FYI, I've been making minor edits to the entire fic from Chapter 3. It doesn't change the story, but it adds smaller details that I had drafted but didn't include until now. I'm also uploading the story to Archive of Our Own (same user name). Thanks for reading and reviewing and spoiling me with love, I appreciate you all!

Makka lay vertical on Yuuri's chest, enjoying some long overdue attention from his best Japanese friend. He whined lazily as Yuuri played with his ears, and Yuuri felt his spirit lift with each playful sound. All the exhaustion and worry and crazy of the days before were now spreading thin; it was becoming pliable, breakable, and Yuuri woke that morning more mild-tempered than overwrought. It was five-thirty a.m., much too early to be awake, but he'd slept so well that when his eyes fluttered open, he didn't experience that grinding compulsion to go back to sleep. So, he showered Makka with all the love he hadn't been able too since his and Victor's stupid fight.

Speaking of Victor...

Yuuri closed his eyes and evocated, cataloging all the good moments and casting away the bad. It was much like how he'd skated his free program, fearless and poised because, ultimately, his failures truly didn't define him. He wasn't weak. An idiot maybe, but not weak. It was an unquestionable characteristic in everyone's eyes, especially Victor's. There was much in Yuuri's past that he wasn't proud of, things that still triggered bouts of emotional uncertainty, but every time he stood on the ice with Victor, those things vanished, seared by the sheer allure of their relationship. Yuuri skated for himself, yes, but he also did it for Victor. He wanted to keep surprising him. He wanted to show him exactly how much his being in Hasetsu meant to him.

Yuuri's hand palmed the empty space on his bed. Admittedly, waking up without Victor wasn't an activity Yuuri wanted to get used too. Parting with Victor last night had been a feat in itself. Hearing Yuuri speak in his native tongue had compelled Victor to reach out to him, to take Yuuri's face into his hands and bring his lips as near as he could without kissing him. Everything proceeded to slow around them, narrowing down to the simple act of breathing against the other. And Yuuri knew. All at once, he knew. He knew what Victor was trying to communicate, he could sense it in the way Victor pressed his forehead against his own, could hear the unspoken words from his slightly parted lips. Yuuri knew, because he'd always known. There was just no denying it anymore. Not when he was experiencing the softest touch and all he could see was waves of blue-green and all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of yes.

The kiss never came, but Yuuri didn't mind (so much). A more significant factor was now in play. Yuuri vowed never to take it for granted.

Makka stretched then flopped back onto his stomach, apprising Yuuri to his stilled hand. Yuuri smiled fondly at the mass of fluff, making up for his inattentiveness with a vigorous head rub, "Have I ever thanked you boy? For making it easier to get to know Victor?" Makka licked his chin, and Yuuri rewarded him with a soft hug. He began moving his blanket aside, and Makka diligently jumped off of him while he stumbled out of bed.

'Might as well head to the rink,' Yuuri bent to touch his toes, 'A slow warm-up might be good for my muscles after yesterday.' He looked through his messages, responding to Phichit that he too hoped everything would be better today, and then took a brisk shower, tip-toeing around the hall so he wouldn't disturb Victor and Yurio.

And speaking of Yuri Plisetsky...

Yuuri pondered their brief conversation last night as he got dressed. Knowing Yurio had witnessed one of his lowest moments made him uneasy, but it was still low on his list of pressing matters. As much as Yuuri wanted to personally dissect just how much Sochi had been a turning point in his life, it was the rest of his and Yurio's impromptu rendezvous that Yuuri wanted answers on. It made no sense to him. He projected attitude and indifference, gave the impression that Yuuri's retirement was something he craved, yet plainly concluded that he wanted to see Yuuri on the ice. Was the young Russian gauging him? Yurio would be making his senior debut next season and using both Yuuri's insecurities and Victor as leverage to provoke him was a feasible conclusion. The ice could be a cut-throat place after all. However, Yuuri couldn't dismiss that there had been something underneath Yurio's tone, a grudging maturity that his fifteen year old self was still catching up too. What it denoted, Yuuri was yet to discover.

Regardless, Yuuri wasn't in the mood for unnecessary confrontations today. All the anger had done was chip away at his soul. He wanted to spend the morning with Victor filling those cracks, skating like his heart was on fire, and using the time to continue mending their relationship. He zipped up his jacket, ready for the day.

"You want to come with me or wait for Victor?" Yuuri grinned as Makka made a show of nesting in his blankets, "Okay boy. One sec."

