Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes. I need to know your boundaries before I can decide if this is going to work.” 

“What about your boundaries?”

The brunet man, hair pushed back effortlessly, leaned further back into the couch, smirking at Victor. “I’m sure Chris has told you, I don’t have many of those.”

The eye contact maintained long enough to send a shiver up Victor’s spine. He looked away first. 

"Can't we just talk about it?" Victor asked, more shy than he expected he would be. He had come this far, was he really going to draw the line at a contract?

Yuuri leaned forward to gently tug the stack of papers from Victor's grasp. The rolled up sleeves of Yuuri's shirt were doing nothing to help his rapidly beating heart. 

"We can talk, if that would make you more comfortable. I'll fill this out for you, and we can both sign it at the end."

Sinking back into the sofa, Victor tried his best to shrink from the predatory grin on the face of the stunning man seated across from him. He was surely being dramatic; Yuuri had been nothing but kind since he first initiated contact, but something about this meeting had him feeling like nothing more than today's prey. 

Normal relationships didn't begin like this. Usually, when you were being set up by your friend, it was a coffee date, maybe dinner. With someone they think you could really get along with. "He's totally your type, I'll give him your number," they'd say. 

And they were right. Yuuri was his type. But not the type he wanted to meet over coffee, apparently. 

"How much experience do you have?"

"I've dabbled here and there. Not usually like this though… the other way, I guess," Victor forced a laugh, not understanding why he was blushing. Victor didn't blush. He made other people blush. 

Yuuri looked at him, appraising. "So you've dommed before?"

"Yes, a few times. It didn't quite feel right. I suppose that's why I'm here." 

Looking around the room, despite the knot of anxiety wound in his chest, Victor couldn't really point out any causes for concern. The room was clean, remarkably so. There wasn't a couch cushion out of place, no signs of dust on the stack of coffee table books. Everything had a place; normally, Victor would feel like he didn't belong in a place like this, but somehow, he felt as if Yuuri had intentionally left room just for him. 

"I'm glad you didn't give up after a few bad experiences.” Yuuri’s eyes were kind. “Alright, I'm going to go through a list, you tell me if you enjoy any of these things, or if you have a soft or hard limit on them."

Victor picked up the glass of water before him before responding, "Soft or hard limit?"

"Yes, if you draw the line at something, in which case I will never perform the act, that would be a hard limit. A soft limit would be for things you've maybe tried in the past, didn't love, but would be interested in trying again. Or maybe things that sound scary or uninteresting, but you would give a try with me." Victor hesitated, taking a sip from his glass instead of answering, so Yuuri continued.

"I know we haven't spoken much, but we can revisit this list frequently. It's okay if something is a hard limit now and you want to try it later, and vice versa. This is all about trust. I'm trusting you to be honest with your desires, and you're trusting me to respect your boundaries."

Yuuri was smiling, a soft curve of his lips, the smallest slope he had ever seen to be considered a smile, but strangely, it made Victor want to trust it. It wasn't the dazzling grin he gave to the press, not the persuasive smirk he threw to reporters. He was real, not pretending.

He took a deep breath, "Okay." 

Yuuri's smile widened briefly before he focused his attention back down to the papers, thankfully missing the blush creeping into the tips of Victor's ears. 

"Okay. Oral? Receiving: enjoy, soft limit, hard limit?"

"Um, enjoy."

"Performing?" 

"Enjoy," Victor's answer came quieter. The corner of Yuuri's lip turned up. 

"Bottoming."

"Enjoy."

"Topping."

"...soft limit." Victor looked away as Yuuri glanced up at him, but the other man just continued after checking off a box on his contract. 

"Being restrained?"

"I don't know, I've never tried."

"I'll mark it as a soft limit, and we'll come back to it, okay?" 

Victor nodded, still looking anywhere else. 

"Victor?" He turned his head quickly back to the dark haired man. Yuuri looked at him seriously, traces of the recent smile missing from his face. 

"For your safety and my sake, please get into the habit of answering me verbally when you're able."

"Yes, sir." Victor immediately responded before realizing what he had said. He floundered, mouth opening and closing wordlessly before speaking up again. "I mean, I'm– sorry."

Yuuri chuckled, a warm, relaxed sound that wound Victor up into a coil. 

"You can call me whatever you want, Victor."

And so it continued, down the list of kinks, most of which Victor couldn't decide which category to place them in. Yuuri took it all in stride, stopping Victor from trying to explain that, yes, he had tried hair pulling and overstimulation before, but never on himself and how could he know if it was a hard limit or a soft limit–

"And that's everything on the list. You're doing great so far," Yuuri spoke softly as Victor preened without understanding why. "What would you like to use as the safe word?" 

"Mine is usually Makka." 

“Makka?”

“My dog. Makkachin.”

"I would prefer a new word, one you haven't used with previous partners."

"Oh, um," Victor stuttered out, wanting to flinch at Yuuri's intense gaze.

"Have you ever used the traffic light system?"

"No, I haven't."

"I'll check in if I feel it necessary or you can use any of these whenever you want or need to, you can let me know "green" if everything is fine. "Yellow" is for when you don't necessarily want things to stop, maybe you want to continue the scene but need to pause. Proceed with caution, essentially. "Red" is the typical safe word. If you call that out, everything stops and we move to aftercare, or whatever is necessary. How does that sound?" 

Victor was nodding along as Yuuri spoke, but he quickly corrected himself, "Yes, yes, sounds good."

Yuuri smiled at him again and Victor worked hard to try to memorize the expression. 

"Okay, great," he replied, flipping to the last page. Yuuri leaned forward, offering the contract back to him. "The last page of this lists some of my conditions. We shared our test results already, but I would like it if we continued that monthly." 

Victor met Yuuri's eyes and agreed quickly. The RSF already demanded all sorts of tests each month, so making an extra copy of it made no difference to him. 

"Secondly, this is not the only thing I do with my time, as I'm sure it's not the only part of your life. We only communicate through agreed on methods, currently the cell phone numbers we have provided. You will not show up here unannounced. If you see me in public, we have never met before under this context, and I will return the courtesy. Are we in agreement?"

Victor sighed in relief. "Yes, thank you, I'm so glad you feel that way." He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing, "I don't know what people would say if–"

"No need to explain. Anything that happens here, stays here." Yuuri smirked mischievously. "Our little secret." 

Victor gulped. 

"My last condition might be considered unusual to you. Maybe this is atypical of this type of relationship, but I ask for exclusivity."

"Oh, um, yeah, I'm not seeing anyone or anything."

"And you won't, not while you're my sub. For both our safety and for this relationship, your body, your orgasms, your attention are mine." Yuuri pinned Victor to the sofa with his gaze. His eyes narrowed to feline slits. 

"And does that exclusivity go both ways?" Victor breathed out. 

"Don't like to share?" In a typical situation, he would have had a snotty response, but he sat silently until Yuuri took pity. The brunet cocked his head to the side, leaving Victor short of breath. 

"Don't worry, Victor. I always reciprocate,” he said sweetly. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Victor couldn’t tell if he was imagining the sexual tension between them.

“One last question, before you sign,” Yuuri broke the silence first. “Naturally, Chris told me a little about why he thought of me when you said you were looking for a dom, what you were looking for.” Resting his elbows on his knees, Yuuri clasped his hands together. “I’d like to hear from you, Victor. What do you want to get out of this? Why are you here?”

A deer in headlights, Victor couldn’t look away from him. A shiver danced up his spine as he thought of what he wanted with Yuuri. The flirty texts the first time he reached out to Victor. The husky voice on the phone when Yuuri called to set up their meeting. Victor barely knew him and he hated it, but he felt like Yuuri saw him. He was asking what Victor wanted, but he already knew.

“I’m not sure what you already know, um. I have the misfortune of being a rather… high-profile figure in my field, I suppose. Every choice I make is scrutinized, what I order for lunch, how I wear my hair. I can’t tie my own sk- shoe laces without an article being written about it.”

Yuuri was watching him curiously, but he remained quiet.

“I don’t know what I want, but I need someone else to take over. Someone else to decide, to take care of me, to not question me and everything I do,” Victor’s voice hitched; he closed his eyes finally, wanting to hide the sudden intense emotion welling up. “I’m here because Chris said you could be that person.”

“I can be. If you can keep being honest with me, I can give you what you need.” Yuuri reached out, offering a pen. "If you're in agreement, sign on the dotted line."

This was it. He had waited days for this. A drunken cry to Chris, and the mischievous friend had summoned up the ideal man for Victor. Someone that would take control, never ask him to make decisions, never ask for his money or his fame. Someone that would take care of him. And he was offering himself up with just the promise of staying clean and remaining only his. 

Victor couldn't sign fast enough. 

Yuuri’s lips curled in a way Victor didn't yet understand as he took the contract back, signing his own name with a flourish. He rested the stack of paper on the coffee table, placing the pen perfectly parallel alongside it, before settling back in his seat. 

"Please come here, Victor."

Eyes shooting up from the contract, Victor took in the single seated armchair Yuuri sat in. 

"I'm sorry?"

Yuuri– his new dom, he supposed– simply raised a hand from his lap, reaching out to Victor matter-of-factly. 

"I won't ask again."

Hesitantly, Victor rose from his seat, letting his own hand come to rest on the one outstretched to him. He was guided around the coffee table to stand in front of the armchair. He was looking down at Yuuri, his own blue eyes gazing into pools of chocolate. Victor had to fight the urge to look away, simultaneously wanting to be anywhere else and nowhere else. 

Those eyes could see right through him, he knew it. Even if Yuuri only knew Victor Nikiforov, the man before the cameras, he would still see him. The man begging to be dominated, signing away his sex life to a man he just met, just to feel something again. 

"Today was just about meeting and seeing if we could agree on the contract, " Yuuri said as he rested a hand on the back of Victor's thigh, tugging forcefully, but still with gentle hands. "I find it's easier to start our first scene if we break the ice."

He pulled, and Victor stumbled into his lap, knees digging into the cushions on either side of Yuuri. Victor's heart was beating faster than it did during a skating routine, his face so close to the beautiful man beneath him. Yuuri had a glint in his eye and Victor so desperately wanted to know what it promised. 

He rested his hands on Yuuri's shoulders, breath hitching as he felt a strong grip on his thigh, Yuuri's other hand sliding sensually up to his cheek. 

"I think a kiss today might make next time a little more comfortable, don't you agree?"

Victor breathed in a gasp and Yuuri's nose touched his own, tracing up and stopping before their lips could touch. 

"Yes," Victor whispered, closing his eyes, "Please."

The moment the words left his mouth, Yuuri's lips were on his. Victor felt fire everywhere their skin touched. He was being devoured by this man he barely knew and he couldn't find it in him to save himself. Their lips were magnets, tongues exploring new territory, hot breath mingling. 

On his lap, Victor sat slightly taller than Yuuri, forcing his neck to bend down to meet him. Even still, Yuuri made him feel small, like he could overpower him and Victor could and would do nothing to stop it. His long hair slipped out from behind his ears, curtaining around them, and Yuuri almost immediately moved, reaching both hands up to tangle in the silver strands. 

Yuuri tugged on his hair, eliciting a moan from Victor, who didn't know it could make him moan. He kept tugging until their lips separated, Victor flushed and panting. 

With a start, Victor realized Yuuri barely looked affected, even as his own lungs struggled to keep up with his desire to lock lips until he suffocated. 

Meanwhile, Yuuri's calm gaze was fixed on his eyes, almost making him feel self conscious. Victor moved to get off his lap, but Yuuri's arms wrapped around his waist, hands pressing firmly into the small of his back. 

"I'll change "hair pulling" to "enjoy" then, hmm?" 

Chapter Text

All of Victor buzzed with a nervous energy. 

His eyes burned as they followed the trees zooming by. It was only 5:47 PM and somehow, it felt like three in the morning. Practice ended early when he was unceremoniously thrown out of the rink by Yakov. He had ignored one too many orders from his coach, and so he was deemed “unfocused” and “ a waste of ice time.”

Little Yuri had told him to come back after he pulled his head out of his ass. If only he knew where his head really was. 

Victor had been dreaming of dark hair, thick thighs, a kiss to end all kisses. Daydreaming. Awake and lost in thought all day. And he was nervous. He was never nervous. 

His new… he didn’t know what to call him, but Yuuri had asked for his availability rather nonchalantly, like they were scheduling an interview or a dentist’s appointment. Wednesday, six in the evening, Victor was to be on his knees, devoid of his clothes, at the foot of Yuuri’s bed. 

The conversation included more instruction and less pleasantry than he was used to. Yuuri left the door open for him. He would make himself scarce until 6 o’clock on the dot, when he would enter the room. If Victor didn’t follow instructions, he would be punished– how, he did not know, but his insides warmed anyway. 

Yuuri understood. 

He had a clear plan, and there was a consequence if he didn’t follow it. There was no deciding what part of his outfit to divest himself of, whether leaving his shirt on and unbuttoned would seduce Yuuri or annoy him. There was no guessing how to act, or when . He didn’t have to predict the reaction if he didn’t behave in the correct way. Victor just had to arrive, enter the second door on the left, strip, and wait. He could do that. 

The car slowed to a stop, pulling up to the curb by a new looking apartment building. He pulled his tired muscles up from the seat, thanking the driver and slipping a tip through the partition. His joints creaked under his weight, and Victor just thought about how the team’s physical therapist always clung to him uncomfortably when he paid a visit, and he stopped considering it.

Yuuri buzzed him through the front door almost immediately, maybe like he was already waiting. It was ten to six already. Obviously, he was waiting. It didn’t matter. If there was one thing Victor was good at, it was taking off his clothes. 

If he wasn’t cutting it so close, Victor would have considered climbing the stairs to the sixth floor, just to settle his mind. It had been four days since he had last seen Yuuri. He had sent the dom a selfie the day after their meeting, but when he didn’t receive one in return, he tucked his tail between his legs and refrained from bothering the man more than was necessary. 

Approaching apartment 6B, a knot tied itself into his intestines, squeezing tight. Truthfully, he had barely slept the past few nights. The weight of Yakov’s criticisms, Yuri going through puberty, the Grand Prix gearing up to begin in just a few weeks. And if that wasn’t enough stress, Victor just had to tack on setting up a new sub/dom relationship at Chris’s recommendation. Chris’s .

He swayed on his feet in the elevator, the dull music simultaneously lulling his eyelids into lowering and grating on his already inflamed nerves. A soft ding made Victor’s pulse pick up speed, and he only hesitated a second before stepping into the hallway. Yuuri’s apartment was as far down the hall as he could get. The corner apartment gave him some comfort– less chance for the neighbors to hear. 

5:52. Victor eased open the door. There was no sign of Yuuri, but he wasn’t expecting to see him yet. The sound of a calm piano melody washed over him as he turned the lock. He scented eucalyptus, taking in a deep breath. The lights were off, but the sheer curtains still allowed the floor to ceiling windows to wash the space in the warm, golden-hour light. 

He glanced longingly at the couch, bathed in the waning sun, before continuing on his path. Second door on the left. 

It was open. Victor peered inside; it was his first time seeing past Yuuri’s living room, so he was intrigued, but there wasn’t much to sate his curiosity. These lights were off as well– the room was dim, painted a dark grey, with an even darker charcoal plush rug on the hardwood floor. A black built-in dresser lined one wall, opposite a perfectly made four poster bed. Also black. That was it. No photos. No signs of life at all. 

Stepping further into the room, a silver glint caught Victor’s eye. He shut the door and approached the bed. He registered then, four silver hooks– one drilled into each bed post. His stomach dropped, realizing what they’d be used for, like he was on a roller coaster he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be on. 

Belatedly, as he began tugging his clothes off, he recognized a hot streak of jealousy. Yuuri had used those with other men before him. Maybe other women as well. Victor didn’t even know what Yuuri’s preferences were. He barely knew Yuuri, he had no claim to his jealousy. 

Stupid, Victor, getting attached after one kiss. This wasn’t what he was here for. 

Folding his clothes up neatly, he stood stark naked before the dresser. The room was somehow the perfect temperature for him, keeping him cool without raising goosebumps on his skin. He decided against opening the drawers, opting to place his clothes on top before stepping back towards the bed. 

Victor sank to his knees with a wince. Practice was difficult. He had fallen for the first time in a long time, and he had fallen hard. A newly purpled patch of skin was spread along his hip, and suddenly, Victor felt nervous at the thought of having to explain it. The thought of Yuuri seeing it at all. The last time he planned to meet Yuuri, he had primped and prepped every last inch of his body, but he hadn’t even peeled Victor’s shirt off during their meeting. 

And now, now he felt ugly . The bruise was a direct result of his own distraction, his failure. It was disgusting. Victor lurched to the side, making as if to grab his clothing and hide before remembering what Yuuri had asked of him. Kneel at the foot of his bed, devoid of his clothes. 

He settled into position, choosing to face away from the door. He inhaled deeply, drawing his arms back and gripping one wrist with the other hand so as to keep them from shaking. 

The door opened then, the piano music fading in and back out as the door shut softly. Despite his anxiety, a bolt of excitement shot through Victor. He was here to see Yuuri, beautiful, confident, dominant Yuuri . His dom. 

Victor wouldn’t have heard his approach if not for the slight squeak of the floor. His breath hitched, and then a slip of satin was covering his eyes.

“Yuuri?” He flinched, but fingers behind his head tied the blindfold into place. 

“I’m here, Victor.” Strong hands dropped down to his shoulders, thumbs pressing in firmly for a moment before drawing away. 

A soft gasp escaped his lips. However brief, the contact had felt good, as if Yuuri had instantly found the pressure points to drain all of the tension in his body. 

He felt Yuuri’s presence step around to stand in front of him. Another touch, this time caressing his jaw. A pressure under his chin tilted his head back, and he let it. 

“You remember our safe word system?” A thumb brushed his lower lip.

“Yes.” He felt Yuuri press against his lips, and he opened obediently, accepting his thumb into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it automatically, heart racing and barely a minute had passed. 

“Suck.” Immediately, Victor hollowed out his cheeks, wanting to listen to Yuuri, even as a blush fanned out on his face. The day had been punishing enough.

His tired body responded to Yuuri’s commands, his touch, a thrum of pleasure zinging through him, even as his erection only stood at half mast. He was tired. 

Yuuri withdrew, and hypnotized, Victor followed him, magnetized to his lover for the night. He leaned forward, chasing the hand that had left his face, before losing balance and catching himself on his own hands. 

“Victor?” 

Face heating, he pushed off the floor to sit back on his heels, rocking too far through dizziness. Those same, strong hands caught him and settled him upright.

“Victor. Answer me.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He apologized, but flinched again as something brushed his bruised hip. 

“What is this?”

“I fell. I’m sorry.”

“Are you apologizing for falling?” Victor frowned under his blindfold.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to apologize if you don’t know what it’s for. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

His nose burned, like he was about to cry over being chastised. Yuuri was his dom. He had asked for this. 

“When did this happen?” Yuuri was still touching the bruise, but it didn’t hurt. It almost tickled.

“Today.” Yuuri hummed and the touch left his side. 

“Stand up.” Hands slid into his own, tugging him up. His knees ached, and Victor hoped it wasn’t obvious, but it was hard to hide. He stood slowly, stutteringly, but Yuuri’s hands held firmly. 

“Your knees hurt.” It wasn’t a question. Victor swallowed around the lump rising in his throat. 

“A little bit, but I’m fine!” He tried to smile, but it felt wrong without knowing where to look. He cringed internally, standing in the following silence, all too aware of the lack of clothing and the judgment likely leaking from the man standing before him. Victor was not a young man anymore- not by the standard of his sport. 

This entire situation was essentially born out of his midlife crisis.

“Will you trust me?” Yuuri was tugging on his hands, guiding him through the room. The backs of his knees hit the edge of something, the bed, as Victor was maneuvered to sit down.

“Um- okay. Yes.” He was desperate for this day not to end in disappointment. He didn’t want to be a disappointment, not for the second time in the same day. 

“Wait here.” Yuuri squeezed his hands before pulling away, igniting panic.

“Yuuri, wait, where are you going?” Victor held fast to the hands before they let go of him. He hated the way his voice sounded, high-pitched and anxious, lacking all of the usual composure. He hated himself for not letting go, after just agreeing to trust Yuuri. But what did he have to trust? He didn’t know Yuuri. Yuuri didn’t know him. He didn’t know the way the idea of being alone was gripping his lungs in an iron winch, twisting and tightening with every inch his dom pulled away from him.

In an instant, Yuuri was back in his personal space, shushing him and cradling Victor’s head against his body, standing in between Victor’s knees. “Sh, I’m right here. Breathe with me.” 

Victor sucked in a deep breath automatically, listening to the command without really hearing it. Ear pressed to Yuuri, Victor felt the inhale and exhale he was supposed to be mimicking. 

“I’m going to take the blindfold off now, okay?” After he nodded, Victor felt the knot at the back of his head release, and the satin fell away. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the room again. 

Gentle hands tipped his head back, forcing him to look at his dom for the first time that evening. His breathing hitched on the inhale. God , Yuuri was beautiful. He was dressed in a navy shirt, sleeves rolled up sinfully to his elbows, leaving Victor to wonder when he had died and reincarnated as someone deserving of this man’s attention.

His hair was pushed back again, gel or pomade holding the dark strands off his forehead so Victor could gaze at every inch of Yuuri’s face. Except he wasn’t so sure he wanted to look. Whatever Yuuri saw as he scanned Victor’s face caused a shadow to cross his expression, brows furrowing and mouth curving into a frown. 

He wanted to say something, anything to bring back the barely-there smile from the other day. The smirk when Yuuri teased him. The serious look when he kissed the air from his lungs. But Victor’s mouth opened and closed, and a stone sank in his stomach. None of this was going how he had planned. 

“Will you wait here? I’m going to walk over there,” Yuuri pointed to the drawers where Victor’s clothes rested and his heart clenched so hard it could have stopped. He was going to make him leave. 

He had to give credit where it was due. Yuuri didn’t leave him until he nodded his understanding. He also didn’t reprimand Victor for not answering verbally, even though he deserved it. 

Yuuri brushed his thumbs under Victor’s eyes, as if to clear away tears that never fell, before letting go. He stepped away and moved to the dresser, but unexpectedly, he hardly glanced at Victor’s clothing. Victor watched desperately as Yuuri pulled open drawers, tugging out clothes, before returning to the bedside. 

“Come, these should fit you.” Yuuri stood before him again, hands gentle as they coaxed Victor into a loose, hooded sweatshirt. Victor’s dom smiled down at him as his head popped through the hole in the fleece– and then Yuuri knelt, causing Victor to flounder. 

“Uh- wait, what are you-”

“Sh, Vitya, it’s okay,” Yuuri ran a soothing hand down Victor’s calf before grasping his ankle, and then the other one, guiding him into warm sweatpants. He got to his feet and took Victor’s hands, pulling him to stand up. He lifted the waistband up over his hips, hands resting comfortingly where they stopped. 

The clothes were warm and smelled of Yuuri. In a clean, but mind-numbing way. Victor was still at the man’s mercy, just not how he had imagined he would be that night.

“Still trusting me?” A smirk kissed Yuuri’s lips the way Victor wanted to. He couldn’t blame Yuuri for asking; his panic was obvious.

His instinct was to apologize. For not trusting him. For being a disappointment. For whatever reason he was now wearing Yuuri’s huge sweatshirt and too-short sweatpants. Victor clamped his eyes shut tight. 

“I want to.” It was the honest answer.

“Can I put the blindfold back on? Would that help?”

Victor’s eyes shot open as he made a sound of surprise. “You’re not making me leave?”

Yuuri frowned at him, eyes searching Victor’s face. 

“When you’re here, I decide what you need.” Yuuri leant over the bed, picking up the blindfold slowly, seemingly leaving Victor time to stop him, but he wasn’t about to. “Right now, you need someone else to tell you what to do.”

The silken fabric went back over his eyes, and Victor ducked his head down so the shorter man could secure the knot once again. 

“Tell me, am I right?” Yuuri whispered, sending a shudder through Victor. 

“Yes,” Victor bit out immediately, desperately, relieved. 

“I’ve got you,” Yuuri took both of Victor’s hands and pulled him forward. “Let’s go.”

Victor was determined to fix the night and be the best sub Yuuri had ever seen. And so he stumbled blindly along, holding tightly to the only lifeline he had. 

Yuuri took him to another room, a hand releasing each time he had to open a door– twice– before immediately returning to his. He felt the flooring change beneath his feet, the hardwood floor being exchanged for carpeting, changing again to an even fluffier rug than the last one. Yuuri spun him around, backing Victor up until he ran into furniture again.

“Sit. I’ll be right back. I’ll leave the door open, you’ll be able to hear me the whole time.” Yuuri ran a hand over the top of his head before pulling away. Victor wondered if this was how Makkachin felt when he left to get her a treat. Sit. Stay. His lip curled into a half smile. 

True to his word, Victor could hear Yuuri moving around the apartment. He heard doors open and closing, drawers sliding, a fridge door? Yuuri didn’t normally have audible footsteps. He wouldn’t have known Yuuri was getting clothes from his dresser if he had still been blindfolded. He was a quiet person, Victor was already sure. 

He was being louder on purpose, Victor realized with a jolt directly to his heart. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he forced himself to relax. He smoothed his palms over the fabric. It was a soft suede, maybe sofa upholstery. Not like the couch in the living room, Victor noted. 

Yuuri shut a nearby door gently before Victor heard him approach again. Victor was coaxed into turning, his legs lifted onto the presumed sofa. Before he could think of the discomfort, Yuuri tucked something plush under his knees, and Victor sighed with relief. 

“Comfortable?” Yuuri didn’t wait for him to answer this time, still moving around beside him. A weight settled on each of Victor’s knees, and a few moments later, he gasped as the cold penetrated the soft fabric of his pants. 

He felt Yuuri settle behind him and he was gently tugged to lay down. Victor realized almost immediately by the warmth surrounding him that his head was on Yuuri’s lap. He felt his cheeks warm, even as he felt drawn to nuzzle closer. He felt Yuuri pause in his motions, causing Victor to freeze as he rubbed his cheek against Yuuri’s shirt. Victor’s blush burned bright and hot, hotter still when he felt Yuuri’s hand against his face, thumb brushing against his cheekbone. 

Yuuri released him to tug up the borrowed sweatshirt. Victor’s breath hitched as he felt fingers slide in his waistband.

“One more cold pack, Vitya.” He could hear the smile in Yuuri’s voice as Victor hissed at the freezing cold sensation against his bruised side. The waistband of his pants settled over the towel wrapped cold pack, holding it in place.

“Did Chris tell you to call me Vitya?” Victor blurted out, noticing the diminutive for the second time. Yuuri settled a blanket over Victor before he answered.

“I think Chris suggested Vitenka, but that seemed a bit too forward of me.” Yuuri started smoothing a hand over Victor’s hair, relaxing the anxious man on his lap. The repetitive motion pulled a yawn from his lips, and resumed nuzzling his face into Yuuri, feeling comforted in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

“I can stop, if you want.”

“Stop what?” Victor had already lost track, in a daze and exhausted. He felt a small laugh from Yuuri more than he heard it. 

“I can stop calling you Vitya.”

“No! No, please don’t.” Victor jolted slightly, and Yuuri’s hands were both on him, holding him gently to his lap.

“Okay, Vitya, I won’t. It’s okay.” 

His eyes were clamped shut tightly under the blindfold. A wave of nausea passed over Victor. He had been doing a pisspoor job of hiding his neediness from Yuuri, the one thing that had picked at his fraying relationships in the past. This wasn’t a relationship, he supposed. And Yuuri hadn’t asked him to leave. That was a good sign. 

“I’ll remove the cold packs in twenty minutes. I’m going to put these noise canceling headphones on you, and you’re going to try to sleep, okay?”

Sleep?  

Victor’s mouth opened, confused. This was not what he came here for. He thought back to being on his knees, sucking on Yuuri’s thumb. He was naked and willing to do anything. And now he was supposed to just sleep ?

“You’re going to be good for me, right Vitya?” Before he could answer that yes, he was going to be good, Yuuri brushed his lips with his thumb, just like before. Without any hesitation, Victor’s tongue snaked out to lathe it in attention. Wordlessly, he closed his lips around it, sucking hard until Yuuri pulled his hand away. 

“Yes, you are good, aren’t you?” Yuuri praised him, sounding just this side of breathless. Victor felt the words warm in his chest, deflecting the chill from the cold packs. He could be good for Yuuri. He wanted to be. 

Headphones settled over Victor’s ears, cutting off another of his senses, but instead of feeling overwhelmed or anxious, he just felt Yuuri. He was floating in an ocean of Yuuri’s clothes, his scent, his warmth, his safety, and he fell asleep feeling like Yuuri would never let him drown.

Chapter Text

At first, Victor didn’t realize when he had crossed the bridge from dreaming into wakefulness. It was still quiet, still dark. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open.

Then the headphones slowly pulled away from his ears. 

“Back with me, Vitya?” The hand was back on his cheek, tethering him to reality. 

Victor took stock of his body. The chill was gone, as was the dull aching in his knees. A blanket was still draped over him, keeping in the cozy warmth. Even his bruised side was bothering him less. 

“Yuuri?”

“I’m going to take this off now,” Yuuri ran his fingers over the blindfold before gently tugging it off.

It was brighter than Victor expected. He squinted into the room, which was otherwise dark, but the light from the TV across from the couch was jarring in contrast to his blindfolded nap. Through hooded eyes, he peered up at Yuuri, whose attention was fixated on him. The hand on his cheek was back, as if it had never left. 

“Sleep well?” Yuuri stroked Victor’s jaw gently, tracing the angles like they were art. 

Stretching, Victor grinned sleepily up at the man and nodded. He let out a yawn, turning his head to the TV. The screen was paused on a vaguely familiar menu, a pause screen for a video game he might have watched little Yuri play. The younger skate often spent his lunch breaks playing lately. If Yakov didn’t yell at him to eat, he’d stay absorbed for hours.

Hours…

Hours .

Victor leapt off the couch, taking the blanket and half the cushions with him, gasping. 

“What time is it? Shit, I have to go. Shit, shit, shit.” He turned circles, patting pockets that weren’t his, looking for his phone even though he knew where it was, looking for a clock, looking for the time anywhere at all.

“Vitya.” Yuuri’s voice reached him in his panic. Not many people called him that. Vitya.

His dom was still sitting. He saw the cold packs lying discarded on the floor, now that his eyes had adjusted to the light. The same brand he had at home.

“It’s just about ten o’clock. Are you okay?” A video game controller lay at Yuuri’s side, abandoned. He had slept for over three hours, head on Yuuri’s lap. A comfy lap , his mind supplied. 

Victor’s cheeks burned, and he hoped it would go unnoticed in the dark room. It looked like another living room, but as he glanced around, he noticed bookshelves and a big L-shaped desk carving out its own nook. 

