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Viktor is omnipresent in his life. Viktor is everything, from the morning sunrise to the midnight stars, from the air he breathes to the sound his blood makes when it rushes in his ears. Viktor is the golden band on his finger, and Viktor is the golden medal around his neck.
Yet Viktor isn’t here. Yuuri’s trying to keep everything together, trying to fumble through, somehow, but an empty home is an empty heart, and Yuuri’s void tonight. It isn’t usually so bad, but today his anxiety’s been threading careful strings through his thoughts, working into his head ceaselessly and mercilessly, and Viktor isn’t here to cut those threads of tension, isn’t here to brush his hair back and murmur comforting, meaningless words, isn’t here to encourage Yuuri to fight back. He hasn’t been here a lot, recently. Long evenings that should have been spent so caught up in each other that the time passed too fast were spent wondering when Viktor was going to be home, wondering if he should make dinner for both of them or just himself- since so often when Viktor did come home, he’d have already eaten.
Yuuri always makes dinner for two, anyways. The leftovers disappear by the next day. He knows it makes Viktor feel guilty, to see the result of Yuuri’s efforts untouched and carefully put away. Would it be kinder to stop making dinner for two? Maybe. Yuuri thinks being a little petty is fine here, though.
They’re planning a wedding together, they’re coach and student, they’re engaged, they have a home within each other’s hearts, it’s only three hours every day that Viktor is away, but Yuuri can’t help but feel like something must be lacking. There has to be a reason why Viktor isn’t coming home, Yuuri must be messing this up somehow. Before, when Viktor was around, Yuuri knows that his fiancé would have assured Yuuri that there was nothing wrong, that Yuuri was perfect, that Yuuri was incredible, but Viktor isn’t around right now, and the voice in Yuuri’s head that whispers reassurances to him is growing quieter, growing silent, until he can’t hear anything anymore.
Yuuri sips his tea, sitting at their dining table, his dinner ignored and cooling in front of him. He’s pulled open the wedding planner, looking over the notes Viktor must have added at some point when he was here in the morning. The words don’t mean anything to him, though they should. They’re just ink on a page, passing before his eyes, tiny hearts dotting the i’s that make the corner of his mouth drag up just a little.
Sighing, he put down his tea, trying to ignore the quivering in his hands as he presses his palms to his face. Today is bad. He’s only gone three hours every day. It’s not anything to be worried about. Yuuri isn’t that dependant on his lover to calm his anxiety. He’s lived with it for twenty three years before Viktor even came into the picture. Just because today is an awful, inescapable sort of day, with nervous energy propelling his foot into bouncing, with sleep unreachable but any other activity ruined by his paranoia, doesn’t mean he’s going to fall apart. When Yuuri wakes up tomorrow, Viktor will be there. If he stays up late enough tonight, Viktor will be here. Viktor’s coming back.
Yuuri makes an effort to stop bouncing his leg, blinking a couple times to attempt to focus his vision, then tries to concentrate on the words on the page. They’re important. If Viktor wrote them, they must be important.
He passes out an hour later, neither of their dinners touched, the wedding planner a perfect pillow for his cheek.
Viktor doesn’t think that Yuuri really likes to cook. He comes from a background of it, his family being from an inn, and he can certainly find his way around a kitchen- Viktor has to let him know tomorrow morning that the steamed vegetables are utterly divine- but there’s a certain lack of passion to it all, a way of just going through the motions. It’s a fair reaction, since Yuuri was essentially shoved into the role of chef because Viktor is absolutely, utterly hopeless in the kitchen. Baking? Viktor can make cookies, cakes, any kind of pastry imaginable, and he loves to decorate them, but he’s forgetful with cooking. Boiling away an entire pot of water and making the kitchen smell absolutely, astoundingly awful was the last straw for poor Yuuri, and Viktor’s now banned from the stove if he’s not making something sugary and sweet.
There are a lot of things he’s trying to learn for Yuuri. Cooking, japanese, how to manage anxiety, how not to steal all the covers in the middle of the night, how to coach properly… it’s all for Yuuri, because of Yuuri, and Viktor loves every moment of it. He loves what they are, he loves what they’re becoming, he loves what they’ve been. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, all of it, how much love he has suddenly, when he’s been avoiding it all for twenty years, but it’s the kind of feeling that makes him burst with excitement, struggle to contain his smile and sudden urge to just hug Yuuri, to make him understand how lucky Viktor feels to have him.
