Disclaimer: Yuri! on Ice is Mitsurō Kubo's property

Credit: This fic is beta-read by Strifenhart

Warning: mushy fluff with barely any plot

Pomegranate

The light from the gap under the front door had become a telltale that his fiancé was home even before Victor turned the key. The moment the door swung open, he found himself greeted with a tail-wagging brown poodle and the sound of a TV commercial. He gave Makkachin an I-miss-you-too pat on the head, and then his eyes scanned past the frosty windows and onto the center of his living room, where Yuuri was cozily sitting in the sofa with a plate on his lap. Were it not for the pomegranate wedges occupying that plate, Victor would call an ambulance immediately at the sight of blood-like streaks around Yuuri's mouth.

"Hey."

The warm smile that accompanied Yuuri's monosyllable melted down the wintry hail that hit him in the face and clung to his clothes all the way back from the ice skating rink. As always, whenever Yuuri looked at him in that way, there came a tug from the pit of Victor's stomach that made him feel absurdly, irrationally elated. Being in the same room and breathing the same air as Yuuri made Victor's head hum: this was what he lived for. After hanging his outerwear on the coat stand, he sat next to his beloved.

"It's been a while since I last ate pomegranate, so when I saw them at the supermarket this evening, I bought two. Yours is in the fridge."

"Thanks, but you can have it, Yuuri."

"You dislike pomegranates?"

"I can't be bothered with their piths."

Victor leaned against the headrest, his fatigued nerves unwinding. The responsibilities of two roles—Yuuri's coach as well as a competitor—doubled the amount of time he practiced. Depending on their schedule, Yuuri would sometimes wait for him at the rink, but other times he'd go home ahead of Victor to do the chores. That day, it was Yuuri's turn to cook (translated as: "heat up supermarket's precooked meal"). In Yuuri's defense, it was his mother and sister who had always taken care of the kitchen, not to mention that takeaways had been a stone's throw away in Detroit. Victor hardly fared any better; his most successful culinary feat comprised of a salad.

Paying no heed to the TV program, Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri, who was scoring the bitter, pale yellow pith for the fruit's flesh. Yuuri popped a pinch of ruby-like sacs encasing little white seeds into his mouth. Ah, what a masterpiece—a divine work of art that never failed to stir Victor!

As Yuuri munched, red juice gushed forth; some made its way to his throat, although a few rivulets cascaded down his chin and onto his sweater. Victor tried not to wince imagining the atrocious stains that the juice would leave behind. Yuuri was never a nitpicker for fashion, excluding his skating costumes for competitions. That was also the reason Victor insisted that he did the laundry and ironing, while Yuuri handled the housecleaning. Although Victor used to scoff at the idea of loving another person to a fault, a world without his soul mate in it could no longer be desirable since Katsuki Yuuri had waltzed into his life.

"Are you sure you don't want any? You've been staring at the pomegranate." Yuuri offered him the plate.

Victor took Yuuri's other hand instead, juice dripping from his fingers as Victor brought them up to his mouth. He clamped Yuuri's index finger between his lips. "Sweet and sour… What a delicious harmony." His eyes locked with Yuuri's and his tongue swirled around Yuuri's finger. Feeling Yuuri's breath hitch, he proceeded to suck the digit zealously. "Still, it isn't the pomegranate that I crave."

Satisfaction permeated Victor's being as he noticed how the color of Yuri's cheeks turned into a shade similar to the scarlet blush of the pomegranate skin. His sleek tongue caressed Yuuri's middle finger, and Yuuri quivered. He moved on to the next finger, wondering how soon he could adorn it with a wedding ring.

"So greedy, Victor…"

A shiver ran up Victor's spine. Why did the articulation of his name have to sound so mesmerizing when emitted by Yuuri's parted lips? How could he not dance in the palm of Yuuri's hand when his fiancé held him in such a sultry yet reverent gaze?

"Only for you, dear," Victor replied.

Immersing himself in the tangy freshness of the pomegranate's scent and the delicate softness of Yuuri's skin, he continued the moist trail of his tongue to Yuuri's palm, teasing his lover with little more than the gentle brush of lips over that endearing hand. He was about to do the same with Yuuri's wrist when he felt his sublime roommate shift. A knee pressed its way between Victor's legs and a pair of arms made their way on either side of Victor's shoulders, caging him between the sofa and Yuuri's torso in an imitation of the cicada block.

"But it's unfair to have all the fun to yourself." Yuuri loomed above the sitting Victor with his sinful tongue tracing his lower lip with a tacit promise to savor every bit of Victor's body.

One glance, and Victor knew he had roused the sleeping Eros within Yuuri. He made a mental note to sew the buttons his fiancé would undoubtedly send flying again as he watched his sexy-as-hell roommate set those blue-rimmed spectacles on the neighboring stool, next to the plate of neglected pomegranate.

THE END