Viktuuri dancing together in their socks in the kitchen?
Victor wakes to find the other side of the bed empty, half-warm. He doesn’t want to be alone, wants to be wrapped in his husband’s arms. Without much thought, he throws aside the covers, hissing as he is momentarily literally and metaphorically frozen.
Yuuri would tease him, Victor thinks as he grabs a pair of sweatpants. Tease him for being unable to cope with being cold, with being away from him, with waking up just to hear Yuuri mumble in his sleep as he pulls him closer and finding that he isn’t in bed.
Victor misses his teasing. Victor will gladly be teased if it means Yuuri is beside him.
He stumbles out of their bedroom, instinctively walking to the kitchen. He is aware that Yuuri is there before he actually sees him, though when he does, he can’t process anything beyond how beautiful his husband looks, staring absentmindedly out the window with a cup of tea in his hands. He stares at his husband until his husband stares back at him; then, Victor grins.
“Yuuri~~, why weren’t you in bed?” Victor tries to stroll over casually, though he knows it looked much less composed, like he hadn’t seen Yuuri in months.
Yuuri sets his cup down carefully and opens his arms to Victor. His hands run up and down Victor’s back as he returns the embrace. Victor enjoys most things with his husband, but he never gets tired of hugs like these, where they both cling to each other with a sense of peaceful desperation. The kinds of hugs that make him overwhelmingly aware of how much he loves Yuuri, how lucky he is to be by his side.
Yuuri clears his throat. “I wasn’t sleeping well. Had a bad dream.”
Victor frowns, one hand travelling up to play with his hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Yuuri shakes his head gently, so Victor lets them fall into silence. He can still feel the shift in mood, the way he is now holding Yuuri, comforting him, rather than the reverse. His hand is cradling Yuuri’s head, and he begins to sway his husband gently.
Yuuri laughs, though it comes out wrong, like he’s trying not to cry. “Are you trying to dance with me?”
“Swaying and dancing aren’t the same, my love, and I don’t trust you to dance and not hurt yourself in those socks.”
Yuuri huffs and pulls away just enough to face Victor. He tries not to grin as his husband pouts up at him. “I wouldn’t hurt myself. You just don’t want me to dance better than you.”
Victor kisses Yuuri’s forehead, then brings his lips close to his husband’s. “You can’t dance better than me.”
Yuuri smirks, and Victor knows he’s done for. Yuuri pulls Victor closer. “And yet, I was the one who made you fall in love with me when I danced drunk. I would destroy you if I danced sober.”
Victor’s near destruction because of Yuuri’s confidence alone, and who is he to deny the truth. They continue to sway slowly as Victor closes the distance between their lips, kissing Yuuri like he’s wanted to ever since he woke up alone, kissing Yuuri like it’s their first and last kiss.
They continue kissing and swaying until Yuuri is sleepy again, and Victor leads him back to bed with a loving grin, his hand in Yuuri’s as they walk down the hall. They curl up against each other under the covers, Yuuri kissing Victor’s forehead and murmuring a sleepy I love you before falling asleep.
Victor kisses his nose and runs a hand through Yuuri’s hair.