Yuuri wrote a note and left it in his collar, leaving his bedroom door ajar before quietly heading downstairs. He made a stop in the dining room to throw some fresh fruit in his bag. As he stepped into the crisp morning air, head down and focused on his phone, he didn't notice Yurio jogging on the spot outside Yu-topia. An annoyed grunt alerted Yuuri to his presence. Yurio and Victor had trained in the same rink in St. Petersburg, so it wasn't exactly a surprise that he was accustomed to early mornings. Yuuri deliberated that he was probably the skater who made it first to practice out of pure spite. The thought made him chuckle, and Yurio shot him a pointed glare, unsure of what was so funny.

Yuuri took a deep breath; come hell, high water or Yurio's insults, he needed to keep it together today. Much of his displeasure at Yurio's presence in Hasetsu had faded, and with the parting jealousy came a keen curiosity to see the routine Victor had choreographed for his fellow Russian. If Yurio had traveled here to ascertain his abilities, then it was only fair that Yuuri emulated that mentality.

"Good morning Yurio."

Being spoken too so early in the day appeared to offend Yurio, "You look like shit."

Yuuri found himself smiling; Yurio wasn't a morning persons, much like Yuuri. Despite the fact that Yuuri was well-rested and had taken a shower, there was that usual trace of grump in his features, "I appreciate the honesty. I'm headed to the rink. Want to take a run?"

Yurio glanced at him, eyebrow arched, "With you?"

"I don't see anyone else around." His gall remark earned Yuuri a low "Pfft". Yuuri shrugged and did some starter stretches, buying Yurio time to make up his mind. He hid the pleased look on his face when Yurio's mutter reached him.

"I don't like to talk when I'm exercising."

"We have that in common," and Yuuri started his run. Soon enough, Yurio fell into step with him and they kept up a medium pace to get their blood pumping. The silence wasn't stifling or filled with yesterday's adversity. It was tolerable, though Yuuri could still feel the young man's punk aura pushing his way. As they passed the beach, Yuuri's eyes were drawn to the area. It had been a while since he and Victor had spent time there. Surprisingly, Yurio's head was also turned in that direction. Yuuri saw the flash of a smile tug at the corners of the Russian's mouth, and he briskly adjusted his gaze elsewhere.

Yurio opened Ice Castle, and powered on the facility. He pulled open the glass doors and gestured to a frowning Yurio who had stopped at the entrance.

"You can grab a pair of skates and join me if you want," Yuuri was pulling off his jacket, "I'm going to run some exercises."

If Yuuri's warmer attitude was affecting him, he didn't directly show it, although he did eventually help himself to a pair skates and entered the rink. Yuuri was already on the ice, sighing contentedly; his body responded to his every move with ease. He felt that voracious drive to move, to get lost in the skating. It was good to be back in proper form. His day off had really done the trick. Yurio skated to him, staring intently at the visible bruises on his arm.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he asked, miffed.

Yuuri shrugged, "I overdid it the other day. It's cosmetic now, they've healed fine. It's really not as bad as it looks."

"You shouldn't be putting yourself in danger of injury," Yurio griped.

"I know," Yuuri agreed, letting the teen's concern go unacknowledged; it's probably what he wanted anyway, "The last few days..."

"Right." Yurio didn't ask for further clarity. He moved into a mobility warm up, stretching and releasing as he glided across the ice. Yuuri followed his lead and they ran the moves for about fifteen minutes before resting. Yurio cracked his neck and eased into a perfect standing split.

"It's quiet here."

Yuuri smiled, "Well, since Victor became my coach, they've given us the rink as a home-base. No one is really allowed in now without permission."

"Must make practice easier."

"It does. I never liked practicing around crowds," Yuuri looked around his empty home rink, grateful for the space, "I spend most of my time here."

Yurio frowned, "With Victor?"

Yuuri eyed him curiously; that was kind of a stupid question but he remained patient, "Yes. "

"Huh."

Yuuri wasn't sure where he was trying to go, "He's my-"

"Coach. I know," Yurio's frown was deepening, "Why didn't you skate in Sochi the way you skated Aria?"

Yuuri sighed. It wasn't a revelation that Yurio had seen the video, the damn thing had been viral for days. But it was odd for him to bring it up, and in such a definite context. There was no malice in the question and no misinterpreting it. In his own deadpan way, Yurio had just acknowledged his skill as a figure skater. Yuuri dragged a blade along the ice and answered as frankly as he could, "I didn't have a lot of confidence in Sochi. Part of me knew I was capable of more but..." Yuuri sighed, "I couldn't see beyond me own fears. So, I fucked up."

