In an attempt to use this space more and also to low-key recruit everyone I know into loving Yuri on Ice, here is a recs post I just made (on Tumblr, sorry, I'm the worst):
What’s this called, victuurio? At the request of a dear friend who probably doesn’t want to be credited (lol), I dove into the AO3 for Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky fic. There are fewer than 80 completed stories in English! What the hell, fandom?! Here are five I particularly enjoyed:
Explicit, 4281 words. Victor and Yuuri decide to invite Yurio to be their third. Pure smut, but hot and funny, with amazing dialog (by one of my favorite Yuri/Otabek authors).
"We," Viktor announces, wrapping one arm around each of them, "are taking you on a date."
"A date," Yurio repeats, squirming a little under Viktor's affection. "Seriously?"
"We're very serious," Yuuri assures him, putting an arm around his shoulders to make it a sort of triangular huddle. "Unless you don't want to."
Yurio huffs. "Are you going to drink?" he asks hopefully.
Explicit, 3203 words. Victor and Yuuri discover Yurio’s stash of photos--of Yuuri. Smut with exhibitionism (plus a little humiliation, maybe?) and feelings.
Victor tugs the coffee table back and sits on it, right in front of Yuri. He’s got his phone out.
Yuri throws his arms over the back of the couch and tilts his head. His hair spills over his shoulder. “Shoot away,” he says loftily. “I don’t have bad angles.”
“What was your nickname—the ice princess of Russia?” Victor’s looking at the screen.
“Tiger,” Yuri snarls.
The phone clicks. “Nice! I like your angry face.”
Explicit, 8761 words. After Yuuri’s retirement, Victor starts coaching Yurio. He apparently has exactly one coaching technique. Sweet and hot with lots of pining.
Yuri realizes with a sharp pang that something's changed in the past few months. He never used to spend this much time skating by himself. But lately, practicing under Viktor makes him tense, oversensitive, too aware of Viktor's eyes on him. His stomach clenches just thinking of it.
But a small part of him still wishes Viktor were here, right at this moment. That he had come after Yuri, when he stormed out like he was fifteen years old again.
Longing, he thinks suddenly, and stumbles.
Explicit, 16814 words. Victor decides that Yuri needs to be punished for talking shit, and Yuri finally manages to ask for what he wants. Which is BDSM.
He knew this feeling, the curl of frustrated want and arousal, distracting and always happening at the most annoying times. It wasn't that he didn't want Victor. He'd wanted Victor as soon as he knew what want was, and wanted to beat him, too. It was only that he was fucking mad right now, and all his body could do was feel the pain in his scalp and send it straight to his dick.
He didn't pull away, still in Victor's grasp, staring him down. More than half his bravado had waned, replaced with an off-balance feeling that sat wrong in the pit of his stomach.
Victor's eyes didn't leave Yuri's, but it felt like he saw everything from that piercing, unblinking look, from the way Yuri's hands were also shaking to the inconvenient and completely fucking unwanted boner he was developing.
Mature, 6459 words. Yuri has two problems: growth spurts, and kinky fantasies about Yuuri and Victor. He choreographs a program about it. No actual Y/V/Y content, just lust and wanking (and a strong Yuri&Otabek friendship, yay).
It’s okay, he tells himself after, the shower spray hot on his upper back, breathing in the steamy air rising around him. It really is. Sure, it’s embarrassing because it’s them, but they’ve been getting handsy in front of Yuri every day for pretty much the last year, so it’s probably their fault anyway. And the websites he’s read are very clear on none of this saying anything about him as a person.
It’s just something that’s happened, and he’ll skate it out.