“Yes, I just. Makka. I have to get home to my dog.” Victor stood there, antsy. It was true, he didn’t want to leave her home alone all night, but he didn’t need to go. The neighbor was no stranger to feeding Makka for him when he was away, and his dog was likely already asleep after a long walk.

Yuuri rose from his seat, stretching gently. “Of course, I’ll walk you out.” He was still in his button down, though it was wrinkly now. Probably from the amount of times Victor rubbed his face on it. He flushed at the memory. He had acted so needy. He cringed when Yuuri turned his back to guide him out of the room. Victor took one last look at the TV, stomach turning somersaults at the thought of Yuuri silently fighting cartoon monsters as he slept cradled against the gentle man.

Victor barreled past once Yuuri had led him back to the bedroom, planning to change back into his own clothes as quickly as possible and leaving before things could get awkward. It wasn’t exactly a morning-after, but Victor was not accustomed to actually sleeping when he was with previous lovers. 

Yuuri was decidedly not like his previous lovers, and he continued to prove it, trailing into the room and taking Victor’s clothes from his hands. Without words, he set them back on the dresser and turned Victor to face him. 

In silence, Yuuri pulled the sweatshirt over Victor’s head, pinning him in place with just his gaze. Victor couldn’t look away, not any more than he could stop Yuuri’s hands from undressing him. He didn’t want to. He fell back under the spell that had led him to getting iced and tucked in. 

Yuuri’s hands slipping into his waistband felt strong, safe, like they knew how to take care of him, and so he let them. As they guided the pants down his legs, goosebumps rose to attention, along with his previously ignored erection. A glint of amusement flashed through Yuuri’s eyes, but he still didn’t speak, didn’t let his hands wander between Victor’s legs. The blond almost whimpered when Yuuri pulled away, but it was just to toss the borrowed clothes to the side. 

It was unlike any experience he had before. Victor had never been dressed like this before, not by any of his past partners. It was done with such care, almost reverence, and it was the second time that day.

Yuuri tugged each layer on, bundling Victor back up to face the cold waiting for him outside. He didn’t say another word until his shoes were on and he was about to bid Yuuri a good night, hand on the doorknob. 

“You’re forgetting something.”

Victor turned away from the front door, patting his pockets and feeling his phone, keys, wallet. When his belongings were all accounted for, he looked up at Yuuri. The soft blank expression had faded from his face, a smirk blazing across his mouth as he leaned against the nearby wall, hands in his pockets. The gel that slicked his hair back was losing hold, and Victor’s fingers twitched, suddenly itching to mess it up further.

He didn’t recognize the hungry look in Yuuri’s eyes, but it made his pants feel all the more confining. “Please remind me,” Victor responded quietly, not looking away from his dom.

“Only because you said please,” Yuuri pushed off the wall, walking towards Victor, and crowded him against the door. He wove a hand into Victor’s hair, tight against his scalp. It made Victor’s heart drop into his stomach, but it didn’t hurt. He felt himself relax as Yuuri’s thumb brushed back and forth. 

“A kiss today makes next time easier.”

In the next second, Yuuri was kissing him, lips dancing against his. He licked into Victor’s mouth, swallowing one moan, then two. And as quick as it started, it was over. Yuuri was already walking away as Victor gasped for air, still leaning against the door, gawping after him.

“Let me know when you’re home safe, Vitya.”

Victor woke up the next morning without hitting snooze on his alarm. It typically took two tries to get up, and even then it was only because Makka was desperate to get his attention by then.

He rolled over, pulling his poodle to his chest before jolting back up to pick up his phone. He unlocked it, hands shaking, trying to decide if it was all a dream. 

<I’m home safe! 

>Sleep well, Vitya

It wasn’t.

He wondered if he should have said something more to Yuuri, but then he had thought back to his selfies, received without acknowledgement, and had decided against it.

“Come on, old man, get out of the way.” Little Yuri snarled at him as he pushed onto the ice. Victor swung around, latching onto the young skater.

“Yurachka,” Victor drawled out, spinning them in slow circles, “You know my hair has always been this color.” He bit back a smile as Yuri struggled out of his grip, but his ballet practice couldn’t compete with Victor’s days in the weight room.

“Victor! Let go of him!” Yakov’s voice echoed in the rink. Victor released his grip just as Yuri pulled particularly hard and laughed as the boy knocked himself over, sliding away flat on his butt.

“ I know you’re not an old man. You act Yuri’s age.” Yakov scoffed at him. He stared straight out at the ice but glanced at Victor briefly out of the corner of his eye, appraising. “You’re energetic today.” It wasn’t a question.

Victor breathed in deep, letting the air out in a sigh. “A silly little thing called sleep. Yura should try it sometime.”

“Bah, he’s always playing that stupid game as soon as he finishes dinner.” Yakov waved his hand. “He will learn on his own. Now, run your program jumps. Twice.” In a move uncharacteristic of himself, Victor skated off with a nod and without a word, leaving Yakov stunned by the boards.

Victor’s just stopped for a water break when it happens.

Yuri skated over to him, stopping hard and spraying Victor with shaved ice. He picks up his own water bottle in that angry way he does everything lately. There’s one beat of silence, then two. And then he spoke.

“What are you so happy about?”

Victor looks at his rink mate closely, who doesn’t look at him, isn’t even facing him. His shoulders are hunched in, body caving in on itself under Victor’s scrutiny.

“What are you so unhappy about, Yura?” He turns the question back around. Not because he doesn’t love talking about himself, because he most definitely does, but because something seems… off.

They stay in silence through sips of water. Victor’s about to call his own bluff, tease him, act like nothing is wrong and he isn’t actually concerned when Yuri finally speaks.

In the brightly lit arena, the boy can’t hide the flush in his cheeks. “How do you know when you like someone?”

A lightbulb goes off and Yuri is scooped up in Victor’s arms, skates dangling above the ice.

“Yuuuuuuuuura, don’t tell me you’re in looooooove!” Victor rubs his cheeks against blond hair, messing it up.

 “Let me go, asshole! I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” Yuri struggled until Victor put him back down. He slammed his water bottle down on the boards and turned to stomp, not skate, away.

“Are you attracted to them?” Victor bit back his smile, hiding the twitch of his lips behind his hand.

“Am I attracted? What? I don’t know.” Yuri was flustered. 

“Well, do you find them cute? Do you want to kiss them?” Victor thought back to his previous boyfriends. All cute. He definitely kissed all of them. 

“Is that all that matters to you? I knew it, you’re just a gross old man.”

“Ah, I see, you still haven’t had your first kiss. Nothing to be ashamed of, Yurachka, your time will come.”

“Shut up,” Yuri growled, stomping his foot into the ice, eliciting a chastising from Yakov from across the rink. “I’m not ashamed I’m not a man whore like you.”

Victor tutted, looping an arm around Yuri’s neck once more. “Now, now, we don’t slut shame our parents, Yurachka.”

“You’re not my dad!”

“That’s not what Twitter says.”

“Why are you on Twitter? Let me go!” Victor sighed fondly, loosening his grip but still hugging the younger boy. Truly, he loved to fight with Yuri like he was the brother he never had. He loved him, loved to frazzle him and poke fun, but he ought to take his big brother duties seriously this time. 

Victor thought back to his past relationships again. Their looks were always what had drawn him to his partners, but if he was being honest with Yuri, none of his previous relationships had felt like they were going to last.

His mind drifted to the previous night.

“Do they make you feel safe?” Victor blurted out.

Yuri stopped his half hearted attempts to get away, instead leaning into Victor’s hug. “Safe? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you feel comfortable with them? Safe, warm, content?”

“Y-yeah, I guess so,” Yuri stuttered, “Yes.”

Victor rested his chin on the blond head tucked close to him. “Do you text him all the time? Think about talking to him whenever you’re not with him?”

“Oi, when did I say it was a him?”

“Yurachka, you can’t hide anything from your father.”

“You’re not my dad, old man!” Yuri spun around in Victor’s grip, glaring angrily up at him. He just looked like a grumpy kitten.

“Does he ever make your heart squeeze so tight, you feel like you’re going to die?”

There was a moment of realization, an exact second that Victor saw the look in Yuri’s eyes change. The overexaggerated anger changed to confusion and then comprehension before his forehead thumped onto Victor’s chest. Bingo.

“...yes,” Yuri muttered like Victor just told him the world was ending. It was strange to see Yuri with the fight sapped out of him, so Victor did what Victor did best.

“Do I know him? Is he a skater here? Oh, don’t tell me it’s Georgi, he’s too old for you, Yurachka, and you know he’s just never going to get over Anya–” Victor landed on the ice with a grunt, laughing as Yuri skated off after shoving him. 

“You can do it, Yura!” Victor called after him, grinning when the boy just flipped him off in lieu of responding. Young love. 

He slumped down onto the ice, laying spread eagle as the cold bit through his thin shirt. He didn’t know where that bit of wisdom had come from, but Victor wished someone had been around to impart it for him when he was Yuri’s age. He could have used a boyfriend that made him feel safe. 

His mind slid over to thoughts of Yuuri again. Yuuri was distinctly not his boyfriend. He would have considered the man a lover if they had participated in any loving , but taking a nap on his dom’s lap likely did not count.

Victor’s knees didn’t feel like they were awaiting an imminent replacement for once, and his bruise ached less for how ugly it had become, yellowing more rapidly than he expected. Yuuri’s aftercare was superlative, even if there hadn’t been a before . He’d have to thank Chris.

Just as soon as he got off the ice and changed into dry clothes.

Chapter Text

>Please let me know the next full free day you have.

Next full free day.

Full… day.

Victor let himself into the apartment again. It was less uncomfortable this time, now that he had already done it once. This building was always quiet, not unlike his own, but it had been quite some time since Victor was able to go anywhere without getting approached. Not a single one of Yuuri’s doormen had asked him for an autograph. He might have been offended if he wasn’t relieved. 

Shutting the door behind him, Victor toed his shoes off, unwrapped his scarf, and headed towards Yuuri’s room. 

“Come here, please.” Victor jumped, Yuuri’s voice surprising him. The dark haired man was standing in his kitchen, haloed by the window behind him. Victor was so lost in thought, focused on the text he had received after practice several days ago, he didn’t even notice Yuuri standing there. 

“You scared me,” he laughed hesitantly, stepping around the island to stand across from Yuuri. He didn’t know what was going on. 

Now that the window wasn’t silhouetting him, Victor could clearly see the expression on Yuuri’s face. He looked serious; Victor swallowed roughly, looking down at the counter like the veins in the marble were the most interesting thing in the room. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you saw me. Sit, please,” Yuuri gestured to one of the stools before turning away. “Tea?”

“Tea?” Victor slowly sat at the island, staring at the broad shoulders fading down into narrow hips. Yuuri looked like a dancer.

He was at the sink, filling a kettle. “Yes, that warm liquid people drink, tastes like leaves in water. Would you like some?” He heard the smirk in Yuuri’s voice, and for some reason, that was what relaxed his shoulders.

Victor accepted his offer, watching silently as Yuuri danced around his kitchen with grace, brewing two cups of tea. He was wearing all black, painting himself in stark relief to the otherwise white room. Victor was struck suddenly by how stunning he was in that domestic moment. 

When the steaming mug was set in front of him, he looked up with a start. Yuuri leaned over the counter onto his elbows, clasping his hands in front of him. He gazed at Victor intently for a moment before speaking. 

“How’s your side feeling?” 

Victor laughed awkwardly, waving a hand, “Oh, it’s much better, don’t worry about it.”

Yuuri nodded at him, keeping his eyes on Victor’s. “Good. I’m glad I got to ice it for you.”

“Thank you,” Victor smiled sheepishly, “I appreciated it a lot. And the nap. Comfiest pillow ever.” He admitted it without shame; he hardly slept so peacefully, let alone with a sexy man that acted like he wanted to take care of him.

“You don’t have to thank me. You’re trusting me to know what you need. You needed rest, not to be on your knees for me.” Victor’s face flushed, a flash of desire rippled deep in his gut, and the memory of Yuuri tying his blindfold hovered in his mind.

 “You didn’t send any pictures this week,” Yuuri said as he brought his mug to his lips. It wasn’t a question.

Victor’s spine straightened, even as his face heated. Of course he didn’t send any selfies, not after Yuuri ignored his last attempt at flirting. “Was I supposed to?” he asked, half surprised, half irritated. Hadn’t Yuuri ever heard of positive reinforcement.

“Are you sending them to someone else instead?” 

Almost choking on his tea, Victor set his mug down and stared across the island incredulously. If he looked carefully enough, he could see the faint reddening of the tips of Yuuri’s ears. 

“No,” he coughed out, “There’s no one else.” Victor looked down at his hands sheepishly, even though he hadn’t sent any photos to anyone else. 

“Good,” Yuuri sounded serious as he stepped around the counter to Victor’s side. He slid into Victor’s personal space, pushing a hand into the hair at the base of his neck to tilt Victor’s head back. “I believe I told you that during this agreement, you belong to me.” 

Victor was looking up at Yuuri, their foreheads very nearly touching, the distance kept by Yuuri’s gentle but tight grip. Brown almond eyes gazed down at him intently as Victor’s heart skipped beats. He sucked in a ragged breath and closed his eyes, and immediately Yuuri’s mouth was on his. 

His kisses with Yuuri had been on Victor’s mind since that day in the rink with little Yurachka. They truly were the best he had ever had; somehow, the feeling of Yuuri’s lips felt perfect against his own, like the curves and ridges matched up by design. He swiped his tongue against Yuuri’s bottom lip, begging to get closer, but Yuuri simply pulled away, running his nose towards Victor’s ear, biting his earlobe. 

“So you’ll send them?” Yuuri asked as he continued lower, kissing and sucking along Victor’s pale neck. 

“Mm, send what?” Victor’s brain was mush, absolutely melted by the heat of Yuuri’s mouth on his skin.

“The pictures of yourself.”

“Pictures of myself,” Victor trailed off, trying to think straight and failing as Yuuri licked his collarbone. 

“Yes, Vitya, you’re going to send me pictures of yourself.” The hand in his hair tightened slightly, and sense began returning to Victor.

“Wait, but, I don’t want to bother you again–” Victor opened his eyes, noting the ceiling was in his direct line of sight, Yuuri leaning almost directly over him.

“When did I say you bother me?” 

“Well, you didn’t, but you didn’t say anything else either.” It was hard to think with Yuuri sucking a bruise into his skin.

“I’m not much of a texter.” Who knew?

“But then how will I know when to send you pictures or where or how many or–” Yuuri cut off his increasingly anxious rambles, pulling away just enough to make eye contact with Victor.

“I’ll tell you when.” 

“You will?”

“I’ll tell you when or where or how many. Will you listen to me, Vitya?” The words washed over Victor, softening his spine and hardening… other things. The question was an order, a command, and it plucked the tight wound strings in his heart in just the right way. His stomach swooped like the drop of a rollercoaster. 

“Yes, Jesus Christ, yes, please just kiss me,” Victor begged.

Yuuri’s smirking lips slanted over his again, capturing every breath and sigh. Victor, touch starved and orgasm-deprived, pressed himself ever closer, and Yuuri took his weight without hesitation, wrapping an arm around Victor’s waist, keeping him from falling from his seat. 

Distantly, he heard a soft vibration, but Victor ignored it in favor of basking in Yuuri’s attention while he had it. Bzzt. Bzzt. 

He opened his mouth for Yuuri, moaning as Yuuri’s tongue lathed against his own, licking the wound of his loneliness over and over. Bzzt.

“Vitya.” Yuuri called his name against his lips before continuing his onslaught. Bzzt.

“Yuuri,” Victor moaned, hands gripping Yuuri’s shoulders for dear life. 

“Vitya. The phone.” 

“Yes, yes, I’ll send the photos to your phone.” 

The hand in Victor’s long, silver locks finally let go. It slipped from behind his ear, down his neck, across his collarbone, and up around his throat. His breath hitched, both from fear and excitement, but the grip never tightened. It simply rested at the base of his neck, letting the weight of it garner Victor’s attention. 

“Vitya, your phone.” Bzzt.

Victor groaned as Yuuri pulled away, but stopped as soon as he registered what Yuuri said. His phone. Someone was calling him. Victor blushed, breathing hard as he fumbled with his phone, trying to get it out of his pocket. 

Yakov. 

Victor combed his fingers through his hair as if his coach could somehow see him before answering the call. 

“Victor, where the hell are you? You insolent child, I swear I reminded you at least a hundred times. Why are you out of breath? You better not be at the rink right now.” He flinched, pulling the phone away from his ear until it seemed like the yelling had worn out. 

A pit sank in his stomach. Shit. The magazine.

“Der’mo, I thought that was next week,” Victor jumped out of his seat, ready to run to the front door before remembering he wasn’t just at home, alone. 

Yuuri was leaning against his counters, arms crossed, frowning at Victor. Feeling the color leaching from his face, he froze in his place, as Yakov yelled on about how it was “next week” a week ago and he wasn’t Victor’s personal assistant. He lowered the volume on his phone, in case Yuuri could speak Russian.

“I have to go,” he mouthed at Yuuri, brows furrowing desperately. His dom, still frowning, pushed off the counter and ushered Victor onward, out of the kitchen and towards where he had abandoned his shoes. 

Yakov hung up after he had pulled one boot on, clearly tired of yelling. Victor sighed, tired, tucking his phone away. He pulled his other boot on and stood fast, causing a wave of dizziness. He blinked away the black spots in his vision before turning back to Yuuri. 

He had an interview with some magazine. He didn’t know which one, but Yakov claimed he couldn’t keep turning down interviews, and who was he to tell his coach otherwise. He was only Victor Nikiforov, and he had to put on a smile and go to that interview.

“I’m sorry,” he flinched away when Yuuri was closer than he expected, heart leaping into his throat. Yuuri had asked for his next “full free day” and he had fucked up. He was making a habit of that now. 

Victor’s breath hitched when Yuuri reached for him, pulling him gently with a hand in his hair again, tucked into silver strands at the nape of his neck. Yuuri’s gaze was serious, but not angry, and so Victor let himself be pulled forward. Automatically, his eyes closed when his face neared Yuuri’s, but he didn’t feel the press of lips he expected. 

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, peering slightly down at Yuuri. He held a slight smirk, and Victor noticed the way Yuuri’s gaze was focused squarely on his mouth. 

“I’m going to have to give your mouth something else to do so you stop apologizing so much.”

Victor whimpered .

Yuuri dragged Victor down, swallowing down the sound before it ended, capturing the moan that followed after. It was a short kiss, and for the first time in his life, Victor debated calling Yakov back to say he was sick. Violently ill, too unwell to leave home, throwing up everywhere, and no reporter was safe. 

But then Yuuri pulled back. He took Victor’s scarf off the hook it hung from and wrapped it once, twice around his neck, tucking it into his coat. 

“You were supposed to give me a free day,” Yuuri chastised him without reproach. 

“I’m-” Victor cut himself off. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I know. I forgot I had to do this today.” 

“Do you need a ride?” Yuuri asked, ignoring his not-apology.

“Ah, no, I drove today. Thank you.” Victor was pretty sure he was blushing. 

Yuuri leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Victor’s mouth suddenly started producing more saliva than usual at the sight of biceps straining against shirt sleeves. He ducked his head, before Yuuri could catch him staring. Victor was not a small man. He was tall, taller than Yuuri, and all his training had carved out his body in almost pure muscle, but he was confident Yuuri could bench press him if he wanted to. And he really wanted Yuuri to want to.

“We’ll discuss your punishment next time then.” 

Victor’s head shot up as a zing of anticipation shot down his spine. Yuuri was still looking at him with a smirk on his face. Like he was kidding, but Victor knew he wasn’t. Yuuri’s looks, his touch, they all held promise. He wasn’t angry, but there was a consequence for his carelessness. And it wasn’t getting thrown out of Yuuri’s apartment.

-

It was several hours later when his phone buzzed again. Victor had just sat back in front of the mirror in the dressing room, poised to remove the scant makeup the artist had applied for his interview. It was a text, just one line.

>Let me see you.

He buried his face in his hands. Underneath the layer of foundation, he knew his face was likely turning red. The interviewer had asked him all about his life, mainly what he got up to when he wasn’t trying to stay on top of the podium. He very well couldn’t say he had been trying to get on top of something else . Someone else.

And that someone else was making good on his promise already. 

Victor jumped out of the makeup chair, looking around frantically for an inconspicuous corner of the room to take a selfie in. He still hadn’t gotten around to telling Yuuri exactly who he was or what he did, and he was enjoying the moderate anonymity. 

And so it would have been difficult to explain away the racks of clothes in the background or the blown up magazine covers hung on the walls. Victor slipped into the attached bathroom, sighing a breath of relief. It was fairly innocuous. Just the slightly above-average public bathroom. Perfect place for a mirror selfie. 

He posed for his phone camera and took a photo, smiling wide because Yuuri couldn’t be mad at him if he wanted to see him. He wondered briefly if Yuuri would notice his clothes were different, but shrugged it off. He hadn’t gotten to take his long coat off earlier, hadn’t even made it past the kitchen. Victor sent the photo off without hesitation. Maybe Yuuri would send one back this time. 

Back in the dressing room, he paced back and forth, phone set on the vanity. Would Yuuri even text him back? He never implied that he would answer, just that he would ask Victor to send him selfies. He had no shortage of selfies, he took dozens a day. But did he want to send them to someone that didn’t care? But Yuuri must’ve cared; why else would he have brought it up? 

He dove for his phone when it buzzed, any chance at playing it cool long since thrown out the window. 

>Are you wearing makeup?

Victor bit his lip. That wasn’t the response he had expected. He didn’t think the makeup was noticeable. The foundation matched his skin fairly well. Though, when he zoomed in on the photo, he supposed the mascara was a bit obvious, but it wasn’t his fault his hair was silver. 

He tapped out of the photo, back to the texts with Yuuri. His stomach flipped when he saw Yuuri was still typing. The little bubble with the three dots disappeared and reappeared three times, then he got one more text that made Victor forget every thought other than Yuuri for the rest of the day.

>Beautiful

Chapter Text

“You remember your safe words?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Start counting.”

A sharp sting on his right butt cheek, “One.”

Another. “Two.”

Enough time had passed since he absconded from Yuuri’s apartment that Victor had forgotten what awaited when he returned. Two weeks of intense skate practice had prevented another scheduled meeting with the dom. Victor had burned with anticipation, excitement at the thought of seeing him again, kissing him once more, but he still had not gotten what he craved. 

His body ached; he had gained another bruise, this time on his shoulder. Victor lost his patience at the elevator in Yuuri’s apartment building and climbed the stairs two at a time. He was out of breath by the time he reached his destination, but he was eager and early and god, he didn’t want to wait anymore. 

“Yuuri!” he called as he opened the door, glossing over the fact that it was open already, half an hour before the time they were supposed to meet. Victor wore a megawatt smile as he stumbled out of his shoes, giddy as he had been on the drive over.

He looked up from yanking the scarf from around his neck and stopped in his tracks. 

Yuuri was leaning on the wall by the hallway, arms crossed, wearing another all-black outfit. Victor felt the arousal in his stomach, even as his smile melted away. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Yuuri just held up a hand.

“Come.” He didn’t wait for Victor, just turned and walked into the shadows of the hall. Victor finally noticed the lights were off. 

He tried thinking back to the previous two weeks. Had he done something? Said something wrong? Yuuri had asked him for more selfies, at least once a day, if not more. He had sent at least a dozen with Makkachin, and one night, he had gotten a text every fifteen minutes when he was just laying in bed. He had gotten progressively more creative with each photo, eventually shedding blankets and clothes until Yuuri told him he was a work of art. 

He had a hard time falling asleep that night. 

“Your punishment,” Yuuri started as they entered the bedroom, “for leaving that day when you promised me more time.”

Shit.

“You can lay here,” Yuuri gestured to the bed, “and edge yourself until I tell you to stop.” He paused as Victor audibly gulped, an amused lilt catching on his words as he continued.

“Or, you lay across my lap and count ten spanks.” 

The spanking had been a soft limit from Victor’s list. He had never liked spanking other people, feeling like he was abusing power he didn’t want in the first place, but he had never been spanked. Typically bold and confident, the other men he had been with had assumed Victor was the dominant type, and he was too afraid of disappointing anyone to say otherwise. 

But the idea of being laid bare, touching himself whilst Yuuri watched, terrified him. 

Yuuri let Victor think it over for a second before moving over to the bed. Almost as if he knew what Victor would decide, he sat on the edge of the mattress, patting his thigh with a smirk. Victor stepped forward, hypnotized, letting his coat slip off of his shoulders and fall to the floor. 

His heart was beating quickly. It beat quicker still when Yuuri reached a hand out to his waistband, unbuttoning his pants and tugging them down in one swift motion. Victor let out a yelp as he fell forward, half on the bed and half across Yuuri’s thigh, pulled down by Yuuri’s hands on his hips. 

“Do you remember your safe words?” Yuuri’s warm hand rested on his butt, the heat seeping through the cotton of his briefs. 

“Yes.” Victor’s voice came out in a whisper. 

Yuuri rested his other hand on the small of Victor’s back; it felt reassuring, but it was likely just to keep him steady. 

“Alright,” Yuuri smoothed over one cheek, then the other, “Start counting.”

Victor gasped as soon as he felt Yuuri’s hand lift, yelping as the sharp sting landed. “One,” he remembered to say at the last second.

Immediately, another hard slap in the same spot. Victor struggled to relax, stopping his feet from finding purchase on the plush carpet to escape the punishment he had earned. “Two.”

He closed his eyes tightly before Yuuri’s hand lifted again, dropping his head to the mattress. This time, he had ensured he had no prior commitments. It was his last night off before competition season began, and it belonged to Yuuri. 

A spank to the other side. “Three,” he pushed out between gritted teeth, fisting his hands into the blankets.

“Color?” Yuuri paused, resting his hand on Victor’s warming backside.

“Green,” Victor responded instantly, flinching when Yuuri immediately brought a heavy hand down again. “Four.”

He was green because with every painful spank, he felt the unmistakable burn of pleasure. He felt Yuuri’s arousal press into his hip. His whole body was alight.

Five and six came in rapid succession, barely giving him time to wince away from the spanks. Yuuri soothed his hand over the heat radiating from Victor’s skin. 

“Almost done, Vitya.” Another zing of painful rapture.

“Uh,” Victor hesitated, dazed from expecting a longer break.

“Come on, Vitya, focus. What number are we on?” Yuuri sounded calm, as if he didn’t have a writhing mess sprawled across his lap, sniffling and gasping.

“Seven.”

“Good,” Yuuri praised him, doling out one slightly lighter spank. “You don’t want me to have to start over do you?”

“No,” Victor hiccuped, “Eight.” Tears gathered in Victor’s eyes, but they flowed with relief. Yuuri still thought he was good.

“Nine.” He didn’t know if he was imagining it getting less painful, or if he had just gotten used to the hurt by nine. He felt nothing but deliverance and desire.

“Ten,” he choked out, so relieved, so glad his punishment was over. And then Yuuri’s hand lifted again and he flinched hard, shoving up away from the mattress. 

“Yellow,” Victor sobbed in Yuuri’s direction, hair in his face not letting him find Yuuri’s eyes. “Please, yellow.” 

Yuuri instantly hushed him, leaning down to pull Victor’s arms around his neck. He stood, pulling the weepy man up off the floor and straight into his embrace. He picked up the skater in one smooth motion, tugging at Victor’s thigh to pull it around his waist. Victor took the hint and the other leg followed suit, and he clung to Yuuri like a koala as he cried.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s done.” Yuuri hugged him tightly, not feeling at all bothered by the taller man’s weight in his arms. “I’m sorry. You were so good. It’s done.” 

Victor inhaled deeply, the air in his lungs struggling to expand through the strangling fear in his chest. Yuuri wouldn’t hurt him, but for a moment, he had felt terrified that Yuuri had lied. That he wouldn’t stop at ten like he said. And it wouldn’t have been the first time someone had taken something from him without his permission. 

Yuuri continued murmuring into his ear as he tried to slow his racing heart. Eventually, Yuuri started walking. Victor made a halfhearted attempt to get down, offering to walk, but Yuuri just placed a hand on the back of his head, guiding him to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Victor tried not to think about how that meant Yuuri was carrying him with just one arm. 

They stepped into an unfamiliar and dark room. 

“Close your eyes.” Automatically, Victor complied, turning his head into the crook of Yuuri’s neck to hide his errant sobs. A light flickered on behind his eyelids. 

A sudden cold surface materialized under him, and Yuuri set Victor down gently, stepping away. As Victor opened his eyes to protest, he was stopped by the sight before him. They were in a spacious bathroom, but before he could take notice of any details, Yuuri started pulling his shirt untucked, not even bothering with all of the buttons and just yanking it over his head. 

Yuuri was stepping out of his slacks, thighs noticeably straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs, before Victor found his words again.

“What are you doing?” Victor spoke stutteringly, swiping away at his traitorous tears. 

Yuuri’s smirk was not unkind, only teasing. “I don’t usually bathe in my clothes.” 

“Bathe?”

Yuuri gestured behind him before reentering Victor’s space, tugging at his shirt as well. Over Yuuri’s shoulder, he could make out the wide, immensely deep bathtub, separate from the shower, full of water already. Now that he had seen it, Victor recognized the moisture in the air, like the hot water had been running for a while. 

Victor’s shirt went up over his head. Yuuri’s eyes zeroed in on the bruise crawling down his shoulder to his elbow. He frowned, furrowing his brow at the blue skin. Victor shrank under the scrutiny, but immediately, Yuuri leaned in to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him off the bathroom counter. 

“On or off?” Yuuri tapped his hips, asking about the last remaining clothing on Victor’s body. He stared into Yuuri’s eyes, finding no sign of a trick question or judgment. Yuuri just stared back patiently. He wouldn’t be mad if Victor kept them on. 

But if he did, Yuuri might keep his on too, and even beneath the tears and hyperventilating, he knew what he really wanted. 

“Off,” Victor whispered, head bowing uncharacteristically shyly. 

The smooth fabric slid over his punished flesh, falling to the floor. By the time he had stepped out of his underwear and looked up again, Yuuri had already rid himself of his own and turned around. Victor had a clear view of rippling back muscles and the way Yuuri’s perfectly round ass tensed as he leaned over to test the water. 

Victor’s dom was built like a Greek statue, an incarnate of Eros himself. Good god .

Yuuri stepped into the bath, sighing contentedly, before he turned back to extend a hand. Not everything about Yuuri was built like a statue apparently. Victor flushed at the thought before taking Yuuri’s hand. 

“Sit in front of me,” Yuuri instructed as he sat against the slanted back of the tub. His hands guided Victor down, stopping him before he leaned back. For a moment, he sat there awkwardly, wondering if he was just supposed to sit a foot away from Yuuri the entire bath. 

Before he could turn to look at the man behind him, gentle hands pulled his long hair back behind his shoulders. Then, he felt a brush tugging through the strands without pain. Silently, he let Yuuri brush all of his hair back, going over each section until it was tangle-free. 