"And what about now?"

"Well, Victor believes in me," just saying Victor's name set his chest alight, "And because of that I'm believing in myself. I don't have to worry about him seeing my shortcomings because none of that matters when I'm on the ice. I feel a lot more free with him around."

"So," Yurio lowered his leg, "Those pictures weren't a one time thing?"

Yuuri wasn't sure what he meant or what that had to do with their current conversation but his composure persevered, "The lounge? No. It wasn't."

"He has a sordid past."

Yuuri knew the stories well. Being the greatest figure skater in the world came with its conjectures. But using 'sordid' was harsh, even by Yurio's standards, "That's his business. Victor has always been honest with me. That incident wasn't exactly the highlight of our week, but it doesn't change anything, not my gratitude that he's here coaching me or otherwise."

Yurio watched him closely, "Let's do another round of warm-ups."

Had they come to some level of understanding? Yuuri wasn't sure, but Yurio's expression, while challenging, held no indication of disrespect, "Okay."

Victor sat on the edge of Yuuri's bed, reading the note he'd left with Makka:

Up early. At the rink. I promise to go easy until you get here.

I miss you.

Those three words were but the tip of the iceberg of Victor's state, especially after last night. Leaving Yuuri's room had been as heart-wrenching as the same decision he'd made in Sochi. Again, it was the right choice for his own emotional stability, but good lord, Yuuri three quarters naked and respecting his boundaries and whispering sweet Russian nothings and handing over his watch?

Victor groaned. Did Yuuri even know how effortlessly he undid him? He still hadn't decided on when or how to give Yuuri an answer, and with Yurio around, getting into the substance of that conversation didn't seem practical. Okay, that was an extremely weak excuse. As much as he also missed Yuuri, he welcomed the delay. There was something specific he needed to address with Yuuri and he needed to brace himself for that show of vulnerability.

It was after eight a.m. when he and Makka walked into Ice Castle. Yurio was having an actual full and cordial conversation with Yuuko, looking much calmer than usual as they stood at the counter. He seemed to be very taken with her and Victor understood that all too well; as long as he'd known Yurio, the only stories the younger Russian had spouted were of him and his grandfather.

"Hello Yuuko, Yurio," Victor said brightly. Makka jumped up to the counter, happily collecting several pats.

"Early morning for you boys," Yuuko smiled, "I was just asking Yurio what his usual routine in Russia was."

"Did you tell her you'd get to practice hours before me just so Yakov would bite my head off?"

Yurio, previously cool and collected, fumed, "It was your own damn fault, coming to practice at lunchtime. How times have changed."

"Hasetsu has that effect, I guess," Victor's eyes strayed to the glass doors and to Yuuri. Yuuko felt relief at that motion, and the crinkles that appeared as Victor smiled. It was a clear indication that something was going right with the two skaters. Yurio also followed Victor's attentive gaze. There was an expression he'd never seen manifest in St. Petersburg. He resumed his chat with Yuuko, giving Victor the opening to go to his student.

Yuuri landed a clean triple toe loop ahead of noticing Victor's arrival. His coach's disposition was the opposite of yesterday. Those shining eyes and that private smile meant only for him had Yuuri skating to Victor without reservation.

"I thought we said nine," Victor handed Yuuri his water and then swept his damp hair from his face. The red in Yuuri's cheeks became more prominent.

"I wanted to make use of the time," Yuuri said between a cool gulp of water, "Thanks for letting Makka stay with me."

"Thanks for the note," Victor's countenance was dazzling, "What do you want to run today?"

"Free skate. Let's hold off on Eros until later this week," Yuuri was vague and Victor wasn't complaining. He pulled out his skates and nodded towards the ice.

"Okay, go ahead. Let's focus on presentation. I want to make sure your body's in order."

Soon, they were on the ice together. Victor did one run through with him (more for the sake of having Yuuri close again) and then watched him on his own, giving minor pointers as they went along. There wasn't much else he could say; Yuuri had transformed the program into a unique personal representation of his journey as a skater. Those late night trips to Ice Castle were undoubtedly well spent. He was relaxed, focused, and profound in his manoeuvres across the ice. Victor was transfixed, his hand unconsciously hovering over his heart. Yuuri was beyond mesmerizing. By the middle of his third run through, Victor was unnaturally quiet.

"That was very good Yuuri," he said afterwards, "Let's take a break."