Setting down his fork, Viktor stares across the table at Yuuri’s completely full plate of food, the wedding planner closed and wiped free of the drool Yuuri had left there, Yuuri himself safely deposited in their bed, Viktor whispering apologies as he tucked his fiancé in. There’s an expanse of guilt sitting somewhere in his mind, unexplored and cast, carefully and conveniently pushed away every time it threatens to seep into his thoughts, because if he ever acknowledges how much leaving Yuuri like this hurts him, he won’t be able to keep doing it.
Viktor doesn’t want to hurt Yuuri, never would, would rather be hurt himself than ever see his love suffer. But there’s something Viktor needs to learn without Yuuri knowing, an incredibly important thing that Viktor’s learning for Yuuri as a surprise, something he should have learned in the four months he had after the banquet he met Yuuri but he stupidly put off until now.
Viktor Nikiforov is going to learn to pole dance if it’s the last thing he does.
Yuuri learned how to pole dance six years ago, with Minako-sensei as a guide, and he barely remembers how to do it now- while sober, at least. Minako-sensei had thought it was important, thought he’d need to learn to be sexy as a figure skater, and it had turned out she was right, but his pole-dancing hadn’t exactly been incorporated into his figure skating. It had simply seduced the man who taught him to be sexy in his everyday life, who taught him that someone could be sexy in the curve of their lips or the sway of their hips. Pole-dancing had turned out to be incredibly important to Yuuri’s life, in the most nonsensical way, but he still did not understand why Viktor needs one to be at their wedding.
“I’m not going to get drunk like I did at the banquet and dance with it,” Yuuri says, confused and bewildered why Viktor would have even written that on the wedding planner, even as Viktor beams at him across the dining table in such a way it makes him almost forget what point he’s arguing. “I want to actually remember our wedding night.”
“Can you trust me when I say we’ll need it?” Viktor purrs, looking so incredibly sure of himself it makes Yuuri’s logical response short-circuit for a few seconds, his blue eyes dark beneath fluttering lashes. “Please, Yuuri?”
“I still don’t understand, Viktor,” Yuuri tries, feeling like his words are weak even as they leave his lips, knowing he’s already lost this fight. That’s how wedding planning goes for them- they agree on something and it’s done immediately, or they disagree, and whichever one is faster to put on a pout and beg the other into their choice wins. It’s evil, it’s malicious, it’s conniving, it’s silly and it’s fun. Yuuri’s never had the ability to bat his eyelashes at someone and make them lose all sense of reasoning. Not before Viktor, who’s so gorgeous that Yuuri loses his breath every morning waking up to the sight of him, who’s so confident in his own sexiness that Christophe Giacometti looks up to him. To know that Yuuri, and Yuuri alone has the ability to make Viktor weak at the knees, to make Viktor flush red, to make Viktor kneel for him is breathtakingly enticing. Viktor can make thousands of people intoxicated with just a simple wink, but only Yuuri can push Viktor so far with the exact same. It doesn’t happen often, that they disagree, so rarely in fact that Yuuri can count on one hand the amount of times he’s had to deal with Viktor’s blinding smiles and rumbling voice while trying to keep in mind exactly what they’re talking about. It’s always something seemingly nonsensical, something like a pole for dancing, or that the Eros song be added to the playlist, or that Yuri Plisetsky should be the ring boy.
Yuuri had wanted Yuri to be able to stay uninvolved with the wedding, since he so obviously wanted to be left out of the planning, but Viktor was determined to make him participate in it all, and so with a lick of his lips and a flip of his hair, Viktor had convinced Yuuri to allow Viktor to torture the boy a little.
Pole dancing, the Eros song, champagne and suits… Yuuri’s not an idiot. Viktor wants to get him drunk, and see him pole dance again, but Yuuri already regrets enough that he doesn’t remember the night they really met. He’s not forgetting this night for anything.
“Do you have to be drunk to pole dance?” Viktor asks easily, blinking slowly at Yuuri. Yuuri tries his best not to blush, and thinks he probably fails. “It’s a sight I’ll never forget.”
“I… don’t know if I’ll be able to do something like that in front of so many people,” Yuuri mutters, giving way in his argument immediately, losing his grip on the simple fact that they don’t need a pole at their wedding, trying once more to mentally grasp at how it must have felt to dance with Chris on that night a year ago and coming up with nothing. “I was drunk before, Viktor. I didn’t care what people thought at the time.”
