Yuuri doesn’t even realize until Yurio points it out.
“You’re not gonna die if your hands aren’t on him all the time, Old Man,” he snarks, spraying them with ice as he skates away in a huff after their break.
Yuuri immediately blushes, the warm, solid weight of Victor’s hand on his shoulder now glaringly obvious. How many times has Victor touched him like that without a second thought? Too many to count, definitely.
Like from last night, when Victor’s fingers brushed against Yuuri’s lower back as they cooked dinner together in their apartment, or like the kisses absently pressed to his hair (and neck and cheek) all afternoon.
So maybe Victor touches him a lot. Intentionally and unintentionally. It’s terribly sweet, and the love that Yuuri feels for this man somehow manages to grow beyond the amount that he already has.
“Au contraire, Yurio,” Victor says smoothly, interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts. His arms slide down Yuuri’s body to pull him to his chest. “I’m quite positive that holding my Yuuri is essential to my well-being. You’ll understand someday.”
Yurio’s flush is visible from the other side of the rink. As he dissolves into his distinctive profanity, Victor only chuckles and holds Yuuri closer.
And Yuuri holds him back.