victuuri – Page 50 – Plume de Lynx

youremarvelous:

the thought ‘oh my god, I’m old’ probably passes through Viktor’s head on a semi regular basis, like when it takes more moisturizer than usual to cover the expanse of his forehead or when he’s trapped in a car listening to Yurio’s favorite band of the moment and is this even music???

but what about when he complains about his aching joints during practice and it occurs to Yuuri for the first time, ‘he’s getting older.’ Four years never seemed significant when it was the difference between 23 and 27. But what about 66 and 70 or 76 and 80?

Nervous late night Google searches reveal that men are at a higher risk for prostate cancer at 50, heart disease at 45. 45! It’s such a small number, and Yuuri doesn’t know the medical history of Viktor’s family which is concerning. He tries to skate around the issue for a while (it’s what he’s best at, after all), but Viktor can’t not notice how his husband has started staring into space for worryingly long intervals or how he’s traded out the contents of their liquor cabinet for red wine.

Viktor finally intervenes when Yuuri cries over their wedding photos and tries to feed Viktor a plate of broccoli for dinner in the same night. It doesn’t take much persuading (just a hand on Yuuri’s hip and a kiss to his nape with a whispered, “what’s on your mind, my love?”) before Yuuri confesses his worries in a teary, snotty, messy deluge of unintelligible hiccupped whines and slurred words.

Viktor holds Yuuri in his lap–stroking his hand through his hair–and reminds him that he’s still young, is in very good health, and freak accidents aside, just wants to spend whatever time he’s allotted living happily with the love of his life.

“How could my heart ever be unhealthy when I have you in it?” Viktor asks, kissing the glistening trail of wetness of Yuuri’s cheek.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri sniffles and chokes on a soggy giggle. “You’re so cheesy.”

“But not so cheesy as to be unhealthy.” Viktor laughs along with Yuuri.

“What started all this, anyway?” He asks when Yuuri’s breathing has returned to a normal rate. ‘Please god don’t let it be my hair.’ “Was it my hair?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri’s tone is scolding. He smiles cheekily and ruffles his fingers through Viktor’s hair, squealing when Viktor grabs him by the waist and wrestles him down on the couch.

Viktor stares into Yuuri’s face–swollen-eyed but beautiful–and feels so very in love. He leans down and pecks Yuuri on the nose. “But seriously, Yura, is it my–”

His words are lost in a kiss, and that’s okay.

He has plenty of time to ask.