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Chapter Text

"Yuuri," Viktor says again, smiling wryly while they're getting dressed for the banquet. "I do really wish you'd won gold, so I could kiss your medal."

At first, Yuuri feels a flash of insecurity, that morning's fear that he's a disappointment to Viktor rearing its head again. But then he registers the tone of Viktor's voice, light and teasing and...expectant. The fear dissipates, leaving only curiosity in its place.

So Yuuri plays along. "Oh? You can't kiss silver?"

Viktor makes a mock-horrified face. "Silver? No way!"

Ah. Yuuri recognizes this—Viktor getting into one of his bratty moods. Yuuri's never really tried to do anything about it before, and eventually Viktor always tones it back down, but this time, Yuuri wonders...

He shrugs. "Well, I guess I just won't be able to kiss you then."

Viktor freezes. "Yuuri—"

"What?" Yuuri lets himself smirk, just a little. "It's only fair, right?"

He heads into the adjoining bathroom to comb his hair, and smiles when he hears Viktor call "Yuuri" plaintively after him.

This will be fun.

Viktor tries to kiss Yuuri the first time outside the hotel. They're waiting for a taxi, and Viktor looks at him with a soft smile, cups his jaw with his hand, and leans in. Yuuri's heart swells; he loves him, so so much.

Maybe that's why, instead of pulling away, he just turns his head so Viktor's lips fall on his cheek instead.

Viktor pulls back. "Yuuuuri," he whines. "You're still doing this?"

Yuuri laughs. "Viktor," he says, tangling their hands together, because hey, he's not completely cruel, "I'm only just getting started."

The second time is a test, probably. When they arrive at the banquet, Viktor asks Yuuri to grab them both some champagne while he checks in their coats, and when Yuuri comes back, Viktor thanks him sweetly and leans in for a kiss.

Yuuri almost lets him, purely on autopilot. But at the last moment, he pulls away, laughing.

A few of the other skaters—Yurio, Otabek, and Chris—are standing next to Viktor, and they all shoot Yuuri surprised looks. Chris's mouth makes a little delighted 'o'.

"Yuuri." Viktor frowns. "Are you mad at me or something?"

Yuuri thinks he's just playing, but just in case— "Of course not," he says, reaching up to brush Viktor's bangs back from his face, admiring the way his ring looks again Viktor's hair, gold on silver. "But," Yuuri smiles a little wickedly, "if you're going to tease, so am I."

A light flush rises on Viktor's face, and he swallows. "I never teased you like this."

"Oh?" Yuuri raises an eyebrow. "So are you ready to kiss my medal yet?" One of the others (he thinks probably Yurio) seems to swallow his drink the wrong way, because he starts coughing.

Yuuri watches in amused satisfaction as Viktor bites his lip, clearly warring with himself, before finally his eyes go steely with resolve. "No."

Yuuri's smile grows wider. "Fine, then." He downs his glass of champagne and winks at Viktor. "Maybe I should go find someone else to dance with, hmm?"

Viktor's eyes go wide. "Wha—Yuuri," he splutters.

"You're so weak," Yuuri hears Yurio say as he wanders off, and stifles a giggle.

He dances once with Phichit and once with Otabek—who's actually a very good dancer, Yuuri notes with pleased surprise—before he realizes that Viktor's trailing after him like a lost puppy, Yuuri's empty champagne glass still clutched in his fingers.

"Did you want something?" Yuuri asks innocently.

"You're being so mean," Viktor pouts, tugging at his sleeve. "When did you learn to be so mean?"

"What can I say?" Yuuri holds his hand tight for a moment before letting it go. "You bring out the best in me."

Viktor makes a face like he doesn't know whether to be pleased or frustrated. He looks like he's already fraying a little at the seams, and Yuuri feels anticipation curl warm in his chest.

"Why, though?" Viktor asks, biting his lip.

Because you want it, Yuuri thinks, but he knows he can't say that, or it'll ruin the game. Instead he hums, contemplative, and says, "Maybe I just want to see you cry again."

