Work Text:
There were a few things that Yuuri had a hard time puzzling together in regards to his new client. Victor Nikiforov was a world-class celebrity. He had gained global attention over a decade prior with his gorgeous androgyny, earning modeling contracts with brand names anyone would recognize. Even as an adult and after his drastic haircut, he had not faded from the scene. Yuuri had seen every film the model had had cameos in, the good and the bad. When Yuuri had received his assignment, he thought he might have a heart attack.
So, while it was not surprising that Victor would hire a cleaner for his posh apartment, what was surprising was the condition of the apartment. It was spotless, literally sparkling in places. The dog bed in the living room didn’t even have a single dog hair in it, despite having a clear indent in the spot where Makkachin regularly curled up. Yuuri had no idea what it was he was supposed to clean, almost certain that if he tried, he might make the place dirtier.
Not to mention, Yuuri had expected to show up and be greeted by an assistant and given a rundown of rules. That was normal. Thank you for joining us, Mr. Nikiforov likes fresh roses left on the dining table that are trimmed at a 125° angle, the bed sheets tucked tight and then turned down on the left corner, and if you even think about using Lemon Pledge in this household, you’re fired. Yuuri had forty-two different note files on his phone for his Tuesday and Friday client. But no, it had been Victor’s accented voice that had greeted him through his speaker when Yuuri first buzzed in and Victor himself who opened the door for Yuuri. He was better looking in person than on tv or in magazines, if that was possible. And nice. And cheery. And funny. Yuuri was so screwed. There was a line in his contract about “relations” with clients and how it was strictly forbidden. Not that Victor would be interested but, goddamn, was Yuuri interested.
So that was how Yuuri found himself standing in Victor Nikiforov’s bathroom, at a complete loss of what to do. The floors, the mirrors, the shower glass, the fucking toilet looked like they had all been installed the day before and not been used. No water spots, no rust, no grime. In the kitchen, Yuuri peeked into cabinets—with permission—and found that floral-decorated mats had already been laid down on each level, with not a speck of dust in sight.
It didn’t help that Victor gave him no instructions before heading out on a job, telling Yuuri he’d be back in a few hours. Yuuri tried asking Makkachin but the poodle had shifted from sitting on the carpet to jumping onto the couch for a nap the moment her owner had left.
Yuuri found the vacuum and at least did that, though a glance under Victor’s bed showed that space to be cleaned to perfection as well. Impressive, and puzzling. He changed out the bedding and put it in the wash, flipping the pillow top. While the laundry ran, he focused on the “deep-clean” checklist, which included tasks like disinfecting door handles, cleaning the vents above the stove, and lint-rolling beneath the sofa cushions.
When Victor returned, Yuuri was in the process of returning Makkachin’s plush dog toys to her after putting those through the washer and dryer. The model was delighted and praised Yuuri to a fault, remarking on how the apartment looked flawless. In Yuuri’s opinion, nothing much had changed but Victor shook his hand and gave him a generous tip, requesting for him to come back in four days.
Yuuri left beyond confused, but happy.
The job continued. When Yuuri came back four days later, Victor was there to let him in again. This time, Yuuri received a bit more guidance. He took out the trash and the recycling while Victor worked on a laptop at the dining table—wearing reading glasses, no less. Yuuri didn’t think it was possible for him to get hotter, but he had obviously been wrong. Victor did ask him to sort through boxes of magazines stored in a guest room and pack away anything older than five years. Yuuri might have taken a bit more time than necessary when several of the issues turned out to be editions he had never seen before, flipping through the photos of Victor modeling clothing and high-end jewelry back in his late teens.
At the end of the afternoon, Victor thanked and tipped Yuuri once again before informing him that he would be requesting to Yuuri’s company that he would come regularly, twice a week. Yuuri said that was fine and that he was looking forward to it.
Victor’s apartment remained clean, with and without Yuuri’s services, but after a couple of weeks, he had established a routine. Change the bedsheets, scrub down the kitchen, vacuum the carpets, make sure Makkachin’s toys were in good shape and her treat bin fully stocked, amongst other things.
