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Viktor adores his fans. They’re supportive and adorable, always cheering him on, no matter how badly he does in competition, no matter if he suddenly quits and becomes a coach. All across the world- even in Japan- he finds people who know him, who can tell him details about his life they must have scoured hours of interview footage to find, who throw him flowers and go to his competitions and love him, unconditionally, always. He’s never minded stopping to give an autograph, adored the people who wanted to take a picture with him, always been able to keep his smile sweet and sincere around them, because each and every one of them are so genuine in their love for him.
“Smile!” He calls in english, winking up at the camera, and the young boy who’d approached Viktor nervously looks like this is the best moment of his life so far. There’s a wonder, an awe to his eyes, that becomes more and more lost the older the fans get, the older people in general get, and Viktor only feels more buoyant at the sight of it. Handing the boy the phone, Viktor lays a hand on his short, messy dark hair, pressing a quick kiss to the child’s forehead. When he pulls away, the boy’s cheeks are burning pink and his eyes are sparkling, and his mother is laughing when the kid runs back to her, clutching the phone to his chest and barely able to talk with all the words pouring out of his mouth. Viktor giggles dumbly, heart-shaped mouth spread into a grin, feeling incredibly pleased to see a sight like this again after a month of constant waves of reporters and media and incredibly dedicated teenage girls running after his heels.
“He was cute, huh?” Yuuri says from behind him, a little breathless from bouncing in place while Viktor greeted the fan, the heat of the summer making sweat bead on both of their foreheads already, their bodies used to cooler temperatures. “You’re always so nice to your fans.”
“Really?” Viktor is still smiling stupidly, but he feels so invigorated by the kid’s amazed gaze, he can’t quite help but let himself sink into it, bask in it, enjoy it for a while. Easily swinging a leg over his bike again, Viktor pushes off briskly, making Yuuri scramble to catch up for a moment, and calls over his shoulder playfully, teasingly. “Was I nice to you?”
“Well, when you thought I was your fan- instead of a fellow competitor, even though I made it to the Grand Prix final and competed against you,” Yuuri says loudly, voice just edging close enough to accusing that it makes Viktor sweat a little more, smile a little pained now, instantly pulling the brakes on Viktor’s self-indulgent delight, “And even though everyone said I was in bad form that day, I actually hadn’t done awfully before that, obviously, because I made it to the Grand Prix final, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t have known who I was- you were very nice, yes.”
Viktor rolls with it, taking Yuuri’s vindictiveness in stride, trying not to revel too obviously in the blatant confidence Yuuri had in even his past skating, even though it feels like constant pride for his boyfriend is brimming out of Viktor so brightly that Yuuri must be blinded by it by now, must be drowning in the waterfall of praise that Viktor can’t help but shower him with. It’s been so long since Yuuri was scolding Viktor for even daring to suggest that Yuuri can win the domestic competitions easily.
“How was I supposed to remember you if you never talked to me, Yuuri?” Viktor only whines a little, furrowing his brows slightly as he tries to remember anything about Yuuri’s performance that year, and comes up completely blank. He’d been too focussed on trying to find his inspiration again, too focussed on surprising the audience, too focussed on himself. The memories all jumble into a mess of practice, drinking- and music, which is achingly clear in his ears still despite the swirling maelstrom that is everything else. Looking back at Yuuri over his shoulder, he meets warm brown eyes, feels a wave of adoration for his protege- who is far, far more than his protege. “We could have met so much sooner!”
“I- I was nervous, okay?” Yuuri huffs, speeding up a little, trying to leave Viktor behind, even as Viktor laughs and pushes the pedals a touch faster, catching up easily. Yuuri’s blushing, the early morning sun spilling over both of them with a bleached golden glow to wake them up, the sky above eggshell blue, clear and beautiful and spotless. Absently, Viktor wonders how much trouble they would cause if they skipped training entirely today and went to the nearest field of flowers they could find, somewhere private and secluded and wildly free. Viktor could spend the rest of the day threading daisies and lavender into Yuuri’s hair as he sleeps on Viktor’s lap, stopping to smell every pretty flower that caught his fancy as they wandered aimlessly, hands knit perfectly together, being able to lean over on a pile of grass so soft it felt like a mattress beneath them and be so close to his love that they’re almost one and the same. How much trouble would it cause to spend a day like that? “You were intimidatingly handsome!”