“And do you care now?” Viktor asks, flicking his hair out of his eyes a little, smile growing satisfied when Yuuri flushes a little more. “I’ll be watching you the whole time. Do you care what I’ll be thinking when I get to see you dance for me?”
Yuuri bites his lip, takes a long sip of his tea, and looks right into Viktor’s eyes, marvelling at the different shades of blue, how they look like the cerulean of the ocean one moment and pale turquoise of the sky the next, shifting and changing in the dawn light. “I’ve always cared about that. From the first time I danced for you, I’m sure I cared. What about you?”
Viktor looks taken aback, and Yuuri leans in slightly, running a hand through his hair and pulling it back from his forehead so he can look at Viktor uninterrupted, his voice soft and measured, the exact opposite of Viktor’s effortless seductive tones. “Do you care about what I’m thinking when I dance for you?”
“Will you tell me, if I ask?” Viktor says, leaning in as well, the wedding planner forgotten between them. Yuuri’s eyes keep flicking down to Viktor’s lips as he speaks, marvelling at the shine on them, lip balm obviously applied before this conversation. There’s too much space between them to kiss, too much space to feel Viktor’s breath on his cheek, too much space to be anything but a hassle. This dining table was a bad choice. It’s far too wide. Viktor’s eyes are steady on Yuuri’s, even as his hand reaches up to cradle Yuuri’s cheek. “Can you tell me what’s going through your head when you skate for me?”
“...That I’m the only one,” Yuuri says, quickly, breathlessly, in an effort to pull all the words out of him and deliver them to Viktor as fast as possible. “I’m the only one who can make you like that, I’m the only one who deserves to be with you like this. That the whole world can hate me, as long as you’re mine. As long as your eyes are on me, I’m the star of the show, and it’s a show meant for you and you alone.”
“Yuuri,” Viktor says, and then nothing else, as they both stand up simultaneously and meet in the middle of the dining table, reach suddenly doubled, Viktor’s thumb brushing gently over Yuuri’s cheekbone as they kiss and Yuuri’s hand reaching around to the back of Viktor’s head, tangling itself in the strands of hair there. They drown in each other, seamlessly and effortlessly, as they’ve been doing for months, and don’t make anymore progress on the wedding planning for hours.
In the end, Yuuri agrees to the pole.
Viktor prides himself as being an excellent athlete, one whose physique is honed perfectly to his craft, who has full and exact control of the movements he makes and is only second to Yurio in flexibility.
Whatever muscle he’d lost in the year coaching Yuuri, little as it was- considering his very much hands-on coaching style, demonstrating move after move for Yuuri to follow- had come back quickly, and then been schooled into exactly what Viktor would need to master pole dancing as well as he had mastered skating.
Spins are about balance and proper form, hooking his body around the pole in just the right way to create a tension that keeps him moving, keeps him from crashing into the pole or to the floor, and while they’re definitely not Viktor’s favourite- they’re not particularly flashy or exciting, and there’s so many kinds that any abstract movement he makes while doing them is probably a new kind of spin he’s never heard of before- the pole burns against his bare skin, the metal is foreign and hard and dragging, and he dreaded them for the first three weeks, until something had clicked inside him and the tugging on his skin that had so easily defeated him before was barely noticeable.
Climbing the pole, something that usually takes beginners months to build up the upper body and leg strength for, is completely effortless to him, his motions as fluid and graceful as he remembers Chris being already, and Viktor has no doubt that his ease in simply getting off the floor has enabled him to progress faster than anything else he had in his skillset before starting pole dancing. Every single muscle, from his thighs to his abs to his arms have to be able to take his weight, have to be able to hold him up, in an endless fight against gravity and fatigue, far longer and more tiresome than the quick and brief fight with those same enemies during a quadruple flip, during any jump in skating. He’s always revelled in that fight, bathed in the glory when he inevitably won.
The bruises blossom on his skin nevertheless, bursting forward in all shades of beige and green and purple, sometimes a little yellow in the healing process. When Yuuri notices them, inevitably, Viktor has to laugh them off as clumsy accidents, begs Yuuri for a kiss to make them better- which he always, inevitably, gets.
