When Yuuri strips down to his boxers, the heat of the moment dissipating for a moment to find anxiety eating at him. He stares at Viktor's body, only his black panties on; he's sculpted, his jaw defined, he most definitely doesn't have two straight scars across his chest. He hasn't been taking shots every two weeks for years just to look like he does now.

 

He shudders. This is harder than he thought; the prospect of having sex with a cis person is scary. He's only had sex with other trans men, and that was when he was twenty and twenty-one.
 

 

"Yuuri, are you alright? Do you need to stop?" Viktor's voice is like honey, almost dreamlike, and it snaps him out of it. He looks down to the floor, trying to remain calm, although he isn't already, and then notices Viktor is still wearing socks.

 

A wheeze of laughter escapes his lips, and Viktor gets more concerned with that. "You wear mismatched socks?" he exclaims, his eyes twinkling. Viktor's eyes widen and he starts laughing along with his boyfriend. They fall on the bed, their breaths mingling as they laugh at how Yuuri's comment dissipated the hotness of the situation.

 

Viktor messes with Yuuri's hair. It's not pushed back, he's not Eros, he's just... himself. The farthest away thing from sexy. Viktor's dick seems to disagree, though. "Did my socks really ruin the mood?"
 

 

"I didn't think Viktor Nikiforov wore mismatched socks, of all people."

 

Viktor pouts before kissing his cheek, "Polished celebrities can't do that now?"
 

 

Yuuri shrugs and buries his face against Viktor's neck, kissing up to his cheek. He's so in love, no matter how much he wants to deny it— Viktor is so, so beautiful; so breathtaking. He never thought it'd be possible to even be in this situation, always discarded it as an unrealistic fantasy.

 

He's gay, he used to tell himself; he wouldn't like a guy like you. And now he's here, about to have sex with him.

 

"If we get you a pair of socks that match we most definitely can have sex but it's just funny to me." He fiddles with his fingers and smiles at Viktor, who kisses his forehead before getting up from the bed. He opens his suitcase, clears his throat while looking for socks that match. "Do you have any actual pair of socks?"
 

 

"I don't think I do." He stops and moves a few socks over before going "Ah-hah!" and holding them up triumphantly towards Yuuri; who cares about his hard length?

 

Yuuri might want to grind against Viktor, but God, he is dramatic. "You're embarrassing."
 

 

Viktor flashes him a smile before taking his socks off and putting the new ones on.

 

Soon after he's hurling himself towards the bed, on top of Yuuri. He doesn't touch his chest, avoids it like the plague; he fumbles with Yuuri's boxers and his socks brush against his thigh. He bites at his shoulder and his collarbone, smiling. "Tell me if you need me to stop, Yuuri."
 

 

"I don't— like penetrative sex." He takes a deep breath, his heart drumming against his ears. He doesn't want to panic before sex, before God, he's just trans and Viktor will still love him. Gay men can live without penetrating someone; Viktor can like to bottom, right? "At least not... front-hole wise. You can..."
 

 

"Oral's fine?" he interrupts, eyebrows raised.

 

Yuuri breathes in relief. "Yeah. Oral is more than fine."
 

 

Viktor kisses his neck and licks, not sucking, not making a mark. Yuuri stops himself from moaning too loud and when their lips meet again, his heart is going to implode.
 

 

"I love you so much," Viktor tells him as he pulls down his boxers and licks his lips.

 

"I love you too, sock monster."
 

 

Viktor chokes while he laughs, and Yuuri never thought he'd find someone doing that attractive.