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The skates strapped tight around his feet. First time in awhile he had slipped his feet into these. First time in what felt like eons. Phantom aches from years of training, years of bruising and callouses, surged up in an instant, only to be suppressed once he placed his full weight on the slender blades under his soles.
At the sidelines stood Yuuri's husband. He had been talking to Yuko while Yuuri dressed alone. Now, he had eyes only on his husband. Sparkling, brilliant. He smiled, and at once everything felt...not necessarily lighter, but floatier? Hard to explain that sudden adrenaline rush Yuuri got when looking at that platinum haired goof.
Yuuri and Viktor had traveled to Hasetsu from St. Petersberg for the winter holiday. Or, at least, that's what Yuuri assured his family when he called them two weeks prior. Russians like Viktor didn't hold Christmas and New Years in as high a regard as Yuuri's family. No, they had a slightly different reason for celebrating. A couple Christmases ago, Yuuri bought a “good luck charm” in the form of an engagement ring.
Two years. Seemed like a long while.
Even longer still considering it had been one year since the two ice skaters officially retired.
“Is this the first time you've been skating since retirement?” Yuko asked, though Yuuri was sure Viktor had not only informed Yuko of exactly that, but probably also shared the folder of candid vacation shots that included—but were not limited to—Yuuri, after breaking his glasses, stumbling into a Running of the Bulls event and frantically sprinting for his life.
Yuuri blushed. “Well, I wouldn't say the first time since then. You were at that exhibition we did a few months back.”
“Yes. Fun times.” Viktor smiled. “But Yuuri's been relaxing ever since then. Probably too much. Yurio's grandfather really loves experimenting with those katsudon buns of his. Probably needs to hit the races once in awhile if he hopes to fit into his Eros outfit.”
Comments like that Yuuri feel a tinge self-conscious. Well, more than a tinge. He downright became aware of the fabric drawn tight over his belly and hips, and about how, despite himself, he had—well, best not think of it.
Naturally, Yuuri skated perfectly. He perfectly nailed his jumps and spins and twirls. He didn't even need Viktor's music playing. He had heard every song enough times for it to reverberate in his head alone. If the others didn't hear the music, well, too bad. They'd have to make due with his skating.
Yuko clasped her hands and grinned. Viktor stood there, scratching his chin as he scrutinized the performance. Or maybe he couldn't keep his eyes off his husband's rear. Yes, Viktor had spent almost their entire honeymoon with his fingers pursed around Yuuri's butt, squeezing his inner thighs as he parted their legs, drawing nearer to offer Yuuri all his passion and desire. His Eros.
And the thought of Viktor between Yuuri's powerful, strong thighs gave Yuuri the confidence to jump—spinning in the air as flakes of ice spiraled beneath—
Touch down—
Too much weight on one side. Yuuri tipped over, and slammed hip first into the ice.
He scrambled up before anyone could react, and finished the performance, breathing a little even as tears came to his eyes. It really hurt, but he could take it. He could take just about anything. Already, the throbbing sensation faded into dull ache.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine. Really.”
“Quite a nasty fall. You'd lose a lot of points if that were a real competition.” Viktor offered his husband a hug as he skated over.
“Oh really? How would you score that?” Yuuri gestured toward the ice rink, only becoming aware that his impact had made the ice...not necessarily crack, but it did look a little buckled in under his impact. He couldn't have hit it with that much force, could he? Or did he just weigh too much to—
“I'd give it a solid 85.2.” Viktor said, “Room for improvement. Not your best. But you gain extra points for your style.”
“Style? Falling on my ass is a style now?” His ass that stretched the fabric of his pants more than he was comfortable admitting. His ass that might've been so heavy it broke the ice.
“It's an acquired taste, I admit. One you gain after taking a few meals of it.” Viktor smiled his typical open-mouthed grin, one that made Yuuri almost forget he just admitted to eating ass in front of his childhood friend.
Almost.
Yuko stared blushing at the two of them, as though she had watched Yuuri strip off his shirt on the ice and let Viktor dive on top of him.
