emberossing | for wauuu

for wauuu

Yuuri cracks open his eyes, blearily, to an unfamiliar ceiling. His head feels like it's either on fire or full of bees or possibly both and his stomach does a slow, sickening roll as he opens his eyes, but it settles, at least for the time being. Not just his head but everything hurts enough that, at least at first, he more just moves on auto-pilot, looking around for his glasses and taking what is obviously a pair of Paracetamol on the bedside table. There's a little note with them but he doesn't parse either the message or recognize the handwriting, so he just drinks about half the glass of water and looks around.

Memories leak back in slowly-- Vicchan, the competition, calling his mom, going back to the room, Celestino insisting that he had to go to the banquet afterwards, possibly worried he was going to do something stupid if he didn't. But he remembered saying no and refusing to open the door. So... shouldn't he be in the hotel room?

This is not the hotel room.

In fact, he swears he's seen this room before, somewhere, actually, but he's too tired and bleary to figure out where. So he just walks over to the bathroom, which he, for some reason, is able to guess the location of, and splashes water on his face rubs at it until he somewhat resembles a human being, and then goes in search of more clues to where he is.

The bedroom door creaks open and there's another sense of deja-vu as he looks around the apartment it opens on, but the pieces refuse to slot into place.

"He-Hello?"

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"Hmm, we'll see," he says, but there's a little gleam in his eyes that says that's definitely a thing that's happening at some point.

Yuuri seems a lot shyer this morning than he has been, particularly considering how they woke up, but there's definitely something different about him, a tension that's absent even as he's clearly retreating a little more into his shell now that they're in public and he's having a minute to process the morning. He doesn't seem like he's hiding, really, just readjusting back towards what must be normal, since he's saying what he's been doing hasn't been.

Still, he keeps looking at Victor like he's his entire world. There's no way to miss how infatuated he is.

They are the obnoxiously in love people in the cafe. Victor realizes this fully when the waitress drops off their coffee and he barely catches her with a Спасибо, almost missing her entirely. Very little else seems to exist when Yuuri is looking at him like that. All the romantic language and cheesy descriptions of love suddenly seem to make sense, how this feeling could captivate a person completely with it's intensity. How it's somehow difficult to describe and yet people have always tried their damnedest to anyways. The silence between them is comfortable, adoring, and Victor has to joke about that look of Yuuri's.

"So loud, that smile. You'll make a scene."

"You... seem like the kind of person who would want to cause a scene," Yuuri says, but there's something just the tiniest bit hesitant in his tone. He's making progress-- he doesn't suddenly start doubting literally everything like he might have a few days ago, but it's clear that he can't wholly tell whether or not Victor is joking.

He manages to keep it light, though, to not destroy the mood.

"If I get to see that smile more, than of course," he's flirting it up, so it's a little joking, but mostly sincere. Yuuri is cute, the cutest, and he wants to show the man in praise and affection if it will please him. If it's too much, he hopes he'll know to back off, though he's not the most perceptive sort. He'll learn in time. Blowing on his coffee, he'll take a hesitant sip before realizing it's a good temperature, drinking down a hearty amount with a purring mmmm. It's not pitch black, but it's certainly strong, heavy on the brew and the cream mixed in.

Yuuri flushes and looks down into his own coffee, but it's clear he's pleased.

Maybe somewhere else, some other time, some place where he had the space to run away and things hadn't been so intense, he would be slower to open up. Maybe he still will be, once this comes to an end. But right now, at least, he's been cracked open like an egg and there's really no such thing as "too much". It's good, to not really doubt all the time.

He sips at the coffee and it's maybe a little stronger than he'd normally take it, but it's good and he sips almost delicately at it.

"I don't think causing a scene would usually make me happy," he plays back, tone a little more wry, but he somehow finds the courage to shift slightly and press his ankle against Victor's under the table. Something so simple shouldn't be scandalous, but the way he blushes about doing it turns it a little that way.

"I'd hate to spoil your good mood," he'll shift his leg right back against Yuuri. It's not really sensual, it's kind of hilariously juvenile to play footsies under the table, but Victor enjoys it non-the-less. It felt like a foolish, teenage romance; something Victor never actually had when he was the age for it. Ten years late, but he doesn't really mind, thinking better late than never. The food arrives at their table swiftly, not needing much preparation considering it's a small cafe. Two sandwiches with crispy, airy bread brie cheese and thin cut slices of green apples inside. There's also a cup of steaming soup along with each, two different flavors so they could trade if Yuuri happened to not like his.

