lost when he was in Japan.
Victor.
Yuuri's face softens into a smile. His life has been a whirlwind since Victor's sudden appearance. He still remembers the shock of seeing Victor at his doorstep, hardly half a day after their first dinner together. Oh, the dinner. It's almost ridiculous how one dinner can result in a sleepless night that stretched into looping replays of Victor's laugh, and smile, and every tiny, miniscule movement of his lips and long, slender fingers – for hours and hours and hours.
And then Victor stays with him. Through the transformations, the crazy revelations, and even a near-death experience, Victor chooses to stay with him. He knows of the rumors: how Victor flits from lover to lover, like a butterfly collecting its fill of sweet nectar across a meadow of flowers; how Victor enjoys the 'thrill' of a chase and has the attention span of a hyperactive child. The rumors may not be true, but if they are, then Victor's choice means more to Yuuri than Victor himself can possibly imagine.
Idly, he rests a finger on his lips, thinking back to their last attempt in his tiny kitchen, and Minami's untimely interruption.
Victor hasn't made a move since then, despite their mutual confession.
Mutual confession.
Yuuri holds his hands to his cheeks, flushing. He never imagined, not even in his wildest fantasies, that international model-slash-movie star Victor Nikiforov could ever be interested in someone like him. Victor is charming and handsome – the epitome of beauty and masculinity rolled into one man – whereas he's just plain and ordinary and so, so average.
Of course, the half-youkai thing isn't exactly average.
Yuuri huffs out a laugh through his nose. Ironic that something he once considered a curse is now bringing him his greatest happiness.
However long that happiness might last.
"Wow, I can't believe anyone would leave a hottie like you all alone," says a voice in a thick, lilting accent.
Snapping out of his reverie, Yuuri turns in time for a lithe brunette to slide into the booth seat, pressing tight and close into his side.
"Where are you from, baby?" the man asks, slipping an arm across his shoulders. He's fairly good-looking, with the baby-blue eyes, ample lips, and strong jaw, but he's clearly no Victor Nikiforov. (Especially Victor Nikiforov in club-appropriate leather pants.)
Yuuri's lips purse in a thin line. "I'm not your baby."
"Aw, don't be like that," the man laughs huskily. He grabs Yuuri's chin between his long fingers, rough calluses scraping against skin.
"Pretty soon," he murmurs, and Yuuri sees the flash of red in his irises, "You will be."
A surge of quiet, filled in by the rhythms of the electronic beat pulsating in the background.
The man shifts back slightly, thick eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "What the—"
"I don't know what you were expecting," Yuuri says, his voice low and dangerous, tapping into the youkai that's clamoring for a bite. A little, he tells the fox, just a little boost to scare him.
The man's eyes widen, petrified, as Yuuri's own eyes begin to glow – two golden dots in the dark.
"But I'd advise you not to try it again."
Victor turns to catch a brunette sprint past the bar, shoving through the crowds and screaming about a yellow-eyed cat demon.
"What happened there?" he asks the old man behind the counter.
"Who the hell knows," the bartender grunts, popping a bottle open and sloshing wine haphazardly into empty glasses. "Fuckin' incubi and their melodrama."
"You still allow those things in the club?" Victor sniffs, lips curling in distaste.
"Hey, we all gotta feed, Nikiforov." The bartender slides two glasses toward him. "I allow you degenerates in my club, don't I?"
"Fair enough," Victor chuckles. He tosses some cash at the old man, before sweeping the glasses off the greasy counter and heading back to the booth.
Barely a week after they arrived in Russia, Yurio had caught wind of his return and, with typical brashness, barged into his perfect domestic bliss with Yuuri. And Yuuri, his sweet angel, naturally agreed to assist Yurio in his latest mission: something about a vampire Kingpin who has been distributing human blood throughout the city and inciting the recent blood cravings. So here they are, infiltrating the seedy, demon-infested Club Paradise to seek out a vampire informant about potential distribution points.
Really, his zolotse can be too nice sometimes; it had taken Victor a good two hours to convince Yakov that he needed a vacation, and a mission was most definitely not in his plans. Even Chris had declined, choosing instead to visit his family and "spend some quiet time".