He brushed errant tears away, blinking away the unfallen ones. Yuuri was safe. He had just overreacted. Yuuri was taking care of him.

When he thought it was over, he heard Yuuri set the brush down on the floor, and then he felt fingers weaving in a familiar way. 

“Where did you learn how to braid?” Victor asked, a small smile tugging at his wavering lips. 

“I have a sister,” Yuuri responded simply, weaving a french braid down Victor’s head and through the ends, tying it off with a rubber band he mysteriously pulled out of thin air. 

“Turn over.” Once again, Victor had no choice but to follow the order, drawn to obey the man that had seemingly run him a hot bath before he had arrived. 

Victor rotated in the small space; Yuuri held his arms open, and Victor sank into the space, invited by kind eyes and the promise of another warm embrace. He rested his cheek against Yuuri’s chest, letting his arms rest wherever they landed. He felt something hard against his abdomen and tried to ignore the way it made his own arousal burn in his gut.

“Did you fall again?”

Victor figured this was coming. “Yes, this one didn’t hurt as much though.”

“Clumsy. Maybe I should keep you on a leash.” His erection throbbed against Yuuri’s leg. 

“Maybe you should,” Victor nuzzled closer, smiling despite his sniffling. 

“Oh, you’d like that, would you?”

“If you did it.”

Yuuri’s arms tightened a fraction.

“Feeling better?” Victor nodded.

“You know how it is, sometimes you just need a big cry. Or maybe you don’t. But I did.” He laughed at his own rambling. “I feel better. Thank you.”

Yuuri hummed, then spoke. “You thought I was going to keep going.” It wasn’t a question, so Victor didn’t feel the need to respond. 

All Yuuri had done was lift his hand again. Victor hadn’t meant to have such a visceral reaction, but he just hadn’t expected it. He got scared. 

“Please look at me.”

Reluctantly, Victor raised his head. He rested his chin on Yuuri’s chest, wondering how he managed to look so handsome even from such an unflattering angle. 

“I’m glad you were able to use your safe word.” Yuuri’s eyes were serious. And seriously beautiful. “But I need you to know I stopped at ten, I was just going to let you up. I want you to feel like you can trust me to do what I say I will, because this won’t work without trust.”

Victor started, alarmed that Yuuri was going to end their arrangement. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– I got scared when you moved your hand again and, I just, I guess I don’t really know you and I’ve had worse experiences with people I know more so I just panicked–”

“Vitya, please,” Yuuri tugged him back down to his chest from where he had risen in his desperate plea. “Calm. Breathe with me.” Victor sucked in a deep breath in time with the rise of the chest below him. He let it out slowly, shakily. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not normally like this,” Victor whined into his dom’s arms, feeling small.

“My name is Katsuki Yuuri.” A firm hand settled between Victor’s shoulder blades. “I’m 25 years old. I studied physical medicine and rehabilitation here in St Petersburg. I have a dog named Vicchan.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I want you to know me.” 

Yuuri sounded so sincere . It made Victor want to start crying all over again. He raised his head once more.

“I thought you wanted to keep this part of your life separate.” Victor thought back to the first time they met. 

“I’m not keen on people finding out about this part of me, yes, but it’s just us here.” Yuuri’s lips lifted at the sides. “If getting to know me will help you give in to the submission, then please, ask me anything.”

Yuuri’s expression was open, unlike the way Victor guarded his own emotions and hid his thoughts from everyone else. 

“You have a dog?” Victor spoke tentatively, but excited because, well, dog. 

A big smile spread across Yuuri’s face, “Yes, his name is Vi– Vicchan. He’s a miniature poodle, my sister got him for me when I left Japan.” 

“I have a poodle too! OMG, they can be friends!” Victor’s lexicon adopted texting lingo when he was very excited, to little Yuri’s chagrin.

“I know, Vitya, you sent me pictures.”

A blushed splashed across Victor’s face, but he pressed on. “Where is he, can I meet him?” 

“I drop him by my friend’s place when I’m busy. He loves attention, and I don’t want to share mine. Or yours.”

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor tucked his reddened face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck. He felt a twitch against his body, and he belatedly registered it as proof of the arousal of the man beneath him, and his own flagging erection blazed back to life. He shifted his weight to brush his cock against Yuuri’s leg slightly, jostling Yuuri’s own in the process. 

His dom groaned. Victor couldn’t help but press his lips to the Adam’s apple inches away. He rolled his hips again with a smirk. 

“Are you teasing me, Vitya?” 

“What are you gonna do if I am?” 

He was halfway through his third brush against the man when suddenly, Yuuri growled, and their bodies turned in unison. With little effort, Victor was flipped to lie back on the warmed porcelain, steeped in Yuuri’s body heat. He gasped, the sound bleeding into giggles as Yuuri looked on, hungry. 

Victor was happy to become dinner.

Dark strands of hair fell out of their styling, brushing down against Victor’s own forehead. Yuuri brushed his nose against Victor’s. “My favorite food is katsudon.” He kissed the corner of Victor’s parted lips, pulling away as Victor turned to chase the taste of him.

“My parents own an onsen, and I felt homesick, so I picked this apartment for the tub alone.” He kissed the other corner, trailing a hand down Victor’s side.

Yuuri captured Victor’s groan, slanting his mouth against him as he wrapped lithe fingers around his sub’s length. After a moment, he let Victor up for air. “And right now, I want nothing more than to make you come apart.”

Victor’s blue eyes shone as he looked up. The past hour had been such a rollercoaster of emotion, but all he felt now was an ascent, and the anticipation of a satisfying drop. He glanced down at Yuuri’s own swollen cock beneath the water, breath hitching. “Together. Please.”

Yuuri studied Victor’s pleading face, watched the way he drew his lower lip between his teeth. Then, slowly, he lowered his hips until they touched. The slick of the water eased the slide of their skin, and both men moaned into quiet space between them. Yuuri stilled, drawing Victor’s attention back to his face. 

“Keep your eyes on me. You don’t come until I say. Understood?” 

Victor frantically nodded, “Yes, yes, please.” 

Immediately, a hand wrapped around both of their cocks, and Yuuri began to rock back and forth. The now-lukewarm water sloshed in the tub, spilling over the sides, but they paid it no mind. 

The friction was lessened by the bath, but it was still toe-curling. Victor struggled to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, as each rock of Yuuri’s hips had the head of his cock brushing against the ever-so-sensitive parts of his own. Yuuri’s grip tightened, and when that wasn’t enough, Victor’s hand joined in. His long fingers wrapping over Yuuri’s had the other man groaning. 

“So good, Vitya, you’re so good.”

Victor wailed , almost orgasming then and there when Yuuri spoke. He had such a praise kink and he never realized. 

“You’re not going to come yet. You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Yuuri panted over him, holding up his weight with one arm, steadily thrusting against Victor. He knew what his words did, he must , the sadist.

“God, yes, I want to be good for you.” Victor whimpered, his pent up pleasure building too quick for comfort. “I can’t– Yuuri, I can’t –”

“Yes you can, look at me. Hold on for me, Vitya. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” Yuuri swooped down without breaking his rhythm. Lips collided, tongues mingling as Victor’s moans grew more and more desperate. Victor rocked his hips in time, an anguished last ditch effort to coax Yuuri’s mercy, and orgasm, from him. 

Pulling back, Yuuri let out a string of curses as he gazed down at Victor’s wrecked expression. 

“Come with me.” On command, Victor shuddered, grabbing onto Yuuri’s tense bicep with his spare hand, grappling for something to anchor him to life as his little death arrived. 

The men continued thrusting into their joined grip through their release, moans echoing through the room. Once Victor finally let go, closing his eyes, Yuuri collapsed onto him with a hum, wrapping his arms around his sub’s waist. 

“Okay?” Yuuri questioned, out of breath. 

“So okay. Unbelieveably hot. Beyond measure. Fucking hell.”

Yuuri laughed. “I must agree.” He pressed a kiss to Victor’s shoulder. “I also must shower now.”

Victor smiled lazily, wrapping his legs around Yuuri’s waist and latching onto his shoulders. “Carry me or leave me in this pool of the evidence of our pleasure.”

“I have it on good authority that you won’t enjoy the second option.”

And so Yuuri rose, holding tight to the blond in his arms and hiding a fond smile as he carried a giggling Victor to the shower. 

Victor was 29 years old. He completed his schooling online, in Russian literature, but he never used his degree because his career was completely unrelated. Victor’s favorite food was borscht, but he wanted to try katsudon and did Yuuri have any restaurant recommendations? He didn’t speak to his parents anymore, but he has always lived in St. Petersburg, so he never had to feel homesick. 

And Victor told Yuuri so when he asked. They traded facts back and forth in the shower and as Yuuri toweled him off, Victor blurted out what had been on his mind since he arrived. 

“I don’t know when I can see you next.”

Yuuri rose from where he had been drying Victor’s legs, a small smile on his face. 

“It’s a good thing we took advantage of tonight then, hm?” He wrapped the towel around Victor’s shoulders before picking up one for himself. 

“I just, I want to see you. But I have this thing, for work, and I’ll be away, um.” Victor felt another pesky blush warm his ears. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered. 

Hands grabbed onto his face, and Yuuri smothered him in a deep kiss. “You’ll still send me pictures. And then you’ll be back before you know it.” 

Victor’s heart skipped beats and continued to do so until he was dressed (by Yuuri’s hands) and standing at the front door again. He looked expectantly at Yuuri, who was smirking from a few feet away. 

“Waiting for something?”

He grinned at the sadistic man, sweeping forward in his big scarf and coat and captured Yuuri in a kiss without answering. A hand slid into his hair, as it had a habit of doing, and their tongues met in a passionate goodbye. 

And then he left, already wishing he was back in Yuuri’s arms.

Chapter Text

“Vitya, focus.”

“I am focused.”

“That is why you are still in your jacket?”

Victor paused amidst the roaring crowd. He had meant to leave the jacket behind, true, but his coach didn’t need to know.

“I’m just cold.”

“You are Russian.”

“I am Russian, not a vampire.”

Yakov scoffed, but a twitch of his lip told Victor he was amused. And not really complaining of his focus. In fact, his focus had rested only on skating since his last meeting with Yuuri. The man had not texted him in the three days since he prostrated himself over Yuuri’s knee, and he had only drilling his programs to distract him.

He shrugged out of his tracksuit jacket and rested it beside his Makkachin tissue box. The crowd grew louder upon the unveiling of his new costume. It had not been ready for his regional competitions, but those were merely for show. There was not a judge in Russia that would not put Victor Nikiforov through to the Grand Prix Qualifiers.

He had hemmed and hawed over the suit for weeks. Something had felt off and, after many edits, he settled on a color change. Victor swapped a royalty-inspired blue jacket for a duplicate made in magenta. He left his shirt unbuttoned halfway and the gold chains sat chilled against his skin. Team Russia’s costumer had been hounding him for a decision for weeks and everyone’s opinions had conflicted. Eventually, he flipped a coin to choose an option.

Raising both arms, Victor waved to the audience; their screams were deafening and he wondered if they could tell when his brilliant smile transformed into a grimace. Doubtful. They never noticed. 

“He is here, you are aware?”

“He’s always here, Yakov,” Victor answered through his teeth, still smiling and waving. “It’s his job.”

His coach hummed in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes forward. “Just tell me if he comes near you.”

Victor laughed loudly, patting him on the back hard, “And what will you do then?”

“Kill him.” A fond smile curled on Victor’s lips, a real one. He leaned down to tug off his skate guards.

“Who will coach me while you’re in prison?” 

“You don’t need a coach anymore. I’m just here to yell at you.”

“And you must continue. Little Yura’s yelling just isn’t the same. Much higher pitched- and whinier.”

The older man snorted, taking Victor’s guards as the skater stepped onto the ice for his practice. He spun around to face his coach, slipping back into his performance.

“You won’t listen to me anyway. Go, practice what you want.” Yakov waved him off. Victor bowed to his coach and skated off to dance through step sequences for his fans.

The cheers and chants used to fade away on the ice. It used to be just him and his skates, aiming to dazzle and surprise. But it had been a long time since he had been able to surprise anyone. Every new ratified jump, every record. He had given the ice everything. Nothing was left. 

He filled his practice time how he knew best– spins, splits, triples, quads. Anything to hear the oohs and ahhs expected from his skating. And when the timer ran down, he stepped off the ice, numb, but not from the cold. Still, he slipped back into his jacket when Yakov offered and waved off his coach, opting to stay warmed up in the empty media room rather than rinkside. 

“Come get me when there’s two-”

“Two skaters left, yes, I know. Go stretch.” Yakov was already gone, looking for Yuri, who insisted on coming to the Cup even though his own junior qualifiers had already come and gone. 

The silence was stark once the heavy doors closed behind him. He liked to hide away in the rooms where they would hold the press conferences, where the media was not allowed until the final scores were given. The other skaters preferred to linger in the locker room, or they watched from behind the boards, but Victor was beyond sizing up his competition. Unless Christophe was around, he just wanted silence. 

The NHK Trophy would be more interesting with his Swiss friend there.

He was three exercises deep into his stretching when the doors clicked open behind him. 

“You’re early.” He rested his forearms on the floor, legs spread into a near split.

“I didn’t realize you were expecting me.”

A wave of dread swept over Victor as he raised his head.

Anatoly was thinner than him, which was saying a lot in Victor’s current state, as he had been slacking on his dietician recommended meals. His brown hair was dull, waxed into a quiff to artificially add to his height. Victor knew that, face-to-face, Anatoly just barely grazed his chin. He was wearing a suit, the shoulders a hair too broad, the sleeves just too long. 

It was laughable. It should have been. Knowing what he knew now, all signs pointed to an inferiority complex. And yet, this imitation Napoleon raised his hackles like no one else. 

“Long time no see.” An ugly gold watch glinted at him from under his cuff.

“That was no accident,” Victor drawled, a false bravado settling over him as he rolled up to his full height, towering in his guarded skates. 

Anatoly laughed, like he was exchanging jokes with an old friend. “Still haven’t changed, have you, Vitya?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You used to love when I called you that. Or did you prefer Vitenka?”

“I prefer you don’t call me at all.” 

Victor turned to leave, his ponytail swinging over his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to warn you,” the man called after him. “You won’t win.” 

Pausing at the door, Victor scoffed. “Why? Did you fuck your way to a judge’s seat?” 

“Killian has a surprise in store,” Anatoly ignored his ire, walking closer. “You used to love surprising people, Vitya.”

The comment sliced through a gap in his armor. A hand touched his shoulder for only a second before he wrenched it away. 

“Don’t touch me,” Victor spat vehemently, spinning around to face him again. 

“You used to love when I did that, too,” Anatoly just smiled placidly at him. “Ah, well. The new champion does more things better than you besides skate.” 

The tips of Victor’s ears burned. Before he could speak, the door opened behind him. 

“Vitya, come– what–” Yakov sputtered, not expecting to almost walk into his skater. Victor turned slightly, allowing his opponent to come into view. 

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Ivanov.” Victor shook, even as he bowed mockingly. “Come, coach, I’m all warmed up.” He wrapped his arm around Yakov’s shoulders as casually as he could, knowing that the hallway was free game for the cameras. Somehow, he guided the seething man away from confrontation, back to the ice. He wanted to go home.

But it was time to put on a show. 

Yakov mumbled angrily to himself the whole walk back. Victor smiled and nodded, like he always did, ignoring the shouted questions from behind the ropes. Reporters were vultures. They would circle him as soon as they smelled weakness, but he would not become their carrion.

Rinkside once again, he readied himself in silence. The skater before him was none other than Killian Sommer himself. It had been a long time since he paid attention to the other skaters on the roster. He thought to ask Yakov what his opinion was, but then he would have to divulge the conversation and it wasn’t the time. 

“You’re alright?” His coach was not looking at him, but Victor felt comforted as if he had been embraced by the old man. 

“I wouldn’t be where I was if a few words by a jilted ex-lover were enough to rattle me.”

“Let him remain jilted, please.”

Victor shuddered exaggeratedly. “My standards have left the floor, Yakov.”

His coach laughed, but Victor just watched Killian. He was a virtual stranger. He surprised Victor simply by existing. No one had surpassed the Living Legend since he won his first gold on the senior circuit. He didn’t need to surprise people anymore. Just because Anatoly thinks his new fuck buddy has the sun shining out of his ass doesn’t mean he can beat Victor. Nobody can beat Victor. 

That was the last thought to cross his mind before he watched Killian take off from his back outside edge, rotate two, three, four times, and land, ratifying the first quadruple lutz. 

-

“Victor Nikiforov! How does it feel to be in second place?”

“Are you disappointed in your score?”

“Victor! Over here!”

“Victor! Will you be retiring after this major upset?”

The car door slammed shut behind him, silencing the reporters as best as it could. Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding down in his seat. 

Shouting and camera clicks infiltrated the car again as Yakov slid into the seat beside him. Yuri had crawled into the front passenger seat. The instant his door closed, the SUV was driving. 

And it drove on, not a single sound from any of them. 

Brows furrowed, Victor thought back on his skate. He didn’t remember going out, just that he was suddenly center ice. He remembered waiting longer than usual for the audience to quiet, for the music to start. They were conflicted, he had thought. Excited to see their Legend, but someone else had surprised them first. If he was in the crowd, he wouldn’t want to watch him either.

The skate went perfectly. Of course it did. He was who he was. He could have completed the performance flat on his ass and they would’ve still given him a high score. He was Victor Nikiforov, unintentionally inflating scores since he entered seniors. 

For nearly ten years, Victor’s name had been firmly seated in first place after every skate. At the end of the first day at Rostelecom, Killian had taken his throne out from under him.

With a small jolt, the car parked at the curb in front of Victor’s hotel. He had tried insisting he could go home between programs, considering the Cup was taking place in St Petersburg that year, but as usual, he was ignored. A room was booked, separate from his coach. Apparently, an hour’s drive was too much for him.

Victor reached for the door handle, but a hand on his elbow stopped him. 

“He won’t skate another clean program. He always chokes on his Free.”

Victor bristled, staring Yakov in the eye. “Does he always ratify jumps? Does he always take my records from me?”

“This is bullshit,” Yuri cursed from the front, turning to lean between the seats. “Who does that asshole think he is? His skating was complete shit and they know it. Just because he did the quad, he wins? Fuck off he barely landed it.”

“Yura!” Yakov barked, “Language.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I never said you weren’t,” the coach huffed.

His coach was disappointed. In the scores. In his reaction. In him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yakov. Sleep well, Yura.”

Victor gingerly let himself out of the car, slinging his skate bag over his shoulder. Refusing to show weakness, he forced a smile on his face for the concierge. The lobby was otherwise empty. At the very least, he was able to insist on a hotel far from the arena. He didn’t know where Yuri and Yakov were sleeping, but for now, he didn’t care.

Collapsing onto the bed, Victor forced out a breath, trying to calm the stuttering in his chest. He remembered now, after he gave himself a moment of reprieve. 

He had handed over his skate guards and stepped onto the ice, spinning to face his coach once more.

“Are you going to win?” Yakov always asked. Victor’s chest rose and fell hard, giving away his rising panic.

“Vitya, look at me,” he ordered. “Are. You. Going. To. Win.” Victor gulped down air, his stern coach holding onto his shoulders, keeping him together. 

Yes , Victor always answered. 

“I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

A ping resounded in the hotel room. Victor forgot he even had his phone. He had shoved it straight into his skate bag in the car, where Yakov normally returned it to him after competition days.

He didn’t move from his spot in bed. It was a king size, like the one he had at home, and if he closed his eyes long enough, he could pretend he was there. Makka was in the living room, tired from greeting him at the front door. The fireplace was on, the artificial fire warming her doggy bed and casting a warm glow through his open bedroom door. 

Ping

He groaned, rolling half off the mattress to reach down for his skate bag. He fumbled blindly until his hand closed around his phone. He set it to vibrate before tapping the screen to check the notifications. The brightness of the screen made him wince in the dark. He turned on the lamp beside the bed. 

>Sorry, life got really busy all of a sudden.

>Can I see you?

The latter text included a camera emoji, like the texts from Yuuri often did. Victor’s eyes closed briefly in relief to see his messages. His lashes were heavy and damp, and he realized he had been crying. 

In a moment of self-pity, Victor took a selfie as he was. He didn’t wipe away his tears or fix his smudged mascara. The clothes he had changed into after receiving his skate, a perfectly innocuous suit, were rumpled and he didn’t care to smooth the wrinkles. The room was dimly lit by the one lamp he had bothered to turn on. Victor just looked sad. 

He sent it off without another thought. It was better to let Yuuri realize how much trouble Victor was now, before he could get too attached. 

Almost immediately, his phone started vibrating in his hand. He raised it to his face. It was Yuuri, calling him. With video . 

Yuuri’s face was flushed, like he had just been running. His hair was pushed back, albeit messier than usual, but what surprised Victor more than the call itself was that Yuuri was wearing glasses. He found himself answering impulsively.

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathed a relieved sigh. “Are you hurt?” 

His brows were furrowed. Victor forgot Yuuri’s concern for him. He shouldn’t have sent the photo. Still, a pressure eased in his chest that someone other than his coach worried if he was okay.

“Just my pride,” Victor tried to smile. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Stop. You’re not bothering me. I called you .” 

Victor turned to his side, curling up around a pillow and resting his phone where he could see Yuuri and Yuuri could see him. 

Kind eyes watched from his screen. “Did you have dinner?” 

“No, not yet. I just got back to my hotel,” Victor thought of how to explain the situation. “I just had a difficult time- at work. I should fix this first.” He gestured to his face, scrunching his nose. “Then I’ll go down and find something, I don’t know, I don’t feel hungry now-”

“Do you want me to take over?” 

“Yes.” Victor answered before the question was fully asked.

“Call for room service.” The background behind Yuuri was blurred, dark, then light. He murmured greetings to faceless voices, clearly entering a building, but he kept glancing down at his phone, at Victor. “I’m sorry for the noise, I’ll be up in my room soon. Use the room phone and order dinner. I’m going into an elevator, if I lose you, I’ll call you right back, okay?”

Victor watched Yuuri step into an unfamiliar elevator. He caught sight of mirrored walls, showing off a duffel bag hanging off Yuuri’s shoulder. His dom was dressed in all black, but this time, he was wearing sweats. 

“Okay, Vitya?” 

“Okay,” Victor remembered to answer, touching Yuuri’s concerned face on his phone screen as the call froze, then dropped. “Okay.” 

Sighing, he rolled out of bed dutifully to traipse to the desk. A quick perusal of the menu revealed they had big bowls of borscht, as any self respecting hotel should. His cell began to buzz as he decided on whether or not Yakov would be able to tell if he ordered a pirozhki on the side. 

He answered the video call and dialed down to room service, propping Yuuri up against the table lamp. Yuuri watched as he placed his order in Russian, a faux smile appearing on Victor’s face automatically, as if he had video called the kitchens on a land-line. He ordered a pirozhki anyway. 

Victor dropped the phone down onto its receiver, sighing. “They said thirty minutes.”

“Shower with me.” 

“What?”

“Go to your bathroom and shower with me.” On the screen, Yuuri flicked on a light, whiting out the pixels until the camera refocused. He was in a bathroom, very much unlike the one Victor had recently bathed, and done other stuff, in. 

“You’re not home,” Victor had assumed, but said it anyway.

“Ah, no, I had something for work too.” Yuuri set his phone down in full view of the shower and with an equally clear view of his clothes being stripped off. 

Victor watched in quiet fascination at the familiar sight. He leaned over to turn on the shower in  the same way as he did at home, the muscles of his butt clenching beautifully. 

“You’re not doing a very good job of listening, you know.” Yuuri set his palms on the counter, ducking down to look his phone in the camera, as close to eye contact as they could get. Victor wished he was there, being crowded against the sink between Yuuri’s unfairly strong arms.

But he was in a hotel in St Petersburg, feeling small, alone, and like a waste of space.

“Hey, Vitya,” Victor shuddered, another tear leaking out of his traitorous eye. “Forget whatever happened today. It’s just you and me. Look at me.” 

He looked up. The spectacled face looking back at him shone with concern. 

“Let me take care of you,” Yuuri commanded this time. “Don’t think about anything else right now, just listen to what I tell you.”

Victor breathed out, closing his eyes for an extra moment. Yuuri would take care of him. 

“Go to the bathroom, put your phone somewhere where I can see the shower.” As if a puppet on a string, he got up from the desk and shuffled across the carpet to the open door across the room. He hissed at the fluorescent lights flickering on, but left them on. He was not normally above turning the lights off and just showering with the door open, letting the warmer lamplight filter in.

But Yuuri wanted to see.

After finding a safe spot for his video companion, Victor examined his reflection in the mirror. He looked a mess, there was no denying it. 

“Turn the water on.”

He turned away from the mirror immediately, opening the glass door to the stall and setting the temperature as hot as it would go. 

“Make up?” Yuuri asked.

Victor tugged a wipe out of the package on the counter and finally cleaned off the mascara trails on his cheeks. He felt infinitesimally better for doing so, as Anatoly still existed and his world record didn’t, but at least Yuuri wouldn’t think he was ugly. 

That would really be the last straw. 

“There he is,” Yuuri’s teeny tiny smile was affixed as he teased. Victor had just tossed the makeup wipe in the garbage can and pulled his hair down from its high ponytail. “Now the suit. Take it all off, baby.”

His stomach did its own quad flip at the endearment. An errant sob escaped his lips against his will, and so he tugged his tie over his head as an excuse to look away from Yuuri. Victor took deep breaths, entire lungfuls of air, to calm down as he stripped the rest of his clothes. He tossed it all on the floor in an uncharacteristic move and turned back to his phone. 

“Perfect,” Yuuri breathed, leaning closer. His gaze felt strange. Not scary, not uncomfortable, just, strange. Maybe it was the glasses. Victor just felt too seen. A blush crawled onto his chest, one that his birthday suit could not hide. 

In his own hotel room, wherever it was, Yuuri stepped toward the shower curtain. 

“Go get clean. I’m not going to hang up, just yell if you need me, okay?”

Another sob was clawing its way out of his chest, so Victor just nodded and turned to stumble into his shower. As he was about to shut the door, he glanced back to see Yuuri taking his glasses off. He’d have to ask Yuuri to pull those out another time. 

Victor laughed in spite of himself, drenching his face under the water flow to rinse away the tears. How did he go from his pity party in bed to thinking about fucking his dom with his glasses on?

Deep breath. Again. And again. 

He shampooed his hair. 

Without Yuuri there to anchor him, his mind wandered. Killian was known for cracking under the pressure. He often delivered a high scoring short program and flubbed a jump or two in his free. 

Victor rinsed and ran conditioner through his silver strands. 

He would just have to move his jumps around. He could still win. 

He lathered the bar of soap between his hands before clearing away the day’s sweat.

He could still win. 

Water off. Deep breath.

He opened the door. Victor reached for a towel as a whistle sounded through his phone speaker. A laugh escaped him without permission and a blush spread across his chest. 

“That was quick.” Yuuri commented. The video feed showed him toweling off his hair, sweats slung low on his hips. No shirt. 

“Looks like you were quicker.”

“I had good motivation to get my glasses back on.” Under the towel, Victor could make out a smirk; he smiled despite himself.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he came to stand closer to his phone, to Yuuri. He didn’t want to think about Killian anymore. 

“You have time to dry your hair.”

“Oh. Right.” Yuuri was going to watch him dry his hair ? 

“Do you not normally?”

“No, no, I do, I just,” Victor hesitated. He was supposed to be listening, not questioning. “I’m just, naked, clean, et cetera.”

Yuuri’s confused gaze heated into fond amusement. “I don’t know if I can compete with the borscht on its way.” He paused, turning serious. “You deserve more than fifteen minutes over a video call, Vitya. Let’s get you ready for bed. You’re being so good for me, let’s finish up now. Get the hair dryer out.” 

There was that feeling again. It felt like doing a backflip or going down the biggest drop of a rollercoaster. Victor reached under the counter for the hotel’s crappy dryer, not wanting to leave his phone even just to get his own high-end salon branded one from his suitcase.. 

“I liked it when you braided it for me,” he blurted out as his cheeks reddened. Embarrassed, he immediately turned the dryer on to tune out whatever Yuuri’s response could be.

He brushed through his hair, tugging at the knots none too gently, desperate to be done with it and rest. The Russian Skating Federation’s publicist always told him how much his fans loved him for his long silver hair. He spent so much time conditioning and trimming and oiling and he was getting tired. So tired. 

Victor ignored Yuuri’s lips moving, drying each section thoroughly, blissfully unaware of the consequences of his actions. Once his heart calmed and his pulse returned to a normal rate, he turned the hair dryer off, setting it down. He was midway through sweeping his hair into a bun on top of his head when Yuuri spoke again. 

“I said,” Yuuri drawled, dragging out the vowels, “I liked braiding it for you.” His elbows were on the counter, his chin resting lazily in one hand. “Don’t think I’ll let that little stunt go. Get dressed, your dinner should be there soon.” Victor gulped, caught between excitement and nerves. 

Yuuri picked up his phone, leaving the bathroom, so Victor pulled on the complimentary robe and followed his lead. 

“I usually sleep naked,” Victor supplied, setting his phone down in view of his couch and door. Right as he set Yuuri on his perch, a knock sounded at the door. Thank God, borscht.

“Why am I not surprised?” Yuuri laughed in the background, drawing a small smile on Victor’s lips as he answered the door. 

He settled down on the couch with his soup, tucking his feet under him. Yuuri let him have two sips in silence, puttering around in his room, before he sat down with his own meal and finally asked. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Victor wrinkled his nose, watching Yuuri bite into a sandwich. 

“I don’t know how to.” Surely, if he began talking about competitive men’s figure skating, Yuuri would get curious. He felt comfortable in his anonymity. He didn’t think Yuuri was the type of person to start acting differently on finding out he was a highly decorated and very wealthy celebrity in his field. But he had been so wrong before. 

“That’s okay.”

He didn’t want to lose this yet, this strange contracted agreement, his companion. 

“I saw my ex today,” Victor said suddenly. He would just work around it.

Yuuri’s mouth was open, poised to take another bite, when he registered the words. He pulled away, closing his lips and setting his dinner down on the table before him. 

“He’s, um, kind of awful. LIke, truly terrible. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t, I guess,” Victor rambled. “Anyway, I saw him– at work. I thought he was just trying to mess with me, get in my head.” He set his empty bowl down, exchanging it for his cheat food. He took a big bite to buy time to consider his next words. 

Yuuri was watching him carefully. He had stopped eating entirely. Victor felt transparent, like all of his thoughts and emotions were already on display. How many uncomfortable conversations could he have in one day?

“He used me when we were together. I didn’t realize. I thought I was just doing what you’re supposed to do in a relationship. When you love someone, you help them succeed.” Victor scoffed, disgusted. “But he didn’t love me at all. He just loved what I could give him. And so I kept giving, and he kept taking, until there was nothing left.”