The yell shocks Viktor out of his fantasy, reminding him that he’s right next to the person he’s daydreaming about, and he could reach out and hold hands with him anytime he wanted. Trundling along on his bike, he only beams at Yuuri, who notices immediately and can’t seem to stop himself from staring right back, cheeks burning hotter every second that passes where they simply hold eye contact. Viktor almost instantly loses control of his bike and crashes into the seawall, bike crashing loudly against stone, falling and taking him with it. Yuuri’s yelling something about how stupid and hopeless Viktor is as he lands awkwardly on the sidewalk, hands slapping the pavement and loose stones pressing into his palms, knees only barely protected by his loose jean capris. Struggling to shove down the flash of panic at the veering, shaking sense of losing control, Viktor jumps up enthusiastically, energetically, already forgetting about the bike- eyes searching, finding Yuuri only a few inches away- about to lend a hand to him to help him up- and grabs Yuuri’s cheeks, halting his boyfriend mid-sentence.
“Yuuri! Let’s go on a date!” Viktor says, bike wheels still spinning aimlessly behind him, black-tailed gulls starting to let the dawn hear their voices, his cheeks hurting with the best kind of pain from the smile painted across his face. Little bits of gravel are trapped between his hands and Yuuri’s baby-soft cheeks, but Yuuri doesn’t pull away, only settles his hands on Viktor’s hips, warm like the sun’s gentle rays and comforting through Viktor’s thin white t-shirt. It’s irresponsible, it’s childish, it’s everything they shouldn’t be doing as they prep for Yuuri’s next Grand Prix Final- still settling on a routine for the free skate, even though the short program is completely choreographed and almost ready- but it’s the only thing Viktor can imagine doing today, on a day as perfect as today. “It’s too gorgeous outside to spend the whole morning in the rink!”
They both know that’s a complete lie, that the rink will always and forever be their safe haven, their place to grow, their place to simply be, and something as fleeting as a sunny day won’t stop that, but in this moment, Yuuri only sighs in mild exasperation and closes his eyes, leaning further and further into Viktor’s touch until their foreheads are touching, and Viktor slides his hands down around Yuuri’s neck to pull him closer. It’s too warm, and both of them are sweating a little, but that’s okay.
“Sure,” Yuuri says, his nose brushing Viktor’s, eyelashes dark and long against his flushed cheeks, still sounding breathless, even though he hasn’t been running for a while. “Where do you want to go?”
There are no flower fields anywhere near Hasetsu, which is probably a crime, at least to Viktor’s sense of romance, but there is a beach and the ocean and a flower shop, which is good enough for Viktor. Really, anything cost is worth it to see Yuuri obligingly do the Eros routine for him on wet sand with a single red rose between his teeth, only in wet swim shorts, and to watch him fall the moment he tries to do a jump, the rose getting crushed in between Yuuri’s chest and the sand.
It’s a perfect day, a wonderful day, alone with the surf and tide and sun, until someone calls over the seawall at them.
“Viktor! Viktor Nikiforov?” A voice calls, excited, pretending to be surprised but obviously not so. Viktor turns from his barely-started sandcastle, a little surprised that anyone but the two of them still exist on this beach, while Yuuri simply ignores it in favor of stretching out a little more- he stole Viktor’s sunglasses to lie more properly in the sun, looking all too relaxed on top of his old, pokemon towel from when he was a child. It’s somehow enticing and adorable all at once, which is essentially Viktor’s boyfriend in a nutshell. Wishing he looked a little more proper, anything but taking the day off from training to play in the sand and obviously having eye-sex with his sunbathing lover, Viktor turns to the fan, rising to face them as they hurry down the stairs of the seawall to the beach.
The man is close to Viktor’s age, which is somewhat of a shock, because his fan base is comprised mostly of teenage girls and middle aged woman, as well as almost the entirety of Russia, but this man obviously isn’t Russian- he’s speaking english.
“Hello! Are you a fan?” Viktor asks, genially, somewhat irritated for once at being interrupted like this, but hiding it easily enough. The man’s eyes don’t sparkle like the child’s did, instead looking dark and unreadable, eyes wandering over the beach and settling on Viktor. Viktor loves his fans, but there are some who are better to get rid of as quickly as possible, some who are just unsettling. “Do you want a photo?”
