M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

57.| soap

yuri could hardly believe that he had slept in victor nikiforov - the victor nikiforov's bed. he squinted against the bright daylight pouring in through the open window and stretched, wincing as the damage on his arms woke up.

"good morning," he heard a soft russian accent, rough with sleep, say from the bathroom. yuri looked away from the open window and the car lined up along the streets beyond to see victor nikiforov standing in the white-tiled room connected to his bedroom, blood staining his creased white shirt. he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and gave him the smile that yuri had seen more than once in the front cover of some glossy magazine.

"y-you're bleeding," yuri got out, pointing up at the gash above victor eyebrow that was seeping blood. victor nodded, and looked down at the ground.

"yeah. it fucking hurts," he said with a short laugh. he caught yuri wincing as he peeled off victor's jacket, and gestured to the painkillers sitting beside the bed.

"they help," he said with a nod towards the container. "really, they do."

yuri spilt two into his palm, the effects of the last drug he subjected his body to having left him with an aching body and subdued mind.

"the b-blood," he said, nodding at victor's wound. "l-let me..."

yuri gingerly got to his feet and reached the bathroom, before he ran gauze under the running water from the tap and pressed it against the bleeding cut above his eye. victor winced, and yuri hesitated.

"no, no," victor smiled slightly. "it's ok."

he touched yuri's hand, and yuri shivered at the feel of his soft skin. he focused on the smell of soap lingering on the white bathroom tiles to distract himself from being only inches away from the man who he had reached out to touch only the night before.

"you have antiseptic?" yuri asked, and victor reached into the cupboard behind him. yuri tipped a little of the liquid onto cotton wool, and victor winced again when he pressed it down.

"leave it for a little while," yuri told victor, throwing the blood-stained cotton wool away and leaning back against the sink. "you don't have any of those plaster strips, do you?"

victor shook his head, and ran a hand through his tousled silver hair.

"you seem to know an awful lot about first aid, huh, yuri?"

yuri nodded, and looked down at the shining white tiles beneath his feet.

"my friend yuuko had to clean me up more than once when i used to train. she skated with me, she did."

"ah," victor said with a smile, and with the light of day in place of the night's translucent curtain, yuri could see the damage that celestino cialdini had done to his victor in that dimly lit living room of that ground-floor apartment yuri knew all too well.

"christ," victor muttered under his breath, blue eyes dark as he looked over yuri's exposed, damaged torso under the bathroom lights. "i wish you'd let me kick the shit out of him, yuri."

yuri could see the gleaming of a mirror coming from the bedroom, and wincing at the pain moving caused, he walked over to stand before victor nikiforov's full length mirror and survey the bruises on his skin that had made victor's eyes widen.

"yuri," he heard a soft russian accent murmur from his side, and felt soft, slightly chapped lips press against the tender skin of his neck, working their way up and down. the scent of lemon, vanilla and aftershave acted as a balm and pain that was laced throughout his body, and yuri watched victor nikiforov suck at the skin on his neck until it made him moan, as he had done with the warmth of the kitchen and the scent of pancakes around the both of them only the week before.