Yuuri is quiet, now, but it's a peaceful kind of quiet. He'll play along with the conversation, if Victor starts one, but he's mostly content to just be for a little while, after everything's been so break-neck, particularly with a warm cup of coffee to wrap his hands around and some heavy soup.

He just keeps staring, though, catching himself and then sliding back into it again. He still can't believe he's here, that this is real and happening to him. And soon, the staring has blushes associated with it. He'd tied this man to the headboard of his own bed. He'd fucked him in the shower. He's had his tongue inside him. Surely everyone can see, can't they, how much they've had their hands all over one another?

It's still nothing bad, but Yuuri's suddenly looking down a lot more, flushing more and more brightly the more the morning, the past few days, catch up to him.

The two are riddled with evidence of what they've been getting up to. Victor's wrists are still ringed with red, peeking out from his sweater when he reached for his coffee. There's his broken lip, which he carefully avoids with the cup up to his mouth. The hickies cover both their necks, it's at least no so obvious with then both bundled up in scarves and coats. They really did a beautiful number on each other, leaving all manner of marks.

Luckily, there's nobody who seems to recognize them in the cafe. The only people who look over are distracted by Makkachin smiling dopey and wagging his tail at anybody he sees. Knowing Victor though, he'd be happy to show off the marks both on him and that he left, shameless and unabashed. It's a courtesy to hide them, to not embarrass Yuuri, who already acted so shy over a simple photo of them kissing.

He enjoys the silence set by Yuuri, people watching a little, but mostly looking fondly over at Yuuri. The shy staring back and the increasing redness of his cheeks makes him want to ask what he's thinking, but he leaves it, assumes he knows it's belief sinking in now that they've stopped grabbing at each other for half a second. It's nice to just enjoy a meal together, Victor cooing over his potato soup in particular, which was incredibly well seasoned and refreshingly smooth. He offers it over for Yuuri, insisting he try it.

Shy is such a strange word when associated with Yuuri. It's certainly how he's learned to think of himself, what other people say about him. Reserved might be a better one. Scared, if one was feeling less than generous. There's a part of him that wants to take off the scarves and curl into Victor's side and post something on Instagram, a picture of the two of them wrecked and domestic and put some kind of internet-breaking tags on it. There's a part of him that is screaming at him that all he's made for the past few days are bad decisions that are going to haunt him. There's a part of him that's just screaming, giddy and overwhelmed. There's a part of him that, although he's lived in Detroit long enough to pick up a number of American habits and mannerisms and norms, is aware that they're really doing the Japanese equivalent of making out in the booth, the way they're so openly wrapped up in each other. It's embarrassing.

He doesn't particularly want to stop.

Maybe that's why when Victor offers him some soup, he just kind of leans a little forward, expectantly. He'll take the soup and get his own spoonful of it if Victor doesn't immediately take the hint, but if Victor wants, Yuuri lets him feed him a bite. In public. He turns more the color of tomato soup than potato, but he does it.

Victor is keen, he'll take that hint with a wry smile. He's careful and casual, feeding Yuuri the spoonful, intent to watch the utensil slide in and back out of the man's mouth. They should not be allowed out in public, it's too much between them or it feels that way. Nobody else even notices, but the idea that they might is a ridiculous turn on. Victor's so tired that he's not about to get physically aroused again soon, but he's definitely committing the moment to memory. Yuuri's flush of embarrassment following the action, included.

"Good, isn't it?" coy bastard...

Oh Victor, you should know by now that Yuuri's never going to be easy to predict.

He's flushed bright red, looks a bit like he's going to flee at any second, even though they both know by now he's not, like it's taking every ounce of his will to lean that little bit forward and eat the soup and not just hide somewhere. And he is really embarrassed and wishing he could fall through the ground. He's just other things too.

Victor makes that comment and Yuuri's eyes snap up to his and there's a moment of slight shock, like he can't believe Victor's saying that, but it melts into a more heated look, and then there's a tiny flash of pink tongue as he licks a (probably imaginary) bit of soup off his lips,

"It's perfect," it comes out maybe a little more husky than even he intends, with how wrecked both their voices are.

Every moment with Yuuri is a surprise and that's apart of what has Victor so enraptured with the other man. What should be a mundane cafe lunch date is already sticking in his mind as something spectacular and thrilling. He's so annoyed with himself for being tired out, if he had even an ounce more energy then Yuuri would be tempted into the bathroom with him for some even more daring fun. It's for the better, that he can't push them into another crazy situation, but also ridiculous it's even coming to mind. What is Yuuri doing to him? He's thinking like Chris...

