yuri listened to the sound of luca making coffee; clanking of china, warm, soft smell, hazel hair in his eyes.
wearing new clothes with no scent of vanilla, lemon or aftershave - blue ripped jeans, oversized black sweater - and the smell of coffee filling the room, he was close to convincing himself that yes, he was happy with luca di marco, and no, he wasn't loving victor nikiforov.
"you alright, baby?" luca smiled, sitting on the sofa with yuri's head against his chest, absentmindedly playing with his hair. yuri thought of how his fingers weren't as gentle as victor's, but distracted himself with the lingering smell of coffee.
"mhm," yuri hummed in response, closing his eyes. luca was fresh out of the shower with a bare chest, jeans, and dripping hair, but yuri was still sure he could smell somebody else on his skin. he tried not to mind; he didn't know why he minded so much at that moment.
he wished he would stop thinking of victor nikiforov stroking his hair instead of luca di marco.
"you're quiet," luca mused, kissing yuri's neck and holding him close, and yuri knew he was leaving hickeys in his skin. they hurt, if he was honest, because luca sucked at his skin too hard. not like victor used to.
yuri wished he would stop thinking about victor nikiforov's soft, slightly chapped lips and the taste of chapstick than luca di marco's lips on his skin and the taste of coffee.
"why are you quiet, baby?" he laughed lightly. yuri opened his eyes again, and all thoughts of bathwater, lilac watercolours and soft white shirts stained with blood slipped through his fingers and under the water.
"i'm not quiet," yuri replied, and leaned closer into luca, who tutted and carried on stroking yuri's hair. yuri pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, and tucked in his legs, and began to enjoy the feel of luca's fingers threading through his hair, breathing in the smell of coffee and shower gel.
luca dropped his hand, and slipped it around yuri's waist instead. yuri adjusted to the change, began to enjoy the warmth of luca's touch against his body, and luca moved his hand to the back of yuri's jeans, close to the edge.
and yuri didn't know why, but the thought of luca moving his hand further down - under the denim - made him sit up on the couch.
"what's wrong?" luca asked, and yuri raked back hair from his face, unsure of what to say - unsure of what he was feeling - wondering if luca had meant to put his hand down the back of his jeans, or if he was just holding him. holding him close. yuri took a deep breath.
"nothing," was all he could say, and didn't say anything when luca kissed his mouth and headed down the hall towards the bedroom, whistling as he went.
yuri turned on the television. he didn't know why. and he didn't know why he was comparing luca di marco's kisses to those of victor nikiforov.
luca never kissed his cheeks, his hair or his forehead; always the mouth, and always with his tongue. never lightly. never softly. but kisses all the same.
"i'll see you when i get back, baby," luca called over his shoulder, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and grabbing his keys. yuri smiled and nodded, and felt a little cold, sitting on the sofa in a silent apartment.
he didn't like being on his own. he knew his mind would to start to wander again; he knew that tapes would start to play he didn't want to see.
his phone pinged, and yuri looked down at the cracked screen, careful not to cut his fingers on the glass again.
he hesitated. he wasn't sure that he wanted to talk to victor nikiforov right then, with luca gone, the apartment cold, wearing the jeans he didn't like.
a knock at the door drew his attention away from vanilla, lemon and aftershave - not coffee and shower gel - and yuri went to the door. he sighed for the parcel that was said to be for him, although he didn't know what it was. the door closed. the apartment was empty again, and yuri thought about checking his phone.
with the box wrapped on the bed, and stood before it and bit at his bottom lip. he was a little confused as he peeled off plain paper wrapping, to reveal a black patent box marked "victoria's secret"
thoughts of victor and red lingerie surfaced in his mind, and yuri smiled to himself, and went back to his phone on the coffee table.
he smiled at the message, although he was still biting at his bottom lip.
victor💐; you remember how you asked me
victor💐; if i wanted to see you in red lingerie
victor💐; if i wanted to fuck you in red lingerie
yuri set down his phone, smoothed out the creases in his jeans, and headed back to the unwrapped "victoria's secret" box sitting on the bedsheets.
he lifted the lid, and his smile softened. he looked down at the yellow book sitting on the silky lining of the box, and reached down to pick it up.
he turned the first page gently, and his eyes skimmed to writing at the bottom right hand corner, in pencil, letters sloping and small.
what a fucking cliché
x
yuri laughed out loud, and set down the book back in the box. and only then did he feel the tears in the back of his throat, as his fingers brushed the silk lining of the lingerie box, with a soft, tearful smile on his lips.
"well done, nikiforov," he whispered quietly, with a short, tearful laugh. "well fucking done."