post-canon domestic fluff :)
Yuuri makes a very important discovery one morning, one rare morning when he actually wakes up first and doesn’t immediately crave the sweet darkness of sleep. No, he wakes slowly and easily, warm and well-rested, and for once, he doesn’t really care what time it is. Instead he just sighs, noting the warm, heavy weight of Viktor’s arm over his hips, and rolls over slightly–
And it’s not like he’s never seen Viktor asleep before, or even that he’s never noticed the smattering of pale freckles that lie sprinkled across his bare shoulders. He’s seen the way Viktor’s eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as he dreams, seen the rise and fall of his body as he breathes.
All of that, and yet, in this moment, he still finds his breath taken away when the sunlight slants through the window just so, and Viktor’s hair falls across his face at just the right angle, all mussed and wavy from sleep, lit up like molten silver in the morning glow. Yuuri lies there and looks at him, breathless with wonder, and realizes, oh. I really am married to the most beautiful man in the world.
And then he wants to laugh, because he knew that already! It’s not a discovery if he’s been aware of it since he was twelve.
But there’s something different about this Viktor, the Viktor who snuggles close and tucks his nose into the crook of Yuuri’s neck and wraps himself around him as they sleep, as if he’s afraid to be left alone (or, perhaps, because he just seeks out any and all warmth as he sleeps, because he’s clingy like that). There’s something tender and warm and beautiful in a wholly different way about the imperfections–about the messy, untamed hair, the slight crease in his brow from time to time, and the freckles that are no longer hidden under foundation.
Yuuri touches one of those beautiful, pristine, imperfect cheeks, and smiles. He strokes his thumb over Viktor’s cheekbone, caresses away the hair flopping across his forehead, and pulls his husband closer, tucking him snugly beneath his chin.
Viktor stirs with a slow, soft sigh. “Yuuri?” he mumbles, shifting, stretching his long legs beneath the sheets. Yuuri hugs him tight and doesn’t bother fighting down the smile that tugs at his cheeks when he hears Viktor’s soft, sleep-roughened voice, a voice meant only for him.
“I’m here,” he mumbles back, closing his eyes again. The sun is pleasantly warm against his skin, and Viktor presses close, nuzzling his neck with another sigh.
“G’mornin’, my love,” he murmurs, more asleep than not, and Yuuri smiles, heart full fit to burst.
“Good morning, dear,” he says, and it is.