Approaching the booth, Victor lights up instantly at the sight of Yuuri.
On the other hand, it is a lovely excuse to see him in clubbing attire.
The Japanese man in question is slouched forward and staring blankly into space, arms resting on the table. And what a picture he makes, dressed in a simple gray V-neck and faded ripped jeans. Tight sleeves cling to hard, sinewy muscles that curve with every movement, and the loose waistline hangs on sharp hipbones and slips constantly, exposing a sliver of fair skin every few agonizing minutes…
"Victor?" Yuuri is gazing at him now, brown eyes shining with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Just fine," Victor coughs lightly, handing Yuuri a glass of wine and sliding in next to him. "How's the noise? Getting used to it?"
"Better if I focus on something else," Yuuri sighs.
"Oh?" Victor takes a sip of wine and grimaces. He should have known better than to trust the wine selection of a bitter fallen angel. "What have you been focusing on?"
"Well um…" Yuuri hesitates, blushing ever so prettily. He lifts a hand to adjust the strap on his shoulder, Victor's eyes tracking the tiny motion. Even the weapon strapped to his back adds to his aura of exotic mystique. "Mostly about… us."
Suddenly, the wine doesn't taste quite so bad anymore.
"What about us?" Victor croons, bumping his hip against Yuuri's.
Yuuri breathes in. "Just–" he falters, gaze darting down to the table. "Just how we got here, I guess. Whatever 'here' is."
A dark lock slips out of Yuuri's slicked hair, falling, and Victor instinctively reaches out to brush it back, fingers caressing skin. Months ago, Yuuri would have flinched and apologized. Now, he looks up with a hint of a smile, the sweep of long eyelashes casting shadows over pink cheeks.
He's so beautiful, so divine.
"What do you want 'here' to be?" Victor asks softly.
"I'm not sure. We don't exactly lead normal lives, but I think…" Yuuri flounders a bit, taking his lower lip between his teeth and shifting to adjust the strap again. "I think I'd like to, um… go on dates?"
Victor bites back a laugh. It must take a lot for his angel to ask for anything at all, and the least he can do is to accept it with utmost sincerity. "We can go on as many dates as you want," he says solemnly.
Yuuri's face splits into an unbridled, radiant smile, and Victor feels his heart trip down his ribs, one by one. Really, he'd steal this man the moon if that's what he wanted.
"I also think—!" Yuuri blurts out, before he stops, shakes his head, and then lifts his chin with a touch of confidence that heats up Victor's stomach in a very pleasant way.
"That we should do the thing before Minami came in," he finishes strongly.
"Right now? In the middle of a mission?" Victor teases, chuckling when Yuuri's head bobs in three too many quick nods.
He leans in, resting a hand on Yuuri's waist. "So do the thing," he whispers.
Yuuri swallows thickly, flush deepening. Then, after a deep inhale, he starts to close the distance between them, eyes fluttering shut, and Victor waits, his own breath catching—
Gunshots ring through the club, and pandemonium ensues, people screaming and shoving at each other to get to the exit.
Victor slams his palms on the table, knocking over his glass, wine splashing in streaks of dark red. "For fuck's sake— mmph!?"
His eyes widen at the feel of soft lips pressing against his, hot and insistent, before the sensation vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
"A preview," Yuuri breathes, before releasing his collar and darting into the fray.
Victor slumps down onto the seat, the rest of his sentence still caught in the back of his throat.
Right. He can totally die happy now.
Yuuri dodges a stray bullet, reeling in sheer panic at his audacious move. The brief kiss was electrifying, sending tingles straight down his spine, curling his toes, and the fox – the fox is going mad, howling at him to return to Victor right now, right this second. He needs to concentrate on the battle, whatever the battle is, not think about the feel of Victor's lips, the slick, tangy taste of red wine, or the warm puff of breath against his mouth…
He whirls round, reaching back for his sansetsukon, when someone splays a hand on his back.
"Just me," says Otabek calmly. Yuuri breathes out in relief, noting that his eyes have turned a startling shade of dark crimson. "Get the vampire with white eyes. We want him alive."