They leaned against the barrier, elbows touching. Both men were well aware of the rich sparks from that minimal contact. Victor gave him a small nudge, "Did you and Yurio come here together?"

Yuuri made small circular motions with his free arm, "Yeah. We took a run this morning."

"Did it go okay?"

"Better than yesterday," Yuuri was thoughtful, "I get the feeling he was trying to tell me something and didn't want to say it outright."

"Do you mind that he's here?" Victor's arm overlapped his now. Yuuri's heart sped up.

"I did," Yuuri said honestly, "Not so much anymore. He isn't as bad as he makes himself out to be."

Victor was visibly relieved. Yuuri gave him a brilliant smile and looked over his shoulder at the main doors. Yuuko and Yurio were no longer in their line of sight. There was no one watching them. He and Victor were essentially alone. He honestly wished he could take advantage of the opening because Victor's hand was brushing against his waist now. Wait...how had the space inched away so easily?

"Yuuri."

"Sorry, did you say some-" and Yuuri turned to find eager lips in the vicinity of his. He held his breath, didn't make the slightest movement, and got lost in an impossible sea of cobalt. This was Victor's choice. Yuuri couldn't influence this with his own selfishness. He waited, heart pounding.

When Victor did kiss him, it was with a burning, pent up force, and Yuuri realized just how much Victor had been holding back last night. He lavished Yuuri with his tongue, deep and heated, and every moan it elicited was caught between their lips. Yuuri drowned himself in the sensations, curling a fist into Victor's t-shirt, pulling him flush against him. He could cry. This was worth every single word written about them that week, and so much more. How had he been so fucking obtuse? In what universe was it acceptable to push Victor away? This kiss, the blazing, all-consuming passion, the underlying tenderness and authenticity, it was more than Yuuri deserved in so short a space of time.

Yuuko, who seconds before was about to burst through the doors, was simultaneously inwardly shrieking and despairing. 'Fuck! Why now?!' she lamented and knocked loudly on the glass before going in. Yuuri and Victor parted ever so slowly, looking at her in a collective daze.

"I'm so sorry but we have a problem," she showed them her phone, "We knew someone would eventually spot Yurio. I'm surprised no one recognized him when you went sightseeing yesterday."

"He kept his shades on and hoodie up. He has no patience for the press either." Victor explained, the perfect haze around him and Yuuri fading too quickly for his liking.

"Where's Yurio?" Yuuri was grimacing.

"Um, well," Yuuko was apprehensive, dreading a repeat of the other day, "He's outside. There's a crowd. Of reporters."

"Fucking perfect," Yuuri muttered darkly.

"Yuuri," Victor looked equally tense, "I can handle this. We don't have to-"

"Yes. We do," Yuuri pointed towards his guards and Yuuko reached for them, "Let's just get this over with. We've wasted enough time."

It wasn't only practice that Yuuri was referring too.

The press, passing fans, curious onlookers...it was a thick throng outside of Ice Castle. Yuuri couldn't help it, he was shaking and bile was rising in his throat, but his cognition remained sharp. The steady hand Victor kept on his lower back helped tremendously. Yurio joined them on the steps, one below the trio and Yuuko did her best to stay the mass a few feet from her boys (her protectiveness right then was ten-fold), typing frantically with one hand to Takeshi and Minako to get to the rink now. Yurio, noticing the way Yuuri's eyes searched for an anchor, jabbed him suddenly. Their eyes met and Yurio gave a minute nod: Calm down piggy.

The reporters were shouting over each other, and Victor employed his old tricks to coerce them into settling down. A super nova smile here, a strategic hair flip there, he exuded charm from every pore in his body. Most of the them, and the crowd at large, fell expeditiously into his refined trap.

"Mr. Nikiforov, are you thinking about making a full career switch to coach?"

"Mr. Plisetsky, are you moving your home base to Hasetsu?"

"Mr. Nikiforov, are you considering going back to Russia? Is Yuri Plisetsky in line to be your next protege?"

"Mr. Katsuki, how will this affect your preparations for the upcoming season? Are you worried about your chances given last year's GPF results?"

They answered the questions without much fuss, with Victor tailoring much of them to reflect absolutely nothing. He'd dealt with the press long enough to know what hole to drop them in, and seamlessly picked up from Yuuri's and Yurio's monosyllabic responses. He wished Chris was there to offer his own unique flirtations, like they'd done at so many press conferences in the past. They still considered the on-going debate on the legitimacy of their supposed epic affair one of their best accomplishments (he should update Yuuri on that one, in case he wasn't already aware that it wasn't true).

