Yuuri had this terribly annoying habit. As far as Victor was concerned, it may actually have transcended ‘annoying’ and moved into the realm of ‘insufferable’. A true crime.
Yuuri did this thing where, no matter what, he would only sleep in his pyjamas.
Even when the summer had heat creeeping through the old, wooden walls of the onsen. Even much later when Victor had come to crawl into Yuuri’s tiny bed with him sometime after the Cup of China. Even when Yuuri had started to become a little braver, a little more bold, and his dreaded pyjamas would end up in some terrible heap at the end of the bed.
Even then- Yuuri would disentangle his beautiful, naked body from Victor’s and retrieve the hideous things before sleep. Stretched grey t-shirts, slightly over-sized sleep shorts that hung almost the right amount of low, showing off the curve of Yuuri’s stomach that Victor was sure was the first dip of love he fell into.
It was a little to the left of a gripe and more into the realms of Victor’s most loathed thing ever.
Not that he was being dramatic.
But Victor wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. They were in Victor’s apartment now. Which meant they had Victor’s very temperamental washing machine. A machine that had on more than one occasion bitten a hole into Victor’s own clothes due to a stray bit of bent drum.
Victor really had always meant to replace it. But well, he’d been away. And busy. Most importantly busy.
Now was the washing machine’s time to redeem itself. And it did so perfectly.
‘Ah!’ Yuuri cried from the kitchen, voice squeaking up with his barely-there accent. Victor loved that squeak.
‘What’s happened?’ Victor asked, feigning innocence brilliantly as he threw a look over the couch to spy Yuuri on his knees in front of the washing machine, holding up a damp and definitely shredded t-shirt.
‘My pyjamas,’ Yuuri said sadly and for one moment, his adorable little pout certainly did tug on Victor’s heart-strings. But Victor held firm. He put his phone down on the coffee table and got up to join Yuuri on the kitchen floor.
Taking Yuuri into his arms, Victor kissed the top of his head.
‘I’m sorry. I had no idea about the machine,’ Victor lied, spinning one more before he kissed Yuuri again; ‘We’ll buy you some new ones.’
Victor had no intention of doing such a thing.
As the evening went on, Victor couldn’t wait for bed. Stripping off his own clothes as was his habit, (and hopefully soon Yuuri’s), Victor got into bed, waiting patiently for Yuuri to finish his shower and come and join him. Even Makkachin’s had been banished to the living room for Victor to fully enjoy the event
Few things were better than a freshly showered Yuuri. Skin hot, hair damp and most importantly- naked.
But when the bathroom door opened, Yuuri was not naked. He wasn’t in a towel either, which at least Victor could’ve forgiven. But what Yuuri was wearing caused Victor to pause in his disappointment.
Yuuri was wearing an old soccer jersey. One of Victor’s old soccer jerseys that he’d inherited over the years. It was even a little too big for Victor, who only ever wore it to the gym or running, so it trailed down almost to Yuuri’s knees.
With his trussled, damp hair and red cheeks, Yuuri looked practically edible. Like very fine Turkish delight and Victor’s old jersey was the ribbon.
Yuuri tucked himself into the bed with only slight stumbling, (having obviously left his glasses by the sink). With some shuffling, Yuuri got himself comfortable- at which point Victor pounced on him.
‘Oof!’ Yuuri laughed as Victor deposited himself in a very ungraceful sprawl across his fiancé.
‘You should wear my clothes more often,’ Victor said, tracing the peeling Cyrillic with a finger on Yuuri’s chest.
‘I spent the entire last season in your costume.’
‘This is different,’ Victor said because it was true, running a very deliberate hand down Yuuri’s side. Rippling the fabric and taking delight in Yuuri’s hitched breath as he did so.
So Victor hadn’t won the war yet. But this was a good compromise. Then, Victor slipped the hand under the hem-
‘You’re not wearing anything under this!’ Victor said, barely containing the excitement from his voice as Yuuri flushed beautifully in the light of the bedside lamp.
‘I know a hint when I get one,’ Yuuri mumbled, still very red before he looked Victor in the eye. ‘I called your super about the washing machine. He says you’ve complained about it before.’
Before Victor could explain himself, (which he couldn’t), Yuuri carefully ran his hands up Victor’s bare back before linking them around his neck. He tugged Victor down, dark eyes suddenly a bit nervous.
‘Is this okay?’
Victor answered him with a very deep, very filthy kiss that definitely got the desired result as Yuuri utterly melted beneath him.
Maybe the problem hadn’t been Yuuri wearing pyjamas. Just that he had been wearing the wrong pyjamas.