"Where's Yurio?" Yuuri asks.
As if on cue, a burly man flies past them, smashing headfirst into a wall.
"Who's next?" Yurio crows wildly, heaving up his giant blade and taking a chunk of floor with it. Silver glints under the whirling strobe lights.
"My club," an old man shrieks behind the bar counter.
"Where was he stowing that thing?" Yuuri says, watching incredulously as the blond proceeds to wreak havoc in the middle of the club.
"Trade secret," Otabek says proudly, before his stoic mask falls back into place, and he jerks his chin at a door to their right. "Go get the target. He's in a maroon tux; hard to miss. I'll look after Yuri."
Nodding, Yuuri beelines for the door and doesn't look back.
He bursts through to find the vampire's diminishing figure, running hard despite being dressed to the nines in an elegant tuxedo and expensive dress shoes.
"Stop," he calls awkwardly, "It'd be easier for both of us if you'd just turn yourself in."
The vampire glances over his shoulder, before putting on a burst of speed.
"Of course," Yuuri mutters, feeling foolish. "I wouldn't stop, either."
Cautiously, he reaches inside once again, recalling Minako's advice to communicate with his fox. ("He's your other half," Minako says sagely on the phone screen, ignoring Victor's hum of disapproval. "Treat him with the same respect you'd give your partner.")
Can you help me? he asks. Please?
He feels a sulky presence, like a child curling into a ball and refusing to budge.
The sooner you help me get that demon, the faster we'll be back with Victor.
A beat, before there's an answering surge, and Yuuri murmurs a silent thank you.
And it's exhilarating: the bolt of raw power rattling down his spine as he races down the dark street, pounding on concrete and closing in on the target at breakneck speed. He recognizes the feel of unfettered adrenaline pumping through his blood, of youkai energy shooting his senses into overdrive, but this… this is a whole new level.
He actually feels powerful – in control. No longer is the fox fighting him, or against him; now it's with him, an odd but familiar presence sitting in the back of his mind, its jaws splitting open in a wide smirk.
So this is what it's like to be a half-youkai.
Grinning, he yanks his weapon out of the strap and hurls it at the vampire's feet, wrapping the chains round a skinny ankle, before giving it a sharp tug.
The target drops – and lands on his hands, rolling nimbly back to his feet.
"Nice try, foreign pig," the vampire cackles, twisting round, "But I'm no—"
The rest of his sentence dies in his throat as he gapes at Yuuri, his milky eyes expanding to the size of saucers. "The fuck is with your eyes?"
"You're the one with white eyes," Yuuri retorts defensively.
"Yeah, but who the hell has gold eyes?"
"Angels, clearly," says a familiar voice from above, rich and smooth, just enough for the youkai in Yuuri to turn strangely restless.
The vampire looks up a tiled roof, scowling. "You!"
Standing precariously on the edge, Victor makes a show of great sadness, raising his arms and sighing despairingly. "My dear Ivan. Is that all I get after months of zero contact from my favorite informant?"
"You're the one who disappeared into Hong Kong," Ivan snaps.
"Japan," Victor and Yuuri correct in unison.
The target gives them a flat stare in response.
"The lack of contact I can forgive," Victor shrugs, breaking the silence. Retrieving an arrow from his quiver, he taps the tip lightly against his cheek. "But what's this I hear about you returning to your old ways?"
Ivan starts to giggle then, a sound that makes Yuuri shudder, goosebumps crawling up his skin. The youkai he hunts are rarely so sentient – so human – that the vampire deeply unnerves him. It's far easier to exterminate a target that can't banter with you like an old friend. In his mind, the fox lets out a low rumble of impatience; it just wants to get this over with, talking be damned.
"Victor, my friend, you know what they say," the vampire says, still giggling. "When the cat's away, the mice will play—!"
On his last word, he lunges at Yuuri in one sudden move, teeth flashing and claws extending.
In seconds, arrows whistle through the air, embedding deep into the vampire's right arm and leg, knocking him onto his side. The creature screeches in agony, clutching at his injuries that have – and Yuuri feels something recoil inside him – begin to sizzle like an egg on a frying pan.