Still, as Yuuri left Viktor's embrace and let him excitedly show off more vacation photos to his husband's childhood friend, the dark haired boy, returning his glasses to his face, couldn't help but look down at the little belly pressing against the stitches of his outfit.
#
“That looks like a really bad bruise, though.”
“I'm fine.” Yuuri felt awkward with his mom looking at his hip like this. “I've had worse bruises. I mean, you saw me slam into a wall before. I don't think this really is that big of a deal.”
“Yes, but you're getting older. You can't just keep getting injured like this. Your body won't heal as well.”
It had started when, after finishing a fourth bowl of katsudon, Yuuri sat at an awkward angle, triggering the old bruise on his hip. That led to him yelping a little in pain, which led to Viktor showing off even more pictures he took of Yuuri ice skating (Seriously, how did he even take half those pictures, and why did all of them make Yuuri look sexy when the uniform didn't even fit right?). One image included Yuuri losing his balance and falling straight into the ice. Somehow, looking at the impact made Yuuri relive the instant of impact, well aware that, from the outside, it really was a nasty fall.
And that might explain why the ice broke a little under him when he fell. He was going incredibly fast, and the ice rink...well, in fairness to everyone in Hasetsu, it wasn't like they had the money to maintain it as well as, say, a championship ice rink.
Didn't make it less embarrassing.
“Honestly, it's a good thing you naturally put on weight. You might've broken a bone if not for your padding.”
Yuuri's face turned bright red at that. “O-okay, maybe you don't need to bring that up?”
“Why? There's nothing wrong with it. You like to eat and everyone likes feeding you.” She smiled, and he really didn't have the heart to argue back nor did he know exactly what he'd say back if he did try arguing, so Yuuri just stayed quiet while his cheeks turned bright red.
In the years since his silver medal win, people had this strange idea that Yuuri was confident, that he never felt insecure or nervous. And, granted, he hadn't had a panic attack in weeks, but that didn't mean he didn't have moments where he woke up feeling like trash or that Viktor just stayed with him out of pity, that, after living together for years now, he'd realize he married a human trash bag and, coming to his senses, would leave for greener pastures.
Again, occasionally. Not always.
Viktor could identify the warning signs of an attack before they came. “It's gonna be a rough night tonight. You have that look,” Viktor had said months prior, hours before Yuuri started crying over what in hindsight was nothing in particular (but at the time felt like a world-ending cataclysm).
“What?”
“You get quiet and look like a deer in headlights,” Viktor continued, “And your eyes stop sparkling like they usually do when you're happy. But they don't dull either. They just look—I don't like that look on you. It's not a good look.”
Yuuri tried to avoid eye contact when he returned to Viktor, who happily ate another katsudon bowl. Seriously, how the hell did he not get fat, too? He ate just as much as Yuuri, yet he still had his abdominal muscles. His sexy abs and his sexy pectorals and his sexy arms, which were on full display with those robes on.
Yuuri self-consciously tugged at the hem of his sweater. He felt it riding up a little, but didn't say anything.
This sweater had fit fine when he first met Yuuri, too. Was he that fat?
Only when the two were in the confines of their shared room did Viktor turn to Yuuri, and say, “You know, I didn't want to say anything to trigger an outburst with your parents, but you've looked unwell since the ice rink.”
Yuuri had worn a faint smile in the dining room. He hoped Viktor wouldn't notice anything was wrong if he smiled. Viktor could smile all day and no one would ever suspect he had insecurities about his hair (he would check his hairline in the mirror every day before leaving the house).
It worked well for Viktor.
Yuuri must really suck at that performance.
“It's just the hip. It hurts a little. I'll be okay.”
“No it isn't.”
Yuuri hesitated. “No. It isn't.” No point hesitating. “So when I fell before?”
“I was worried you hurt yourself.”
“I broke the ice under my fat ass.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow. “No you didn't.”
“What do you mean 'no, I didn't'? I saw it.”
“You saw what?” Viktor crossed his arms. “You didn't break anything. I even have photographic evidence proving that. Look.”