“Vitya…” Yuuri trailed off. 

“I wasn’t good enough. Go figure, I wasn’t good enough to take advantage of anymore,” Victor laughed bitterly. “And now he has someone else, someone better than me.”  

“Are you jealous?” 

Victor looked up at his phone incredulously. Yuuri was staring at him intently. He wasn’t kidding. 

“Blyat, not a chance, not with a ten foot pole.” Victor facepalmed, sliding his hand down from his forehead to his chin. 

“Yuuri, I am very good at what I do. This is just a fact, so please forgive me for not being humble. Up until today, I was the best . But someone beat me and everyone knows.” Victor set down his half eaten pirozhki. “And he’s fucking my ex,” he added wryly. 

“I see,” Yuuri clasped his fingers together. “Sounds like a piece of shit.” 

A real laugh bubbled out of Victor. That wasn’t exactly the reaction he had expected. 

“You’re telling me.”

“So what’s your plan?” Yuuri resumed eating his dinner, wiping his mouth after each bite. 

“My what?”

“Your plan. This guy showed you up once, so what? You’re not going to just lay down and take it.” Yuuri said it so matter-of-factly, Victor had trouble remembering why he was upset in the first place. 

“He took a record from me, Yuuri.”

“So take it back.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Why not? Killian landed the quad lutz, a jump that no one had ever attempted in competition before. Sure, Victor had been working on it himself– who would he be if he wasn’t always trying to cross boundaries? But he had just barely convinced Yakov to let him try without the harness. He went to Yuuri’s covered his bruises from his attempts. Mastering the quadruple flip had been just like this, but he had gotten it years ago.

Why not? Why couldn’t it be that easy? Yuuri clearly thought he could do it. Sure, Yuuri didn’t know what he was talking about, but he had faith in him still 

A smile unfurled on Victor’s face, creasing the corners of his eyes. He relaxed back into the couch, wondering when he had become so tense in the first place. A light returned to Yuuri’s eyes, like his own heart eased by Victor’s epiphany. They watched each other in silence. It was peaceful in a way Victor hardly felt anymore. 

“Well,” Yuuri began crumpling up the trash from his dinner, “I don’t know about you, but I have an early morning. Let’s go to bed.”

The two men rose together, tidying up and readying themselves for sleep. They brushed their teeth in tandem. Yuuri watched as Victor layered on his skincare, asking about each step of his routine. In return, Victor chastised him for not using at least a lip balm in the chill, promising to bring Yuuri one that he used and loved. 

Yuuri lay in his bed as Victor pushed the room service cart into the hallway. He locked his door and made his way to his bed, turning off the lights as he went, leaving only the bedside lamp set to the dimmest setting. 

“I thought you slept naked.” Yuuri yawned, face close to the phone in the darkness of his room. 

“You told me to get dressed.”

“So room service wouldn’t see you naked, not so I couldn’t.” 

Victor grinned cheekily, untying the robe’s belt slowly. His eyes felt puffy, still rimmed red, but Yuuri’s hungry gaze let him forget. 

“Tease.”

“Only because you make it so fun,” Victor shot back. He slid the robe off his shoulder, turning away from the camera. He heard Yuuri groan behind him as he reached up to tug his hair out of its knot, letting it tumble down his back. The sound went straight to his waxing arousal, his cock hanging heavily between his legs. Finally, he dropped the robe, but kept his back to Yuuri. 

“Fuck.” He giggled at the desire lacing the curse. Slowly, Victor turned back around, grateful that the warmth of the bedside lamp light cast him in a flattering glow. 

Yuuri’s sleepy eyes widened before shutting tightly for a moment. He opened them again, a fire blazing through the phone screen. 

“Fuck, my perfect little tease.” 

The words caused a ripple of pleasure to run down Victor’s spine. His cock twitched like Yuuri had touched him, just at the sound of his dom claiming him, praising him.

“When do I get to have you?” Even the way Yuuri asked for his schedule churned his insides. 

“I have to pick Makka up Friday night. I have Saturday off.” Victor’s hand itched to touch himself.

“Bring her with you, as early as you can. Just text me when you’re on your way.” 

“Okay,” Victor nodded enthusiastically. 

“Come to bed, Vitya.” Yuuri coaxed. He turned to his side, watching as Victor was magnetically pulled to the bed. Victor laid on the side opposite to Yuuri, so he could pretend they were really laying side by side. His mind conjured up the image of laying his head on Yuuri’s lap; he blushed as Yuuri’s eyes narrowed at him. 

“Let me see both of your hands.” Eyebrows furrowed, Victor tucked both his hands under his head.

“You won’t touch yourself while you’re away.” 

“What? Yuuri,” Victor whined, “That’s still two more days.”

“A little motivation then,” Yuuri smirked at him. “Work hard and come back to a reward. Alarm set for the morning?”

Biting back his disgruntled response, Victor nodded, ignoring the soft brush of the comforter against his skin.

“Sleep well, Vitya.” 

He switched off his lamp and shut his eyes tight. All thoughts of Anatoly and Killian and his world record had long since left his head. Victor fell asleep with his mind on Yuuri, heart turning quad axels as he dreamed. 

Chapter Text

The blaring alarm woke him from a deep sleep at 7 o’clock. It took Victor a few moments to remember the previous night, and then it all came crashing down like a weight on his chest. Victor jumped to action, searching for his phone to check if he had dreamed up the hours-long conversation he was recalling. 

To his surprise, Yuuri was still there. His phone had slid away in his slumber, but Victor could make out closed eyes under his ruffled black hair. He could still hear the soft breaths on the other end of the call. 

Yuuri hadn’t hung up when Victor fell asleep.

Albeit hesitantly, he hung up first. He sent Yuuri an assortment of naked and clothed selfies as he got ready for the day, so he wouldn’t wake up alone either. 

And that was all it took for the weight to lift. He breezed down to breakfast with little Yuri and Yakov, eating his egg whites without complaint and complimenting Yuri’s cheetah print without sarcasm. They both looked at him as if he had grown a second head, but he paid no mind. Yuuri had stayed .

“What’s up with you, old man? Did you get laid or something?”

“How’s your boyfriend, Yura?” Victor smiled placidly, taking a sip of his jam-sweetened tea as the younger boy spluttered and blushed. 

“Boyfriend? What- pssht, nevermind, we will discuss later, Yurachka,” Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are feeling better then, if you have the ability to tease him like this.”

“Yes, well, I had a bit of a, what do you call it, ah, an epiphany? He took my record. All I have to do is take it back.” Victor wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, setting it down and waving to a waiter for the check. 

“And how do you propose you do this?” His coach looked at him bemused. 

“He’s not the only one trying to land new jumps, Yakov.”

“No. Absolutely not. You are not attempting that lutz today.” His coach was turning an alarming shade of purple. Victor grinned mischievously, but conceded. 

“No, not today. But soon. There are still jumps left to ratify, anyway, but for now, I will just take my gold medal home and we’ll see about that short program record on Sunday.”

“Ratify? You already have the flip and he took the lutz, what else is even possible after tha-” Yuri cut himself off, looking at Victor wide-eyed. “No,” he said, disbelievingly. Victor held up his index finger against his lips, shushing him. 

“We’ll see on Sunday,” Victor spoke with finality. 

The trio paid and set off for the rink. Yuuri still hadn’t texted him back, but surprisingly, Victor was unbothered. Yuuri had told him he would be busy. He sent off another picture in the car, pouting cutely from behind his sunglasses, before they arrived and he had to face the wolves again. 

The moment he opened his car door, the cameras started flashing, the questions came rushing in. It was all just noise. 

Victor, how does losing feel?

Victor, what are you going to do now?

Victor, what are you wearing?

Victor, are you going to land a quad lutz? 

Can you land a quad lutz?

Victor, is Killian your biggest competition?

He paused at that, the door to the rink half open. Victor turned back in the direction of the reporters. 

“I am my biggest competition,” he said simply, before entering the building, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

-

“Are you going to win ?” Yakov had to shout over the cheers. The roar of the crowd was louder than it had been in years. They were all here to see him lose. 

Victor smiled as he handed his guards over, patting his coach on the shoulder. He waved at the audience, filing away his feelings of betrayal for another time, another place.

“Yes.” He would. He was never going to retire like this. That was not an option. Not when he had given this sport everything. It needed him more than he needed it. And he would show them so. No one would take his crown so easily. 

He did one semi-lap before taking his place at center ice. 

Victor, as the one who usually finished the short in first place, was not used to not being the final skater. He was the show closer. The best saved for last. He merely had to wait until his scores were announced to hear that he had won. But today, Killian was in first, and he would take that from Victor too.

Victor was facing the skaters’ side of the rink, and there he was. Killian stood beside his coach, arms crossed. Victor didn’t know him very well, but he almost looked nervous. Maybe Yakov was right and he would eat ice and lose on his own. But that wasn’t a chance Victor was willing to take. 

When their eyes locked, Victor winked at his newly minted rival, an almost vicious smile on his face. Yes. He would win. 

It turned out to be easier than he expected, taking a record of his own. He would have to wait until the next competition to take back the short program record, but he was content with the highest free score. For now.

It was almost disappointing how easily Killian crumpled just from watching Victor skate. The betrayal of his so-called fans, Anatoly’s tendency to breathe the same air as Victor, Yuuri’s pure belief in him even when he didn’t know what he was believing in. It all propelled Victor to push himself. To raise his hands on his jumps, to spin faster, to feel the music more intensely. 

Killian was shaking like a leaf by the time Victor had picked up his gifts from the ice and returned to the gate. His coach was trying and failing to hype him up, and Victor wondered if he would puke right then and there. He pulled his skate guards on quickly and moved away, just in case. 

The kiss and cry felt less like a punishment this time. There were no tears to hold back, no need to force a genial smile onto his face. He was pleased with himself. If he ignored how rapidly his fans had turned on him, he could say he was even happy. But they had, and he would not soon be forgetting. 

A collective gasp sounded in the stadium. Victor turned in time to see Killian wincing, picking himself up off the ice. A cruel sense of satisfaction washed over him as the German skater never quite found the rhythm of the song again after that. 

Now you’ll see how they treat you . 

The medal ceremony passed quickly, Killian at one side, an Uzbek skater standing stoically at his other. Victor towered over most people, even without his skates, but the difference between first and third place on the podium was stark. Killian accepted his bronze prize graciously, but he did not look up at Victor, and Victor wondered bitterly when he had started looking down. 

If anything was clear after Rostelecom, it was how much the sport had changed him. He supposed it was the price he had to pay, for all he had changed the sport.

To his surprise, Victor did not see Anatoly again on his way out. He was not at the press conference. He wasn’t lurking in the halls, didn’t show up in the locker room as he donned his suit. He barely saw anyone, but he couldn’t say he minded. Victor was desperate to get to the car, to get his phone back from Yakov. 

“You did it,” Yakov said in a way of greeting as Victor folded his long legs into the SUV. He slammed the door shut against the screaming fans, huffing. 

“Yes,” Victor held his hand out to his coach, “Phone, please.” 

His phone met his hand after an eye roll and a scoff. Eagerly, he scanned through the dozens of notifications, and his stomach sank in disappointment. No text from Yuuri. 

Sighing, he slumped down in his seat, setting to dealing with the other messages and congratulatory posts. Chris had uploaded a short video of himself, curled up on a couch with a mystery man, watching the competition. The caption read, “congrats, mon ami. you look almost as good on that podium as i do ;) @vnikiforov #iceDaddy #seeyouinJapan.”

He smiled, making a note to call his best friend the next day. He liked the post, commenting, “@chrisgiacomsexy ty bb, so blessed to be a part of this soft launch #grandprixfinalLYGOTLAID #sexy #seeyouinJapan.” 

Moments later, he heard little Yuri gagging from the front seat and he laughed, “Aren’t you too young to use the internet?”

“You’re too old! Why do you post that nasty shit– you realize everyone can read it, right?”

Yuri bickered with him all the way back to the hotel, and it served as a welcome distraction to the longing in his core. As he bid his companions a good night, Yakov reached out to stop him from exiting the car. 

“You did good, Vitya, I’m proud,” It sounded like it pained him to say, but Victor felt the love nonetheless. He launched himself at his coach, wrapping him in an uncomfortably tight hug.

“Aw, you do love me, coach.” 

“Bah, get off me,” Yakov struggled in his grasp. Victor released him, planting a loud kiss on the top of his balding head before climbing out. He swung his bag onto his shoulder and waved as the car drove off. He guessed they were staying somewhere else after all. 

Victor trudged up to his room, dropping his bag on the floor by the bed. This time, he tugged his suit off, hanging it in its garment bag, before he flopped on his bed. He was back later than the day before, but Little Yuri had shoved a salad at him between the medal ceremony and the press conference, so at least he wasn’t hungry. 

The exhibition was the next day, and then he would be able to go home. For a brief moment, Victor wondered if he could feign illness to get out of it. He shook his head to clear the thought away. That was ridiculous. He had won. It would look bad if he skipped out on the skate. At least he didn’t have to wake up too early. 

Rolling onto his back, Victor stared at his phone, willing it to light up with a notification. He flicked open the camera app, trying to get a flattering angle. His hair haloed around his face, the warm lamp light washing over his skin. He cut the frame off at his naked hip, tactfully draping the sheets across his lap, just to show Yuuri what he was missing. 

He resented his desperation. He sent the photo anyway. 

Less than ten seconds after he hit send, Victor almost dropped his phone on his face as it began vibrating in his hand. It was a video call. Yuuri. He fumbled to catch it before he bruised his nose, rushing to answer it. 

Yuuri’s face was flushed. His glasses were askew, hair bouncing with every step. The camera was shaking; he was running. Victor’s lips curled into a fond smile as he accepted the call. 

“You didn’t touch yourself,” Yuuri spoke quietly, but firmly. He was looking straight ahead, and Victor caught a glimpse of his earbuds. 

“No, despite what you may think, I’m a good listener,” Victor grinned, happy that he was talking to the man that lingered in his thoughts all day. 

Victor heard a ding, and he saw Yuuri step into the elevator like the previous day. He was wearing the same type of clothes as yesterday, but they looked even tighter this time. He felt a lick of jealousy at whoever got to see him dressed like that all day. 

Yuuri finally looked down at him, breathing heavily. His eyes scanned all over, looking hungry. Victor felt his own breathing stutter at the intensity of his gaze. 

“Do you have any lube with you?” 

Victor’s lips parted in surprise, before he groaned, closing his eyes in frustration. “No, I don’t. I haven’t needed it in… well. I don’t have any.”

Yuuri swore, rushing out of the elevator when the doors opened. He heard someone call Yuuri’s name, but before he could eavesdrop, the audio muted, and he saw Yuuri hastily press his phone to his chest. He furrowed his eyebrows, before remembering. Yuuri was wearing earbuds. 

He moaned loudly, exaggerating, a mischievous thrill of excitement rushing through him. Yuuri was going to have something to say about that. He moaned again, softer, calling out Yuuri’s name. His cock twitched under the covers, the fake moaning of Yuuri’s name enough to arouse him, and hopefully his dom felt the same way. 

Then he remembered the massage oil in his skate bag. 

Victor was rummaging through his toiletries when Yuuri came back into frame. He unmuted his microphone, glaring furiously at Victor. But the effect was lost as he was stripping his clothes, the desire evident in his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asked, tugging his pants down, a bulge visible at the bottom of the frame. 

“Aha!” Victor exclaimed, holding the small bottle up in victory. He shoved his gold medal back into his bag, tossing it into a dark corner before showing Yuuri his achievement. “I knew I had something.”

“On the bed, you’re gonna open up for me,” Yuuri directed, freeing his erection from its confines. “After that stunt, you’ll be lucky if I let you even touch your dick.”

Victor gulped, the entire day forgotten already as Yuuri took over from him. He slowly made his way over to his bed, setting his phone on the nightstand. 

“I thought I couldn’t touch myself while I’m gone.” Victor put his foot in his mouth, regretting it immediately. Why was he trying to prolong the torture? Yuuri was naked , stroking his hard length, telling him to masturbate .

“I changed my mind,” Yuuri gasped softly as Victor laid back on a pile of pillows, raising his knees. “You were so fucking beautful today.” 

Distracted by the oil he dripped onto his fingers, Victor answered, “Today? When?”

“The pictures,” Yuuri supplied quickly, “Fuck, spread wide open for me, Vitya, let me see you. The pictures you kept sending me. God, I think I was hard all day. I had to wear a dance belt because of you.” 

That caught Victor’s attention. “You have a dance belt? You dance? Wait, what kind of dan-”

“ Focus , Vitya,” Yuuri groaned as Victor resumed his ministrations, circling the puckered ring of muscle with one finger, showing off.  

“I can multitask,” Victor sighed, smiling as Yuuri bit his lip. If he squinted, he could blur the lines between the screen and reality. He could pretend Yuuri was there with him. 

“Ballet, ballroom, pole. Take one finger for me.” Pole.

Victor pushed the tip of his middle finger inside, the warm heat sucking it in. “Fuck, all the way, Vitya.” 

Closing his eyes, he followed Yuuri’s instruction, letting the sound of his voice wash over him, unraveling the tension from the day. It has been a long one– a stressful one. It was typical of Victor to ignore stress, bottling and compartmentalizing until it overflowed. He poured his frustrations out on the ice when he was at home but during competition, he didn’t know what to do.

He could relieve his stress with Yuuri. 

“So good, that’s perfect,” his dom panted, jerking himself slowly, watching his submission, barely blinking. “You can take two.”

Victor relaxed into the pillows and added a second finger. His cock twitched in indignation, and he had to bite his lip to keep from begging Yuuri to touch himself. He trusted Yuuri, he would give him what he needed. 

Yuuri groaned, “You’re so fucking beautiful. Tell me no one else gets to see you like this.” Victor gasped at his words, the command raising a blush to his cheeks. 

“No one else, Yuuri. Only you.” 

“Promise me you didn’t touch yourself.” Victor’s toes curled as he promised rapidly, desperately.

“Three fingers, baby, I’m almost there. You wanna come with me?”

An errant sob escaped Victor’s lips as he shut his eyes tightly, squeezing his thigh tightly with his spare hand to keep from reaching for his weeping erection. He pushed a third finger in, ignoring the burn to chase the pleasure. 

“Please, let me come, please, please,” Victor cried out. Yuuri cursed, stroking his cock faster. Victor thrust his fingers in time. 

“God, I’m so close, jerk yourself off, Vitya, let me see you come.”

Victor almost cried in relief, finally paying his dick much needed attention. He shook violently as he squeezed the base, sliding his oiled hand up and down to Yuuri’s pace. It was barely thirty seconds before he felt the orgasm rushing towards him. A spasm shook through his body, and he cried out Yuuri’s name as his pleasure spilled over, making a mess of his chest. 

On his phone screen, Yuuri collapsed into his bed as he followed suit, moaning so beautifully. His breath was labored as he dragged his phone over, eyes roaming. Victor felt vulnerable under his gaze as he gulped in lungfuls of air. 

Yuuri smiled softly at him.

“So, how was work today?”

Victor threw his head back and groaned, laughing bemusedly.

Chapter Text

Victor divulged as much of his day as he dared, revealing that he had, in a way, taken his record back like Yuuri had glibly suggested. But maybe his confidence hadn’t been so misplaced. 

“The asshole didn’t have anything to say after that,” Victor snorted, pushing up off the pillows once his torso was sticky and no longer wet. He winced as the dried mess tugged the hairs of his happy trail, shuffling to the edge of the mattress. He needed a shower.

“What about your ex?” 

Victor scowled as he stared down at the phone in his hands. 

“I liked it better when we weren’t talking about Anatoly,” he sniffed. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri chided. He was following Victor’s lead, ambling over to his hotel room shower. “He didn’t bother you again, did he?” 

“No, I didn’t even see him today. Must have been off taking candy from children or drowning puppies.” 

“ Vitya .”

Yuuri sighed, padding back over to his phone on the counter. He gazed down at the camera, somehow finding Victor’s eyes. He looked tired, troubled; Victor was struck by the urge to wrap him in a bear hug and take his exhaustion for him. 

“You’re far too sweet for all that bitterness.” Yuuri’s words stung, not because he was upset by them, but because he knew Yuuri was seeing right through him. Victor’s mind trailed back to those moments on the podium he felt better than Killian. 

When did he start thinking like that? 

Killian was a good skater, he was just bad at dealing with pressure. When did Victor go from encouraging the other skaters to outright dismissing them as competition? Chris had been his fan when they were younger. They never would have become best friends if he had behaved this way back then. 

Even still, Killian was with that fucker. The man that messed up Victor’s head for so long. They probably schemed together during the off-season, laughing about how Victor would react to seeing the quad ratified at his first competition. 

Fuck them.

“Shower time, let’s go,” Yuuri clapped, pulling Victor out of his head. He groaned, forcing his tired body from the bed and into the bathroom. It was just easier to let Yuuri do the thinking. 

In the end, it was a repeat of their last video call. After an hour, Victor was tucked into his bed, all steps of his skin care routine complete, teeth brushed. 

“Plans for tomorrow?” he asked Yuuri, curious what the man was doing on a business trip anyway. 

“I just have a few hours of work in the morning, then I get to go home,” Yuuri yawned. “What time do you think you’ll be back?”

The men’s singles’ exhibition skate was the last of the day, following the women’s singles, pair skates, and ice dancers. He likely wouldn’t reach home until 10 o’clock, and that was a hopeful estimate. 

“Ah, well, busy day again, it’ll probably be past your bedtime,” Victor laughed softly, noting that he was tucked into bed at 9:30 PM, and it was very out of character for him.

Yuuri hummed, setting his glasses down out of frame. “I look forward to seeing more pictures of Makka.” Victor watched Yuuri’s eyelids flutter closed, a small smile playing on his lips. His heart fluttered in kind as he struggled to find sleep. 

-

“You’re gonna skate to this depressing shit, for real?” Little Yuri raved as Victor gripped his skate behind his back, tugging his foot upwards to stretch his leg. 

“It’s not depressing shit , Yurachka, it’s depressing art . I thought you liked this singer.”

“Ya, but I’m not dumb enough to skate to music people actually know the words to,” Yuri allowed Victor to place a hand on his shoulder to steady himself as he switched legs. “They’re gonna start saying shit about you.”

Victor smiled fondly without looking down at Yuri, lest he bite his hand off. “They already say shit about me, kotenok, let it be about something real for once.” And he stepped onto the ice for the last performance of the weekend.

Truthfully, he was nervous about his exhibition. Yakov had a similar stance to Yuri, and he had also taken a try at convincing Victor to pick a different song. But similarly to Stammi Vicino, once he found music that spoke to him, he had a hard time letting it go. He chose it for his exhibition at least, rather than his competition pieces, so Yakov gave up quickly. 

Once he found out there was a Victorian ice skater Barbie, all bets were off. 

At center ice, Victor settled into his starting pose, tucking his chin as he looked down, the fur from his lapel tickling his nose. He had ixnayed the striped skirt, but his costumer had created a beautiful maroon velvet coat with buttons and faux fur collar to match his inspiration. A cellist/pianist duo was commissioned to record an instrumental for him. For the first time in a while, the choices didn’t all feel so pointless, like a waste of energy. 

But now, as he readied to lay his heart bare, the last skater of the night, he felt momentarily terrified. The music began. The show must go on. Victor spun out of his starting pose and poured it all onto the ice.

I used to float, 

Now I just fall down.

I used to know, 

But I’m not sure now, 

What was I made for?

There was no singing on the track, but the words still rang through his head. Victor skated and spun, jumped and danced through his exhibit. Every toe loop, axel, and flip he landed wound the coil in his chest tighter. 

Turns out I’m not real, 

Just something you paid for.

A hush had fallen over the audience. He pushed through a step sequence, letting his hair float around him. 

When did it end, all the enjoyment?

I’m sad again .

A sob tried to crawl out of his throat; he choked it back. Now was not the time to lose it. Yakov was right. Yuri was right. He shouldn’t have picked this song.

Think I forgot how to be happy.

No one wanted to know. They didn’t want to hear this from him. This was not what he was made for.

The music cut off and Victor was breathing heavily, arms wrapped around himself in a hug. His chest heaved with the effort, but he forced a smile onto his face anyway. He held his hands up to the audience as they erupted in applause. He saw the standing ovation, the signs waving, the gifts thrown onto the ice. They didn’t understand. 

Yuri met him at the gate with his guards. Victor pulled them on quickly, and as he was leant over, something settled onto his head. Reaching a hand up, he felt a flower crown and gave Yuri a watery smile. The boy looked uncomfortable, but allowed Victor to wrap his arm around his shoulders as they exited the arena. 

“You got me this?” Victor asked quietly, looking for anything to talk about other than his skate. 

“You wish, old man. One of the flower girls picked it up,” Yuri retorted, gesturing to one of the young skaters that cleared gifts off of the ice. Victor usually donated these flowers and toys, but it was not often that Yuri’s thoughtful side came out, so he kept it on his head. 

“Do you want to talk to them?” The reporters were lined up behind a rope, shouting questions and snapping photos. 

“If I don’t do it now, I’ll just have to do it later.”

Victor tugged his security-Yuri along and maneuvered to the vultures. He smiled his brightest smile and laughed when necessary, hugged his fellow Russian skate team member obnoxiously, and answered their questions like a good gold medalist would. His cheeks ached, his eyes stung. He wanted to go home. 

“Victor! Can you tell us why you picked that song?” He didn’t hear who asked the question. 

With a flourish, he waved a hand over his custom coat. “Can’t you tell? I’m Ice Skating Barbie!” He added a wink and a hair toss, laughing loudly when Yuri swatted away the silver strands. 

“Any truth to the balding rumors?” He ignored the reporter that asked, even as he wanted to shrivel up and die. He was not balding .

“What do you have to say about Killian’s interview?”

Victor’s smile faltered, just barely, before he remembered where he was and picked it back up, brighter and bolder than before.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Sergei.” Fuck you, Sergei.

“Early today, Killian Sommer said you have a big head and that it’s ‘time for a new king to be crowned.’”

Yuri immediately began tugging on Victor’s arm, out of view of the cameras. His blood was chilling in his veins, and if he had eaten dinner, it would have been on the floor already. He wanted to go home. 

Instead, he rolled his shoulders back, his smile sharpening like the blades on his boots. To think he was feeling sorry for Killian a mere twenty-four hours ago. He reached a hand up to his flower crown, stroking the petals before tugging one free. It was a blue rose petal. 

“I need a big head to hold up my crown,” he gave one last cheeky smile to the cameras before turning away, “Get home safe, everyone!”

“Fuck that guy,” Yuri muttered under his breath once they had cleared eavesdropping range. Victor huffed a laugh, planting a kiss on the blond head before letting him go. 

“Language!” Yakov appeared just as they crossed the threshold from the waiting room into the locker room. 

“Oh come on, you heard them, right? They act like that loser even compares. He fucking fell on his face, he’s a disgrace.”

“Uh-uh,” Victor scolded, “No more trash talk, I would like to get home before you cause any fights.”

“That was one time–”

“Yurachka, let’s go to the car. We’ll be by the exit,” his coach patted Victor on the shoulder before dragging little Yuri behind him. Victor sighed, plopping onto the bench to tug his skates off. He wasn’t surprised to be alone; he was the last one to skate so everyone else had seemingly already changed and headed out. He knew better than anyone that recovery time after competitions was important. 

His joints ached more often than not these days. The cold Russian winters froze him solid, requiring hours of time with the trainer and the spa bath each week. Luckily, Makka was like a space heater and she loved to cuddle. 

Changing as quickly as he could, Victor got ready for the journey home. He wanted to get his dog and go to sleep and forget this competition even happened. 

And see Yuuri. 

Skates dried, bag packed, he headed to the door, stopping when he heard voices on the other side. They were muffled, and something drove Victor to nudge the locker room door open to listen. 

“Tolya… I’m sorry.”

A sigh very familiar to Victor and then, “I know, dorogoy, we will fix this. You deserve that gold medal, not him.” 

“What is there to fix? I cannot skate like him– my nerves–”

“Leave it to me. Go home, I will come to you when I can.” He heard words muttered in a language he did not understand, the smacking of lips, and then a door shutting across the room. 

Victor had unconsciously held his breath since he heard Anatoly’s voice. He was talking to Killian, he guessed. He didn’t know who else would be apologizing to him for losing. He scoffed quietly. Anatoly hadn’t changed much, then. 

He felt disconcerted at what he had heard. We will fix this? What does that mean?

Hiking his bag further up his shoulder, he pushed the door open slowly. The room appeared to be empty– the coast was clear. In any case, if Anatoly didn’t want eavesdroppers, he shouldn’t have such conversations in public spaces. Victor was halfway across the waiting room when a voice behind him made him jump. 

“Wow, this spot is really hidden, huh?”

Victor flinched, spinning around. A dark haired man with tan skin and boyish features waved at him cheerily. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” he shrugged his shoulders, sheepish. “You’re just the third person to not notice me. I’ll add this couch to my list of places to nap.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry…” Victor trailed off. The stranger was laying across a sofa, head peeking over the back. He could have been hidden back there when he walked in, and he surely heard the same conversation Victor was eavesdropping on. He debated asking about it. 

“No worries! I’m just waiting to lock up– I work here! You were great today, by the way. I should have started with that.” Sofa-guy waved his ISU badge in Victor’s direction, and it pushed the questions back down his throat. Best not to interrogate Anatoly’s coworkers. 

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” Victor flashed a grin, fingers itching to take the door handle. 

“Like that step sequence, woah, y’know? Really captured the existential dread. And the jacket! So Barbie!” 

His posture softened at the heartfelt praise. “Isn’t it? I saw Victorian Ice Skater Barbie on eBay and I fell in love.” 

“OMG, Victorian, Victor, it was meant to be!” The man clutched the sofa cushions, eyes sparkling. Finally, someone got it. 

“That’s what I thought,” Victor laughed. “Hey, I have to get going, my dog is waiting for me, but it was really nice to meet you.” And he meant it. 

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry to hold you up! Huge fan, obviously, and honestly that second place guy is kind of a dick, I hope you don’t let him get to you. Can we take a selfie? I’m Phichit, by the way.”

Victor posed for a quick photo with Phichit before bidding him adieu, a soft smile on his face as he left the room. His new acquaintance spoke excitedly and with too few breaths, but he was rather endearing. He would make for a good friend, if Victor had time for many of those. 

It was only 9:40 PM by the time the SUV pulled up to his apartment. Victor quickly said his goodbyes, swiping the drool from his chin as he had fallen asleep on the ride home. Yakov thrust his phone at Victor’s chest before he could shut the car door. 

“Get some rest, we have work to do Monday.”

“Monday? I thought–”

“Monday. Rest, Vitya.” 

Yakov tugged the car door shut, and Victor’s hand fell limply to his side. Yakov never gave him an extra day off. A mischievous grin curled around his lips as he turned his phone back on and all but skipped to the elevator. 