"No, no, no, Ivan," Victor tuts when the vampire viciously bares his fangs at Yuuri. "I don't like to see my zolotse treated with such disrespect."
He draws his bowstring, voice dropping in temperature until it's practically freezing.
"And you know what happened to the last demon who tried my patience."
There's a pause, with Ivan visibly mulling over his options, face contorting with fear and rage. Then, finally, he stills, hanging his head in defeat.
As Yuuri glances up at Victor, standing tall and beautiful on the roof, shadows crawling over a smile that resembles the triumph of a panther cornering its prey, he's struck with the realization of just how terrifying the hunter can be. (Deep inside, his youkai yips its approval.)
"My club," the old man shrieks, spittle flying from his lips.
"Yes, yes, your club," Victor pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his hand dismissively. "Make out your bill to the Plisetsky family."
"Ex-cuse me?" Yurio growls, while the old club owner finally collapses against a wall to suck in a good, long breath.
Victor looks pointedly at the large gunblade resting on a piece of rumble.
Yurio splutters. "And how was I supposed to know your precious informant would be a turncoat?"
"They made the first attack," Otabek agrees.
They're sitting on what was once the dance floor of Club Paradise, now devoid of pulsing beats and swaying bodies and, well – a floor. Ivan the vampire, bound and gagged, was tossed carelessly amidst the fallen debris, left to lay weeping in pain on his side, while they gathered to discuss their next move.
Victor pinches the bridge of his nose, traces of an anger migraine building up in his right temple. This mission has been shot to hell. It was supposed to be simple: get the information, and get out. But, of course, old habits die hard, and their informant is back in the blood business, doling it out and drinking it in like he did before Victor, quite literally, beat the addiction out of him.
And then there's Yurio – impulsive, destructive, thoughtless Yurio.
(Without an organized cleaning crew like Japan's Sweepers, they're only fortunate to have local police with a lackluster work ethic.)
"Even with Ivan's information on the distribution points, your reckless actions have effectively alerted the entire demon horde of your plans," Victor says through gritted teeth.
"Which might make his information useless," Yuuri adds, casting a sympathetic look at the vampire.
"Or easily twisted into a trap," Victor says, crossing his arms.
"I can't help it if my weapon wrecks things," Yurio says, pushing his lower lip out in a pout.
"You chose a weapon that wrecks things," Victor snorts.
"What are you, my dad? Lay off!"
"Actually—"
"We have to decide," Otabek cuts in brusquely. "Do we check out the locations, or wait for another haul?"
"We can't afford to wait for another haul," Yurio scowls. "We have enough blood-crazy vampires as it is."
"Then we'll check the next scheduled location," Yuuri says.
Victor's head snaps round, and the vein in his temple throbs painfully. "We?" he says in dismay.
"We," Yuuri confirms.
Victor spends the next few minutes containing the urge to smack the smug look off Yurio's face.
They return to his apartment, where Victor immediately topples onto the couch, a mess of leather and limbs.
"Yuuuuri," he whines, muffled in the cushions. "I thought today's mission was a one-time deal."
"It was," says Yuuri, his voice floating about somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. "I just feel like Yurio really wants your help, even if he doesn't say as much."
Victor makes a garbled, unintelligible noise, too tired to argue. In the distance, he hears the tell-tale snaps of the gas stove, click-click-click, before the sharp sound of a small flame igniting. Flipping over, he splays out on his back, one foot knocking into the standing lamp and making it wobble.
"What are you making?" he asks after a while.
"Tea," Yuuri replies. "Where do you keep your mugs again?"
"Second cabinet to your left."
Victor sits up just enough to rest his chin on the top of the couch, watching fondly as his angel stretches on his tiptoes for the mugs in the cabinet, the kettle sitting comfortably on the stove. Barely a week, and the man already looks as though he belongs there.
Ah, he loves Yuuri.
Even if the man himself is ruining their perfect couple vacation.
"Are you making the green tea Hiroko gave us?" he says.
Yuuri chuckles, "Yes."
"Perfect," Victor sighs happily.
–wait, perfect?
The fleeting memory of warm lips and a whispered promise dances through his mind.