Inversions are foreign territory, completely different from anything he’s ever learned in figure skating, but there’s something so fascinating in that, the way the world tilts around him as he flips upside down, the way it’s never done that before. Viktor thinks he likes being upside down, likes combining all the moves he’s learned, likes playing on the pole without thinking about it, likes imagining all the things he’ll be able to do with Yuuri- likes imagining all the skin that will be shared between them in their dance, the expression on Yuuri’s face when Viktor invites him onto the pole, the thoughts that will race through Yuuri’s head when he watches Viktor perform alone.
Maybe it will be a little cruel, to do this at their wedding, in front of everyone either of them has ever cared about, but Viktor’s never cared what others think… and if he knows Yuuri at all, and he hopes he does, once Viktor starts to move, once Viktor starts to entice him and pull him in, Yuuri will join him without a single care in the world.
For now, with so little time left until what Yurio’s been affectionately calling ‘Viktor Nikiforov’s Funeral’, with confidence he’ll be able to move like he wants to, Viktor only wants to spend time with his fiancé, only wants to go on walks with him and Makkachin on a wild impulse late at night, only wants to shop with him and buy the silliest, most frivolous things, only wants to bake cupcakes and doodle hearts on them with frosting for Yuuri, only wants to keep learning how to cook, only wants to keep building their life together.
Because it’s their life now. Viktor will never be alone, standing on a pedestal before the world, without a hand to hold, ever again. Yuuri will never have to cry by himself, lying to his friends and family about how he’s feeling, without a voice to tell him he’s not a failure, ever again. They’re together and it’s everything Viktor never knew he needed. Love, as it turns out, is the biggest inspiration of all.
He’ll keep collecting these precious moments, the way Yuuri looks when he thinks no one is watching him- in the living room while Viktor’s supposed to be out, reading a book he adores-, how he looks cuddled in Viktor’s arms- late at night, drifting in and out of sleep, curled up in bed together, Yuuri’s breathing slow and rhythmic-, the way he sounds when he’s ecstatic- clutching a gold medal and grinning at Viktor, smile like a crescent moon and eyes glimmering with as many tears as there are stars in the sky pouring down his cheeks- and the way he sounds when he wishes they were alone- surrounded by too many people, too many reporters, as Viktor kisses the ring on Yuuri’s finger, letting his lips trail up the finger to gently bite the tip.
Viktor will keep all these amazing memories they’ve already made stored under lock and key, and know that only one other person shares those memories- only one other person does the same to him, only one other person can do the same to him.
Yuuri danced for Viktor on the ice first, Viktor will dance for Yuuri on the pole next, and then, they’ll dance together- on the pole, on the ice, in life, it doesn’t matter.
The important thing is that they’ll be together.
Yuuri really should have expected this when he agreed to the pole. The Eros music plays loudly over the wild crowd, and is at once familiar and foreign, a completely new beast to conquer when removed from ice skating. Phichit is wolf-whistling somewhere on his right, and he can hear Minako-sensei screaming unprofessionally somewhere in the distance, along with Chris cooing affectionately about his student growing up.
Right, of course Chris had a hand in this.
Viktor flashes him a grin, an echo of the expression Yuuri had mimicked in his Eros dance, as he flips his incredibly bare legs over his head once again, demonstrating the coordination and brilliance that made him a living legend in the ice skating world, and Yuuri’s mouth is entirely dry. He needs a drink, and miraculously there is one right beside his hand. Funny how things work like that, when one is sitting at the head table surrounded by their loved ones watching their husband striptease for them at their wedding reception.
Viktor climbs the pole, his lower back muscles working on full display in a way that makes Yuuri whimper just a little, wrapping his thighs around it and letting go with his hands- once more falling back slowly to look at Yuuri across the room, bangs falling beautifully towards the ground, his eyes bright and vivacious and excited, reflecting the bright flashing lights- purple, blue, yellow, white, they cycle so fast Yuuri can hardly keep up- in a way that makes him look oddly ethereal, dancing for Yuuri while draped in colours that don’t quite fit the way Yuuri remembers him looking, body brimming with strength but making every move, every action, every spin or climb or inversion weightless at the same time.
Yuri is absolutely losing it beside Yuuri, already humiliated enough by the way Viktor had truly and honestly congratulated him on his silver medal at the Grand Prix Final, the way Yuuri had ruffled his hair and thanked him for making so many katsudon pirozhki’s with his grandfather for the buffet table, the way Otabek had pulled him onto the dance floor and finally let Yuri win a dance-off at a party. Yuuri is starting to believe that Yuri just likes to express his joy through angry yelling, because it’s obvious that Yuri is having the time of his life- whenever he talks to Otabek or his grandfather, his face and voice softens so much that Yuuri has a hard time believing it’s the same child.
