M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

63.| afterglow

LOOK WHO UPDATED ALTHOUGH THEY ARE LEGIT DYING HERE IS SOME FLUFF MAKE THE MOST OF IT

warm water rained down from the shower head, washing away the dried blood from yuri's face and calming the bruises on his face. he leant his forehead against the tiles, and with the soap running down his back, he allowed himself to smile.

for once, there wasn't red whirling around the plug hole at his feet, and for once, he wasn't scared of turning off the flow, blinking the water out of his eyes and stepping out of the shower.

"yuri? you ok?"

yuri realised that he must have been in the shower for longer than he thought, and turned off the water.

for once, he wasn't scared to hear those same words that a man in a boss suit shouted whilst banging on the bathroom door, giving him the message that his time was up and he needed to get a move on, because the car would be coming soon. and yuri katsuki wasn't scared anymore, because the voice he could hear was the soft russian accent that had told him how he loved him, wanted him and appreciated him.

"coming," yuri called, pulling on victor's grey t-shirt that lay on top of the tiles by his feet, which victor had given him. it was oversized, reaching down to just above the middle of his bare thighs, and yuri breathed in the scent of vanilla, lemon and aftershave.

wearing only victor's shirt and his own grey boxers, yuri pushed open the bathroom door and his eyes met the bedroom; the crinkled sheets, the painkillers by the bed, yuri's phone with the cracked screen sitting on the bedside table. and then, his big brown eyes met victor nikiforov, sitting on the end of the bed in dark blue jeans and no shirt, phone in hand.

"hey," he smiled, looking up at yuri in the doorway. "you look better when you aren't so beat up, don't you?" he added, and yuri laughed lightly.

"i'm sure you will too," he said, tossing the towel onto the bed so that it blended with the sheets, and sitting down on the mattress beside victor, who still had dried blood over the one side of his face, smudged like red water colour on paper.

victor laughed, before he slipped one hand onto the back of yuri's neck and kissed his lips, still wet from the shower, hands sinking his soft, dark, dark hair, which was dripping down his back.

and yuri smiled against his mouth, and leaned into his bare chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling the warmth of victor nikiforov against him.

it had been two days since yuri had walked into that police station and sat before celestino cialdini, and a day since he and victor had driven back to the station so that yuri could give evidence against him - the bruises on his body that he had shown the police were still sore and dark under victor's shirt, but his face looked better, skin soft, bruises fading, a cut on his lip and on the side of his face from when he had fallen against the wooden coffee table in that ground floor apartment.

"i'm proud of you, baby," victor murmured, running his fingers through wet strands of yuri's hair as yuri lay with his head against his chest. "for going to see him again...after all the motherfucker - "

yuri felt victor heart start to beat faster in anger.

" - did to you - "

"ssh, ssh," yuri softly calmed him down, kissing his shoulder with sore lips stinging from the warm water, fingers tracing gently across victor's soft skin. victor took a deep breath, and held yuri closer to him, to the muscles of his torso pulled tight from years of practising on the ice. he kept threading his wet fingers through yuri's soft hair, breathing in bubblegum and soap and basking in the feeling of holding yuri katsuki so close to him.

"stay close to me," yuri whispered against him, and victor smiled softly down at him.

"i told you, baby boy," he murmured, hands dripping water from yuri's hair onto the sheets. "i'm not going anywhere. i'm never leaving you again, you hear me?"

yuri closed his eyes, and sighed, immersed in the afterglow of victor's words, his touch, the feel of having the results of his kisses warm and dark on his neck like crushed violets.

"how do you feel, yuri?" victor asked so softly, voice scarcely audible in the held silence of the white-lit bedroom, blinds open, bedsheets bright in the grey sky's light, victor's bare skin exposed to the daylight.

yuri didn't move away when he whispered one word in response against victor's body, blocking out the melody of phichit humming, celestino shouting, a needle in his forearm, a photograph of mari and his mother under his mattress, a phone screen cracking, the smell of hospital soap, "a fucking whore" and a razor slicing over his wet skin whilst the man in a boss suit turned up the volume on the television.

he blocked it all out, holding on to the feel of being held in victor's arms, and lay against the sound of his beating heart

"safe," yuri katsuki replied, as victor nikiforov held him there in his arms