He can't let his angel get away with that one.
"Come here," he calls to Yuuri, flopping onto his back and beckoning with one raised hand.
Yuuri sends a quick glance at the kettle, before he treads back to the living room to lean on the couch, flashing a bemused smile. "What is i—"
He manages a squeak, flailing as Victor grabs a fistful of his shirt and hauls him over the back of the couch, straight into Victor's chest.
"You're a tease," Victor says softly, encasing Yuuri in his arms and feeling the wordless shiver against his body.
"How am I a tease?" Yuuri laughs.
Viktor revels in the brush of fingers curling into his shirt; the strong, quickening heartbeat; the warm breath splashing onto his collarbones. "Giving me that preview in the club? That's teasing."
Yuuri's smile turns almost coy. "You told me to 'do the thing'."
Mm, he really likes this side of Yuuri.
Victor lifts Yuuri's chin with a thumb and forefinger, his eyes drifting from gleaming brown eyes to rose-tinted cheeks, landing on a pink little tongue that darts out and slides across soft lips.
"Well now I want the full experience."
And finally, after months of yearning, dreaming, and annoying teenagers – finally – he kisses Yuuri.
There are no sparks, no fireworks, no fiery explosions on the back of his eyelids. No, kissing Yuuri feels familiar, comfortable, like the smell of grapefruit shampoo and freshly pressed futons; of breaded pork turning crisp in oil, naked ankles, and gentle laughter that makes his heart soar.
And when Yuuri shyly grazes his lips with his tongue, Victor tilts his head to take him in, hungrily swallowing the quiet gasp. Just like that, there's a shift in sensations, flooding him with joy and want, because it's not enough – it's never enough – and then Yuuri mewls his name, so hot and sweet, and god does he want – so, so badly.
Somewhere, something starts whistling.
"The…" Yuuri pants, head rolling as Victor breaks away just long enough to drop sloppy kisses down his neck, "… the kettle…"
"Later," Victor breathes, surging back up to recapture Yuuri's mouth.
Yuuri melts into the kiss and sinks his fingers into silver strands.
The shrill whistling doesn't stop for a while.
FROM: Grumpy
[WTF? Like I care what the half-demon tastes like? Stop spamming my inbox with filth, asshole!]
FROM: Swiss
[Very nice. ;) Text me again when you get to the real stuff.]
FROM: Angel's BFF
[CONGRATULATIONS! When's the wedding?]
FROM: Guard Dog
[Congratulations.]
FROM: Priest?
[Why? Why would you send me that? Are you so intent to torment me even from an ocean away?]
FROM: Yuuko
[lkajs;ljl3kfdldkdkssss]
FROM: Angry Boss
[Please. I beg of you. Stop sending me details of your break, and just come back to work as promised.]
It's weeks to the next distribution, and Victor makes good on his word.
He takes Yuuri everywhere, from ancient cathedrals and grand palaces, to gardens, zoos, and museums. Victor's Instagram explodes with photographs, shots of them pressed against each other, looking up into the camera with unrestrained grins and laughter.
And then there are the many candid, inane pieces that Victor lists as his top ten: Yuuri's eyes crinkling as he giggles; Yuuri's wistful gaze as he watches a little boy skip across the street with a yellow balloon; Yuuri sneezing. ("It's not cute," Yuuri laments, after Victor manages a motion capture of his tiny, squeaky sneezes that never end with just one. "You're like a kitten with pepper on its nose," Victor exclaims.)
Yuuri doesn't miss home quite as much anymore.
Dates aside, the whole lot of making out sort of helps, too.
After their first kiss, it's as though they had opened some sort of Pandora's box for sexual deviancy. The urge is primal, animalistic, replacing all sense of human rationality.
They've kissed everywhere: every room in Victor's apartment, every surface in Victor's apartment, even outside in public. Once, Victor secures them tickets to the Russian ballet, but Yuuri misses about half the story, no thanks to Victor's talented mouth and tongue.
Yuuri wonders if they're making up for lost time and missed opportunities, because there's really no other explanation for his sudden decision to slam Victor against the wall of a public toilet and crush their mouths together, or for Victor to respond with unrestrained enthusiasm, moaning shamelessly into the kiss.