One day, right before he was about to leave, Victor came home from a photoshoot still covered in glitter and with lipstick on his mouth, looking gorgeous but exhausted. He asked Yuuri if he knew how to cook and Yuuri confirmed that he did. He ended up making Victor some baked chicken and greens while the model showered off the makeup. Yuuri tried his hardest to block out the sound of the running water and the visions that sparked in his imagination.
Victor looked good with wet hair too and Yuuri got to admire it for a blissful amount of time as Victor insisted that he stay to eat with him. They talked about Makkachin, Victor telling Yuuri about how he had gotten her after his first big international contract. Yuuri told Victor he’d always wanted a dog and that a poodle was at the top of the list. Victor’s smile made Yuuri’s heart do all kinds of flip-flops.
After that, Yuuri’s hours shifted slightly and making dinner for Victor became a regular thing.
As Victor’s work schedule filled up with the changing season, he was at the apartment less and less. Yuuri was entrusted with a copy of the apartment keys. He did notice that Victor’s apartment was less pristine than it had been at the beginning, though it remained cleaner than most of the other places Yuuri visited. It became not uncommon for Yuuri to come, finish his work, and leave before Victor returned home. It was a bit disappointing, since Yuuri rather liked their interactions, but it was also a good way of reminding himself that this was a job and that Victor was his employer.
Yuuri ran late one day after a training session at his ballet studio, turning up still in his footless tights because he had not had the time to change out of them. Makkachin did not seem to mind the tight fit and he intended to change in Victor’s bathroom before leaving, though he did not get that chance either.
Yuuri was cleaning the bookshelves in the living room, up on the tips of his toes with the feather duster in hand when he heard the front door open. “Welcome home!” he called, glancing over his shoulder.
Victor was standing at the edge of the living room, his eyes wide and trained on Yuuri. His messenger bag slipped off his shoulder and thumped to the floor, jerking Victor back to reality. “Ummm, wow, hi. Yuuri.”
Yuuri had to bite the inside of his cheeks as he turned back to his task, barely able to restrain a smile. Later, when he left, he made sure to wag his hips a bit. He had been able to feel the burn of Victor’s gaze trailing after him all the way out the door.
Fashion Week approached and, as a result, Victor was set to be absent for over a month, having been booked for appearances at all four of the major events. Instead of twice a week, Yuuri went to Victor’s every day, twice a day, to walk and feed Makkachin. Victor had told him that in previous years he had taken her to a lavish dog hotel but he knew she would be more comfortable at home. Yuuri did not mind the extra pay and certainly did not mind the extra time with the pooch. She was as sweet as her owner. His instructions were to leave the tv on for her, to not give her too many treats, and to definitely give her too many belly rubs.
Yuuri followed all the coverage of Victor on social media, having notifications set for both his Instagram and his Twitter. He had also exchanged phone numbers with Victor before he’d left, so that Yuuri would be able to send photos of Makkachin to him daily.
Over the course of the month, Yuuri’s photos got progressively more creative. The first one had been of Makkachin on a leash in the park a few blocks from Victor’s place, panting happily in the morning sun. Victor had sent a heart emoji back. Two weeks later, it was of Makkachin standing on her back legs, front paws propped up on the handle of the vacuum cleaner, made to look like she was the one doing the cleaning. Victor had sent several heart emojis back. The fourth week, Yuuri sent a selfie of him and Makkachin wearing matching scarves and sharing a vanilla ice cream. Victor had sent back a gasping emoji, followed by at least a hundred hearts.
A day after that, Yuuri received a text on his phone. It was from Victor, featuring a photo of him back home with Makkachin—the both of them sitting in a very bubbly bath. Yuuri laughed out loud and sent back a flurry of those same heart emojis.
Yuuri’s spring semester and spring recital concluded without incident, but the first day of his break less so. Yuuri woke up later than usual, permitting himself to sleep in. He had the day off and Phichit had convinced him it would be a good idea to take the hamsters to the nearby lake. Yuuri was more convinced it would be a disaster, though his perception was slightly off.