“There are children here, you nasty whore! Get off the pole!” Yuri yells, loudly and bitterly enough Yuuri can actually hear it over the instrumental music and enthusiastic cat-calling from every single party guest, including his mother, to his abject and utter horror and complete lack of surprise. “This is being burned into my nightmares, Viktor! When I wake up tonight in a cold sweat, I’m blaming this!”
Viktor doesn’t hear, not over the screams, not over his own blood pumping in his veins, not over his elation and the way he just dropped halfway down the pole in a sit only to catch himself with just his thighs, an inch to spare before he would have hit the ground. Yuuri takes another sip of whatever this drink is. Is it champagne? It’s probably champagne.
“Yuuri, get up there with him!” Phichit calls, embarrassingly noisy, his hands landing on Yuuri’s shoulders as he throws himself out of his chair to fall all over Yuuri, hair slicked back and eyes bright- cheeks only slightly flushed from eagerness. “Go dance with your husband!”
“What?” Yuuri gasps, tearing his eyes from Viktor’s lithe, muscular form to look at Phichit, but only for a second before he’s drawn back to his lover. Viktor lets himself fall to the floor, draws himself back up and climbs the pole easily to hang upside down, gripping the pole only with his hands, legs artfully spread into splits, and he’s smiling at Yuuri the whole time, looking like he’s the one being danced for. Yuuri forces himself to pay attention to the conversation, if only a little. “I couldn’t! I barely remember how to pole dance!”
“Ha! Nonsense,” Chris slides in beside Yuuri, winking at him as he smiles smugly, and Yuuri tries not to edge away, still a little uncomfortable despite knowing the reason behind Chris’ forwardness. Viktor wraps his thighs around the pole and flips upright, hair gloriously fluid as it moves with him, skin glistening in the light. “You know perfectly well how to be erotic, Yuuri~ Won’t you get up there and show Viktor you’ll stay by his side, no matter what?”
“That is entirely unrelated!” Yuuri splutters, furrowing his brow, feeling a little light-headed at everything, surrounded by so much noise and light and two demons whispering into his ears to go up and dance almost nude to the Eros performance music with his incredibly seductive husband in front of his entire family, which is starting to sound like less and less of a bad idea the longer he thinks about it. Maybe it’s the champagne? It doesn’t seem so impossible to do anymore, with the alcohol sitting warm and fluid in his veins. “B-Besides, Viktor doesn’t know how to pole-dance in pairs.”
“Sure he does,” Chris says easily, and Yuuri turns to him instantly, already knowing the next words out of his mouth and wishing he wasn’t about to say them, jealousy instantly rearing it’s ugly head, “I taught him myself~”
“Chris! So scandalous, getting so close to another man’s fiancé!” Phichit laughs, amused by everything and anything, in such high spirits that it makes Yuuri relax a little inadvertently. Phichit slaps Chris on the back enthusiastically, applauding him for doing a good job, joyous and boisterous and Yuuri’s best friend aside from Viktor- it’s impossible not to feel love for Phichit, in that moment. “Yuuri, stop glaring at him like that! Viktor asked him to teach him, you know that!”
“Yeah, sure,” Yuuri bites out, still a little petty, letting Viktor draw his eyes forward again. Silver hair flashes pink, then green, and Yuuri nearly has a heart attack as Viktor immediately makes eye contact, chesire cat smile growing brighter, and points across the room at Yuuri, clutching the metal pole between his thighs and breathing heavily, quick breaths indicating he’s just a little winded. His body is glimmering with the start of sweat, practically sparkling in the constantly shifting light, his hair loose and spilling over his eyes, only one visible and so deep and dark it’s almost black, until the light changes again and it’s suddenly red. As Yuuri watches, Viktor smiles carelessly, draws a pink tongue over his plush lips, then blows a kiss, finger motioning in a ‘come hither’ sort of way.
There’s no way Yuuri could ever say no to that.
He’s shedding clothes as he crosses the room, vaguely aware his pants just hit Minami in the face and Minami may have screamed something about keeping them forever, but choosing to ignore it, Phichit cheering enthusiastically as Viktor laughs at the chaos from his stage- so far away, so untouchable, until suddenly he’s not, and Yuuri halts at the edge of the stage, only in boxers and a tie, Viktor in the same, reaching for him with one hand. Yuuri hesitates, just for a moment, then grabs Viktor’s hand, letting his husband tug them chest-to-chest. The Eros music fades out. The screams silence.