“I- yeah, I’m a fan,” the man stutters, laughing a little nervously, and his dark, evasive eyes keep straying down to Viktor’s chest- down to Viktor’s abs- before shooting back up to his face. Viktor doesn’t mind, not really. He’s used to people looking at him like this, asks for it, uses his body to get instagram likes, after all. The man gulps nervously, smiling shakily up at Viktor, and his nervous demeanour is slowly melting Viktor’s hidden animosity. Images of a less familiar, chubbier and far more anxious Yuuri turning beet red at the site of Viktor naked in the onsen flash through his mind, and it’s like a hit of sweet nostalgia at how easy it was to get his boyfriend to blush back then. He almost turns around to tease Yuuri, instinctively, without a single thought to it, but stops himself just in time, remembers they aren’t alone anymore. The fan is looking down at him slightly, actually a bit taller than Viktor, which is a weird experience for both of them, it seems. “A- A photo, and an autograph? If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all!” Viktor winks charmingly, and the other man squeaks a little, his knuckles blinking white where they squeeze too hard around his phone. Leaning in, Viktor wraps an arm around the fan’s back, encouraging him to swing his arm around Viktor’s shoulders in return. It’s weird, being the one cradled under someone else’s arm, and Viktor thinks he likes being the taller one better, likes being able to hold Yuuri so close to him it’s like he can just keep holding onto him forever. The fan looks close to fainting, having so much of Viktor’s bare skin and muscle pressed into him, and the pictures go slowly, as the man keeps fumbling the phone and getting a blurry picture. Viktor’s jaw is starting to hurt from smiling, but soon he’s able to effortlessly slip away from under the fan’s surprisingly strong grip, quickly signing the only paper the man had available- a receipt for renting out skates at the Ice Castle, where he was undoubtedly skating earlier today, hoping for just a glimpse of his idol. Viktor finds that a lot of his fans like to do that, completely unaware that Yuuri and Viktor only ever dare go to the rink when they have every assurance they’ll be alone.
They’re done, Viktor’s smiled for the camera and signed his autograph, yet still the fan hovers, still so close, like somehow he might get another chance to hold Viktor under his arm again. The blush is spreading down the man’s neck, right under the collar of his tank top, and he’s so obviously afraid of being so close to Viktor, but can’t seem to bring himself to pull away. It’s endearingly like Yuuri once more, but it’s not Yuuri, and Viktor is suddenly entirely aware of his still sunbathing boyfriend, who is completely silent behind him, eyes drilling holes into Viktor’s back, a heavy weight suddenly hanging over the atmosphere and imploring Viktor to look back, turn around, get away from the man.
Almost sheepishly Viktor flicks a look over his shoulder, expecting to find Yuuri’s warm, soft brown gaze and a slightly damp mop of dark hair, but instead finding the slicked-back style Yuuri wears during his skating routines, Viktor’s sunglasses shielding Yuuri’s eyes from light and any ability Viktor might have had in reading his expression. His mouth is set in a hard, firm line, and the obvious irritation creasing his brows makes chills go up Viktor’s spine, reminded of the times Yuuri would get quiet before a performance, reminded him of the times Yuuri would stun Viktor once again with a move or an extra sway of his hips, reminded him of the times Yuuri demanded every single ounce of Viktor’s attention, ready to tear out the throat of anything that tried to steal it from him, ready to fight for Viktor’s gaze with everything in him. The blood in Viktor’s veins runs hot for a moment, a quick inhale giving him just enough oxygen to survive the look and stay composed. Silently, Viktor tries to communicate to Yuuri that he’s trying to get the man to leave, his smile growing a little plastic around the edges, and Yuuri, flawless and clear-headed and angry, understands immediately, standing from the pokemon towel with a hypnotic type of grace. Viktor struggles to tear his eyes away from the sight, struggles to pretend he’s still even remotely interested in anything but Yuuri’s blistering gaze, barely-visible abs, and wind-swept hair.
“S-So, are you guys having a day off?” The fan asks, leaning in closer to Viktor, eyes falling to Viktor’s lips uneasily, entirely obvious about where his interests lie with the skater. This isn’t a fan who’s here for his skating, this is a fan who’s here for his body, for his illusions of flirting, for his seductive smiles. “Were you making a sandcastle just then? That’s so c-cute!”