Viktor took out his phone and flipped through the various photos. Viktor had such good angles of the ice. And, from every angle, Yuuri couldn't spot a single crack in the surface. “But I know I saw it.”
“Did you really? Because that ice is well maintained. Your friends here take good care of that ice rink.” Viktor slipped off his robe, revealing his bare chest. God, he looked hot every time he did that. Yuuri felt himself salivate just looking at him.
“I guess I just have an overactive imagination.”
“You do. Because you've been tugging at your clothes all day, too. Don't think I don't know what that means. I know you too well to know you're feeling anxious.”
Yuuri scratched the back of his head, fingers raking up his scalp. He tried to laugh, even as adrenaline pumped through his veins and made him want to tug at his hair. “Caught me? Haha...”
“You don't have to pretend you feel happy with me.”
Yuuri scratched his scalp harder. “I just—I feel like such a pig.”
“Piggies are cute.” Viktor smiled. “And honestly I always like how in the off-season you've gotten cuddlier. Your belly fat is quite warm during the Russian winter. It's like owning a personal heater that you also want to make love with. Quite rare. I only know of one in existence, and he's wearing glasses and standing a few meters from me. A few meters too far, if you ask me.” He winked, his dangling bangs almost hiding that little, desperate tear rising in the corner of his eye.
But Yuuri noticed it.
“You don't have to pretend you know exactly what to say right now, you know.” Yuuri's voice quivered. “I know you think I'm being ridiculous and stupid and a mess. Because I'm trash.”
“No, you're—”
“I'm greedy trash who just can't stop thinking about myself when I'm just a mess that can't stop eating everything and taking up everyone's attention and time when there are more important people around me, more talented, more incredible, more charming—”
Arms clamped around him, squeezing. “Just breathe. Breathe in. Breathe.”
Yuuri sputtered out a soft sob, all the while aware that Viktor's arms didn't fit around him the way they usually did. Because he was so wide and fat and—
He kissed his face, then his lips.
And Yuuri felt some degree of anxiety fade away.
They went under the covers. Viktor, bare skinned against Yuuri's fabric sweater, held the ice skating champion against his chest, so that Yuuri's cheek pressed against his collarbone. Soft flesh spread against hard bone. “I'm sorry I'm such an idiot. Crying like this. I'm supposed to be adult and mature and—”
“And that somehow prevents you from crying?” Viktor plucked Yuuri's glasses off before either of them could smudge the lenses even more. “You know, people are gonna talk if every time they see us in be together you start crying. They're gonna think your Russian husband really sucks at love making.”
Yuuri snorted a little, but the tears still ran.
“Listen, what's bothering you? Your weight?” Viktor squeezed a handful of Yuuri's belly, pinching the meat between his fingers. “Want to know a secret?”
“I look like a pig for slaughter?”
“Nonono. It took a lot of self control not to jump on the ice in that tight costume of yours and just fuck you. Right on the ice. Right there.” Viktor kissed a tear or two away from his face. “So the only one who thinks you don't look incredibly sexy is you. Don't get worried I don't think you're hot.”
Yuuri didn't take his sweater or pants off that night. He just slept there, fully dressed against a nude Viktor, until he slipped into sleep. He didn't have the energy to make love, and Viktor didn't push things. But they cuddled, even though Viktor's arm probably lost circulation under Yuuri's bulk.
#
Yuuri woke up before Viktor. For once. As the Russian champion slumbered, tossing and turning, Yuuri decided to pull his sweater off, standing naked and bare in the crisp air. He let a hand rest on his belly. Okay, not so far out. He had a particular chubby phase as a kid where he was a lot pudgier than now.
Still, a far cry from his chiseled physique in his prime.
Viktor rolled over in bed, and opened his eyes just as Yuuri patted his bare belly. “Admiring yourself?”
“Not particularly.”
“Oh.” Viktor smirked. “Mind if I admire you for a little while?”
Yuuri looked at his husband, at his grinning face, and, with a little smile, nodded. “Sure.”