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Victor had never enjoyed competition this much in his entire life, until now, until Yuuri.Now he couldn’t get enough, because what no one else really knew was that Yuuri hated losing, that he was competitive in everything he did, and it was infectious. It was infectious because of the sassy smile Yuuri would flash to him from across the rink, tank only half empty with his monstrous stamina while Victor was on his last legs. He was the most beautiful when he was confident like this, his eyes bright, silent laughter writ on his face as he spotted Victor’s answering pout. It was racing Yuuri back home for their afternoon run, sprinting across the bridge with his advantage of longer legs and winning by a hair’s breath every time. It was chuckling at Yuuri’s groan of frustration and taking his hand so they could walk the rest of the way instead, and Yuuri was always most adorable like this, blush on his cheeks that said he was happy to hold Victor’s hand but grumpy to lose.It was sitting on the floor on opposite sides of the lounge in his apartment that finally felt like home, putting Makkachin in the middle to see who he would come to when called. It was cheating with treats and edging closer, calling Makkachin over and over until he eventually went to Yuuri anyway. Always Yuuri, Victor couldn’t even bring himself to feel betrayed, because he couldn’t blame Makkachin, he’d choose Yuuri every time too. But it was sulking then, crawling across the floor to throw himself onto Yuuri and Makkachin, to take them both in his arms while they both struggled, whining Yuuri’s name as Yuuri gave it all up to laugh without restraint. So they’d end up in this pile on the floor, giggling while Makkchin tried to lick both of their faces, and Yuuri was always the most precious like this, happy and carefree, and most importantly: in Victor’s arms. It was stumbling back to their hotel room half drunk after competition with medals around their necks, one person teasing the other depending on who wore the gold that day. And Yuuri was the most inspiring like this, the most selfless and the most proud to be pulling Victor Nikiforov into their bed. Because even if Yuuri wore bronze or silver that day he never failed to congratulate Victor, never failed to tell him how amazing he was. And if it was gold he wore he never failed to light a fire inside Victor, never failed to make Victor kiss that gold medal and tell him to try his best next time too. It was in bed, hot and most definitely bothered with skin on skin as they fooled around, and Victor would never forget the day Yuuri said: ’I’m gonna make you come first.’ So it was always this mind blowing fight to make each other feel good, to drive each other crazy, to make the other crumble and beg . The smirk on Yuuri’s face when he won, the way he would lean down and smile against Victor’s lips as he straddled Victor’s hips and hum ’I win.’ a definite incentive to lose for once. It was the way Yuuri screamed his name, arched his back and clung to him when he was the one that came first that had Victor growling with triumph, because only he could make Yuuri desperate like this. And Yuuri was always the most seductive, the most sexy and the most captivating like this, because he was sure of himself and their relationship, sure that Victor was his, and most importantly: Victor knew that Yuuri was his too. He’d never had to stay on his toes this much before, never had to watch himself and be aware of his surroundings, because their latest game had been going on for weeks now and it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. He hoped it never did.It was hiding next to the doorway as Yuuri came into the bedroom after a shower, it was stealing a surprise kiss from his lips before running off to the lounge to dance with Makkachin in victory. Yuuri just huffed before he vowed to get him back when Victor would least expect it, and he always did.
It was Yuuri catching Victor completely off guard at the rink as Victor took his skate guards off, standing in front of him to steal the kiss back as Victor stood upright. Then he’d spend the rest of practice chasing a cackling Yuuri across the ice, trying to catch him and kiss him senseless so that Yuuri would forget that he’d even won in the first place. It was at the shops down an aisle with just the two of them that Victor would take it back, he’d watch Yuuri stop and think about what ingredients to buy, watch him stare at the wall of products and concentrate before he swooped in and gave him a sloppy kiss on the lips. Then he’d just take the basket from Yuuri’s hands as Yuuri covered his face to hide his blush, because he’d left himself completely open and he knew it. It was tickle fights and happiness on their mornings off, hiding under the sheets before starting the assault of kissing each other wherever they could reach, forehead, eyes, nose, ears. All until they both gave up and ended up losing themselves in a million kisses on the lips, game forgotten as need and want took over. It would always start back up again though, in the kitchen eating breakfast, in the bathroom brushing their teeth, at the rink as they crossed paths. And Yuuri was always the most bold, the most cheeky and silly as they stole kisses from each other like this.Competition had never been this fun, this enlightening and this amazing, for the first time in his life Victor never cared about winning or not, because for once, losing never felt so good.