A part of him wonders how much of this is driven by his own desires, and how much is actually the fox's. With every physical contact he shares with Victor, he feels the youkai practically delirious with glee.
Of course, there's the other part of him that is perfectly happy to leave all thinking aside.
"Okay, so according to Ivan, the next distribution is scheduled to happen at—will you two cut it out?"
Yuuri lifts his head, blinking slowly, dazed and unfocused. "I'm sorry, what?"
Victor shifts under him, and suddenly he remembers that they're in the middle of an important meeting. And he's sitting on Victor's lap. And Victor is doing the most amazing things with his teeth on the curve of his throat…
"Augh, Beka," Yurio screeches, throwing his hands over his eyes.
Yuuri yelps when a hand grabs the back of his collar and jerks him backwards, off and away from Victor, before Otabek squishes into the gap with an entirely passive expression.
Somewhere in Yuuri, the fox whines in frustration.
"All clear," says the vampire, ignoring Victor's frosty glare.
"As I was saying," Yurio continues sharply, slamming a hand down on the map, "The next distribution is set to occur at midnight tonight, behind a warehouse near the port. It might be a trap, so we have to be on our guard." He jabs a finger at Yuuri. "You're our hidden ace, in case anything goes wrong. No one knows you, or the extent of your powers."
Yuuri drags his gaze off Victor's red, swollen lips. "Oh, sure. Absolutely. You can count on me."
Yurio claps a palm to his forehead.
"I heard you, really," Yuuri says, heat rising to his cheeks.
"No need to feel embarrassed, zolotse," Victor purrs. "I'd like to have you back in my arms, too."
"What are you, thirteen?" Yurio snaps. "It's not like you've never kissed a hundred others before the half-demon."
Yuuri cocks an eyebrow at Victor. "I know you're an actor, but… a hundred?"
"None of them compare to you, my love," Victor sighs, pressing a hand to his chest.
"This is mildly disconcerting," Otabek comments wryly between them.
"You know what, fine," Yurio hurls his arms into the air. "Kiss, make out, go hump till your brains leak out your ears. Just get all that shit out of your system before the mission."
Victor laughs good-naturedly. "You two would understand, if you actually got over your hang-ups and confessed already."
Yurio and Otabek glance at each other, before hastily averting their gazes.
"Wow, really?" Victor says, eyebrows shooting into his bangs. "I was just teasing."
"Meet us at the port an hour before midnight," Yurio spits out, rolling up the map, his ears scorching red. He turns and stomps out of the apartment, with Otabek trailing silently behind him.
"I think they'd make a fine couple," Yuuri remarks after the front door slams shut.
"I'm sure they will," Victor hums absently, snatching Yuuri's wrist and tugging him close. "Now, where were we?"
Laughter bubbles out of his throat as Victor peppers his face with a dozen light kisses. "You know, Yurio has a point."
"Hmm," Victor leans down to nip along Yuuri's jaw. "Does he?"
"Why are we so… so crazy?" Yuuri rakes his nails down Victor's neck; plays with the silver strands on his nape. "It's not like we're having sex."
Victor pauses. Pulls back. "So it's okay if we're having sex?"
Yuuri drops his hands to his lap, feeling himself grow flustered under Victor's penetrating gaze. "Well, no. I mean, yes. I mean, it'd make more sense?"
"I always assumed kissing is as far as you'd go for now. Unless you'd like to go further." Blue-green eyes shine brighter than a lighthouse in a storm. "Are you ready to go further?"
"I…" Yuuri licks his lips. He sees the way it catches Victor's attention, the way Victor just looks and looks, and his pulse quickens, stomach twisting with heat. This is not the direction he anticipates for the conversation, and frankly, he's not sure where to steer it. He opts for genuine honesty. "I don't know…?"
"It doesn't have to go all the way," Victor says gently, resting a hand on Yuuri's thigh, and Yuuri feels the warmth sear straight through his jeans. "There are many fun, pleasurable ways of having sex. As for your original question…" He presses a finger pensively to his lips, "I suppose we're like a pair of magnets. Strong ones that can't resist each other's pull. That's how we met, wouldn't you say?"