Viktor's mouth drops open, red and wet and inviting, and god, the only way Yuuri can resist kissing him senseless is because he knows the payoff if he waits will be so much sweeter.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Yuuri pats him lightly on the cheek and marvels at the way Viktor barely reacts, still looking stunned, "I promised Minako-sensei a dance."

"I'm not giving in," Viktor calls after him, but his voice wavers.

"Okay," Yuuri replies, "but the night is still young!"

At the end of the night, Yuuri's had four glasses of champagne, which is definitely an improvement from the previous year. Just enough for him to giggle and dance with his friends without worrying about all the eyes on him, but not enough to...well. No one needs a repeat of what apparently happened last time.

Viktor's only had two glasses, but he looks like he wishes he'd had more.

"Yuuri, please," he says, clinging to Yuuri from behind. He has his arms wrapped tight around Yuuri's waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

"If you want something," Yuuri begins patiently, somehow suppressing his delight before it reaches his voice. He pulls out of Viktor's grasp and turns around to face him. "If you want something, then you know what you need to do."

Viktor grabs him by the tie and yanks him close. "Yuuri," he growls, "if you keep teasing, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Yuuri cuts him off, putting steel in his voice. "What'll you do, Viktor?"

Viktor falters. "I—"

"I'm just trying to give us both what we want," Yuuri murmurs mournfully, touching Viktor's face tenderly. His thumb brushes Viktor's lower lip and Viktor wets it automatically.

"Yuuri, please." Viktor grabs his wrist and pulls his hand down to kiss his ring. "Please."

Yuuri swallows, mouth gone completely dry. "You're so spoiled, Viktor," he chides. His heart speeds up as Viktor's goes pink, eyelashes fluttering as he looks down. He looks too good like this; Yuuri doesn't think even he can take much more of this. He takes pity on both of them and says, "I have to go take a couple of pictures, but then we can leave, okay?"

Viktor looks back up at him hopefully. Yuuri smiles at him and pulls his hand free.

What breaks Viktor, in the end, is the thing that Yuuri had done as a last resort.

He's back in the bathroom in their hotel room, washing up quickly and brushing his teeth. Viktor's mood improved slightly on the ride over, and Yuuri can hear him browsing instagram, calling little bits of commentary out to Yuuri through the bathroom door.

"Oh this is going to be good," Viktor laughs. "Apparently your nee-chan and Minako-sensei went out clubbing with Chris after we left. Let's see if they make it in time the flight home tomorrow, huh?"

Yuuri smiles, takes off his ring and puts it in his bag with Viktor's where it won't get in the way. He waits.

"Ah, I see Phichit posted about a hundred selfies during the banquet." He and Viktor snort in unison. "There's one with Yurio—oh wow, he even got him to smile, though I guess a gold medal will do that, hmm?—and Otabek; one with Celestino; one with Minako and Mari; one with you—you look beautiful here, Yuuri; one with—"

There it is.

At the end of the night, Phichit had called out to him and Chris for one last selfie ("I need a picture of me in the company of such Eros!"). Phichit had put himself in the foreground, and Chris had—being Chris—pulled Yuuri in just a little bit too close.

It had been Yuuri's idea, however, to pull out his medal from inside his jacket, and for Chris to grab it in one hand and, smirking, press it to—

"He kissed your medal?" Viktor yells, outrage only slightly muffled by the closed door. "He kissed your fucking—"

"Well," Yuuri says, opening the door and fixing him with a placid gaze. "You wouldn't, so." He shrugs one shoulder casually, and Viktor stares at him like he's seeing him for the first time.

"Yuuri," he starts, his voice breaking in the middle, and oh, it's beautiful. He's beautiful. "Please come over here."

"Are you going to give me what I want?" Yuuri crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

Viktor's mouth trembles faintly. "I...I don't..."

Yuuri lets a frown settle on his face. "You don't have to, I suppose. So long as you're okay with me getting you off without kissing you."