It’s just the two of them now.
“So,” Yuuri whispers, not caring that they’re supposed to be dancing and all they’re doing is standing together, hands clasped, mostly naked, for everyone to ogle. Viktor makes a low humming noise, breath even again in just the time it took Yuuri to cross the room, and Yuuri can see a bead of sweat crawl down Viktor’s adam’s apple. He swallows thickly around the stone in his throat, wetting his dry upper lip with his tongue. “What do you think about when you dance for me, Viktor?”
“How you were more beautiful doing the same move,” Viktor rasps, his voice catching oddly on memories that should be held between them but only belong to one of them, and Yuuri shivers, feeling like cold water’s just run down his spine. Viktor’s grip on his hands loosens, and Yuuri pulls away to wrap his arms around Viktor’s chest, Viktor’s hands running up Yuuri’s arms and down his sides to settle on his wait. “I couldn’t wait until you were up here with me. I couldn’t wait to see you closer to me, beside me, be able to touch you and feel you touch me. I was going to be so gorgeous that you couldn’t resist being with me. And here you are.”
“Here I am,” Yuuri agrees, burying his nose in Viktor’s shoulder for a second, closing his eyes and drawing in everything that is before him- Viktor’s warmth, his scent, his talent, his love. “Will you dance with me, Viktor?”
“Always,” Viktor says, and leads him into the first dance of their marriage. Completely unorthodox, completely inappropriate, completely wild and erotic and perfect, even as Yuuri half-forgets every move and Viktor starts to mess things up, obviously not as skilled at partner pole-dancing, the two of them laughing the whole way through.
Minami doesn’t give him back his pants for at least an hour, Phichit obliterates Yuri in a dance-off and Otabek can be found consoling the mess of a teen for hours after with katsudon pirozhki and offers to purposefully lose on the dance floor against him again. Chris drinks half the wine supply and flirts unendingly with Minako, who drunkenly flirts back after chugging the other half of the wine supply. Guang-Hong and Leo dance the whole night away, taking picture after picture for their instagram, mostly of each other. Michele and Sara Crispino spend the night being flirted with, both of them utterly oblivious to Emil and Mila’s charms, while Georgi, amazingly, has a date, and spends the entire night waxing poetic about the beautiful hope of new love.
His mother and father cry, and his sister gripes about him getting married before her, and Yuuko and Takeshi scold Viktor for putting on a show like that with their children laughing connivingly and deciding which photos they should upload of the newly wedded's dance first. The phone is mysteriously broken after they take one too many pictures of Yuri huddled up in a corner, laughing delightedly with Otabek.
It’s incredible, delightful, the perfect atmosphere to celebrate in and everything Yuuri wanted. But best of all, there’s Viktor, by his side, always.
“Is that what you were doing, when you disappeared all the time?” Yuuri asks at some point, arms linked together with Viktor’s and enjoying a rare moment of quiet, Viktor trying to eat as many as physically possible of the katsudon pirozhki’s before someone wants to talk to them again. “Learning to pole dance?”
Viktor blinks down at him, hastily swallowing his mouthful while nodding, traces of guilt settling into the lines on his face as he tries to smile as happily as he was moments before. “Yes! In order to surprise you.”
“It’s okay,” Yuuri says, barely listening to what Viktor says, reaching up to move Viktor’s dishevelled bangs out of the way, marvelling at the way his husband relaxes under his easy, casual touch. “I was okay. You ate all the food I made, and you put me to bed when I passed out, and it was only three hours when you went. Don’t feel guilty about it. I love your surprises.”
“That’s my goal,” Viktor says, voice soft and adoring and achingly caring, “Surprising you. Once it was the world I wanted to shock, but now it’s you, only you. I love you far more than I love the world.”
“I’ve never wanted the world,” Yuuri replies, as truthfully as possible, letting his own desire and love creep into his voice, letting their arms untangle so he can properly grip Viktor’s hand in his own. “I wanted you.”
“You have me,” Viktor leans down to kiss Yuuri’s cheek, leaving him blushing and pink, the warm gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light as Viktor holds Yuuri’s other cheek with his right hand. “I’m yours.”