Ping. Ping. Ping.

As it came back to life, his phone buzzed with dozens of notifications. Victor made his way to his apartment, scanning through the messages until he located the only ones he cared about. 

>Can you come over now? 

>Bring Makka

>Stay the night

Victor covered his mouth with his fist, hiding his smile in the empty elevator. His stomach swooped in the way that had become so familiar in the recent weeks. He could most definitely come over tonight. He texted back immediately, letting his dom know he just needed to take care of a few things and he’d head on over.

>I made dinner

>The door’s open.

Victor fought back a squeal as he set his luggage in his room, grateful his housekeeper did his laundry so he didn’t have to spare any more time than necessary. He sprinted back out into the hallway and over to his neighbor’s. Victor could hear his precious Makka whining since he had unlocked his own door. 

The door swung open after he knocked, and Victor was immediately engulfed in a flurry of poodle kisses. 

“Back already, Mr. Gold Medal?” His elderly neighbor smiled fondly at the reunion, one hand resting on the doorframe. 

“Yes, yes, Papa could not stand to be away from his golubushka any longer,” Victor coddled his dog, hugging her close to his chest. “Thank you, Paulina.” 

“Pozhaluysta, she is very helpful to me. Cleans my kitchen floor so well.”

They chatted for a few moments before Victor bid her a good night, cooing at his dog on the short walk back to their apartment. 

“We’re going out for a sleepover, Makka. I have a new friend for you to meet.” 

After giving his dog four days of saved up love, and a stuffed animal mini Makka from the ice, Victor dashed into his bedroom to pack an overnight bag, doubling back to measure out dog food and treats for two days. Just in case. 

It wasn’t until stepping out of the shower that Victor heard his phone make another sound. It rang with a call, and he rushed to talk to Yuuri, only to see it was Chris. He laughed at his overeager self before answering, putting it on speaker and resting it on the counter. 

“Congratulations, mon petit chou. I wasn’t sure if you’d be home yet.”

“Thank you, Chris. I just got back, but I’m actually heading out again soon.” He toweled off quickly. 

“Ah, one gold medal and it’s already time to party? And without me?”

“No, no, you know I’m getting too old for that, especially without you,” Victor chuckled at the offended tone. 

“What a life we lead, where 29 is too old to enjoy a Friday night,” his friend sighed wistfully, even though Victor was sure he was enjoying his night just fine. 

“Well, there’s no party tonight, but I’ll be enjoying myself, don’t you worry,” Victor smirked. 

“Oh, I wasn’t worried, but do share. What kind of mischief are you getting yourself into tonight?”

“I’m staying at Yuuri’s tonight,” Victor answered with a blush, pulling his clothes on. He chose his nicest, softest loungewear, his sexiest underwear. 

“You’re what ?” 

“Really, I should have called you sooner. Thank you so much for introducing us. He is just… perfect.”

“Oh my god, I heard you correctly?!” Chris exclaimed. “I knew it, I knew he was what you needed. I’m a genius. Someone give me a medal.”

“I’ll give you one next time I see you, dearest.”

“Tell me, how much extra do you pay him for overnights?”

“Chris!” Victor exclaimed, laughing as he shoved his feet into socks. 

“Really, Vitya, I once offered the man five thousand extra dollars, and he still refused! You’d think he’d be happy getting triple his usual just for some cuddling, but I could never convince him,” his friend sighed wistfully. 

Triple his usual?  

What?

Chapter Text

As if on auto-pilot, Victor had clipped on the dog leash, picked up his bag, and headed out with his girl at his side. His head was swimming during the short drive. Chris paid Yuuri? Thousands of dollars? Yuuri charged people thousands of dollars for… What? What did he do for Chris?

Question after question spun round and round in his head, but the one thing he kept getting stuck on was that Chris had been with Yuuri before. It was a stupid thing to get stuck on. Of course Chris had been with Yuuri; how else would he have known that Yuuri would be so good to him? He had experienced it himself. Who did Victor think he was, having a problem with that?

It wasn’t until he had put his car in park that he realized what that problem was. Jealousy. 

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, climbing out of the car with his things. Makka dutifully hopped out, and Victor let her cutely carry her own leash, knowing she wouldn’t roam far in an unfamiliar place. 

Jealousy was not familiar. It made him behave irrationally, cutting Chris off to say he had to feed Makka before he left, even though she had already eaten. He just didn’t want to talk to his friend anymore. He always wanted to talk to Chris. 

Victor was not used to wanting things he could not have. This situation was even worse, for he already had what he wanted. He was jealous over something that had happened before he had even met Yuuri. And they had signed a contract. Yuuri wouldn’t just leave for another submissive. Not one that paid him, or one that behaved better. 

Right?

A panic seized his chest, and he whistled to his dog, who was already heeling. They bustled inside, and Victor called for the elevator, not wanting to stress his sweet girl too much this late in the evening. His knees weren’t the only ones that ached, he knew. 

“Come, Makka,” Victor murmured when the doors slid open on Yuuri’s floor. “Everything’s okay.”

He bit down, clenching his jaw once, twice before he opened the door he had so missed since he last opened it. A light in the kitchen was on, and it illuminated a small blur moving fast to the entrance where he and Makkachin stood. A smaller version of his own dog pounced, tail wagging, almost vibrating in excitement

“Oh! Hello! Vicchan? Look at you, little kroshka, you look just like a baby Makka!” Victor pushed the door shut behind him, dropping to his knees and cooing to the angel he had not expected to find tonight. He held the small brown dog in his arms as he was lathed in kisses, Makkachin excitedly nosing at her new friend. After a few seconds, both dogs grew bored of his affection and bounded away, leaving Victor grinning in the pile of his things on the floor. 

He huffed amusedly, blowing his hair out of his face. Looking up, Victor froze where he sat,  heart thumping in his chest. Across the room, he saw Yuuri. He was shirtless, pantsless, clad in his tight black boxer briefs, hair messy, glasses on; Victor waited for his heart to climb out of his throat at the sight of his dom leaning on the wall, arms crossed and watching him. 

Before he could think of something to say, Yuuri had pushed off the wall and stalked toward him with intense focus. In a few broad steps, he was in front of Victor, holding a hand out, and once he accepted it, Yuuri hoisted him up, pushed him against the closed door and claimed his lips. Finally.

All at once, the world shrank down to the space between their bodies. Yuuri pushed his coat off his shoulders, then tugged at his thigh, encouraging Victor to wrap his legs around his hips. God, the way he had missed Yuuri’s manhandling of his almost-six-foot frame. He let out a moan that was swallowed down by his dom as he ground his rising erection down on Yuuri’s.

He turned his head to catch his breath, lips trailing down his jaw to his neck. Yuuri kissed down to his collarbone, then licked a trail back up, sucking Victor’s earlobe into his mouth. Victor shuddered as Yuuri’s hand slid under his sweater, and suddenly, Victor remembered. 

“Wait,” Victor started just before Yuuri’s lips found his own again. Immediately, Yuuri pulled back, leaving him space to breathe. Concerned eyes found his, even as their chests rose and fell with extra effort. “Can we… talk?”

Yuuri studied his face, still holding him up and against the door. He backed up slowly, but didn’t let go. “Of course. Do you need me to put you down?” 

A blush rose fast, and Victor shook his head, wrapping his arms tight around Yuuri to tuck his face down against his neck. They started moving, Yuuri taking light steps with Victor in his arms. Yuuri’s thumb rubbed up and down where it rested on Victor’s thigh, soothing his frantic heart. 

In the kitchen, Yuuri set him down on a barstool, planting a kiss on his forehead before pulling away. “Hungry?”

A rumble from Victor’s stomach answered before he opened his mouth, and Yuuri turned to his oven, barely hiding his fond smile. Victor watched in silence as dinner was plated up, mouthwatering smells wafting to where he was seated. Yuuri sprinkled green onions over two bowls before he brought them to the island, setting them across from each other. 

“This smells so good,” Victor closed his eyes in bliss, “What is it?” 

Yuuri set two pairs of chopsticks down before pulling his own stool out. “Katsudon. My mom used to make it for me whenever I did really well in school. I thought you deserved it after the past few days.” 

Victor longed to throw himself across the counter, if not for the hot bowls of hard earned dinner in his way. Yuuri kept his eyes down, looking more bashful than Victor was used to seeing him. He reached a hand across, resting his on Yuuri’s, shocking him into meeting his gaze. 

“Thank you,” Victor squeezed his hand before releasing it to pick up his chopsticks. 

“So, uh, it’s a pork cutlet with some rice, the onions are cooked in a sweet soy sauce, all topped with egg. I hope you like it.”

Victor tucked in, sighing in contentment after the first bite. “I love it.” 

Yuuri grinned at him before he started on his own bowl. The home cooked meal warmed him from the inside out. They ate quickly in silence, Victor determined to flush away his anxiety with the dinner his dom made for him. 

That ever bitter part of him wondered if Yuuri had ever made katsudon for Chris. If Yuuri ever carried Chris around the apartment when he felt clingy. If Yuuri ever called him the way he called Victor.

“I spoke to Chris today,” Victor blurted out when he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore.  

“Oh? How’s he doing?” Yuuri didn’t hesitate as he responded, lifting another bite to his mouth. A knot loosened in Victor’s chest. 

“He’s good,” Victor nodded, setting his chopsticks down. “He said something a little strange.”

At that, Yuuri stopped eating to look up at Victor. Was he really doing this?

“He uh, he asked how much I pay you to spend the night with me.” Victor pushed his hair behind his ears, wrapping his arms around himself in a hug. 

Victor watched Yuuri stiffen, slowing down and setting his own chopsticks down. 

“I mean, not that I have an issue with how you choose to make money, I’m just confused because I thought our contract was just–”

“Victor,” Yuuri stopped his rambling, reaching across the island to him. Victor immediately took his hand. “It’s okay. I should have told you sooner.”

His heart sank at the way that Yuuri smiled at him. The sad smile that softened his features and the squeeze of his hand that felt like he was saying goodbye. 

“Told me what?” Victor asked desperately, clinging to his hand. 

“My family was struggling with their business when it was time for me to go to college,” Yuuri started. He got up from his stool to circle around to Victor’s side of the island, pulling him by the hand until Victor got up to follow him. Yuuri whistled and four pairs of paws came skittering out to meet them at the sofa. 

“I didn’t really know what to do, I considered just living at home and working at the onsen. But then, my friend offered his spare room, he pushed me to get into a physical medicine program. I’m glad he did, but school here is expensive.” Yuuri nudged him to sit down, guiding Makka and Vicchan to snuggle into Victor’s side. He sat down at Victor’s feet, running his fingers up and down his calves.  

“I couldn’t burden my parents any more, so I found lots of part-time jobs. Then, one day, I had a PT client tell me he would pay to have someone dominate him like me,” Yuuri blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. Victor agreed with his client wholeheartedly, but stayed quiet as he pet both dogs on his lap.

“I was mortified, but when I told my friend about it, he said I should go for it. While I was drunk one night, we made an account on one of those BDSM websites, eventually I went to a few sex clubs, and somehow, I found something I was good at other than physical therapy.”

“Well, I can definitely say you’re good at it,” Victor smiled weakly, looking down.

“I stopped doing it once my loans were paid off,” Yuuri took both of Victor’s hands in his own. “I told myself that if I ever became someone’s dom again, it would be only because I wanted to.”

Victor’s brain short circuited, looping because I wanted to over and over again. “Only?”

“Yes, Vitya.” Hearing Yuuri return to using his diminutive lathed a soothing balm over his irritation. 

“So you didn’t just leave a page off the contract by accident then,” Victor joked weakly, still uncomfortable.

Yuuri smiled sadly up at him, “It wasn’t an accident, no.”

He didn’t know why Yuuri was looking at him like that, but he hated whatever the reason was. He had been looking forward to this reunion for days, and Victor was ruining it.

“Sorry, I know this is crazy, but I am kind of crazy, or I’ve been told I’m kind of crazy– you and Chris, um,” Victor didn’t know how to ask the question eating him up from the inside. 

“You’re not crazy,” Yuuri said immediately, “Chris was one of my first friends here, met him at a dance class. It had been over a year since I last saw him that he called me to see if I was still in St. Petersburg. I almost turned him down right away, but then he told me who you were.”

Yuuri blushed again, not meeting Victor’s eyes, missing the way his entire body froze with the shock of what he heard. Chris did not tell Yuuri who Victor was. There was no chance he would betray his privacy like that, not after spending so long consoling him post-Killian. 

“I mean, his beautiful best friend was looking for a dom, was exactly my type and loved poodles? Who was I to say no?”

In an instant, relief washed over him, a laugh bubbling out of Victor’s mouth without his permission. Yuuri grinned up at him, even as his ears burned scarlet. 

“That’s all it took? Hey Yuuri, my bestie wants to get railed by someone with really good aftercare, you game?” Victor giggled at his impersonation of Chris, his friend that he was definitely no longer jealous of. 

“He was a little more eloquent than that, surprisingly enough.” 

“Hm, are you sure we’re talking about the same Chris?”

“Never wears enough clothes, takes any excuse to pole dance for an audience?”

“I have tucked a few bills into a thong or two of his,” Victor snickered, smile softening the longer he looked at Yuuri. An idea lightbulbed into existence. He nudged the dogs away, sliding off the couch.

“I could tuck a few into yours too, y’know.” Victor slithered into Yuuri’s lap, running out of reasons to keep his distance. He wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s neck and brushed their lips together lightly. “I am very good at my job and perfectly capable of paying you for your services.”

Yuuri leaned back, even as Victor chased his mouth. “Vitya, no, I don’t want–”

Victor’s hands were suddenly pulled back behind his back from where they tried to snake into Yuuri’s hair. He let out a gasp at the sudden tension, a mix of arousal and bashfulness tinting his breath. 

“Did you just miss the entire point of our conversation or are you trying to get punished, VItya?” 

“Neither,” Victor said fervently, whimpering as Yuuri bit down gently on his earlobe. 

“I don’t want you for your money.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Yuuri pulled back, pressing kisses into his jaw on the way. He stared into Victor’s blue eyes until he decided whether or not to believe him. He must have found what he was looking for, because a smirk bloomed on his face. 

“I thought I was supposed to be the Daddy here,” Yuuri released Victor’s arms, instead slipping his hands into his waistband, palming Victor’s ass and pulling him closer. Victor groaned as his cock pressed up against Yuuri’s, even with layers of clothing between them. 

“You can be the Daddy the rest of the time.”

“I want all of the time.”

“I don’t want to have to share you,” Victor whispered as he leaned down to his dom, admitting the last of his fears. 

“You won’t.” His lips captured in a kiss, Victor melted into Yuuri’s arms, fitfully but finally. He let Yuuri coax his mouth open, parting his lips to let their tongues meet. Before he absorbs into the moment, Victor draws away again, “But you’ll tell me if you need anything right? At least promise me that. Really, Yuura, I have more than what I need, and you give me so much.” 

Yuuri growled, lunging forward to claim Victor with a bruising kiss, trapping him against the couch. “I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Money.” Yuuri pushed his hands into his impossible lover’s long silver hair, pulling it gently. 

“We had an agreement. You are my sub, you do as I say.” He punctuated each sentence with a firm kiss. “You will not give me any of your money. You will orgasm with me. You will get a full eight hours of sleep. Understand?”

Victor’s eyes shone with joy, pupils blown out in desire and cheeks pink with excitement. Was this real? Was he going to wake up one day and realize this was all a dream? He really ought to call Chris back and apologize.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Victor tumbled onto the bed where Yuuri dropped him. The door swung shut, leaving the dogs to entertain themselves. He barely had a second to right himself before Yuuri was on him again. His sweater came off, ripped over his head and flung off the mattress, and then Victor’s hands were pinned above his head, wrists in Yuuri’s grip.

“I owe you a punishment for that little hairdryer stunt and a reward for a job well done. Which do you want first?” Yuuri hovered over him, asking an impossible question. Everything with Yuuri felt like a reward. 

“I don’t know what stunt you’re talking about,” Victor’s chin jutted out defiantly, weakly tugging on his wrists, knowing he would mourn the loss if he was released. 

“Pick one, or you go to sleep and pick one tomorrow,” Yuuri threatened, tightening his grip deliciously. 

Victor whined, trying to seek out Yuuri’s lips unsuccessfully. The wait had been too long, they got interrupted by Yakov, by his own outburst, by the distance between them. He needed Yuuri like he needed air to breathe. He wrapped his legs around his waist, squeezing tight to try to pull Yuuri down to him, but he just laughed. The cheeky brunette released Victor’s hands to grip his thighs, pushing his knees close to his chest. 

“Ah, ah, please stop-” Victor wheezed, and immediately Yuuri released him, looking worried. Curling into a ball, he reached a hand out to his concerned dom placatingly. “No, come back, my legs are just so tight.”

Victor had dodged the team’s creepy physical therapist as often as he could, stretching and icing at home instead whenever he could. He had skipped his nightly routine for rushing to Yuuri instead, and it showed. 

“You scared me, I thought I hurt you,” Yuuri chided. He pulled at Victor’s ankles, unraveling the man slowly, rolling him onto his belly in the center of Yuuri’s bed. The physical therapist Victor forgot was in the room pressed his thumbs into knotted hamstrings, eliciting a groan. 

“Sorry, I usually stretch at night, but I was in a hurry.”

“Don’t apologize for rushing to me,” Yuuri flashed him a brilliant smile. “You could have asked for manual, Vitya. You know what I do.” 

He hated getting manual treatment from Trogat, so much so that Victor told Yakov he would hire his own PT, but the RSF wouldn’t approve someone else. Apparently it was unseemly for the Russian legend to have separate resources from the rest of the team, so he was stuck getting weekly ice deliveries for ice baths at home and learning how to foam roll his tight muscles on his own. 

“I didn’t really think about it,” Victor admitted, smothering his moan into the bed when Yuuri worked through a particularly tight band of muscle in his thigh. 

“Okay, you’ll get your reward first then,” Yuuri tapped his butt before leaving the bed entirely. “Stay there.”

Victor sighed in contentment, resting his chin on his hands and closing his eyes. He was ridiculously horny and had been since Yuuri kissed him, but there was no chance in hell he was going to pass up this opportunity to be putty in his hands. 

The familiar slip of fabric brushed his face; the blindfold was being tied around his eyes, making him gasp.  

“I thought I was getting my reward first,” Victor all but whimpered. Yuuri brushed his hand over his ice blond hair. 

“The blindfold isn’t a punishment, Vitya,” Yuuri soothed. He pressed a kiss to Victor’s shoulder before speaking lowly in his ear. “They say when you lose one of your senses, the others get stronger. Don’t think about anything else, just focus on me.”

Victor was not well versed in not thinking. Sure, he had seen those videos about being a Passenger Princess, but he had never once been able to turn his brain off with his partner. He didn’t know how to close his eyes and let someone else drive.  

The blindfold was smooth, satin, maybe even silk. The cool fabric against his skin was comfortable instead of stifling. Victor settled his head on his crossed arms, waiting. 

Yuuri stood up, leaving Victor’s side, who stiffened insecurely. He flinched as a hand trailed down his bare back.

“I’m here,” Yuuri’s voice met his ears gently, sounding so much closer than he was. Fingers slipped into his waistband, tugging his sweatpants and underwear down as he lifted his hips to assist, leaving him naked on the bed. 

“You had a difficult trip, time to relax.”

Something cold dripped onto Victor’s thighs, eliciting a shiver. Yuuri smoothed his hands down both legs, spreading the substance before focusing his attention on his left hamstring. The massage had hardly begun when Victor yelped, involuntarily moving away from the pain. Yuuri’s hands followed, pressing in again, albeit softer than before. 

“So tight,” Yuuri grunted as he kneaded out the knots, sparking an interest in Victor’s gut. “I bet you couldn’t even touch your toes right now.”

“Guilty,” Victor flushed, thinking about how he hadn’t even tried to for several days. Yuuri’s voice looped in his head, calling him so tight over and over.

Yuuri ran his thumbs in small circles, starting at the back of his knee and moving upwards. The competition felt lightyears away. Even the katsudon, delicious as it was, was already forgotten in Victor’s mind. He sighed as Yuuri pushed and pulled, stretching him like dough. Time dilated in the room, just for them, both a second and a century all at once. It hurt so good. 

At some point during the sweet torture, his eyes had closed under the blindfold. The heat from Yuuri’s hands felt a hundred times hotter, Yuuri’s breaths just that much louder. Which way was up, was he floating or still on the mattress? 

“I’m going to stretch your hip flexor,” Yuuri warned before bracing one hand on his lower back and the other under his knee, pulling his leg up slowly. He repeated the motion on the other side, backing off when Victor hissed, but still stretching him. He tried to relax and take deep breaths– tensing wouldn’t help Yuuri– but he couldn’t help how his body reacted to his touch. 

His leg settled back onto the bed and then gentle hands rolled him onto his back. More of the oil spilled onto his thighs and Yuuri settled to repeat the massage on his quads. The air chilled his skin everywhere the oil touched, even places it didn’t, despite the heat of his arousal. Yuuri’s hands trailed infinitesimally closer to his hardening cock, though never touching. Victor bit back a whine, not wanting to be a brat when he was being treated so well. 

“Okay, let’s try that again, hmm?” Yuuri lifted one of Victor’s legs straight up, maneuvering so his calf rested on Yuuri’s shoulder, his dom’s bare chest pressing into his skin. Gently leaning forward, Yuuri used his weight to stretch his hamstring. There was less pain this time, sufficiently loosened from the massage, but Victor gasped. 

Somewhere along the line, Yuuri had divested himself of his own clothes, and his erection pressed up against Victor’s balls. He felt Yuuri grind down gently as he pushed Victor’s knee close to his chest, short-circuiting his brain, entire body twitching involuntarily. 

Victor keened at the touch, wanting more contact, more friction. Yuuri pulled away immediately, switching sides. Still, Victor stayed silent even as his breathing shallowed. Yuuri said this was a reward. Everything was okay. 

“So flexible with a little TLC,” Yuuri casually remarked as he stretched Victor’s other hamstring, sliding in close to his sub’s body once again. He slotted his knees on either side of the man below him, rocking his throbbing member against the base of Victor’s as he pulsed the stretch. 

“Do you want to try touching your toes now?” 

Victor decided Yuuri was actually a sadist. 

“I want to touch something else,” Victor’s words melted into a whine as Yuuri pulled away. Again. He felt Yuuri set his leg down gently before surprising him, moving to straddle him.

“Oh yeah? Well I think it’s time for your punishment.” Suddenly, the blindfold pulled away from his eyes; Victor preemptively winced at the change before registering the lights had dimmed since they entered. Quickly, Yuuri came into focus above him. Victor flushed at the view. 

His glasses were off. With or without, Yuuri was beautiful. There weren’t enough words to describe the mesmerizing way his muscles rippled as he moved, the silver stretch marks wrapping around his hips as if to tell Victor where to place his hands. The hard planes of his abs trailing down to his work-of-art dick. If he were a sculptor, Yuuri’s dick would be immortal. 

The Greek god deserving of a statue was on his knees, smirking down at Victor as he reached one hand behind him. 

“Your punishment is that you can’t come until I do,” and with that, Yuuri grasped Victor’s leaking  erection with an oily hand and slid down on it, all in one motion. 

Victor jerked violently, not expecting the– it. Not expecting any of it. Yuuri closed his eyes, groaning as he bottomed out, taking all of Victor, which was no small feat. His height, his large shoe size, his big hands; it didn’t stop there. 

“Blyat,” he cursed, eyes wide, sitting up and scrambling to find a grip on Yuuri’s hips. He tried desperately to melt his lower half into the bed and pull the other man upwards. ”You’re going to hurt yourself, zolotse.”

“I’ve waited for this for days,” Yuuri grinned cheekily, rolling his hips comfortably, soliciting a moan from his sub. “I’ve been ready for you since you got home.”

Blessed with an active imagination, images of Yuuri preparing himself invaded his mind. He came home from his trip, he showered. Did he shave today? Did he touch himself in the shower? In this bed ? Victor cursed again, wishing he had been earlier, wishing he had been the one to open Yuuri up to take him. 

His hands flexed, kneading Yuuri’s hips, pushing and pulling. By the amused smile on his dom’s face, he didn’t mind Victor’s testing, rocking back and forth in time. Yuuri leaned in, swallowing down Victor’s gasps and moans with a devouring kiss. He slipped his tongue in Victor’s mouth, tasting him. Victor would give up katsudon to always be able to taste this. 

Yuuri fisted one hand into Victor’s hair, wrapping the long strands around his fingers until he was dragged out of the kiss, panting. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Yuuri whispered, looking down at him intensely. Victor’s cock twitched at the praise, pulling a gasp out of Yuuri. He smiled mischievously, squeezing the life out of Victor in response. “Are you ready to keep being good for me?”

At Victor’s emphatic nod, he lifted his hips and promptly slammed back down, taking all of his submissive’s cock at once. Yuuri rode Victor hard and fast, his own dick ignored and forgotten, bouncing against his abdomen. 

It was quickly too much and not enough. Victor’s breathing was erratic as he watched and felt Yuuri around him. He had thrown his head back, gripping tightly to Victor’s shoulders for balance. Victor let go of Yuuri’s hips– he didn’t need the help. Yuuri rode him masterfully, leaving Victor’s hands free to trace up his sides, smoothing up Yuuri’s chest to rub his thumbs over his nipples. At Yuuri’s encouraging moan, Victor pinched gently. 

“Fuck. Again,” Yuuri ordered him, as if he wasn’t already planning to tug the hard nubs crying for attention. He pinched again obediently, noting how Yuuri clenched around him, milking him for everything he’s worth and more. 

He wouldn’t last like this. He didn’t dare look down. Surely, the sight of his cock disappearing into Yuuri would be his end.

Victor, keeping an eye on Yuuri’s closed eyes, slipped a hand down to Yuuri’s weeping erection. Quickly, he wrapped a hand around it, pressing his thumb against the slit to collect the bead of precum that had formed. Yuuri jerked violently in his grip, eyes flashing as he glared down at Victor. 

“Don’t make this end,” he gripped Victor’s wrist, trying to pull his hand away. Victor didn’t let go. 

“I can’t– I don’t want to disappoint you,” Victor all but sobbed, feeling the ache to orgasm rising alarmingly fast.

“You won’t disappoint me, baby,” Yuuri slowed down, but kept up the steady motion, relishing in the drag of Victor’s cock against the rim of tight muscle. “You can wait for me, I know you can.” 

Yuuri cupped Victor’s face in his hands, letting Victor resume stroking his length. Victor looked wrecked, he was sure of it. He wasn’t even fully conscious of his own actions, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s back to hold him close. He thought of ice skating, of quadruple flips and axels, of walking Makkachin in the cold, of listening to Yuri talk about cheetah print. 

Then he shifted his hips. 

Yuuri let out a shouted expletive– at least that was what it sounded like. It seemed to be in Japanese. Victor realized with a dulled satisfaction that he must have angled towards the man’s prostate gland, dulled because he was in the middle of recalling Yakov’s last lecture on the evils of junior skaters jumping quads. 

With renewed vigor, Victor dug his heels in and used his remaining energy and control to rut up against Yuuri, hitting his prostate with every thrust. It was evident by Yuuri’s endless stream of Japanese that his aim was true. The sight of the man above him losing his grasp on the English language made his grip on his own orgasm slip. Fuck, Yuuri was hot. 

“Fuck me,” Yuuri chanted over and over, collapsing against Victor and letting his lover control the pace. Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri in a vice grip, fucking his dom hard and fast, the days of pent of frustration and longing bolstering his tired body. 

“Please, come for me, Yuuri, please, please,” Victor begged shamelessly, driving into the tight, wet heat, simultaneously of sound mind and ready to plead insanity. 

“Kuso, you’re perfect, you’re so good for me. Your cock was made to fuck me. I’m–” Yuuri cut himself off with a wail, curling forward and pulling Victor’s hair hard as his orgasm arrived. 

Yuuri’s grip on both his hair and his cock along with the hot splatter of his dom’s release on his chest did Victor in. With a shout, Victor fucked Yuuri through his orgasm, hips stuttering as his own climax triggered. There was nothing little about this death.

His cock pulsed inside of Yuuri, who was still moaning in his ear, though more subdued than before. Victor’s body sank into the bed, finally still, but Yuuri, sweet Yuuri kept the afterglow going, rocking back and forth slowly. His spend afforded a frictionless glide of his half-hard cock against Victor’s abs, and his asshole clenched involuntarily around the girth spreading him open. 

Eventually, Yuuri stopped moving. Neither man remembered when Victor had laid back, but they stayed content in their small pile, catching their breath in the otherwise silent room. 

It was minutes before either of them shifted, but Yuuri acted first. He slowly sat up, letting Victor slide out, moaning softly. Victor looked up at him, feeling a little bashful. He had made it through his punishment, but he wondered if Yuuri thought he had played fair. Fucking Yuuri wasn’t really much of a punishment, in his opinion. 

“Feeling okay?” Yuuri asked softly, settling at Victor’s side, propped up on his elbow. He brushed a hand over Victor’s hair, resting it on the back of his neck, just below his ear. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt better,” Victor admitted truthfully. Yuuri let out a surprised laugh. 

“I’m sure you felt pretty good taking your record back.” Victor flinched like Yuuri had hit him. 

“I did that because I had to,” Victor whispered, closing his eyes. “It makes me so tired .”

He felt Yuuri shift beside him, an arm sliding under his head and a slight pressure asking him to turn. He acquiesced, curling into Yuuri, ignoring the sticky mess on his skin. Yuuri pressed a kiss to his head in a silent apology.

“Do you always feel that way?”

“This used to be my dream. I don’t know when it started feeling so exhausting.” He didn’t. He just skated, just performed, and one day he realized he wasn’t happy anymore. 

“Do you still… do you want to stop?” Yuuri questioned. He wondered if Yuuri would still be asking if he knew who he was. What he was. 

A means for Russia to show off. A paycheck for his team of publicists and costumers and the RSF. The standard to which all other skaters held themselves to. 

“I can’t,” Victor breathed.

“You always have a choice, Vitya.”

“I choose to be happy here,” he turned his face up to look at Yuuri. The tenderness in his dom’s expression stung his eyes, but he didn’t look away. 

“You deserve more than just “here”.” 

He smiled sadly up at him, the man feeling so righteous on his behalf. 

“I’m good at what I do, Yuuri. Just like you,” Victor added, flexing his calves to test the tightness. He would be sore tomorrow, that was certain, but he felt confident that Yuuri would stretch him out again if he asked. 

“I’m sure you are, but do you even like it?”

“I did. I do, sometimes. It’s a part of me and I don’t know what else I have to offer the world, anyway.”

“You don’t have to offer the world anything. You don’t have to be useful to deserve happiness.” 

Victor’s breath hitched. He swallowed around a lump in his throat.