What woke Yuuri was not his alarm, but his muffled ringtone. He fished his phone out from under his pillow, squinting at the screen. The name on it had him alert faster than an ice bucket over the head. Victor Nikiforov.
“Hey, morning?” Yuuri answered as he sat up, pushing his bangs out of his face.
“I need your help. Badly.” Over the phone, Victor sounded desperate.
Yuuri promised he would be right there. He regretted it the moment he arrived. Victor’s normally flawless apartment looked like a nightclub had exploded. There were ribbons, feathers, confetti, and glitter littering the floor. Empty bottles of champagne were scattered throughout the apartment, and a black thong hung from the ceiling fan. Makkachin was dozing atop the sofa, now covered with heart-shaped pillows that definitely had not been among Victor’s possessions before. The poodle wore a gold-foil party hat, tilted off to the side. Victor appeared as wrecked as his apartment, halfway through a twelve-cup pot of coffee.
“What happened here?” Yuuri asked, picking up a plastic champagne flute off the floor.
“A Swiss friend is visiting,” Victor explained. He had bags under his eyes and his designer clothes, doubtlessly worn overnight, were utterly disheveled. “He, uhhh… He likes to party.”
Yuuri laughed, taking another glance around. The living room alone looked like an all-day job. There was an inflatable kiddie pool in the far corner that appeared to be filled with blue jello. In it floated a few dozen rubber duckies, all designed with different outfits. “This is a lot, Victor.”
“I’ll pay you double and you tell no one.”
Smirking, Yuuri slipped his phone from his back pocket and held it up. “Triple, or I tell everyone.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Of course he wouldn’t. “You’re right, I like you too much.”
“Triple it is.”
And that was how Yuuri spent the first day of his semester break: helping a world-class model clean his trashed apartment. He did mean help, because Victor worked alongside him the entire time. Yuuri did finally get to ask Victor the question he had wanted to since the beginning. Why did he hire help when he obviously didn’t need a cleaning service, usually? The answer went deeper than he expected.
Victor didn’t feed Yuuri a line or shrug the question off with a joke. Instead, he answered honestly. Because when he was home alone without much to do, he got lost in his thoughts and grew antsy. So he channeled it into cleaning, rather than anything potentially destructive. But he recognized that it wasn’t the best way of handling things and thought having a cleaner would help him redirect to more productive habits.
“Like partying?” Yuuri teased.
Victor scoffed, then smiled. “Only ever with Christophe. He’s a very bad influence.”
Yuuri discovered exactly how bad of an influence after they finished with the living room and bathroom, proceeding to the bedroom. To give Victor credit, he did try to warn Yuuri, who opened the bedroom door to find a blond Swiss model passed out on Victor’s bed, in nothing but a neon pink feather boa, a bottle of champagne still clutched in his hand.
Victor stuttered through an apology as he covered up Christophe’s bare ass, all while insisting to Yuuri that there was nothing between them. Not like that. I mean, obviously there’s nothing there on him now. I mean we’re not an item. We’re not a thing. He’s just—well, not French, but kinda French. You know? Oh, god, Yuuri, please don’t look at me like tha—stop laughing!
Christophe came to a few hours later, and Yuuri learned that he was indeed not French, but kind of French and clearly a bad influence. Victor and Yuuri continued cleaning while the Swiss model insisted on making mimosas as a “hangover cure.”
When they were finally done, Victor asked Yuuri if he could complete his show of gratitude with a dinner out, but Yuuri reminded him that he had an international guest to take care of. Victor seemed crestfallen, though he did slip a few bills too many into Yuuri’s hands as an additional tip and kissed his cheek, promising a makeup date on another evening.
Yuuri nodded in acceptance, his hands trembling and his cheek burning. He returned home an hour later, proceeding to shout into a pillow and then at Phichit.
The dinner date never happened due to scheduling conflicts but thinking of his heart and mental health, it was for the best. Yuuri did not need any more opportunities to become further smitten with Victor than he already was. Stay professional. No relations with the clients. No matter how nice their smile and their abs and their dog.