Viktor's eyes go wide and frantic. "No, no, Yuuri, no, please—" He breaks off, reaching out a desperate hand. "Please come over here. Yuuri, please."

Smiling, Yuuri goes to the closet where he hung up his coat, reaching inside to pull out the medal. Even after a night of fingers grasping at it, the silver still gleams in the dim, golden light of the hotel room. He holds it up to the light, watches it shine. Lets the pride swell in him to fill his skin. He's going to need it; he's got a role to play.

"Yuuri?" Viktor asks, unsure.

"Hold on," Yuuri says. He polishes the medal lightly with the corner of his t-shirt, rubbing away the fingerprints and smudges. "Be patient."

Satisfied, Yuuri pulls the ribbon over his head, feeling that last needed bit of self-assurance lock into place when the medal settles heavy over his ribcage. He walks back over to where Viktor's sitting on the edge of the bed, presses forward until he's standing between Viktor's spread legs. Viktor has to lean back slightly, hands braced on the bed at his sides, to look up at Yuuri's face. He looks overwhelmed.

Yuuri pulls the medal up high and holds it out, cocking his head expectantly. "Kiss it."

Viktor exhales shakily. He strains upward until he can press an open mouthed kiss against the cool silver of the medal. His eyelashes flutter closed, and he sighs.

"There," Yuuri says warmly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Please kiss me," Viktor pleads hoarsely, eyes still closed.

Yuuri smiles and leans forward, pushes them both down until Viktor's flat on his back and Yuuri's braced over him, one hand still holding the medal, the other next to Viktor's head, holding up his weight. Yuuri lets go of the medal (it falls down and brushes against Viktor's bare chest where his robe doesn't cover it, and Viktor shivers, breaks out into goosebumps) and goes down to his elbows, nose brushing against Viktor's cheek.

"Please," Viktor breathes, like it's the only thing he can say anymore.

"Tell me how much you want it," Yuuri says. Their mouths are almost touching, and Viktor whimpers, a quiet, desperate thing.

"I need it," he whines, overdramatic but somehow still so real. "Yuuri, Yuuri, please, I'm dying, I need you."

Yuuri grins. "Okay." He closes the last millimeter of space and kisses Viktor as dirty as he knows how, swallowing Viktor's shocked moan of pleasure.

"Oh god, please," Viktor says, muffled by Yuuri's mouth against his.

"Shh, I've got you," Yuuri soothes shifting Viktor further up the bed until Yuuri can crawl fully on top of him, settling all of his weight on top of Viktor. He knows Viktor loves being pinned. "What do you want? Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Fuck," Viktor says, squirming underneath him, eyes finally popping back open. Yuuri stifles a smirk and tugs at the tie of Viktor's robe until it falls open, leaving him fully exposed. Yuuri wonders what kind of expression must be on his face, because Viktor takes one look at him and flushes even redder.

"Where's the lube?" Yuuri asks, and Viktor wordlessly pulls it out from under his pillow. "That's not where we left it last night."

"I used it," Viktor responds.

Yuuri's head jerks up to meet his eyes. "You what?"

Viktor swallows, his legs falling a little more open. Yuuri right hand falls in between them like it's being magnetized. Barely breathing, Yuuri presses two fingers against Viktor's entrance only to find him already slick and open. "You—"

"While you were in the shower, I had to," Viktor confesses. "I'm sorry, Yuuri, I couldn't wait."

"Don't be sorry, fuck." Yuuri shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it. He pulls off his boxers, slicks himself up, his own patience suddenly wearing very, very thin. "You're so—" He pushes in, not quite as careful as he usually would be, and Viktor claps his hand over his mouth to muffle the noise he makes.

"Stop that," Yuuri scolds, pulling the hand away. "Let me hear it." He works himself in, a little bit at a time, until he's in all the way.

Viktor's breath hitches, and he bites his lip, shuts his eyes tight again.

"What's the matter?" Yuuri reaches down to jerk him off and Viktor cries out. "Too much?" He tries not to sound too smug; he fails miserably.