“I don’t know if everyone else feels that way.” 

“They’re wrong,” Yuuri’s embrace tightened around him. He felt warm, safe. “What do you want to do, Vitya?”

“I,” Victor started. “I don’t know. Nobody asks me that anymore. I just have to keep going.” He paused briefly. Did he want to keep going? It was complicated. Skating had been his first love. It was his everything. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that blind dedication had been what landed him in this state. 

But it was the only thing he was ever good at. Killian would take it away from him, he couldn’t stop now. He needed to prove he was still the best, prove he can still surprise everyone. 

“I have something I still need to do,” Victor was resolute. He would get the lutz in his program and he would do better. More. The GPF gold was his. 

Yuuri gazed at him intently, eyes roving his face as if verifying his resolve. 

“Let me work on you,” Yuuri proclaimed. “You don’t have to tell me what you’re doing or whatever schemes you’re planning, but I keep finding you with bruises and tight muscles. Come here for PT. Let me take care of you” 

There was a pleading note in his voice, but he didn’t need to beg. Yuuri could do whatever he wanted with Victor’s body. In Victor’s mind, it already belonged to him. 

“Thank you,” Victor smiled genuinely before leaning in for a kiss. Yuuri groaned, rolling on top of Victor before slipping his tongue past his lips. They wrestled for control until they ran out of air, pulling away to gulp down oxygen. 

“Let’s go get clean,” Yuuri pushed up off the bed, taking Victor’s hands to guide him up. Victor stood on shaky legs, wishing he could have climbed back into Yuuri’s strong arms, but surely there had to be a limit on how many times he could be carried like a baby.

The topsheet on the bed had oil stains and pools of cooled semen dotting it. Victor blushed as he recalled making the mess and turned to ask Yuuri where he kept the clean linens, but he was already rolling the fabric up, clearing the evidence of their frantic romp in seconds.

“Sex blankets are a gift,” Yuuri grinned at Victor as he registered that their bodily fluids hadn’t seeped through to the layer beneath. A gift indeed. Victor made a note to buy Yuuri several more of those blankets. A worthy investment to save on the water bill. 

A long shower canceled out any of those savings, and forty minutes later, the pair and their respective dogs were curled up in Yuuri’s bed. Makkachin had taken to Vicchan like they were siblings, and they really looked like they could have been, had Makka not been three times the size of Yuuri’s dog. 

Victor laid in the big bed, bundled in soft clothes that didn’t belong to him but made him feel like he belonged. They laid facing each other, Victor’s hands wrapped up in Yuuri’s grasp, pressed against Yuuri’s lips. 

“I’m so lucky I met you,” Victor whispered into the darkness, a void where he could say all the scary and personal things he wanted without any repercussions. 

“The honor is mine,” Yuuri kissed his knuckles one at a time. 

One of the dogs moved to rest their head on Victor’s knees, curled up in the crook of his legs. It felt too light to be Makka. His heart melted at the thought of Vicchan choosing to snuggle up with him. 

“What is it?” Nothing slipped past Yuuri. 

“Your dog has accepted me,” Victor huffed a laugh quietly, trying not to disturb mini-Makka’s sleep. 

“He’s a great judge of character.”

Victor whimpered, and immediately, Yuuri tugged his hands, pulling Victor in to hold him against his chest. 

“Shh, Vitya,” he hushed. “Go to sleep. No more getting emotional about dogs tonight.” 

Vicchan slept faithfully at his side through the jostling, and with Yuuri’s heartbeat in his ear, he too found his dreams.

Chapter Text

Something wet brushed against Victor’s face. He wrinkled his nose and sleepily turned his head away. A moment later, he felt something wet against his other cheek. 

He groaned. “Makka, please wait. Papa is tired.” 

A weight settled on top of Victor, and then a breath tickled his ear. 

“Daddy isn’t tired.”

The amused tone in Yuuri’s voice painted a blush on Victor’s cheeks. Right. He wasn’t at home or alone. He opened his eyes to squint at the man on top of him. It was fairly dark, and there was no sign of either dog. Yuuri’s hair looked wet, slicked back away from his face. He was shirtless, Victor’s cock took notice, stirring between his legs. God, he hoped he was fully naked.

“I took the dogs with me for my run and fed them,” Yuuri explained, peeling the blanket away. “They’re back to napping, and I showered, but I can’t wait for you any longer.”

Victor stretched, groaning at the pleasant soreness that reminded him of the previous night. His eyes remained hooded, body boneless as Yuuri stripped away his pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and so when his cock bobbed in the air, he let out a soft, satisfied moan. 

“Do you remember the first day we met?” Yuuri spoke so softly, Victor didn’t know if he was just imagining the words. “Your list? You didn’t know what somnophilia was.” 

Yes, Victor remembered. They had discussed dozens of kinks, and while Victor felt he was fairly well acquainted with most of them, he had needed to ask for an explanation. 

“You thought about it for a long time,” Yuuri left Victor’s sweatshirt on, tugging the blanket around them in a warm cocoon. The sleepy heat made it easy for him to close his eyes again. “You told me you wanted to try it with me. Do you still want that?” 

He felt safe and surrounded. Yuuri was pressed against his front, his shampoo smelled familiar and clean. Water dripped onto Victor’s collarbone, and Yuuri leaned in to lick it from his skin. 

“Everything is okay if it’s with you,” Victor murmured, opening his eyes fully once, twice, to look at Yuuri before succumbing to the drowsiness again. He was awake, for now, even though it all felt like a delicious dream. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Yuuri slid down his body, disappearing into the blankets. He heard more words but they were muffled by the distance and the fabric. 

His reaction time felt slowed, but a kiss to the head of his erection still drew a moan from his lips. Yuuri kissed his way down, lathing his hardness in affection before he arrived at Victor’s balls, tight from his arousal. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to each side before opening his mouth to suck hard, drawing one of his testicles in to Victor’s surprise. He jolted, groaning as Yuuri repeated the act to his other side. 

He didn’t stop there. Yuuri nudged until Victor spread his legs, pulling his knees up until his feet rested on the mattress. He spent a few minutes peppering kisses on his bare skin, long enough for Victor to start drifting again. 

The bed was arguably the most comfortable he had ever laid in. Victor was cradled in memory foam, assuaging his aching body the way Yuuri had. Yuuri. His Yuuri. 

He wanted to share everything with this man. He wanted to dance with Yuuri. He wanted to skate for him, alongside him. He wanted to wake up in his embrace, go for jogs with him, make dinner with him. With his eyes closed, everything good in his life was Yuuri. 

There was an insistent pressure between his legs. It was gentle and arousing. Victor wanted more of it. He rocked his hips down on it, moaning into the still air. Something was pressing against his hole. He wanted it to press harder. The ring of muscle fluttered uncontrollably as it was massaged. 

He felt a brief vibration, drawing another moan. Victor stayed persistent, seeking out more and more. He imagined Yuuri, naked above him, but this time, he was guiding his cock to press against his asshole. He keened at the mental image, thrusting his hips down harder against the gentle hardness. 

In one rocking motion, he achieved more . He felt an intrusion, small but probing, It pushed inside him, rubbing against his walls and lighting his nerve endings on fire. There was no burn, hardly any friction, just pure pleasure. The room filled with the sounds of his pleasure, small gasps, small moans. He was on the precipice of dreams and wakefulness, and he only wanted whichever one gave him more of this. 

A few thrusts later, and Victor was empty. But he didn’t have long to mourn, as it took only a moment for the probe to be replaced by another, slightly bigger intruder. Somewhere in his subconscious, Victor registered the sensations: Yuuri rimming him, slipping his tongue in and humming. The sweet slip of lube, or maybe it was more oil. Yuuri’s tongue being replaced by a finger. 

Yuuri was stretching him open. Victor passively spread his legs further, making his consent clear, giving his dom all the room he needed to wreck him. 

Yuuri stroked his walls, fucking into Victor in a steady rhythm with one finger, then slipping in another. He scissored his fingers slowly, pulling more moans from the half-asleep man. The fuzziness began to fade from the fringes of Victor’s consciousness. 

Then Yuuri curled his fingers, finding that spot that pulled Victor fully from his sleep. He prodded and rubbed as Victor gasped loudly, curling forward and reaching in Yuuri’s direction. Victor’s eyes were definitely open now, and he ripped the covers away to find a naked man laying between his legs, watching his own fingers intently. 

“Yuuri,” Victor groaned, voice hoarse. He threw his head back down on the pillow, overwhelmed. 

“Good morning, Vitya,” Yuuri pushed a third finger inside him, barely thrusting in and out, letting him get accustomed to the stretch. 

“Did you know you were grinding on me in your sleep?” Yuuri asked casually as he sped up his movements, staying away from his prostate. He rose up from his prone position, moving up Victor’s body without breaking his rhythm. Light embarrassment washed over him, but Victor knew Yuuri was just teasing him. 

“Do you know how hard it was to drag myself away from you? Do you know how hard it was to run with this erection?” Yuuri grasped his own dick, stroking slowly as he continued to pump his fingers into Victor. 

He definitely wasn’t upset. 

“Why did you leave then?” Victor reached a hand out, catching Yuuri’s hand in his own, joining him in jerking off his dom. 

Yuuri laughed. “Should I have let Makka wake you up at six AM?” 

“Oh, fuck,” Victor cursed, “I should have taken her out. She’s used to early mornings.”

“I got her, it’s okay.” Yuuri’s sweet smile flashed at him briefly before he dropped down, freeing his fingers to hover on his hands and knees above Victor. “And now, I got you.” 

“God, yes, you do.” 

Silver hair splayed out across the pillow, Victor’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at Yuuri. All of these experiences with Yuuri were so new. Had anyone ever taken Makka out for him? Without his asking? And lord, the wake-up call. Victor had the hardest erection he’d ever had in his life. 

“How do you want me?” Yuuri asked, ever caring, ever kind.

“Just like this,” Victor answered, curling his arms around Yuuri’s neck, dragging him down for a kiss. “Just stay here.”

Yuuri smiled against Victor’s lips before licking into his mouth. Somehow, he always knew what kind of kiss Victor wanted. A quick peck, a claiming, soul-devouring snog, and everything in between. He pulled away to let Victor drag in much needed air, trailing his lips along his jaw, partaking in his favorite activity: sucking on Victor’s ear lobe. 

With a bite, Yuuri readjusted their position, settling between Victor’s legs, shoving his knees under Victor’s thighs so his hips canted up. Victor had never been one for being manhandled, but now, now he wanted to be handled by this man.

“I think I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

Yuuri pulled back, moving as if Victor wasn’t trying to hold him down with all his might. For a moment, his eyes roved over Victor’s face, searching for something. 

“Please,” Victor whimpered, still not sure if he was dreaming. 

“You want this?” The head of Yuuri’s cock pressed against his opening, eliciting a dry sob from Victor as his arms tightened with renewed vigor. His shoulders lifted from the mattress and he hugged his dom desperately, hanging off his body. 

“Please, please, please,” Victor babbled.

An arm came around Victor’s back, taking his weight for him. Every inch of him was supported, carried, cherished. All of his senses were smothered in Yuuri.

“Relax, baby, I have you,” Yuuri hushed him but held tight. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

And with that, Yuuri pushed past his entrance. The sensation of finally feeling full calmed Victor, even as his toes curled. He moaned loudly, mouth close to Yuuri’s ear, who groaned in response. Yuuri pushed in until he was fully sheathed, stopping to gauge Victor’s comfort.

“Okay?” 

“I’m not going to break, Yuuri,” Victor let go of his shoulders to look at him. He clenched down around Yuuri hard, “I love you for checking, but I’m good. I’m okay. I consent to you wrecking me until there’s no cum left in my body. Just fuck me. Please.”

He added an extra “please” at the end, just for good measure. The brown eyes gazing down at him looked glazed over. They stared at each other for a beat, two, and then Yuuri was moving. 

The world faded to the moans and gasps coming from the two men. Yuuri fucked into Victor with abandon, face tucked into the crook of the blond’s neck. His lips found pale skin, and he latched on, sucking hard. Victor thought belatedly that he would have to hide that from Yakov tomorrow. 

Yuuri set a furious pace, a rhythmic slapping of skin against skin. Pleasure coiled in Victor’s gut. Every time Yuuri pulled out, Victor mourned the loss, and every time he drove back in, Victor rejoiced. He was exactly where he belonged. 

“Oh fuck, Yuuri,” Victor jolted when a hand sweetly wrapped around his neglected length. 

His dom stayed uncharacteristically quiet, lathing kisses on either side of his neck. He jerked Victor off in time with his thrusts, making the blond forget if he was fucking or getting fucked. Either way, he was just happy to be there. 

Victor babbled on, filling the silence between them, until the hand around his cock let him go. He made a sound of protest and then Yuuri’s hand was around his throat. 

“I need to feel you come,” Yuuri whispered, sounding just as desperate as Victor felt. 

The weight of Yuuri’s hand made all the air in his lungs freeze in time. Yuuri wasn’t squeezing, but Victor wasn’t breathing. Yuuri fucked into him with a newfound fervor, just resting his hand on his neck. Victor felt entirely owned and he lost it.

Wishing he could get closer, he dug his heels in to meet Yuuri halfway, and on the next thrust, it was over. 

Tears gathered in Victor’s eyes as his orgasm wracked through his body, his hot semen spurting into the space between their bodies. Yuuri ground against his prostate with every thrust until he came with a grunt, filling Victor with his own spend. 

Gentle hands found Victor’s, interlacing fingers as Yuuri gently nuzzled his face against Victor’s neck. His hips rocked slowly, cum easing the slide as he stayed buried in Victor, drawing tired moans from his sub. 

“I’ll clean you up, go back to sleep.”

Yuuri’s word sounded like law in that moment, so Victor closed his eyes and let himself slip back into his dreams. He felt exhausted, but in a new way. One that he hadn’t felt in some time. The tiredness of finishing exciting new choreography, of learning a new jump. 

The mattress shifted around him. His sweater came up over his head. A warm towel wiped down his abs and between his legs. Victor was back in the space between his dreams and reality, and when he heard Yuuri speak again, he didn’t know if he was meant to hear it or if he really heard it at all. 

“Aishteru.”

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered in through closed blinds. Victor stretched, startling when his body made contact with another. He opened one eye, peering to his left. A mop of dark hair rested inches from his face, Yuuri still snoozing beside him. 

Hazy memories of the early morning filled his head, painting his cheeks with a warm blush. He hadn’t expected to be woken up like that , but he wasn’t complaining. Victor stretched again before rolling off the mattress, landing softly on his feet. Glancing back to check if he had woken the other man, he tugged his pants back on quietly. Yuuri had worked hard, he thought smugly, he would let him sleep longer. 

Victor hushed the snuffling dogs as he opened the bedroom door, ushering them out into the hallway. 

“Hello, babies, I missed you very much, yes I did,” Victor cooed, kneeling to greet Makkachin and Vicchan. They had become fast friends, it seemed, toting each other’s toys around. 

The clock over the stove told Victor it was almost nine in the morning. No wonder he felt so rested. He typically woke at 5:30 AM, taking Makka for her daily walk and getting in some cardio before the rest of his day began. He would have to return to his routine the next day, lest Yakov made him do sprints at practice for being late. 

Victor puttered through his morning skincare routine in the bathroom, pointedly looking away from the deep tub where he and Yuuri first brought each other to climax. As much as he wanted to, his stamina would not allow for sex all day. It would be best to conserve his energy. 

Leaving the door open for the poodles, he padded back into Yuuri’s room. He had brought his own clothes, but a desire creeped over him to stay in Yuuri’s clothes while he still could. Vicchan bounded onto the bed as Victor crossed over to the dresser. He slid two drawers open before he found one containing t-shirts. 

“Mmph,” Yuuri woke to the small dog licking his face. Victor smiled at the husky voice muttering in Japanese, sounding suspiciously like baby talk. 

“Good morning,” Victor chirped, pulling a well worn shirt from the top of the stack. He unfolded it, freezing as he registered the bold letters on the front. Yuuri shuffled the blankets around behind him, returning his greeting with less enthusiasm for having just woken. 

“What does this stand for?” Victor asked, injecting false nonchalance into his voice. He turned to Yuuri, holding the shirt out in front of him. 

Yuuri squinted at him from where he sat, leaning against the headboard, before he gave up to reach for his glasses. 

“Oh,” a flash of something flickered across Yuuri’s face. “International Skating Union. My friend gave it to me. They gave him so much free stuff when he started working there.” 

Relief flowed through Victor, albeit hesitant, as he lowered the shirt. Yuuri flipped the comforter off of him and pushed off the bed, striding across the room. 

“Let me,” Yuuri took the shirt from his hands gently and shoved it back into the drawer. He pulled out another shirt, this one long sleeved and printed with the name of a nearby university. 

“This one is a bit bigger,” he explained, tugging it over Victor’s head. Victor let Yuuri maneuver his arms into the sleeves with a small smile on his face. 

“Yuuuuri, are you calling me fat?” 

Without missing a beat, Yuuri pinched his side, snorting. 

“Your abs have abs, Vitya.” Yuuri pressed him into the dresser, trailing his hands up Victor’s sides. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

Victor’s teasing grin melted into fondness as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to Yuuri’s. He brushed their noses together, feeling silly for getting riled up over a t-shirt. 

A growl sounded between them, and it wasn’t clear which of their stomachs had caused it, but Victor resented it, for it caused Yuuri to pull away. 

“Time for breakfast,” Yuuri declared, leading him to the kitchen. He was still shirtless, and Victor was helpless to watch the muscles in his back flex with every movement. 

He stared at the curve of his ass as Yuuri bent in front of his fridge to rummage. God, was he drooling?

“What are you hungry for?” Yuuri called over his shoulder. 

“Who,” Victor corrected. 

“Hmm?” Yuuri turned around in confusion.

“ Who am I hungry for,” Victor repeated his question, leaning back against the island. 

A slow smirk spread across Yuuri’s mouth. He kicked the fridge door shut behind him, stalking towards Victor like he was prey and Yuuri hadn’t hunted in days. 

Breakfast could wait. 

-

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ No .”

“ Yes .”

“Oh my God, shut up and put the stupid harness on,” Yuri cut in, muttering under his breath about how he didn’t whine this much when he had to wear it. 

As it turns out, Yakov knew Victor very well. So much so, that when Victor arrived bright and early at the rink the next morning, it was already waiting for him. 

The harness. 

“I didn’t wear it last time!”

“And look how that turned out. You went home covered in bruises. You will not break any of your old bones with your stubborn idiocy, Vitya, put the damn thing on or go home.”

Victor gasped, affronted. “Old? Yakov, how could you say that?” He spun on his blades, facing Yuri and ducking his head down. “Tell me honestly, Yura, do I have any grey hairs?”

“They’re all grey, idiot.” The adolescent was not amused. 

Sighing, Victor tugged his mane up into a ponytail and faced the harness with a resigned disdain. It had been a long many years since he had last needed the humiliating torture of wearing a training harness. Yakov hadn’t enforced it since Victor had cleared puberty and the team doctor swore up and down that he wouldn’t stunt his growth or wreck his knees without it. 

“Today. I’ll wear it today.” 

Yakov harrumphed, stalking away to his usual observation point. Victor donned the straps, thinking briefly that he wouldn’t mind being tied up if it was by Yuuri’s hand before he cleared his thoughts. He had new quads to learn. 

A dozen attempts in, Victor noticed the smug look on Yakov’s face. He probably would have been eating ice for lunch if he hadn’t listened to his coach. He huffed, having caught himself landing on the wrong edge again. 

“Yaaaakov,” Victor whined, “Why can’t I do this?”

“You’ve been slacking on your off-ice training,” his coach responded promptly. “And all those pirozhki are weighing you down.”

He said it so matter-of-factly Victor couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He skated to the boards, reaching for his water bottle. His legs were shaking already, the familiar burn jogging the memory of when he decided to claim the quad flip. It had taken months to prepare for competition, but surely it had come more naturally than this. 

“You have to strengthen your legs or you won’t make it four revolutions.”

“I hate when you’re right.”

“Yes, yes, you hate me all the time.”

Victor stuck his tongue out before his face melted into a serious gaze, chest heaving with the effort to drag air into his lungs. 

“How did Killian get this down?” 

“He does look a bit bulkier this season,” Yakov mentioned, pondering.

“I don’t know what he looked like before,” he admitted sheepishly. He toweled the sweat from his brow. 

“You only ever see what you want to see, Vitya,” his coach sounded both fond and scolding. “Get to the gym. Stretch, More protein, less pirozhki.”

Victor saluted before pushing off; he might as well use the rest of his harness time to see what other mischief he could get up to. 

It was already October 22nd. That left him exactly one month to find a way to one-up his competition, to surprise everyone. One month until he would be in Japan, fighting for his title once again. He was starting to get used to the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach every time he thought about going to another competition. 

“Are you really going to try for the axel?” Yuri questioned Victor once they were alone in the locker room.

“Somebody has to, why not me?” Victor set his skates in his locker, swapping for his shoes.. “I can’t go out like this, Yura.”

“Like what? Everyone loves you, not that idiot. They didn’t just switch allegiances because of one jump. You’re still the Living Legend and it’s not like you’re going to retire alre-”

“You don’t understand!” Victor slammed his locker shut suddenly, making Yuri recoil and quiet immediately. Guilt slammed into him like a brick wall, effectively draining away his anger. Victor sat down, patting the bench beside him. He took his protégé’s hand gently, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Victor apologized sincerely. He was the adult here. He should have known better. “I’m frustrated, but I shouldn’t have scared you.”

“It’s fine, old man,” Yuri huffed, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I just don’t get what crawled up your ass. You still won, you’re still the best skater there is.”

Victor paused in the silence between them. Here was this young skater, one that, despite how fervently he denied it, seemed to look up to Victor. He emulated his elder, tried to prove himself, wanted to win just like Victor. Was it fair for Victor to burst the bubble he lived in? Was it fair to let him continue to live the way he has, thinking that winning was the only thing that mattered?

“I’m not a good role model, Yurachka,” Victor started. Yuri snorted but, for once, didn’t interrupt. “I’m not a good role model and I know that. I know that now . I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, trying to figure out how I ended up here. 

“I want to retire soon. I’m tired of this, of my entire life being about winning. I’m getting old, like you love reminding me, and I want to bow out gracefully. But part of me can’t accept leaving like this. You don’t know yet, the way everyone turns on you when you step one foot out of line. They call themselves my fans, but they don’t love me. They love my medals, my records. And when Killian Sommers showed up with a quad lutz, I felt myself being forgotten. I can’t leave like this.”

Victor smiled ruefully down at Yuri who stared back, wide-eyed, bewildered. 

“I didn’t forget you.”

Yuri said it so quietly, Victor almost didn’t hear him. Once the words registered, Victor swept little Yuri up in a bear hug. The younger skater stilled for a beat, two, then hugged back. 

“Oh, Yurachka. You make Papa so emotional,” Victor hid his watery smile, injecting as much drama into his words as he could. Yuri groaned, shoving Victor away half-heartedly. 

“I’m sorry to show you such a pitiful side of me, Yura,” Victor whispered into yellow-blond hair. “I just have to do this before I can rest peacefully.” He pulled away, patting Yuri’s head. “I hope you never understand.”

Yuri turned away, swiping at misty eyes and making a noise sounding suspiciously like a sniffle. He tucked his skates into their case and shouldered his bag. 

“Let’s go home, Dad, ” Yuri grumbled. 

Victor beamed, standing up but leaving his things in his locker. He started walking to the door. “You get going. I have some more training to do.”

“You’ve been here for six hours already,” Yuri balked, following behind. They exited the locker room, facing each other in the empty hallway.

“Da, another two won’t kill me. See you tomorrow, Yura.” Victor waved, tossing a towel over his shoulder and heading to the gym. 

“You better go home in two hours then, or I’m telling Yakov,” Yuri called from behind him. A few moments later, the door leading outside slammed shut. Victor smiled lightly. That kid was something special. 

Walking down the hall, Victor passed the doors to the rink, the women’s locker room, the dance studio, before he arrived at the gym. He was lucky to have access to a facility like this, he knew. Before he moved in with Yakov, Victor had spent hours a week at an outdoor playground, using his own bodyweight for exercises and only getting so far. He had battered skates and no guards, only dreams. Yakov found him, saved him. It would not do to dishonor his coach by fading into obscurity. 

With a renewed vigor, Victor put his earbuds in and set to work, building a circuit focused on his posterior chain muscles. He didn’t have much time, but he was always quick to put on muscle. He would work hard and stick to his diet plan, 

As he paused for a sip of water, Victor heard his phone ping with a notification. He rushed over to where he set it down, still panting. It was Yuuri. 

Victor’s stomach swooped in excitement. He had received a text, just a camera emoji. He grinned before looking around. Thankfully, it just looked like a generic gym. He held his phone up, trying to find a seductive pose even as sweat dripped down his face. Maybe Yuuri would find his sweat sexy. 

He settled on hooking his thumb into his waistband, tugging them down just slightly, baring a sliver of skin. He snapped the photo and sent it off without too much more thought. He may very well take it a thousand more times if he had the time, but Victor craved Yuuri’s response more than he did perfecting his selfies. 

A full minute later, not that he was counting, his phone pinged again. 

>What are you working on?

Victor frowned, bemused. Maybe it wasn’t sexy enough.

<Every day is now leg day 

Victor texted back and a moment later, Yuuri was calling. 

“Hello?” He answered the call immediately. It was a video call, but Yuuri’s side was just a black square. 

“Let me see, Vitya. What exercises are you doing?” 

Yuuri was all business from the beginning, but the butterflies in Victor’s stomach still acted up when Vitya fell from Yuuri’s lips. Victor set his phone where Yuuri could see him, and together, they ran through Victor’s workout routine. One by one, Yuuri corrected his form, his assumptions, his motivations. 

“You should try RDLs instead, Romanian deadlifts. They will strain your back less and activate your hamstrings better.”

“You can handle a heavier weight there, you’re barely struggling.”

“You should complete this set until failure if you really want to get stronger.”

At last, Victor dropped the barbell to the floor, following closely after. He flopped onto his back, groaning. 

“You’re vicious, Yuuri,” Victor panted. His body felt leaden; he didn’t want to move ever again. 

“You did great,” the voice in his ear was gentle, sweet. “Really, I’m impressed at how you took everything I gave you.” 

The praise was a balm on his exhaustion, even as his cheeks reddened at the innuendo. 

“I’ll take anything you want to give me, Yuuri.” Victor spoke to the ceiling. 

“Well, right now, I think you should take my offer of dinner and recovery. I’m on my way home, come take a bath and let me stretch you out.”

“Mm, what kind of stretch?” Victor turned to his phone, winking at the camera suggestively. 

“Insatiable. Are you coming or what?”

“You’ll have to try a little harder if you want me to come, detka.”

Yuuri groaned, laughing softly. “I’ll consider it if you’re good,” the voice in his ear grew slightly huskier. “Get up, Vitya, I want you here within an hour, or else.”

Victor agreed, a little breathless, but Yuuri had already hung up. Good lord, that man was attractive. 

He rolled up to a seated position, wincing at his sore muscles. He had pushed himself a little too hard if only a few minutes of lying down made him feel so stiff. 

“New personal trainer, Vitya? You know how the federation feels about that.”

A smug voice filtered in as he removed his earbuds, causing Victor’s body to seize up for a different reason. He looked up, catching eye contact through the mirror. Cold, calculating eyes that he wished he never had to look at again. 

“Mr. Ivanov,” Victor greeted coolly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The man in his ugly suit leaned against the wall by the exit, blocking his escape route. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Anatoly licked his lips, snakelike. “I was just passing by when I heard your voice. It sounded like you were working with a trainer, but I know Trogat is gone for the day.”

The implication was clear in his voice. 

“You don’t work for the RSF, but you’ll still run off to snitch to them, will you?” Victor sneered. “Anything for your reputation, and anything to fuck with mine. Worry not, Director, I have no trainers under my employ. I was just conferring with a friend. Perhaps you would understand if you were capable of making any.”

Anatoly’s grey eyes roved over Victor’s body creepily. “I wasn’t aware Living Legend Victor Nikiforov had room for friends on his throne,” he spoke steadily, mocking. 

Victor bristled, face heating. He hated this, hated talking to this man. He always found a way to twist his words, use the snotty words he used to defend himself against him. 

“You’re right, he must just be using me to further his career, like you,” Victor spat vehemently, hackles raised. “Good thing I know better now. Best of luck climbing Killian like a ladder, he’ll break at the first step.” 

Anatoly stared at Victor, appraising. Then he turned to leave the gym, calling over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Victor stood, rooted, as the door swung shut, as the auto-time on the lights left him in the dark. Alone. 

Chapter Text

“Vitya.”

“Vitya.”

“Hey, Vitya,” a damp hand grasped his shoulder, shaking him. 

Victor jolted, coming out of his zoned-out musings. He looked up from the kitchen island. Yuuri was frowning at him, drying his hands off on a towel. Dinner was cleared away and the dishes were washed. 

Right. He was at Yuuri’s. Victor’s autopilot had guided him through showering, making a sponsored social media post, and driving over for the promised dinner and stretching. Yuuri had been there to greet him with a warm hug and for a few minutes, Victor had forgotten about his run-in and he had just basked in his dom’s attention. 

But then Yuuri got a phone call during dinner, and he ate and triaged a patient simultaneously and Victor just drifted. 

“Sorry, I won’t do that again. I have a bad habit of being too available. My coworkers are just used to me answering their calls.” Yuuri set the towel down and rested one hand on the island and one on the back of Victor’s seat, caging him in. Victor’s breath hitched as their eyes locked. Yuuri was examining him, though he felt less like an ant under a magnifying glass and more like a priceless artwork being restored. 

“It doesn’t feel like you’re here today,” Yuuri murmured, his brown eyes still roving over Victor’s face. A blush tinted Victor’s face under the scrutiny and he shifted guiltily in his chair. 

“Sorry, today was just,” he paused, tugging on the sleeves of the uncomfortable blazer his sponsor had sent for him to wear that week. “A lot.” 

Yuuri’s eyes had lowered, observing the way Victor fiddled with his cuffs. He stopped fiddling. 

“Take it off.”

The order was given quietly, but it still gave the usual dose of excitement Victor felt when Yuuri was domming . Almost automatically, Victor ripped his arms from the sleeves, letting the flashy jacket fall to the floor behind him. It was not the first time he had had to wear clothes that he didn’t like, but somehow, thinking about the brand deal after his call with Yuuri and then dealing with Anatoly had felt icky. Like the cognitive dissonance had made his skin feel like it didn’t fit right over his bones. 

“Come,” Yuuri turned and walked away, expecting Victor to follow. He bit back his frown, knowing it was unreasonable to always wish Yuuri would carry him in his arms, and followed.