Summer arrived and Victor informed Yuuri that he wanted to start a garden. On the twenty-third floor of a high-rise apartment building. Although, he did have a small balcony that got plenty of sunlight and so the garden began. Yuuri expected flowers but Victor hauled out large planters and compost-based soil to start up a miniature vegetable garden. Basil, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers—Makkachin loved cucumbers, he told Yuuri—and some snap peas to start. So plant watering and tending duties were added to the small list of consistent tasks Yuuri did for Victor.
Yuuri wasn’t sure if Victor had a green thumb or if his biweekly tending was helping the plants grow, but Victor very quickly had an assortment of veggies growing healthy sprouts. As the weather heated up and the humidity increased, Yuuri took to stripping off the light hoodie he normally wore when working inside. Victor kept the AC on for Makkachin during the daytime, even while he was out. Then a hot spell hit the city and Yuuri risked a step further.
He left his tshirt in the living room, rolling up the hems of his jeans before heading out onto the balcony. The tending was minimal once the plants started growing well. Yuuri turned the topsoil and watered the dry spots, trimming off a bit of spent foliage. Cooking, dog walking, tending to plants. Somehow he had turned into a housekeeper rather than just a cleaner. He did not mind, though, for Victor. All of his other clients were fine but Yuuri really looked forward to the days he had Victor on his schedule.
The sun was bright and beat down on the balcony. Yuuri wiped droplets from his temples and finished sprinkling the plants that needed it. He had some soil smeared across his stomach, skin beaded with sweat. He had not wanted to sweat through his clothing, thus the decision to remove his shirt. This way, he could pat himself down quickly, rinse his face, and start preparing Victor’s dinner.
Yuuri turned and was met with a vision. Victor was back home, standing behind the glass balcony doors, very obviously staring. Yuuri was cautious, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that look. Smiling, he swept back his bangs and waved at Victor with a garden-gloved hand. A sunburn-like pink streaked across Victor’s cheeks.
“I’m done,” Yuuri called, sliding open the glass door. “Sorry, I didn’t have a change of clothes and didn’t want to get wet out here.”
“Yeah, wet.” Victor breathed, a blank glaze hazing his blue eyes. “Uhhh, do you want some water or tea or something? Because you could get, ummm, very thirsty… out there. It’s hot.”
Yuuri laughed. “I’d love some water or tea or something.”
“Right, okay,” Victor said, though he did not move, gaze still locked on Yuuri. “Okay, right.”
“Victor?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re drooling.”
Separating Victor the employer and Victor the die-hard crush became increasingly more difficult. Their texts had become less and less about scheduling requests and Makkachin photos, and more and more about general everyday life. Victor had started sending Yuuri selfies from his photo and commercial shoots, which made Yuuri whimper each time over the amount of beauty contained in them. Yuuri thought it would be funny to send him back a selfie of himself scrubbing another client’s toilet. Victor responded with an unamused emoticon, which made Yuuri laugh, and then a text saying it was unfair of him to look that cute while doing such unfortunate work. Yuuri stopped texting after that, too flustered to come up with anything.
Victor instructed him to make dinner for two one evening and Yuuri’s heart nearly broke. He had set the table and been ready to leave when Victor made him stop, smiling as he said, “Yuuri, the second plate is supposed to be for you.” So, Yuuri stayed and ate with him that night, and the week after that, and the week after that. He told Victor about the ballet show he was auditioning for, then about the call back, then about the role in which he had been cast. The week after that, Victor was away for work but there was a bouquet of flowers on the dining table, tied with a congratulatory note that had Yuuri’s name on it.
The show rehearsals meant Yuuri had to cut most of his clients and when the shows actually started, he would undoubtedly need to cut Victor as well. He already had a replacement lined up which he could recommend but he was putting off telling the news to Victor, because telling him meant acknowledging that whatever relationship or lack thereof that they had would be coming to an end. He still had time before tech week and he wanted to wait. He liked the dinners with Victor, their leisurely conversations, the texts, and he was being selfish in not wanting to risk losing them early. Victor’s apartment remained pristine, both before and after Yuuri’s biweekly visits, and Yuuri couldn’t help hoping that Victor would like his replacement a little less.