"Please," Viktor sobs. When Yuuri looks back at his face, there are tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and his gut clenches tight. His next thrust is a little bit harder, and Viktor's dick twitches in Yuuri's grasp. His eyes slit open, wet with desperation.

"Oh, look at you," Yuuri breathes, awed. Viktor crying is a beautiful, dazzling thing, his tears beading on his pale eyelashes like tiny jewels. Silver and gleaming, like moonlight; like Yuuri's medal.

Yuuri picks up the medal from where it lies forgotten on Viktor's chest. It's a little warmer now from their body heat, but still cool to the touch. He draws a line with it from Viktor's abdomen to his nipples to his throat, and catches his breath at the way Viktor arches into it, back coming off the bed entirely with a quiet groan. Yuuri brings the medal a little further up to brush across Viktor's cheek. This time, Viktor makes a thin, pained noise in the back of his throat and turns his head to kiss the medal open-mouthed, hot enough that he fogs the silver up a little bit.

"Shit," Yuuri says, picking up the pace. He yanks the medal off of his neck and lifts Viktor's head up to loop it around his, uses it as a grip to pull Viktor into another kiss.

Viktor whines, beyond words, and clutches at Yuuri's shoulders.

Yuuri starts jerking him off again, thrilling in the way Viktor shakes apart in his arms, flushed all the way to the top of his chest, hair soaked with sweat. He's crying again; quiet, breathless sobs that he tries to muffle in Yuuri's neck until Yuuri pulls him back gently with a hand in his hair.

"You're so gorgeous," he says, kissing Viktor's wet cheeks.

"I love you," Viktor chokes out, and comes.

Yuuri drops his head onto Viktor's shoulder and follows with a sigh.

After cleaning up, Yuuri goes and collects their rings from the bathroom, sighing when his is safely back on his finger. Then he makes him and Viktor each cups of herbal tea, heavily sweetened, using the hotel room's kitchenette. He takes them carefully to bed, where Viktor's sitting up against the headboard, blinking like he's coming out of a trance.

"Cold? Should I turn the heat up?" Yuuri asks carefully, setting the tea on the table and wrapping Viktor's robe more firmly around his torso. He holds Viktor's ring out to him.

Viktor takes it from him and immediately slips it on, visibly relaxing further. He laughs tiredly. "Yuuri, I'm fine," he says. He sounds relaxed, settled in a way that he hasn't been since the Final started. Yuuri breathes out a relieved sigh.

Still, he wants to make sure. "Did I read it right?" he asks. "Was it what you wanted?"

"You read me perfectly," Viktor reassures, and leans up for a kiss, which Yuuri grants with pleasure. He's going to make a point of bestowing Viktor with as many kisses as he can in the next couple of days. "You always know exactly what I need, darling."

"I'm glad," Yuuri says, and leans against Viktor's side on the bed. He pulls out his phone and chokes on a burst of nervous laughter when he sees the instagram notification of being tagged in Phichit's photo. "I can't believe I did that." Chris had been surprised, too, when Yuuri had suggested it—"Yuuri, I had no idea you were so manipulative!"—but had gone along with it easily, and it had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but damn, is Yuuri blushing now.

"Well don't get embarrassed now!" Viktor bursts into laughter. "After all, it worked, didn't it?"

Yuuri snorts, kisses him fondly. "Like a charm. You're ridiculously easy."

"Only for you, love," Viktor says, smiling against his mouth. Yuuri braces a hand against his chest for balance and deepens the kiss. The silver of his medal is warm between his palm and Viktor's skin, and Yuuri is so, so happy.

"Next time I'll win gold," he promises.

"Only if I don't," Viktor challenges.

"You'll kiss it either way, won't you?" Yuuri asks slyly, and is gratified by the tips of Viktor's ears turning pink.

"Yes," Viktor says, and Yuuri breaks out into a grin, leans in to cover his face with kisses.

He's never been so excited for the future.