A hand settles gently, lightly on Viktor’s shoulder, and he turns eagerly at the touch, ready for whatever excuse Yuuri was going to give him to get the fan to leave, but all that meets him are rough lips, the taste of salt and the sea on Yuuri’s tongue, Viktor unable to do anything but clutch at Yuuri’s waist, losing himself in the pleased humming his boyfriend gives when Viktor lets him take total control of the kiss, letting out a strangled moan when Yuuri tugs sharply at Viktor’s hair, breathing in quickly through his nose.
“Oh my god,” the fan mutters behind Viktor, sounding utterly scandalized, and he’s ducking away, apologizing, leaving as quickly as he can, but Yuuri doesn’t stop. Viktor doesn’t want him to stop, has never wanted him to stop, only lets Yuuri crash over him with all the force of a tidal wave, frustration and passion and confidence overflowing. It leaves him weak in the knees, the sunglasses falling down from on top of Yuuri’s head and hitting Viktor’s forehead, but he doesn’t care, only feeling Yuuri’s salt-stained lips, the gentle caress of his tongue and the harsh imprint of teeth, then the abrupt need to surface for air.
Gasping, struggling to regain his bearings, feeling utterly entranced, Viktor watches Yuuri push the sunglasses back onto his swept-back bangs, eyes sweeping over Viktor’s face and pink lips sliding into the most satisfied smile Viktor’s ever seen on his boyfriend’s face.
“Yuuri?” He questions, weakly, not particularly sure if he cares about the reason behind that kiss. Did kisses like that even need a reason? Viktor doesn’t think they should need a reason. They should kiss like that all the time. “Are you okay?”
“You’re mine, Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, leaning in closer, breath hot against Viktor’s cheek, and Viktor can only bite his lip- missing the feeling of Yuuri’s tongue against it- to hold in his gasp. “Watch only me, remember?”
“Always,” Viktor breathes, daring to press closer and murmur the words into Yuuri’s ear, letting his hands begin to creep up his lover’s bare sides, feeling the shiver that shoots up Yuuri’s spine jerk his whole body, “My white knight.”
Yuuri quirks his lips again, looking a little abashed now, with pouty, just-been kissed lips and a faint dusting of pink flush over the tops of his cheekbones, utterly stunning and for Viktor to watch forever, “You didn’t really need saving, Viktor.”
“From you? Like that?” Viktor laughs and winks, drawing back slightly to press a finger to his lips, barely able to suppress a grin, letting his knees start to cave in, gradually letting his mass settle onto Yuuri’s shoulders and chest. “I ...think I’m feeling faint right now...”
“Viktor! Don’t!” Yuuri lets out a noise of pure agitation as Viktor collapses over him, forcing him to take all of Viktor’s weight, even as Viktor’s chest rumbles with laughter, Yuuri struggling to deal with all of Viktor’s flopping limbs.
“Yuuri, my prince, I need a kiss, or I’ll die,” Viktor pleads pathetically, pressing his cheek into Yuuri’s shaking shoulder, letting his arms drape over Yuuri’s back, his feet only barely pressing into the loose sand. “You’re my only hope, Yuuri!”
“Die, then,” Yuuri says, slithering away from under Viktor’s grip, leaving him to tumble onto the scorchingly hot sand, flipping the sunglasses over his eyes again as he walks back to his towel.
Viktor can only laugh then, the flowers he had imagined replaced by a blanket of sand, the daisies and sunflowers replaced with the sound of waves and glimmering sea glass discovered like tiny, worthless gems, stuffed in Yuuri’s bag to collect, and the sky overhead as blue as ever, the wind free to stir up the water and whip at their hair, slowing to a gentle breeze whenever it felt like it. Yuuri, his jealous, over-protective boyfriend, lounging on a pokemon towel and unabashedly staring at Viktor in appreciation as he crawls over slowly to rest his head on Yuuri’s chest, wrapping himself around Yuuri like the sun isn’t still blisteringly hot, like no one can see them, like this is the best pillow he’s ever had, and closes his eyes as Yuuri starts to play with his hair, completely in love and at peace.
Viktor loves his fans, but this fan will always be his favourite.