Through the plethora of inquiries, Victor never moved his hand from Yuuri's back, and set his other hand firmly on Yurio's shoulder. They were both experiencing tremors, the former from nerves and the latter from rage. It was shortening Victor's tolerance for this show and his mouth was starting to hurt from the constant smiling. That patience dipped dramatically into the minus numbers when a snide tone emerged from the crowd.

"Yuuri Katsuki, what are your thoughts on Victor choreographing for a rival skater? Isn't that a fickle move on the part of your coach? Are you concerned about how this affects your, ah, unconventional relationship?"

Unadulterated derision. Nothing more, nothing less. Yuuri's mind fucking snapped.

Several things happened in quick succession. Victor dug his fingers into Yuuri's side as the younger skater made to launch into verbal tirade against that reprehensible question; Yuuri's head snapped to Victor whose eyes, soft and inviting this morning, were now an ice field, piercing and terrifying, fixated on the reporter; Yuuko flanked them a step up, about to announce that this impromptu conference was over; Minako and Takeshi, having arrived minutes before, were all the way to the back looking downright murderous.

But no one made it to another thought or move. Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian Punk, lenient towards this unnecessary waste of his time for the past ten minutes, pointed decisively at the man who was now nothing more than the scum beneath his shoe. His voice was low and ferocious.

"Excuse me? His 'ah, unconventional relationship'? You cannot be fucking serious."

A mixture of gasps, murmurs and stunned silence surrounded them. Both Yuuri and Victor looked like the wind had been kicked out of them. Yuuko was so proud she could scream.

"I'm just trying to get the facts Mr. Plisetsky. As everyone knows, both Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Katsuki were spotted engaging in less than professional-"

"Here's some facts for all of you," Yurio snapped, "Victor is a hell of a skater. Being in Hasetsu doesn't change that. Also, Katsuki's performance in Sochi has no bearing on his capabilities for next season. And their relationship is no one's business but theirs. So how about you keep your fucking prejudices to yourself."

"Mr. Plisetsky," the reporter faltered, "I'm not trying to be disrespectful but-"

"Fuck." Yurio growled, "Off."

And with that Yurio dragged his colleagues and Yuuko back into rink. He stood enraged, personally offended by that encounter, and it took him a moment to register the three pairs of eyes glued to him, waiting for an explanation.

"Why the hell are you all looking at me like that? You can't tell me that asshole wasn't out of line. Fucking vultures. It's the one thing I hate about being a figure skater."

Yuuko pounced on him, crushing him a hug. Probably because it was her, he didn't put up a fight. He looked over at Victor and Yuuri who wore matching expressions, a mixture of incredulity and awe. Yurio rolled his eyes.

"Last I checked, this was still your practice time piggy."

Yuuri stuck his head into the dining room to find Yurio having his second friendly conversation of the day with Hiroko. Yuuri smiled at his mother, and gestured to the young Russian.

"I was looking for you."

"Is there a problem?"

Yuuri shook his head, "There's a ramen spot in town, it has some of the best food you'll eat, outside of my mom's katsudon of course. Want to get some dinner?"

Yurio's scowl was less distinct tonight, "Fine. Where's Victor?"

"Minako hijacked him about an hour ago so they could destroy each other's liver. We can meet them after, if you want."

"Okay. Let me get dressed." Yurio murmured something to Hiroko before heading to his room. As soon as he was out of sight, Yuuri requited his mother with an appreciative hug.

"I'm glad you came around dear," she said dotingly. Yuuri nodded into her shoulder.

Yuuri waited outside Yu-topia, texting Phichit an update on the day: It went much better. Minor press situation. You'll probably see some stories when you're up. He pressed send and laughed at Makka jumping up onto his leg.

"Victor's going to be wasted tonight," he massaged his fingers into Makka's head, "You'll have to stay with him since I can't."

"And why can't you?" Yurio's voice emerged from Yu-topia's entrance. Yuuri couldn't be bothered to evade the question, not after Yurio's incredible outburst that morning.

"We're still sorting some things out."

Yurio scratched under Makka's chin, "Trust me, however dramatic you are, Victor can outshine you ten to one."

They walked in a full comfortable silence for a few minutes before Yurio spoke, "I like Hasetsu."

"I appreciate that," Yuuri smiled, "By the way, your Agape was amazing."

"Victor's a gifted choreographer," Yurio admitted and he immediately frowned, "Don't tell him I said that. His ego's inflated enough as it is."