"Have as much as you'd like," ...he's talking pretty similar too, whoops. Maybe they'll calm down the innuendo one day, but not today.

Yuuri is weirdly goading like that. He'd seemed like he was going to die, or at least hyperventilate, when the fan took that photo of their quick, fleeting kiss, far more than was necessary. But then there was that moment on the ice and this moment, here, where he really does give the impression that if Victor wanted to have sex right here in the booth, he wouldn't stop him. Surely reason would reassert itself at some point, but it certainly doesn't seem like it.

Yuuri takes the spoon from Victor's fingers and feeds himself a bite of Victor's soup and Victor couldn't see his eyes when they were having sex in the shower a few minutes prior, but surely they looked a little like that. The look is fleeting, before he's flushing and looking down, but it's intensely possessive.

"Careful, I might eat all of it." He hands the spoon back a moment later, though, and it's starting to become clear that he's holding back incredulous laughter, emotions still all over the place.

"I'd gladly let you!" Victor says, leaning in to give Yuuri a quick peck to the cheek. Simple as the gesture is, the mood between them buzzes with energy that's less than chaste. Again, it's a good thing the place is busy, they blend in like any other couple, Makkachin making more of an impression than they do. He's reaching to try Yuuri's soup with a knowing grin, letting a low and pleased sound escape him that says very good.

He surprises himself when he swats Victor's hand when he goes for Yuuri's spoon-- not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to mean it.

"Really?" he sounds exasperated, but it's clear that it's joking, "You're so selfish, Victor," it's probably something that's been said more stingingly to Victor before, over things a lot more serious than soup. But there's a warmth to Yuuri's tone that's not likely to have ever been there before. And then he even jokes at his own expense, "I know I came in last, but you should at least afford me the same opportunities as you." And lest Victor not know what he means, he's lifting the spoonful of soup up for Victor to feed it to him.

"Mmph, how rude of me," he'll chuff, letting Yuuri have his spoon back, hand slinking away. He will lean in to receive the bite, half expecting Yuuri to be cheeky and turn the spoon around and eat it himself last moment. If he dares, Victor is immediately going to push his face beneath the man's scarf and vindictively kiss one of those hickies. If he does give Victor the bite right back, then he's bound the melt right into it with a pleased groan. If Yuuri could think of a third options, Victor's not thinking ahead of him, this time.

Yuuri would absolutely have been a brat about the bite of soup if he'd known it would get Victor's mouth back on his neck, even though they definitely would have made a scene, because he definitely wouldn't have been able to control his reaction to that. But, hand slapping aside, he's not feeling particularly bratty, he's more just feeling warm and playful and entirely too aware of where their ankles are touching.

So he just feeds Victor the bite of soup with a smile, the blush still painted across his cheeks.

"Which one's better do you think? They're both really good," it's not innuendo, but he also doesn't care about the answer, it's just to have something to do with his mouth that isn't kiss Victor until they're naked. He's not even really thinking about sex right now, just intimacy, just how wide the gulf feels across the counter and how much he wants to bridge it and how bad an idea that would be because he knows as soon as he did bridge it, he would be thinking about sex...

Leaning onto an arm, he'll rest his chin in his hand, admiring that smile on Yuuri's face again. He could sigh and it would look no different than a swooning teenager, but his expression isn't naive as that. Victor might keep his cards up his sleeves, wanting to hold onto possible surprises, but right now he's wearing his heart out in the open... right beside the red marks on his wrists.

"They're both amazing! Do you like the sandwich, too? I think it's very refreshing,"

He nods to that, takes a bite of his before he answers,

"It's really good. Do you eat here a lot?" It's the truth, but his mouth is on auto-pilot. It's starting to itch under his skin, how close Victor is while still being entirely too far away. He's really not sure if even his stamina can handle another round and he's not sure if his emotions can handle anything as intense as all of their sex seems to get. But that certainly isn't stopping him from wanting, all the same. He's maybe rubbing his ankle just a little against Victor's, unnoticeable to anyone else, under the table.

But while it's subtle, there's no hiding the way he almost absently reaches out and traces one of those lines on Victor's wrists the next time he reaches for something. The touch looks casual, but the look he's giving Victor isn't.

"Whenever I'm in town," he'll answer, equally casual and thoughtless. It feels strange to enjoy the mundane talking between them. Instead of the meaningless stuff being most of their conversation, the important parts punctuating, it's just the opposite. It seems like nearly everything they do toward one another is pointed, memorable. The nothing words, the pleasantries, are what stick out more. Victor's never felt that before, he's not sure they can maintain this, but he doesn't want to settle in just yet. He wants this intensity while it lasts, they can relax later...

