when yuuri steps off the plane back in st. petersburg after nationals, victor runs toward him in arrivals and sweeps him up into the most theatric, passionate kiss. by the time they part, the sun has set and risen, winter has faded into spring, a crowd roughly the size of the entire village of hasetsu has gathered to watch.
“that was the longest week of my life,” victor says. yuuri’s swollen lips are so tempting he has to go back in for another, shorter, chaste kiss. “i’ve been starving for you. i thought i was going to wither away. i almost forgot how you tasted.”
“you taste like home,” yuuri says softly. victor hasn’t shaved in two days and is already getting a Depression Beard, which has left the skin around yuuri’s face red and raw.
“you two are disgusting!” yuri yells from across the airport, where he’s hauling ass away from the both of them, parting the crowd like the red sea. “i’m never coming to help pick you up from the airport again! i’m going to go bleach out my eyes and ears!”
kluskiwszechmocy 