He followed his dom into the room adjacent to his bedroom. Victor had slept in it the first time they had planned a scene, though he didn’t really get to take it in that night. It was a cozy room housing Yuuri’s desk, wall to wall bookshelves, and his TV. His bedroom and living room were bare, but it seemed this was where all the personality lived. The wall by his desk felt strangely naked for how highly decorated the rest of the space was, but everything else felt thoughtfully placed. The stacks of games, the plants trailing down the shelves. He felt surrounded by Yuuri. 

The other man had pulled out his desk chair, sitting back and away from the L-shaped wood table, holding a pillow. Victor approached slowly, and his eyes widened slightly when Yuuri dropped the pillow to rest at his feet, just under the desk.  

Wordlessly, Yuuri took Victor’s hand, pulling him closer; he was helpless to follow. 

“Kneel,” Yuuri gently instructed. Victor dropped to his knees, maneuvering onto the cushion. Yuuri pushed his chair in, caging Victor in between his legs. Getting the idea, he reached for Yuuri’s zipper, but strong hands stopped him. 

“I have to get some work done. You’re going to be good and keep me warm until I’m done, aren’t you, Vitya?” Yuuri smiled down at him, cupping Victor’s cheek in one hand. “You’ll be good and focus on me, and then you’ll get your reward.” 

Victor was unfamiliar with what Yuuri meant by keeping him warm, but he didn’t have a chance to ask, or, he didn’t need to. Yuuri let go of his face, instead weaving his fingers through the white-blond hair. With his other hand, Yuuri flicked his button open, making the simple action look all too sexy. Victor slowly reached for the zipper again, and this time, Yuuri didn’t stop him. 

Warm brown eyes watched as he freed his erection from the tight confines. Yuuri sighed softly when Victor took him in hand and then his eyes were off him. He peered up from under the table; Yuuri was leaning over papers and turning his computer on. Oh.

Victor licked a stripe upwards, testing. The cock in his hands pulsed, but with little to no other reaction from Yuuri, he felt compelled to go further. He heard the sounds of pen on paper above him as he leaned in, leaving open-mouth kisses up to the tip. Victor licked along a vein, up and up until swirling his tongue around the ridge of his head. 

A small smile slipped out as he heard Yuuri’s typing falter. If there was one thing he could be proud of, it was his well-trained gag reflex. 

In one smooth motion, Victor took Yuuri into his mouth, not stopping until he reached the back of his throat. He swallowed around Yuuri before drawing back. He set to bobbing up and down, hand wrapped around the base of Yuuri’s cock. He willfully ignored his own erection pressing against his pants. Yuuri said he would be rewarded later. 

It felt like no time had passed, lathing Yuuri in attention, when the familiar feeling of gentle fingers curling into his hair made him pause in his ministrations. Victor released Yuuri’s cock from his mouth with a wet pop and immediately, Yuuri was on his knees before him, claiming his lips in a fiery kiss. 

Victor moaned as Yuuri’s tongue met his own, shuddering at finally getting all the attention he had given reciprocated back to him. He held tight to Yuuri’s shirt, wanting to get ever closer. 

“Back with me now?” Yuuri asked between kisses. 

He nodded back emphatically, feeling overwhelmed by arousal, thoughts of only Yuuri in his head. His dom smiled against his lips, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him away from the desk. In one quick swoop, Victor was off the floor and in Yuuri’s arms, a small gasp escaping as his stomach turned swooning somersaults. The heat of Yuuri’s cock pressed against his abdomen– a thrilling sensation. He had done that. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whimpered, “Please.” 

“Yes,” Yuuri breathed, “I’ll give you what you need.” 

The room spun around them as Yuuri twirled over to the couch, eliciting a burst of laughter from Victor. Before he knew what had happened, the sofa was under Victor, and Yuuri was on his knees in front of him, taking his cock as far down his throat as it would go.

Victor inhaled sharply, trying to keep up, hands scrambling for purchase on the cushions, on Yuuri’s clothes, in Yuuri’s hair. He moaned Yuuri’s name to the ceiling, to the God that surely must exist if this heaven was real. 

One hand held tight around the base of his erection, the other hidden from Victor’s view. Yuuri moaned sinfully as he deep-throated with a desperation Victor had never experienced before. He knew people out there enjoyed blow jobs– he was one of them. But he had been missing out on this brand of enthusiasm for over a decade of his life. 

“I won’t last,” he cried, desperate to warn Yuuri if he didn’t want to swallow down his orgasm. 

Helplessly, he watched Yuuri pull back to suck on only the tip, swirling his tongue around it sensually. Victor realized belatedly that he wasn’t wearing his glasses, bestowing him with a clear view of Yuuri’s eyes hooded in base pleasure. His hips began to move, rising to meet Yuuri on every downward motion.

Arousal coiled in his gut, driving him to tug on Yuuri’s hair before his orgasm arrived too soon. The pent up arousal from his own play time had already brought him so close to the edge. 

“Yuuri– I’m gonna cum, don’t–” Victor started, strained, but Yuuri only doubled his efforts, hollowing out his cheeks around him. Their gazes locked as Victor whimpered, and Yuuri’s eyes on him pushed him over. 

His orgasm exploded hard and fast, but Yuuri was unfazed. He moaned as cum painted the back of his throat and Victor collapsed back onto the pillows, hips jerking as he came. Entire body humming, Victor panted, half-heartedly trying to extricate his half-hard cock from Yuuri’s mouth, but he didn’t budge. 

Then he noticed it. Yuuri stayed where he was, pretty pink lips wrapped around him, but now that he was no longer thrusting into the wet heat, Victor could tell his partner had been enjoying himself too. From the shake of his arm, Yuuri was jerking off with Victor’s cock still in his mouth, and it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered, brushing his fingers over Yuuri’s cheek in awe. 

That was all it took for Yuuri to cry out, freeing his mouth as he doubled over, coming over himself in white streaks. He cursed, resting his head on Victor’s thigh as his strokes slowed to a halt. Victor just watched, slightly bewildered by and incredibly attracted to the man before him. 

“You’re just always so good for me,” Yuuri half-laughed, turning to look up at Victor. A light pink blush dusted his cheeks, making a warm fond feeling bubble up in his chest. His own cheeks burned and he didn’t know how to respond, so Victor just held his arms open, a silent ask for anything else Yuuri was willing to give him. 

In an instant, his dom was on his feet, scooping Victor back into his arms. He wrapped his legs tightly around Yuuri’s waist, and for now, ignored the way Yuuri’s flagging erection traced up between his cheeks. 

“Bath time for the baby koala,” Yuuri cooed in his ear, holding him firmly in his arms. Victor laughed, ducking his head in embarrassment as he was carried to the bathroom. 

In a way that was becoming familiar to him, Victor sat perched on the counter as Yuuri filled the tub. He observed the way Yuuri wrinkled his nose as he wiped away the sticky residue from his skin, carefully peeling his clothes away to avoid touching the cum. 

“You just swallowed a lot of that, you know? It’s not going to hurt you,” Victor teased. 

Yuuri just tossed his underwear at his face, before striding over to get him down from the counter. 

“Look, I’m Japanese, we get into our baths clean ,” he explained. “Sit.”

Victor sat obediently, leaning back comfortably as the hot bath finished filling around him. Yuuri followed in, shutting off the tap before sitting across from him. He took Victor’s feet in his lap and set to work immediately. 

With practiced hands, Yuuri coaxed the knots out of his calves, massaging gently until the hot water softened his muscles. Then he really went for it. 

“Blyat,” Victor flinched, half joking, “I didn’t realize you liked it so rough, Yuuri.”

“I’m not being rough, Vitya, you’re just so tense.” Yuuri was frowning as he dug his thumbs in a particularly tight spot. “You need to be foam-rolling your legs more. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you this?” 

That would have been the team PT’s job, if not for the way Victor vehemently avoided him. 

Victor huffed, sinking further into the steamy water until it covered his mouth entirely. Yuuri pursed his lips but let it go. 

“Do you want to talk about why you were so far away today?” Yuuri asked, pressing one of Victor’s legs into his chest until his hamstring stretched. His practice-battered foot rose out of the water, and Yuuri leant down to plant a kiss sweetly on the bottom. 

He didn’t want to talk about Anatoly or the ugly sponsored clothing or even why his muscles were so tight and useless. He latched onto the one thing left on his mind and even though it seemed like a horrible idea, the unexpected kiss on his ugly foot was what made the words bubble up out of his throat. 

“Trogat is a creep.” 

Yuuri’s hands paused for a second, but Victor barely noticed, plowing on, unable to stop now that he started. 

“God, I don’t even know how no one else notices. He’s just so, I don’t know, touchy? And he’s not that old or anything but he’s older and when I was a kid, I was taught that you could trust adults. I mean I was sk- working all the time, I hardly knew anyone my own age, I didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to be like that.” Victor sat up, heated, not registering how Yuuri’s manual therapy had changed, forceful pressure transforming into a soothing presence. 

“It always made me uncomfortable, being alone with him, but everyone said how important my sessions were, so I just ignored it. It made me feel so gross? Like there wasn’t a shower hot enough to make me clean again.” 

Big, fat tears started rolling down Victor’s face, rivulets of the day’s built up strain pouring out for Yuuri to see. He swiped at his cheeks in frustration. Why did he have to cry every time he saw Yuuri? 

“Vitya,” Yuuri started cautiously. He slid closer to his distressed lover, taking him in his arms. 

“Did he… What did he do?” Yuuri asked quietly, a restrained anger hidden in his voice. 

Victor’s eyes widened; he shook his head, reaching up with wet hands to hold Yuuri’s face. 

“No, no, he didn’t go that far,” Victor hastily supplied, “He would just get too close sometimes. Working on my quads and touching too high up my leg, leaning on me when I did my butterfly stretch, things like that.”

The furrow in Yuuri’s brow didn’t lessen. 

“It wasn’t that bad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you think…” Victor trailed off. 

Yuuri rolled them until Victor was laying on top, not caring about the water that spilled over the side of the tub. There was a long pause, only the sounds of the bath sloshing to temper the silence. With his head resting on Yuuri’s chest, he could hear the quick thumping of his dom’s heart and the way it matched his own. 

“Don’t say sorry to me, Vitya.” Yuuri sounded deathly serious. “ I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have said anything about the training if I knew.”

Victor sat up, a note of pleading in his voice, “Don’t be sorry, you couldn’t have known!”

“He should have known,” Yuuri cupped Victor’s cheek, smiling when Victor leaned into his touch. “You know that now right? Maybe not when you were a kid, but you know now that he shouldn’t have done that? Having your permission to touch you for physical therapy was not permission to touch you like that.”

Victor nodded, closing his eyes to savor the warmth of Yuuri’s hand on his face. 

“It was ten years ago, I guess I wasn’t really a kid. I just felt like one. Like I had no control over the situation. But he’s been my only option this whole time so I just stopped going.”

It sounded ridiculous to his own ears, that he couldn’t possibly have gone to another physical therapist besides Trogat. He didn’t know how to explain it, but thankfully, Yuuri didn’t ask him to. 

“I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” Yuuri tugged him down, but paused before their lips met, like he was asking if it was okay.  “You don’t have to go near him ever again.”

Victor smiled as he closed the gap.

Chapter Text

And he really didn’t have to see the therapist again. 

When Victor arrived at the rink the next day, Yakov was red in the face and shouting into his cell phone. He was late, so naturally, he skirted around his angry coach, beelining for the boards closest to where little Yuri was drinking water. 

“Hey, what’d you do?” Victor nudged the skater, surprising him from behind. Yuri spluttered, mid-sip, before spinning around to glare.

“It wasn’t me, idiot. You’re the one that’s late. Not that he noticed. He’s trying to find a new trainer.” 

It was like a bucket of ice water pouring over Victor. 

His mouth opened, then closed. Yuri took another careful sip of water before setting his bottle down. 

“Yeah, I know. Mila said one of the ice dancers reported Trogat. I didn’t know he even worked with them.” Yuri skated tiny figure-eights near him. “Good riddance. Maybe now they’ll get someone that doesn’t have a gross crush on you.”

Victor grimaced at that, glad that little Yuri didn’t know more. He had told Yuuri he didn’t know how no one else noticed the therapist’s behavior, but he knew that Trogat didn’t go after the other skaters. Every time he tried to nonchalantly check, he sent Yuri off on a tangent about how Victor couldn’t be a man-whore at the rink and to keep his paws off the team physical therapist. It was easy to ignore the hurt pang in his chest when he felt so relieved that Trogat never touched Yuri.

“Yeah, hopefully,” he answered, distracted. “I’m gonna change.” Yuri waved him off as Victor headed to the locker room. 

As he passed by again, Yakov glared at him, pointing at the clock as his red face darkened another shade. Victor grinned sheepishly before jogging away, feeling only slightly chastised. 

After his word vomit the previous night, Yuuri had brought him to another orgasm in the safety of his arms before letting him escape the bathtub. And because Victor was such a fair and just individual, he repaid the kindness before realizing how late it was getting. 

As he collected his clothing from various places in the apartment, he remembered something.

“Oh, hey, what were you doing at your desk, um, earlier?” Victor asked, meandering over to the corner, curious. 

The computer had fallen asleep, but the pile of papers had been marked up in blue ink. It was numbers of reps and sets, exercises with Yuuri’s notes and adjustments, stretch and rest requirements. At the top of one page, he spotted his own name with a bold line underneath. 

He shuffled through the pile, realizing it was an extension of the impromptu training session they had had earlier that day and then some. An unfamiliar emotion welled in his eyes before he shoved it back down, blinking rapidly. 

“This is for me?” Victor covered his mouth, looking up at Yuuri, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching him. He kept staring silently for a beat before finally looking away.

“Yeah, if you want it.”

Yuuri really didn’t know how much Victor wanted.

Doubling the amount of good-bye kisses after receiving the exercise plan had seen Victor arrive home around midnight. Then Makka needed another walk, and then Victor just couldn’t sleep. He had never told anyone else about Trogat. It felt like the universe was rewarding him for opening up to Yuuri.  Now if only the universe would get rid of Anatoly for him, then life would be perfect. 

For a moment, Victor imagined what it would be like to go to physical therapy after practice at the rink. He instantly recoiled. Yuuri was helping him. He didn’t need another therapist, didn’t want anyone else’s hands on him. 

It didn’t matter. Yakov wouldn’t make him go; the balding coach could still be heard yelling outside. They couldn’t find a replacement that soon anyway. 

He locked up his things and headed back to the ice. He had work to do. 

-

And so the days passed, bickering with little Yuri, trying to convince Yakov he could jump without the harness, avoiding Anatoly whenever he showed up to the rink. 

The latter was easier said than done. 

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Germany, for example.” Victor huffed, digging his toe pick into the ice as he took a swig from his water bottle, back to the boards.

Anatoly chuckled, a slimy kind of laugh that had Victor’s shoulders stiffening in discomfort. 

“I go where the job sends me,” he responded, “and Killian is busy preparing.”

“And I’m not?” Victor snapped, ponytail whipping around as he spun quickly to face the thorn in his side. Anatoly just smiled. Of course he went where the job sent him; all he cared about was money. At least he was consistent.

“This is a closed practice, Mr. Ivanov,” Yakov approached, finally emerging from his office. He was scowling, like usual, but this was a special kind of scowl he tended to reserve for problems caused by Victor. 

“Ah yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Feltsman, I was just admiring your team.” Victor was the only one on the ice. 

“My team would do well without any distractions,” his coach spoke with an air of uninterested disdain, though Victor could recognize the tightness in the old man’s voice. He was ready to explode. 

“I’ll be seeing you, Vitya, Mr. Feltsman.” Victor felt the lingering gaze on his back long after Anatoly left. 

Yakov mumbled to himself, spluttering curses and insults that would make even little Yuri blush. 

Victor smiled fondly, despite himself. 

“I don’t know how you let yourself be charmed by that snake, Vitya, I just don’t know.” Yakov sighed, his reddening visage calming slightly. 

“Well, I’d like to think I wouldn’t have if I knew he was placing bets on my performance the whole time.” Victor snorted, remembering. “He could have at least shared the profits.”

“I should have reported him,” Yakov scowled again. 

“Then, you would have gone missing in the middle of the night with no clues and I would have had to find a new coach,” Victor smiled sweetly before kicking off from where he stood, leaving his coach snickering behind him. 

It wasn’t impossible. It wouldn’t have been the most unbelievable thing if he had let Yakov report the true reason for his hatred of the ISU director– a man with that much power and no morals? He would have done anything he could to ruin Victor’s career if anyone found out what extracurricular activities Anatoly engaged in. 

Victor could only blame himself for not realizing sooner. Not realizing why the handsome older man had watched the poor orphan boy in his battered skates dance like it was all he lived for and chosen him. Not noticing he was being groomed to be a champion for someone else’s gain, nothing more than a pretty face when the underdog became the prized pig and the betting odds weren’t worth the entry fee anymore.

Somehow, he had had the wherewithal to leave Anatoly when he found out. Whether it was the last lingering shred of self-respect he had left or the sense of shame he would have felt if anyone knew , it didn’t matter. He went straight to Yakov and cried. And then he promised himself he would never let someone else step all over him. Cue years of training himself to be infallible in the eyes of others, of being the dominant one, of being someone stronger than the Vitya that had been manipulated by Tolya . 

In a fit of indignation, Victor launched himself into the air against his better judgment. He landed, four full rotations and then some, landing on his feet for almost a full second before he slammed into the ice. He slid across the rink, slowing to a stop near the center. He heard Yakov yelling obscenities and preparing to cross the ice in his street shoes, so Victor raised an arm to give a thumbs up in his general direction. 

Pain spiderwebbed across his ass where he fell. He winced as he moved his legs, testing. No real injuries. He was lucky. 

Despite himself, he smiled. Even if just for a moment, he had landed it. And he would try again, until that moment stretched into two, into forever.

“If you don’t show up tomorrow, I’m going to assume you gave yourself a concussion and died in your sleep.” Yuri sprayed him with ice as he skirted up next to his prone figure. 

Victor laughed, accepting the hand offered to him. With a groan, he let himself be dragged up and to the edge of the rink. 

“I didn’t hit my head, Yura, just my pride. And my hip,” Victor winced, rocking side to side to gauge the damage. No hiding this one from Yuuri. 

“You’re not old enough for a hip replacement, idiot. Yakov will have an aneurysm if you take any longer to get through airport security than you already do.” Yuri smirked, even as his nervous eyes lingered on the way Victor favored his left side over his right. He fought back the urge to scoop the teen up into a hug. 

“Go get manual or something, there should be a therapist today.”

Victor started, turning to Yakov, who was yelling on the phone once again. “He already found someone?”

“We’re just borrowing another team’s trainer until they find someone permanent. Anyone is better than the last one though, right?”

Looking in the direction of the office he avoided religiously, Victor felt cold. It was silly. He had no reason to hold Trogat’s behavior against anyone else. But still, he just shook his head, waving Yuri’s concerns away. 

“I’ll take care of it at home, don’t worry about it.”

Yuri started to speak, but Victor turned his back before he could push the subject further. As if planned, their coach turned his attention to the young skater, letting Victor easily escape. He limped all the way to his belongings, wishing someone was around to carry him. 

Victor was too old to be letting his ex get under his skin, he knew he was. But how did someone recover from that sort of betrayal? He was used, abused, discarded by someone that he could never truly get away from, not unless he retired. The bitter taste of that truth was not easy to swallow.

It wasn’t the first time, but again, he wondered how Killian had come to replace Victor. Maybe Anatoly had learned from his mistakes and he had found someone complacent, someone he could corrupt into his puppet. Or maybe Killian just knew from the start and he earned his portion of the winnings like Victor always joked about.

In the recent weeks, Yakov had filled him in on how quickly Killian had been climbing the ranks. He wondered if that had started before or after Anatoly sunk his claws in. Did Killian look like the underdog on his way to becoming a champion, or was he able to excel because of Anatoly’s attention and resources?

Either way, it was a sure fire way to make money for a few seasons, especially against Victor, especially in the wealthy circles that his ex-lover had weaseled his way into. Placing a bet that Victor would win wouldn’t net anyone much anymore. He was a sure-win in every competition. But groom a winner to beat him? The odds would be in your favor. Surely, they had already earned an impressive sum from the ratified lutz. 

Resentment, raged in his chest, just pure regret. He rubbed his sternum, as if he could snuff out the flame. He hated Anatoly, hated how hateful Anatoly made him. 

Victor was so tired of being angry. 

-

“Fuck,” Victor groaned, knees giving out as Makka yanked forward on her leash. He let it go, knowing they were safely on the sixth floor. “You are not being a good dog.” 

His dog whined, pawing at her nose. Victor huffed, apologizing as he shifted to sit on his less sore butt cheek. He would get up in a minute. The poodle didn’t spare a second glance as she padded off to Yuuri’s apartment. Traitor. 

The workout after practice had been near impossible. Yuri had spotted him through the window in the door to the gym and chased him out of Yubileyny. Secretly, he was relieved. He needed rest, but his stupid pride wouldn’t let him admit it.

“Makka? Where’s… You’re still wearing your leash,” he heard Yuuri open his door and find his traitor poodle there without him. 

Before he could call out to him, Yuuri came barreling down the hall, eyes wide, Makka hot on his heels. Victor tried to wave, but ended up wincing as the motion caused him to rock onto his bruised limb. Without hesitating, his dom fell to his knees in front of him, taking Victor’s face into his hands. 

“Tell me what’s wrong. You’re hurt?” He was really worried.

“Not actually, just a little bruised and a lot tired,” Victor forced a laugh, feeling pathetic as Yuuri’s hands prevented him from looking down. He watched the fear melt out of brown doe eyes, closing once as Yuuri sighed, sounding relieved.

“Can I take you in?” Yuuri moved, making to slip an arm under his shoulders, the other under his knees. “Is this okay, am I hurting you anywhere?” 

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s neck, so grateful to be asked that question. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for the drama, I just wasn’t ready for Makka to pull me out of the elevator.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yuuri kicked the door to the apartment shut behind him, beelining straight for his office, as Victor now thought of it. “She’s a good girl, she came to get me.” 

The couch met his body slowly, Yuuri setting him down tenderly. He bit back a whimper as he sank into the cushions. Crouching in front of him, dressed in his usual all-black, Yuuri visually patted him down, as if trying to seek out the source of his pain with only his eyes. 

Victor sighed, bridging his hips into the air to shove his loose pants down over the curve of his ass. He rolled onto his left side, closing his eyes, a defense against whatever look Yuuri would have on his face when he saw what had happened.

In the hours since he had fallen, a nasty bruise had blossomed over his right hip, expanding across his butt cheek and thigh. Every step had him dramatically wishing for death to take him, proof that the trauma went deep into the muscle this time. The momentum and speed required for four and a half revolutions had driven him straight into the ground.

A gasp and a steady stream of frustrated Japanese left Yuuri’s lips as he realized. Almost immediately, Yuuri set about removing Victor’s sweats the rest of the way, throwing them somewhere behind him. He poked and prodded, gently brushed and stroked. With his careful ministrations, he pulled several moans and groans from Victor, discovering the extent of the damage. His knee felt stiff, his quad tight, and his ankle didn’t want to hold his body weight for the rest of the day. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered. Victor finally opened his eyes, seeing the distress in Yuuri’s own and wished he hadn’t looked. 

“I’m fine,” a bold-faced lie left his mouth. 

His dom sighed, smoothing a hand over Victor’s head before standing up and leaving the room. Cabinets and closets opened and closed. He heard Yuuri retrieve the ice packs from the freezer as Victor snuggled further into the sofa, eyes welling.

He would not cry this time. 

A whisper to the dogs to not cause any mischief, and Yuuri was back, shutting the door behind him. He carried towels, wraps, braces in his arms. He set a tube of icy-hot on the coffee table, making Victor wrinkle his nose. Yuuri just glared at him, maneuvering a towel underneath Victor’s prone form. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Vitya.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Victor smiled at his dom. 

“You didn’t have to, I still heard it.”

Meticulously, Yuuri massaged his leg, save for the bruised areas, with the icy-hot. He asked questions about what had happened, which Victor answered vaguely but truthfully. He had fallen. He had been pushing himself too hard. He hadn’t stretched enough before or after work. He was probably a little dehydrated, a little undernourished. Yuuri just listened, a grim line set into his mouth as he worked on his client. 

That thought had Victor quirking his lips.

“What?” Yuuri asked as he strapped braces onto Victor’s knee and ankle, noticing the small smirk.

“Nothing, I was just thinking about how things have changed, but I’m still here, requesting your services.”

Yuuri let out a low laugh. He positioned the towel-lined ice packs on Victor’s bruise, wrapping them gently so as to stay in place. He did everything with intense focus, such sure intent, he could understand why his client had named him a natural dominant. 

“Do you think you’ll fall asleep or should I turn the TV on?”

“I am incredibly tired, I can’t lie,” Victor paused, “What will you do?”

Yuuri wiped his hands on a small towel before pulling a blanket over Victor. He settled on the floor finally, running his fingertips over Victor’s hair. 

“I’ll take the dogs out in a bit, make dinner. Maybe run a bath.” Yuuri took Victor’s hand, lifting it to his lips to leave faint kisses across his skin.

Everything Yuuri listed, it was all for him

“How? How can you give me so much?” Victor breathed, searching Yuuri’s face for any signs of deceit as he waited for the answer. 

“Because you deserve it.” 

And in all his searching, he found only Yuuri’s truth.

Chapter Text

The first week of November brought with it an unfamiliar blanket of anxiety that plagued Victor during long practices and sleepless nights. He saw the look in Yakov’s eyes when he tried the jump again , one more time . He heard the nutritionist chastise him for his flagging weight. Even little Yuri had filed down his barbs. 

And Yuuri. Yuuri hadn’t touched him in over a week. Each time he slugged through the door of apartment 6B, Makka’s leash dangling limply from his fingers, Yuuri silently guided him through dinner and whatever method of recovery he felt Victor needed. It felt like pity, like Yuuri was too disgusted by the shell of himself that Victor was hollowing out to use him like he wanted to be used. 

But even that wasn’t enough to get him to stop. 

When Victor’s next rest day approached, he bristled at the thought of missing out on practice when the NHK Cup loomed a mere two weeks away. After getting sent home early by a frustrated coach, Victor packed up his usual bag and drove Makkachin to Yuuri’s, where he had been invited slash ordered to stay for his next free day.

Hardly one knock, and the door almost ripped from its hinges when it opened in a rush. Yuuri was standing on the other side, breathless like he had run to greet him. A small smile teased the side of Victor’s mouth, and then Yuuri was there, sweeping him into the apartment and into a hug, shutting the door between them and the rest of the world. 

A sigh left Victor’s lips as he dropped his things; Yuuri pushed his coat off his shoulders and took the noise as invitation to seek out a kiss. A grab at his thigh was all it took to get Victor to wrap his legs around Yuuri’s waist as he was pressed against the front door. He felt starved for the attention, content to remain in those strong arms forever. 

But Yuuri pulled away too soon. He was frowning up at Victor, brown eyes glinting in the overhead light of the entryway. 

“Why do you feel lighter?” Yuuri’s voice was quiet, sad. 

“Just trying to make it easier for you to carry me around,” Victor attempted to joke, leaning back in. 

Yuuri dodged him to rest his forehead on Victor’s shoulder, groaning. Victor bit back his own frustration. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna disappear one day,” Yuuri spoke into the space between them, so quiet that Victor wondered if he was supposed to hear it. 

“I’m running out of time,” Victor admitted as he wound his fingers into inky hair. The thing about Yuuri was that he always triggered the word vomit. “It’ll all be over soon. I just have to get through a few more weeks.”

The warm breath fogging against his neck ceased as Yuuri raised his head from Victor’s shoulder. Wide eyes looked up at him. 

“What’ll be over?”

Victor took a deep breath and closed his eyes, voicing his carefully considered decision for the first time. 

“I’m going to retire before my birthday.”

It was silent. Victor kept his eyes closed, not entirely sure why. It wasn’t like he was telling Yakov or little Yuri or the press. It was just Yuuri. 

Just Yuuri set him down on his feet. Victor opened his eyes in surprise, but the other man just took his hand and guided him to the kitchen, where the usual dinner set up awaited them. Today, it was a meal of salmon and broccoli– he wasn’t surprised to find that his plate had much more rice than Yuuri’s. He sat down hesitantly, watching as Yuuri dug around in cabinets, looking for something. 

“You’re fully free tomorrow?” Yuuri asked over his shoulder. Victor hummed in confirmation. 

“Good,” Yuuri set two small glasses on the island between them, “And you trust me?”

He flicked the top off a half-empty bottle of vodka, pouring two generous shots. Victor watched, slightly bewildered, but still accepted one of the shot glasses. 

“I trust you,” Victor responded quietly. He trusted him implicitly. 

“Good,” Yuuri repeated, lifting the shot glass with a slightly maniacal look on his face. “Bottoms up, and eat all of your dinner.” 

-

“He’s such a lovely dancer, Chris,” Victor sighed, rolling onto his back in the big, empty bed. 

“Well, hello to you, too,” Christophe’s chuckle met his ears warmly as he answered Victor’s call. 

“Who are we talking about?”

“Yuuri, obviously.”

“Ah, yes, I should have guessed. My apologies.”

“I forgive you. And I forgive you for not telling me what a danseur he is,” Victor gushed again. 

“And where, might I ask, were you two canoodling on a dance floor?” Chris purred curiously.

“At his apartment.” He bit back the part where he mentioned how dreamy it felt, because part of him was still wondering if he had dreamed it. 

After the impromptu shot, and several more, Victor swallowed down every last grain of rice, feeling the effects of the vodka much quicker than he was used to. He didn’t get drunk in front of others. It was too risky, too vulnerable of a state to be in. But this time, he felt safe and he wanted to take the hand that his dom was offering him. It didn’t take long before the alcohol loosened his lips, wiping away his worry for the night. 

Once he had set his fork down, Yuuri had swept him off his feet in a fit of laughter. He had turned on some popular music and twirled Victor around the living room for what felt like hours. 

They tangoed and samba’d, kissed and teased until their eyes drooped. It was silly and wild and fun and all of the things Victor had shut out of his life in his quest to retire on a high note.

“At his apartment? Tsk, where’s the romance?”

Victor sighed into the call, “Oh but romantic it was.”

“Hmm, if you say so. Yuuri is quite the ballerino, if memory serves correctly.”

“Ballerino?” Victor sat up straight, then plopped back down dramatically, “You know what, I’m not even surprised by that. You could tell me he was going to ratify a quintuple flip tomorrow and I’d believe you.”

Chris chuckled, “Seems like he impressed you. You sound happy. I’m really glad to hear you sound happy, Victor.”

“Why do you say that like I’ve never been happy before?” Victor asked wryly. 

“You have been sounding a bit… off lately, mon choux. You haven’t posted a selfie in days.” 

“I’ve been busy, you know,” he snapped.

“Busy driving yourself into the ice, I’m sure.” Chris sounded exasperated. “All I’m saying is that it’s nice to hear you’re enjoying yourself for once.” 