"Magnets," says Yuuri, eyes darting up to Victor's hair. It's mussed, like the man has just rolled out of bed. Like the GQ magazine feature where he posed on a bed, half-naked, limbs tangled in white sheets. The same man is sitting right next to him on the same couch, in the same space. He feels dizzy. "Right."
Victor smiles, and the hazy swirling increases twofold. "What are you thinking?"
"You're really, really beautiful, and I can't believe you're here?" Yuuri blurts out.
Victor chuckles, and Yuuri feels his face burn in mortification. "The feeling's mutual," he says, taking Yuuri's hand in his.
"I, I don't think it's just that," Yuuri says, throat tightening. Suddenly, the pieces are falling into the place, words surging forth like a broken dam. All the wanton making out - there had to have been a reason. "I agree with the magnet thing, and I definitely feel the pull - I've felt the pull ever since I saw you on the big screen, looking all gallant in armor - but it's just... you're in movies! In magazines! And it's a miracle that you're staying in my life, staying with me, and I'm just so scared that you're going to disappear one day, because you're going to realize that I'm not good enough, that I've never been good enough. But I want this, all of this, and I don't want any of this to end, so I just want to hold you and kiss you and go on dates all the time, before you..." He trails off, biting his lower lip, hard. "You leave."
"Wow," says Victor quietly.
Yuuri sighs, exhaustion creeping slowly through his joints. "I know."
Victor squeezes his hand. "And here I thought you love making out with me because of my irresistible charm and good looks."
It's such a breezy, ridiculous answer that Yuuri cracks a small smile.
"Yuuri," Victor says, sliding a palm against his cheek, raising his gaze to meet shimmering blue eyes. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
"I know," Yuuri mumbles. "I just think—"
He stops when Victor presses a finger on his lips.
"Think about this instead," Victor suggests gently. "Why do you think I'm so 'crazy' with you?"
Yuuri blinks once, twice. "I'm... a novelty?" he tries.
Victor laughs. "Your sneezes are a novelty, yes. But my zolotse, I've loved you since the day we met in that forest in Hasetsu." The blue of his eyes turn molten, singeing Yuuri's insides. "I've wanted you since then."
"Really?" Yuuri whispers.
"You have no idea how long I've ached to hold you and make you mine," Victor murmurs. "Ask Chris; he knows my woes better than anyone."
"Oh," says Yuuri, unsure of what else to say.
"So now that I finally have you," Victor says, cocking his head, "What on earth makes you think I'd ever let you go?"
Silence falls between them, and Yuuri stares at Victor, a million thoughts churning round and round and round his mind. He wants to ask why me; what did I ever do in my past life to deserve this; seriously, why me.
Instead, he hears himself speak, hears his heart drum in his chest, hears the fox make a high-pitched keening noise: "I wouldn't mind trying some of those fun, pleasurable ways, if it's with you."
Victor's mouth opens. And closes. Then, "Are you sure? You're not saying that because you think—"
"I'm sure," Yuuri cuts in, before his insecurities can get the better of him.
Victor eyes him for a long, drawn-out moment.
And then a lazy smirk spreads, slowly, across his face.
"Well," Victor murmurs, his voice dropping low. "It just so happens we have a few hours before the mission."
He kisses Yuuri then, slow and languid, until Yuuri can't remember what he was so anxious about in the first place.
"Bed?" Victor mouths against his lips.
Yuuri nods, seconds before he feels Victor's hands on his back and under his knees, heaving him up into a firm chest.
As Victor takes large strides to the bedroom, the fox tips its head back, ears flattening, and begins to howl in earnest, and Yuuri feels a gush of power so sudden and uncontrollable that it sends him falling into the fringes of a rising panic attack.
Minako never mentioned anything like this.
What the hell is happening now?
Notes
Three things:
1) Don't leave a kettle on the stove, kids. Bad, bad idea.
2) No, Yuuri still doesn't know about the mate thing.
3) "Zhu Li, do the thing!"
Feel free to squeal with me on tumblr: dreaming-fireflies. tumblr. com (remove the spaces).