His hand tenses as the touch surprises him, somehow. Body and nerves are left so sensitive that even the little poke of soreness sends a shiver through him. Looking to the red rings on his wrists, which peek out at them between his short gloves and sweater sleeve, it's another reminder of how much they've done together. Yuuri gets a mockishly scandalized look in response, Victor scolding the man with a funny gasp of a whisper.

"You behave,"

There's no way, even as far as Yuuri's come with Victor in the past few days, that he can maintain this particular headspace for very long-- not in Russia, not in public. It's fragile, but it exists, and while it exists, his hand shifts and instead of the light, almost curious touch, there's a deliberate rub of his thumb across the inside of Victor's wrist, firmer. The look he gives him is not appropriate for public.

"No." It's simple. Like many things the past few days, it's also intensely complex, the first time Yuuri's used that word in days to something Victor's asked him. It's clear the play there is intended from the way his lips quirk. He holds the moment for just that, a moment, and then unless Victor has suddenly just dragged him away to the bathroom anyway, he lets it fade, slides his hand back to take another bite of his soup, a playful sort of laugh taking up residence in his expression instead of the scorching look a moment before.

That sounds just like the sexy, drunken, dream boy he met at the banquet. Victor swoons for it, Yuuri easily wrapping him around his finger. Quiet, uncharacteristically small for a man who seemed bigger than life, Victor will respond adoringly.

"You terrify me," and he loves it.

Yuuri blushes and ducks his head, taking an almost sheepish bite of his soup and for anyone else, that would definitely be read as a retreat. Hell, it is a bit of a retreat. But there's no stammered apology, no panicked taking it back, no tension at all.

He terrifies Victor Nikiforov.

And he's okay with that.

For now. For now. Always for now. But even just as part of this moment that keeps seeming more fragile by the moment (and all the more charming for it) it's a huge, huge step for him and he's once again caught marveling at how much Victor has been able to change him, even if the change ends up being temporary.

"Good," he says, and it's with a little smile, not coy this time, but sweet, in love. Good, he says, and he means something like because I'm also terrified and because love is terrifying and because I like knowing I'm not alone. It shouldn't be quite so sweet, given the context and the conversation, but it just... is. No one wears adoration on his face quite so prettily as Yuuri does.

He's most pleased that Yuuri seems to understand what he means by that. Yuuri is a force, unpredictable in the best ways, and he's made Victor care about him. The care is the kind that will hurt to lose and they both know it by now. When Yuuri has to go, when they both break from this fantasy and return to their lives as they were only a couple days before, there's going to be a sting of loss. If Yuuri decides to never speak to Victor again after this, it'll be much more than a sting. Victor doesn't want to think too much on that. He wants to trust Yuuri, his heart is open and vulnerable, to cherish what this all was even once it's not their whole worlds. This isn't something Victor has ever allowed, been to guarded and self motivated to sincerely put his feelings in the hands of another person.

That is terrifying, but a risk he's willing to take, because Yuuri has so thoroughly enchanted him. They've had too much fun and shared too much of themselves for him to reconsider. He leans in to finish up his own soup and sandwich, eating in adoring silence if Yuuri doesn't speak up between his own bites. Between a full stomach and a warm coffee, Victor's got some life back in him.

There's a good chance he's going to look back on this conversation, wonder if he misread everything, and have an anxiety attack about it. But in the moment, he understands perfectly.

Adoring silence is the perfect term for what settles between them, though there's still a bit of heat there, soft and banked, but present. Yuuri gives the impression that he'd be curled up with Victor if he could, stealing bites and sharing body heat. In some ways, this is more amazing than how much he's opened up sexually. He's not like this with other people, has never just been able to sit in a cafe and be in someone's presence and nothing else. He has always been a person prone to quiet moments, but only alone, only where he feels safe.

This is the last place in the world he should feel safe-- a foreign country, his idol, the situation that led to this-- but there's something about dealing with the worst possible situation that forces trust and Victor has taken what Yuuri has had to give him and shown he can be trusted with far, far more than that.

(He wonders a little, how long it would have taken in more ordinary circumstances, if Victor had had to wait for Yuuri to decide to trust him all on his own. He thinks it would have taken a lot longer.)

So this is vulnerable, and pleasant, and it feels good to have a solid meal in him that isn't on the heels of complete exhaustion. Yuuri's so relaxed and content by the end of it he's practically glowing, and that's maybe even more of an achievement than getting him to do anything they've done in the bedroom.

for wauuu

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