Can I request a drabble, pls? :3 I have this hc that when Yuuri and Viktor clean their house together, they always put on some music and at some point Yuuri always grabs Viktor and starts to dance with him, in the middle of their chores.
Saturday; it’s always a ‘clean up’ day at the Katsuki-Nikiforovs’. Out with the dust, no more clatter, vacuum all the floors and carpets, spray and scrub the bathroom and the kitchen spotless. Do the laundry. Do the dishes. Put everything back in order, all the while making sure Makkachin doesn’t get in the way too much. (Don’t lock her in the bathroom, that’s just inhumane.)
They hate Saturdays.
…but they also love Saturdays.
No matter how many chores they have to do, it’s unmistakably their time. No need to hurry anywhere when Makka doses in her corner of the living room as Viktor dusts the shelves and Yuuri puts music on. It’s Yuuri’s turn to choose the songs this week.
When Viktor hears the first notes of Stammi Vicino, he pauses for a moment and smiles to himself. Yuuri always goes for their skating routines.
So predictable. Viktor loves it.
And Yuuri knows. “Keep moving,” he teases with that glint in his eye. He wipes the tiles on the kitchen walls with a wet rag. “The dust won’t clean itself.”
Smartass, Viktor thinks and shakes his head, amused, when Yuuri scoffs - like he knows exactly what’s going through his mind.
They work in comfortable silence, far from each other, sometimes closer, sometimes shoulder-to-shoulder, other times moving around each other like they’re of one mind. Sometimes, one of them hums along to the song; sometimes, their movements become graceful and in tune with the music.
And sometimes—just like this time—they stand next to each other by the kitchen sink, washing and drying the dishes to the rhythm of Viktor’s old, gold-winning junior free skate. Yuuri bumps his hip against Viktor’s and laughs when he’s sprayed with droplets of water in return.
The track changes, and they both freeze when Yuri on ICE starts playing, almost like they’ve forgotten that it’s there, too—almost like they haven’t been waiting for it since the very beginning.
The water is still pouring over the dishes in the sink and Viktor’s hands are wet, but when Yuuri pulls him away from the counter and close to his body, he goes willingly.
Step by step, on they go. Step by step, forward, to the side, back, side again. Yuuri scoops him up into his arms at one point and turns with him several times and Viktor laughs with how carefree he feels; and when he’s on his feet again, he twirls Yuuri as many times as he can, only to dip him on his arm and kiss him soft and long and loving.
The music slows and so do they, swaying in each other’s arms. Yuuri has his face pressed against Viktor’s neck, Viktor smiles at how dark hair tickles his nose. Their hearts beat as one, laughter turns to fond quirks of lips, to temple kisses, to foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling together, noses brushing.
The music picks up softly, and so Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand into his own and leads him in a faster dance, pulling him all over the living room floor, laughing again when Makkachin joins them and tries to get between them. They jump out of the way and step forward, to the side, back, side again, and turn and twirl and try to dip each other at the same time, which only ends with them falling to the floor, gripping their stomachs with one arm and hooting with laughter.
As the final notes sound around the room, they turn their heads towards each other and look into each other’s eyes, beaming. Viktor takes Yuuri’s right hand to his lips and kisses his wedding ring first, then all of his knuckles. Yuuri pulls their hands to himself and mirrors each and every action.
They love Saturdays.