As the show approached and the rehearsals grew longer, with six hours spent at the theatre and another two at his studio daily, Yuuri said goodbye to his other remaining client. Which left just Victor. His company had already threatened to tell Victor if Yuuri didn’t do it himself.
Yuuri showed up to Victor’s apartment a little later than usual, using his copy of the key to let himself in. He already knew through their text exchanges that Victor was spending the day on a film set and would not be home till later in the evening. He had slipped a few details to Yuuri, like that the film was about a heist taking place at the annual Met Gala and that his role was minor but fun. Yuuri had promised to go see it opening day.
The list of tasks was the usual. Change the bed sheets, do the laundry, check the vegetables. Dust and wipe down anything that looked like it needed it and vacuum the floors. Yuuri had spent the previous eight hours dancing, his body exhausted and his feet sore. He rather envied the large bathtub in Victor’s bathroom, complete with jets ideal for a hot soak after a long day. If the next few shows went well for him, Yuuri might be able to afford one of his own.
Having finished cleaning, Yuuri went to start dinner only to receive a text. Victor sent a crying emoji and claimed to be running late, pleading with Yuuri to stay a bit longer so they could eat together. As if Yuuri would be able to tell him no.
Yuuri took up the time by walking Makkachin and giving her a good brushing, the grooming quickly turning into her running away from him in favor of grabbing her toys. Yuuri laughed as they wrestled for a plush, squeaky duck on the sofa, evenly matched. Makkachin won in the end, knocking him over onto the cushions and collapsing against his side as she gnawed happily on the duck’s beak.
Rubbing her ears, Yuuri swung an arm over her and nuzzled into her fur, giving the top of her head a kiss. He would miss her too, just as much as her owner. The day’s exhaustion washed over him and, lulled by the comfort of a warm dog against his side, Yuuri dozed off.
Yuuri was not sure how much later it was that he woke up, stirred by Makkachin’s wagging tail. His lashes lifted to see Victor standing an arm’s distance away, looking tired after a long day but also relaxed, his blissfully soft expression directed at Yuuri. All Yuuri wanted to do was wiggle back, to make space on the sofa so Victor could lie down next to him for a nap together.
Except he couldn’t do that. He was supposed to have made dinner, for Victor, his client. He had probably missed a few texts telling him that Victor was headed back and a time estimate for his arrival, so that everything would be ready. Yuuri sat up, ready to apologize and make an excuse for sleeping on Victor’s sofa, cuddled with Victor’s dog, while he was supposed to be working in Victor’s home. He did not get his chance.
Victor dropped to Yuuri’s level, setting his hands on the edge of the sofa cushions. Makkachin lapped at his fingers, but Victor’s attention was focused solely on Yuuri. Victor was breathless when he spoke, as if he had been holding the words in for ages. “Date me.”
Yuuri blinked. He must still be asleep, curled up with Makkachin in his arms, because this was a dream. “W-what?”
“Date me,” Victor repeated, firmer that time. “Please, Yuuri. I’ve been dying to ask you for months now, but are you kidding me? You can’t expect me to come home to find an angel asleep on my couch like that and not have me break. Please, Yuuri, give me a chance. Just one date, just to start.”
Yes. Yes, absolutely. One date, all the dates, whatever Victor wanted. Yuuri’s response shook from him, automatic. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Victor. I want to so, so much but my contract—” The contract that would cease to exist in less than two weeks, regardless.
“You’re fired,” Victor stated and a moment later, his fingers were in Yuuri’s hair, his lips catching the gasp falling from Yuuri’s. Yuuri mewled and melted, his hands flat on Victor’s chest as he responded eagerly, moving his mouth against Victor’s.
The dog caught between them yipped her protests.
Yuuri laughed as Victor pulled back to let her escape, his hands and his lips back on Yuuri’s the very next moment. Yuuri was fine with that. He was fine with all of it, for now and perhaps forever.