"No problem," Yuuri chuckled, "Can I ask you something in return for that?" Yurio didn't object, so Yuuri continued, "Why did you defend us this morning?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Yurio shrugged as though he believed his actions were more matter-of-fact than impassioned. Yuuri marveled at how easily his anger had misled him yesterday.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Yuuri treated Yurio to the best ramen in town, and enjoyed watching his defenses collapse when he filled his mouth with noodles. They ate with gusto and talked about skating, even offering advice on their respective routines. By the time they finished and went to retrieve Victor and Minako from a nearby bar, both Yuuri's coach and ballet instructor were three times as wasted compared to the night at the lounge. As soon as Victor spotted Yuuri, he swooped in, slurring in Russian. The look on Yurio's face clearly said that everyone was lucky they couldn't understand what he was saying.

Yuuri guided Minako as she payed the tab and he thanked the bartender for putting up with their trouble. He wanted to call a taxi but there was no controlling these drunkards; they both insisted on walking so they could enjoy the refreshing night air. Yurio watched the three of them, linked by the arms and laughing. He had to smile.

"I saw that," Yuuri whispered.

"What happens in Hasetsu piggy."

Victor awoke around two a.m., sore and parched. He vaguely remembered being out with Minako and having Yuuri and Yurio escort them home. He vividly remembered Yuuri guiding him into the shower but everything else was basically static. Had Yuuri gotten him out of his clothes? He could only hazard a guess if he'd been the one to finish the task, seeing as he was in his sleep clothes and Makka was the only one in bed with him.

He trekked outside and straight to Yuuri's room, forgetting his manners as he barged in without knocking. Yuuri wasn't there, and neither was his equipment. Victor chuckled, "Oh Yuuri." He backtracked, grabbed his jacket, equipment, and a quick drink of water, and headed out to Ice Castle, ignoring the impending hangover and the subsequent resistance to any kind of late-night exertion.

On Love: Eros. That's where Yuuri's attention lay tonight. He seemed to have come here in his own sleep clothes; his pants were a size larger and his t-shirt was stretched out so it leaned to one shoulder. That sight alone made Victor's breathing more pronounced and his eyes widened as the seconds passed. There was a blinding sexual energy flowing from Yuuri's every move. His entire demeanor heightened it, the way his hair flowed with each movement, his hands highlighting just the right body part with each turn, the eroticism gleaming in his eyes, as though he was being filled to the brim with ecstasy...

Victor braced himself against the wall as his legs began failing him. With his free skate, Yuuri made music. With Eros, he was making love. What had spurred this, at two in the morning no less? What had gotten into Yuuri...

Wait...

Wait...

This momentum he was building. It was flawless. The speed was just right. Victor's mouth opened wide, a cry imminent. There was no turning back, Yuuri wouldn't fail this time...

"YES! YES! THAT WAS PERFECT!" Victor shouted as Yuuri propelled himself into the air and landed the elusive quadruple flip, his signature move. He dropped his bag and ran into the rink, "YOU DID IT YUURI!"

Yuuri wasn't surprised in the least to see Victor. He was overjoyed, and he rode the high of his accomplishment as he skated with desperation towards Victor who met him full force by diving into his arms. They fell onto the ice, Victor's arm securely around the back of his head so he didn't injure himself again.

"I can't believe it," Yuuri panted dreamily, "Victor..." and their lips met in an intense, fiery caress that lay waste to the remnants of misery from the week's roller-coaster events. Victor peppered his cheeks and jaw and neck with sweet kisses, his praises fluidly transitioning from English to Russian.

"What were you thinking about during that skate?" Victor murmured into his skin. Yuuri threaded his fingers through Victor's hair with a smile.

"I had a dream about us," Yuuri said and Victor leaned up to feed him a burning gaze, "So, I came here to work it off."

The dreams don't do this justice...

"Will you tell me about it sometime?" Victor included another searing kiss with his question.

"I thought I just showed it to you," Yuuri mused playfully and laughed when Victor pouted, "I don't mind. It's part of my inspiration for Eros."

"And here I thought your motivation would be katsudon. You haven't had one in ages." Victor's tongue slid along Yuuri's lower lip and Yuuri shivered under him.

"Pork cutlet bowls aren't my only weakness Victor."

"Ah," Victor kissed his forehead, "Let's talk later, okay?"

Yuuri breathed out; those words were the comfort he'd been waiting on, "Okay. Ready to go home?"

"Can we sleep together tonight?"

Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor's neck, "Yes."