“We can’t all be wasting our time like you.”

Silence.

Victor slapped his hand across his forehead. 

“I see. Well,” his too patient friend began. 

“Chris, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorr–”

“I’ll talk to you later, I think. Don’t want to waste your time and all.”

The call ended with a deafening quiet. Victor groaned, curling onto his side. His silver hair spilled over the pillows.

He didn’t want to be mean. He didn’t mean to be mean. But Christophe knew the pressure he was under. He didn’t have time to enjoy himself. So what if he sounded off? He had less than two weeks to get his shit together and win at NHK. NHK, where he would see Chris and apologize in person. 

“Makka, I’m turning into a horrible person,” Victor cried into her fur, pulling the poodle close. She licked his face before settling warmly at his side. Vicchan yipped, tucking his small body in the crook of Victor’s knees. 

It was nearing 1 o’clock in the afternoon. After dancing the night away, Yuuri, still tipsy, kissed him desperately on the couch until the two fell asleep in a tightly wound pile. He had woken up to Yuuri clumsily extricating his limbs from his octopus grip. He leaned in, planting a messy kiss on Victor’s forehead, and whispered for him to go back to sleep. He had assumed it was still late, dark as it was, and promptly fell back into a deep slumber. 

In the late morning, Victor woke up again, hungover and alone.

“Yuuri?” Victor had called. 

No answer. 

Vicchan ambled over from the kitchen, followed by his own dog, and the movement drew his eyes to the plate on the island. He wandered over, finding a generously sized sandwich, painkillers, and a note.

Eat. Go back to sleep.
Sorry to leave, work came up.
I’ll be back soon.

-Yuuri

Sweet, darling Yuuri, always feeding him. Victor inhaled the painkillers, followed soon by breakfast. For the hours after, he entertained himself by showering away his dance-grime and stretching his sofa-sore muscles. He glanced longingly at the tub, but it felt lonely.

His boredom had driven him to call Chris. Clearly, that had been a mistake. He couldn’t be trusted to be a good friend, not right now. It seemed his self-destruction knew no bounds. The worst part was the self-awareness. Knowing he was lighting his own life on fire but doing nothing to stop it. He never once asked himself if the axel was worth it. It would invalidate every choice he had ever made. 

Then, the front door opened. The dogs leapt from the bed, barking and running to greet Yuuri, who enthusiastically greeted them back. A small smile graced Victor’s quivering lip as he wondered how he would ruin this too.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t ruined anything yet. 

The rest day came to an end after many hours of Victor velcroing himself to Yuuri’s side. Yuuri had returned to the apartment right as Victor felt like he was on the verge of a meltdown. He apologized profusely for leaving, but was fairly subdued otherwise. Victor’s overanalyzing left him worried the other man had regretted the night before, maybe wishing he was alone, or maybe thinking Victor was being clingy, annoying. 

As usual, Yuuri read him like a book. After a shower, Yuuri wrapped Victor in his arms and for the remainder of the day, hardly let him go. Victor sat in Yuuri’s lap whilst he worked at his desk. He incorporated himself in Yuuri’s workout, laying across his back during his pushups. Yuuri pulled Victor to lay on him as they watched a movie. Yuuri braided his hair as Victor tried his hand at the videogame he had seen Yuuri playing before. 

The attention should have been overstimulating; it certainly had been in the past. But now, it was a balm to his fraying nerves. He wanted to shrink down to fit in Yuuri’s pocket and stay with him always. And he felt like Yuuri would have welcomed it. 

“I’m going to Japan soon,” Victor started, when Yuuri was massaging out the knots in his calves. “Have you been to Fukuoka before? Is that a dumb question?” 

Yuuri’s hands lightened their pressure as he hummed, pondering. “My parents’ onsen is near Fukuoka prefecture, so I’ve gone there quite a bit.” 

“An onsen sounds really nice right now. I haven’t been to Japan in a few years.”

“Yes, other than my family, the onsen is what I’m most homesick for.” Victor laughed lightly, wincing as Yuuri pressed into a tight knot. 

“What’s your favorite place you’ve traveled to?” Yuuri suddenly asked. 

Victor thought back to all the cups and trophies he’s attended in his lifetime. Many of them had been marred in his memories by thoughts of Anatoly, compounded by his negative thoughts every time he had to go back. 

“I traveled a lot because of work, and a lot of the time, I was with Tolya,” Victor answered honestly. “Turin is lovely, but I fought with him because I didn’t want to go to an after party with him. Beijing had amazing food, but he wouldn’t eat it with me. I loved Barcelona, but that was when I found out he was using me.” He was rambling, but Yuuri just listened. 

It had been the night between the short and free programs. Victor was out on a walk alone, a frequent activity for him when Anatoly went out drinking with the other upper echelon of the ISU. He was always dying to impress them, even at the expense of their relationship. Back then, Victor would just grin and bear it. Anatoly had been with him since the beginning, afterall. Wouldn’t he have been a bad partner if he didn’t let him climb the ranks by his side? If he hadn’t brought Anatoly to all those parties, let him rub elbows with the Important People. 

That night had opened his eyes. The night he found Tolya stumbling drunkenly out of a jeweler's shop, his personal assistant draped all over him. The personal assistant he had insisted on hiring, that Victor funded, and had brought to Barcelona, against Victor’s pleading. They held two small bags, “one for you, one for Vitenka.” 

The assistant had giggled. “May our money bank never bleed dry,” he had said.

The ensuing fight had left its scars. Victor was blowing it out of proportion. The assistant had become a friend, just helping pick out a ring. He was going to propose and Victor was ruining it. The money bank comment was just a joke. Anatoly had a response to everything. And when Victor pulled out the photos he had taken, of his long-time partner playing tonsil hockey with someone on his payroll, Anatoly’s only response was physical. 

Victor skated that free program with a smile painted on his face, over layers of concealer, after hours of icing his bruises. It had been the first, and only time, Anatoly had hit him. But the hurt didn’t stop there. 

Yakov, after he found out, got him on a plane home within an hour of receiving his gold medal. He somehow got all of his things back from his shared room with Anatoly, and his coach had fired the assistant on his behalf. Not before getting a full confession on every fucked up thing that Anatoly had bragged about doing behind Victor’s back. 

Betting on his career when he was the underdog, using his knowledge of his programs to win big on scores and records. Begging to be on Victor’s arm at press events, on the guest list at exclusive parties. Using his connection to Victor to advance his career. He had an ad campaign for a stupidly expensive cologne just for existing next to Victor, for crying out loud. “Victor Nikiforov’s Boyfriend,” a brand Anatoly wore with pride, if it meant he got something out of it. 

It explained the shift in personality on the rare occasions that Victor lost. The overly sympathetic partner in public, the coldness he showed behind closed doors. And Victor never blamed him. He felt guilty for disappointing him. Victor apologized everytime. Anatoly never told him he didn’t do anything wrong. Victor would “do better next time.”

Yuuri listened to him go on and on in the vaguest of terms, long after he had finished massaging his aching calves. 

A pressure on his hip guided Victor into rolling over. He sniffled, wiping at his tear-streaked face now that Yuuri could see it. A warm body moved into position over him, Yuuri slipping his arms under his shoulders in a tight embrace. 

“Should I kill him for you?” Yuuri murmured into Victor’s ear, eliciting a watery laugh. 

“I don’t want you to go to prison,” Victor whined. 

“Who said I would get caught? You don’t believe in me?” Warm breath tickled his neck as Yuuri questioned him teasingly. 

Victor’s own breathing hitched as he spread his legs slightly, allowing Yuuri’s body to slot in closely against his. Despite his overflowing emotions, the intense desire for his dom still churned in his gut. A long overdue storm. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered as the other man mouthed wet kissed down his neck. 

“Hmm?”

“Please touch me,” he all but begged, nudging his hips upward ever so slightly. Yuuri moved his hips back.

Yuuri pinned Victor’s wrists above his head, holding firm but gentle. “I am touching you.”

Victor sobbed once as his heart jumped into his throat. 

“You don’t find me attractive anymore,” Victor wailed. 

Yuuri released his wrists so quickly, as if his skin burned. He looked bewildered. “Vitya, what are you talking about?” 

Big, fat tears slid into Victor’s hairline as he covered his face. 

“You haven’t touched me in days. I’m always covered in bruises and I’ve lost too much weight. My hair looks too flat, maybe I’m balding,” Victor whimpered, listing out every reason he could think of that his dom wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore. 

“Baby,” Yuuri groaned, scooping him back up into a hug. He hushed Victor, who continued to cry regardless, and rolled them so Yuuri was underneath. “Look at me.” 

Victor ignored him. 

“Vitya, please,” Yuuri pleaded. “I will never not find you attractive. Please believe that. I haven’t touched you because I’m scared of hurting you.”

His sobbing calmed slightly at that. Yuuri took it as encouragement to continue. 

“You are pushing yourself so hard, I don’t want to take anything else from you. You look so tired, so fragile. I don’t want to hurt you, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, pressing a kiss into his silver hair. 

“What if I want you to hurt me?” Victor regretted the invitation as soon as it left his mouth, but it just went to show how desperate he was for the man’s touch. 

“You don’t mean that,” Yuuri cupped his cheek, forcing Victor to look up at him finally. 

“Do you remember when you first started coming here to see me? The way the blindfold scared you so much, or how you cried when I spanked you?” At Victor’s flush, Yuuri kissed his forehead consolingly. “Hey, I’m not trying to embarrass you. I just mean, look, you don’t want to be hurt, so don’t say that. Not to me or anyone else.” 

Victor sniffled, nodding when Yuuri paused. 

“I realized very quickly that you didn’t just want kinky sex, you needed someone to take care of you. It seems like you haven’t had that in a long time.” 

His dom sighed, running his fingers through Victor’s hair again. His expression was pained, like this realization really hurt him. Victor couldn’t begin to guess why. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you by not touching you. It’s never because I’m not attracted to you. I thought I was taking care of you, but I was putting what I thought you needed above what you wanted. I’m sorry,” Yuuri apologized again. 

Leaning down to wipe the rest of his tears on Yuuri’s shirt, eliciting a laugh from the man under him, Victor felt so much lighter. People were always acting like they were trying to do what was best for Victor, but for the first time, he felt like it was sincere. He knew it was. 

“You don’t have to apologize for not wanting to hurt me, zvezdochka,” Victor cracked a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”

Yuuri shook his head, “Don’t, I’m happy when you talk to me. I know what it’s like to bottle up anxiety, it’s not good for you.”

“It’s not really anxiety, I’m just really stressed right now.”

Victor landed on the mattress with a thump as Yuuri tackled him to the side. 

“Well, lucky for you, I know a really good method for relieving stress,” the devilish grin traveled away from Victor as Yuuri crawled backwards on the bed, hands working down Victor’s body. His stomach flipped in anticipation. 

“Is that so?” Victor breathed, jolting as gentle fingers grazed over the bulge in his underwear. 

“Some might even call me a professional,” Yuuri smirked. 

“A retired professional,” Victor corrected, laughing as firm hands gripped his ankles and dragged him so his butt was at the foot of the bed. 

“I fail to see how that’s relevant to this conversation.” His usual briefs slide down his legs, catching on his erection. Yuuri nudged his knees up until his feet rested on the edge of the mattress, baring him open.

“I suppose it’s not,” Victor’s breath hitched as Yuuri mouthed his inner thigh, tongue lathing over his sensitive skin. “I just thought you were a more careful and thorough person than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show you careful and thorough.” Yuuri’s eyes danced as he kneeled before Victor, who was spread before him like his last meal.

Those were the last words before Yuuri’s mouth became otherwise occupied. He dragged his tongue from base to tip, making Victor gasp. He pressed wet kisses against his cock on his way back down, pulling a groan from his submissive partner. It was too easy. 

Victor heard a click, and then a cold, wet touch surprised him. Yuuri sucked the head of his erection into his mouth as he pressed in with one finger. He hadn’t even seen him pick up the lube. The dual sensation almost immediately overwhelmed him; he bit down hard on his tongue to keep from shooting down Yuuri’s throat and ending the delicious torture too soon. 

It had felt like so long since Yuuri last touched him that Victor’s every nerve felt like a livewire. It was too much and he never wanted it to stop. And Yuuri didn’t seem like he would stop, either. He worked Victor open with brutal efficiency, always pulling back when he seemed too close to orgasming. 

One particularly loud moan had Yuuri pulling back wholly, withdrawing his fingers with a loud squelch. Victor’s face burned, but he ignored it to watch Yuuri stand, ripping his shirt up over his head and tugging his pants down like they were on fire. It took all of two seconds before his dom was doubling over his body, pressing the head of his cock against the loosened opening.

“Please stop coming home so hurt, Vitya,” Yuuri pleaded, tucking his face into the space between Victor’s neck and shoulder. He bit down on Victor’s tender flesh as he pushed in gently but quickly. 

Together, their moans filled the room, chasing the pleasure they had been missing. Victor wrapped his legs around Yuuri’s waist, holding him closely, even as his mind tripped up on what he had heard. 

Home.

Yuuri didn’t say anything else, instead focusing all his attention on driving Victor towards his climax. He wrapped his hand around Victor’s cock, fucking him into the mattress with increasing fervor, bolstered on by the encouraging babbling from the blond’s mouth. 

Victor didn’t know if he even knew what he had said, if he understood the gravity of it or even the spark of joy it lit in Victor’s heart. Somehow, it made it even more special to him, that Yuuri said it without thinking. That maybe it wasn’t just Victor that felt at home when they were together. 

Turning his head, Victor managed to catch Yuuri’s mouth with his own, moaning against his lips as finally, he came in tandem with Yuuri. They groaned into the kiss, grinding against each other through their orgasms, slowing down as their hearts raced. Eventually, Yuuri pulled his hips back– Victor almost mourned the loss.

“You’re right,” Victor spoke into the quiet of the room a few minutes later, wrapping his arms around his lover’s shoulders. 

“Hmm?” Yuuri sounded sleepy. 

“You are very professional,” Victor grinned as Yuuri laughed in his ear. He was tugged up off the bed and into strong arms, and as they crossed the apartment to the bathroom, Victor just melted into the warm feeling of being at home. 

Chapter Text

Oi!” Yuri snarled, disgusted. “What the fuck is that?” 

His pale hand gripped the collar of Victor’s shirt, wrenching it away to reveal the small red mark at the place where his neck and shoulder met.

Victor laughed, spinning out of little Yuri’s grasp. He flung his sweat drenched hair out of his face, half-wishing he could cut it. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Yurachka.” He winked, kicking off the ice to flee when the ice tiger made to pounce. 

“I’m not a kid, old man. Just tell me who did that. Do I know them?” Yuri chased him around the rink. 

He steered to the center of the ice before collapsing onto his back, panting. The cold seeped into his clothes, welcomed. Victor was sweating. He patted the space next to him. “Come, come, I’ll tell you if you don’t let Yakov hear.”

He heard the hesitant scraping of blades, as if Yuri didn’t believe he had given up so quickly. Smart kid. 

The younger skater plopped down, his pale yellow hair blending into Victor’s silver, uncharacteristically silent. 

“Hmm, you have a keen eye, I wouldn’t have worn this shirt if I knew it would show.”

“You said you would tell me,” Yuri shot up from where he lay on the ice, angry. The intensity of all of his emotions used to make Victor feel a little jealous. He smiled gently and grabbed Yuri’s hand, tugging him to lay back down. 

“Yes. yes, calm down, malen'kiy tigr. It was from someone I really like. I met him through a friend.”

Yuri huffed, curling onto his side to look at Victor. He looked small, fragile, but Victor knew what lay underneath. The strength to be one of the best skaters in the world, to be considered his very own protégé.

“Do I know him?”

“No, no,” Victor hesitated, and then decided to tell someone for the first time. “He doesn’t know who I am.” 

“Huh?” Yuri was incredulous. “Does he live under a rock?”

Victor snorted, “Not everyone lives, breathes, shits ice skating, Yura. I don’t know. It’s kind of nice.”

“That’s crazy, how would I be able to talk to Beka about anything if he didn’t know about the most important part of me.”

“Isn’t that kind of sad though, that our jobs are the most import–” 

Victor cut himself off, turning his head to look into Yuri’s eyes directly. The boy had clamped his lips together; he knew what he had done. 

“Who’s Beka?” Victor rolled onto his side too, facing the balking kid. 

“No one,” Yuri sputtered, shoving his way backwards, sliding on the ice. “He’s no one.”

“Doesn’t sound like no one,” hooking onto the blade of Yuri’s skate, Victor dragged him back to his side effortlessly. He grinned menacingly as the boy slid closer. “Don’t tell me, an ice dancer? No? Don’t tell me it’s a hockey player, you’re just a baby.” 

“Ew, no, the hockey team smells weird.”

“I hear Otabek likes hockey,” Victor threw the bait. Otabek Altin– Victor didn’t live under a rock.

“What? No he doesn’t, who told you that?” Yuri instantly snapped before clamping his hands over his mouth. 

“Oh, Yura,” Victor sighed melodramatically, hauling the child in for a hug, rubbing his cheek against the messy blond’s hair. He reeked of hours of practice and too much Axe body spray. 

“As long as he treats you like the prince you are, you have my blessing. Oh, my baby’s first boyfriend, I can’t believe you’re growing up so fast.” 

Victor babbled on and on, kindly ignoring the way Yuri’s half-hearted attempts to push him away felt almost like a hug. 

Eventually, Yuri spoke up, quiet and not at all brash like Yuri should be. “Yakov said he could stay with us before we go to Japan.”

“That sounds very unlike Yakov.”

“I promised I would stop trying to convince him to let me try a quad lutz until my eighteenth birthday.”

“That sounds exactly like Yakov.” Victor laughed softly, settling into the half-hug he had been allowed. “Are you going to go on a date when he’s here?” 

“He didn’t ask.”

“Does he have to be the one to ask?”

“No.”

“Anyone would be lucky to go on a date with the Russian Punk, don’t you think?”

Yuri didn’t answer. 

“He’s giving up precious practice time to fly here for you, you know? I don’t think he would do that for just anyone, Yurachka.”

“Would you do that for your boyfriend?” 

“Yes. Yes I think I would.” Victor answered, thinking. “And I feel pretty sure he would do that for me.”

Yuri sniffed, “He isn’t like your shit-face ex, right? Because you can’t date him then.”

“No, Yurachka, he isn’t anything like Anatoly,” he fought to keep the smile out of his voice. “I hear Otabek is a nice guy, too.”

“He is,” Yuri agreed. “He asks for pictures of Potya all the time.”

Victor had been on the other side of that flurry of photos before. It had been the most texts he had ever received from Yuri. He patted the blond head once more before releasing Yuri, moving to stand up. The ice had finally cooled him down, sufficiently chilling him to the bone.

“Just take the cologne from my locker and throw out the abomination you’re wearing, my nose and Otabek’s thank you.”

“...Fine.”

Yuri stood at center ice with rosy cheeks as Victor skated off. He heard a faint whisper of gratitude behind him. He turned, flashing a wink behind him before reaching the boards. Yakov watched him with wary eyes. 

“What was that?”

“A little father/son bonding.” 

Yakov scoffed, but not unkindly. Either way, Victor could hold Yuri’s fears in confidence. He deserved that much, at least. 

“You did good today. I was surprised, no arguing?” His coach questioned him, confused. 

“No,” Victor took a swig from his water bottle. “You’re right. I was pushing myself too much. I’m not going to get it if I hurt myself.”

Yakov watched on, bemused, as Victor snapped his guards on and headed for the locker room. He pretended not to notice. He didn’t know how to explain his sudden change of heart. His years’ long coach would see right through him if he tried. Best to just keep his mouth shut for now. 

For the next few days, the monotony of practice was only broken up by texting Yuuri, who always asked to see him, asked how his workouts went, how his bruises were healing. It was either sheer luck or the nearness to the next competition that kept Victor from running into Anatoly again. He had nothing to worry about, nothing to do other than skate.

And miss Yuuri. 

“Hey,” Victor panted, pausing in his circuit of ab exercises to answer his phone. 

“Vitya, hi.” Yuuri sounded surprised, even though he had called. 

“Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah. Of course.”

“Oh?” Victor questioned. “You just don’t usually call out of the blue.”

Victor rolled up from where he lay on the mat, reaching for his water bottle. He uncapped it and took a swig. 

“Sorry, yeah,” Yuuri coughed. “I’m just a bit sick, I don’t want to pass it to you, I don’t think we can meet this week.”

Disappointment sank in his stomach with the cold water. He had used up all his luck on avoiding Anatoly, it seemed. 

“What’s wrong, malysh, do you have a fever? Did you take anything?”

“Ah, a cold I think. I don’t actually own a thermometer,” Yuuri laughed weakly. “I just need rest, it’s fine. I just wanted to let you know before you drove all the way here.”

“I can bring you a thermometer, food too? You don’t have–”

“Vitya, please. You have to go on a trip soon, do not get yourself sick. Stay home.”

Victor opened his mouth, ready to argue, but a fit of coughing on the other end of the line interrupted him.

“I’m going to sleep, text me, okay?” A rustle of sheets on the other side of the line, a soft sigh from the sick man. “Train hard and don’t get hurt, Vitya.”

Victor hummed, “Sleep well, see you soon.” 

Throughout the remainder of his workout, Victor’s fingers itched to reach for his phone. He didn’t need to ask Yuuri if he was sure he didn’t need anything, if he really didn’t want Victor to come take care of him. Even on his way home, he had to bite his tongue to refrain from asking his driver to veer towards Yuuri’s apartment. 

It was strange, the way he felt such a strong urge to take care of Yuuri. It was silly, the notion of a sub taking care of their dom, wasn’t it? Yuuri had him acting in all sorts of strange ways, if he was honest. He tried not to think about it, nor about the way he no longer felt right about calling Yuuri just his dom.

Makka had already been fed and taken for a walk; uncharacteristically, Victor had paid his neighbor to take care of her a week early, so he would have extra rest time before his journey to Japan. After showering and eating dinner, all that was left was for him to curl up on the sofa with her and watch practice footage until bedtime. 

This was his least favorite part of prepping for competition. At least, it used to be, back when he was still trying to impress everyone. It had been a few seasons since Victor last struggled with a move and needed to film his own skating, but it worked for him. As much as he trusted Yakov, seeing the issues with his own eyes really kept his skating clean. Yuri told him it was overkill, but of course he could say that when he had Lilia watching his every move. 

He had watched his jump reel almost a dozen times when he couldn’t contain himself anymore. The screen of his cell phone had stayed dark and notification-less for hours. Victor tapped it, thumbing over to his often used delivery app. Yuuri didn’t even have a thermometer? 

An hour later, Victor’s phone was lighting up. It was a video call. He didn’t even let it finish ringing once before he answered.

“What a sleepy boy,” Victor cooed at Yuuri, who had tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He watched the squinting man plop down onto a pile of blankets and groan. “How are you feeling, Yuura?”

“You’re gonna get it,” Yuuri glared, but the effect was lost as he sneezed cutely.

“Mm, I hope so,” Victor smirked back before sobering. “Did you take your temperature?”

“I have a slight fever.”

“Did you-”

“And I took the medication and I had the soup and I drank the electrolytes. I even gave Vicchan his new toy.” He flipped the camera over to show the small dog chewing on the ear of a big hamster plush. “Should I start calling you Daddy now?”

Victor let out a belly laugh as Yuuri’s peeved face appeared back on the screen, which he covered by throwing his arm over his eyes. 

“No, I rather prefer how things are, zvezda. I was worried. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

Yuuri peered at him over his sleeve. He seemed deliberating. 

“It’s fine, thank you for everything. Even the multiple types of lube.” 

“It seemed necessary for your recovery.”

“How’s that?” Yuuri’s eyes looked lighter, less burdened by Victor’s act of kindness. He was just being selfish really. The longer he went without medicine and sustenance, the longer Victor had to be without Yuuri. 

“Laughter is the best medicine, or so they say,” Victor snickered, pushing Yuuri into his own fit of giggles. Giggles that morphed into wet coughs, which took all the humor out of the situation. Victor sat up, annoying Makkachin. “Are you okay? Do you have an inhaler? I can go get one. Can I go get one?”

Yuuri waved him off as he calmed down. “Relax, I’m fine. I’ll just take a hot bath and drink tea.”

“Oh shit, I forgot to send tea.”

“Vitya, for fucks sake, I have tea!” Yuuri exclaimed. 

Victor flinched involuntarily. 

“Baby…” Yuuri took several deep breaths. “You did more than enough for me, I’ll be okay. Promise.”

“Okay,” Victor was quiet. 

Sighing, Yuuri reached out of frame, drawing back in with a handful of tissues. He blew his nose and Victor watched in silence.

“When I was in high school, I got sick. Really bad pneumonia. It took a long time to recover and still, when I get sick, my lungs take it the hardest.” Yuuri offered up a gentle token of his truth. 

“Don’t you need a doctor then?” Yuuri shook his head, smiling softly. 

“There’s not really anything to be done, my lungs are just a bit weaker than everyone else’s now, I guess. That’s why I gave up dancing, well, mostly. I can dance a little bit, for fun, but I can’t handle competition anymore.”

There was a sad pang in Victor’s chest, a grief for Yuuri and what he gave up. Was he reminded of whatever he lost every time he was ill? Victor yearned to drive over to his apartment even more than before. 

Generally a healthy person, Victor had never had to consider giving up skating. He had a hard time affording it when he was really young, but eventually, skating had become his unquestionable career. 

“Is that why you considered working for your parents in Japan?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t really know what else to do back then. I had lost so much muscle tone when I was bed-bound, I could barely even go up stairs without struggling. I felt so pathetic,” Yuuri laughed in a self-deprecating way that hurt Victor’s heart. 

“And look how buff you are now,” Victor laid the back of his hand on his forehead dramatically. “You carry me around like I weigh nothing, and all 185 cm of me is rock hard muscle.” 

Yuuri’s cheeks reddened slightly from their original fever flush. 

“Of course I carry you around. You’re exhausted all the time. I take care of you . That’s how this is supposed to work.” So that’s what Yuuri was upset about. 

“We both know this isn’t just a BDSM relationship anymore, Yuura,” Victor ducked his head down, peering up at Yuuri from beneath silver lashes. “I want to take care of you sometimes too.”

“But you don’t have to, and you really don’t have to go this far. You sent me the entire soup aisle, Vitya.”

“And you don’t have to do anything that you do for me. But you do. And I did. So shut up and accept it, and you can go back to carrying me around and waving your big manly dick around when you’re better, okay?” 

Victor huffed, blowing hair off of his forehead. 

Yuuri was a cross somewhere between bemused and amused. He stared at Victor for nearly a minute before a coy smirk slowly curled around his pink lips. 

“You think my dick is big and manly?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

Chapter Text

It took over a week for Yuuri’s cold to abate. 

Victor had one rest day left before he was due to fly to Japan, and he would be damned if he didn’t make sure that he got to spend every last second with Yuuri. 

He just had to get through this first. 

“Beka, this is the old man I always complain about.”

“Yura, that’s rude. Hi, Mr. Nikiforov, nice to meet you,” Otabek Altin elbowed the little blonde menace gently, reaching out a hand to shake. 

Victor decided quickly that he liked this Otabek character and swept him into a hug instead. 

“None of this nonsense, Otabek, we’re competitors. Call me Victor and take care of my kotenok, please.”

“Yes, sir,” came the muffled reply. Yuri shoved his way in between the two older men, ready to fight if necessary. Victor just laughed. 

“Yuri! Stop messing around and skate, or else I’ll rethink your visitor privileges.” Yakov was glaring menacingly from the boards.

Immediately, Yuri dropped his hands, kicking off to skate to center ice. He glared at Victor before nodding shyly at his friend. It was strange to see Yuri acting so docile. It was rather precious. 

“So, how are your programs coming along?” Victor promised he would behave; skating was a safe subject. 

“Good,” Otabek cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Yuri. “I’m not as flexible or graceful as him, but I’m trying to work around that.”

Victor frowned, resting his chin on his hand. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t earn you anything to compare yourself to him. You have immense strength. An unshakeable resolve can get you far, sometimes much farther than being able to do a split. I’ve seen your skates. Be confident in them. The judges can sense fear.” 

The Kazakh skater’s eyes shone as he absorbed Victor’s words. He felt a little caught off guard; Victor had grown far too used to the way Yuri bit, but Otabek just soaked up the attention with visible gratitude. Being around the little brat had a way of melting through his Russian Champion armor, but it felt strangely gratifying to offer his wisdom to a new mentee. 

A younger, more open Victor had tried offering advice to his rinkmates, but he was just met with disdain.

“Thank you. My coach says the same thing, but it sounds a lot different coming from you.” 

“Sometimes, we need to hear things twice for them to really click,” Victor winked, patting Otabek’s shoulder. “Well, I’m on break, tell Yura I said to lift his arms higher on his jumps. See you at the airport.”

He skated off, waving over his shoulder. Now if he could just sneak past Yakov…

“Vitya!” his coach barked at him. 

“Coach, please,” Victor whined, turning back from getting his skate guards. 

“What is with you? I used to have to scrape your body off the ice and now it’s the last place you want to be. Where are you going, huh?” 

“You’re getting it wrong. I just have an incentive to stop falling so much.” 

“You would think winning was enough incentive,” the old man muttered under his breath. He took in a lungful of air, letting it out slowly.

“I’m going to win,” Victor declared. And he felt as sure as he sounded. In his private practices, he had proven himself to Yakov. 

And he would have to thank Yuuri. Once he started giving himself more time to rest, the jumps started coming easier. The man had magic hands. 

“Don’t get cocky now. Go home. Watch your footage or whatever it is you do on your rest days. Don’t be late for the flight. Do. Not.” 

“When have I ever been late?” Victor thought back to the time he got caught up hiding from paparazzi or turning the car around because he forgot his costume. Or that other time he forgot his skates. 

“Go.”

With a big kiss to his balding head, Victor bid his grumpy coach adieu. He would see him again at the airport. 

A suspicious Yakov was difficult to shake off. He was basically a father to him; Victor felt guilty keeping this a secret. He had been there to pick up the pieces after Anatoly, but telling him about Yuuri felt like an admission that he was falling. And he just couldn’t tell Yakov before he told the man himself.

He dipped into the locker room, putting his skates in Yuri’s locker and pausing for a rinse in the shower before rushing through a sham of a skincare routine. He all but floated out of the training area, and once the doors to the rink closed behind him, Victor sprinted to the car he had booked, practically shaking from excitement. His luggage was packed at home, Makka already with the neighbors. He had nothing to worry about until the day after tomorrow, when Victor just had to pick up his suitcase, and then Team Russia would fly to Japan together. Nothing to think about other than Yuuri. 

The driver smiled knowingly when Victor all but somersaulted into the car and spouted out Yuuri’s address. 

“I was always this excited to see my wife after a long day working,” he chuckled, flicking the turn signal to leave the parking lot. “Shows you made a good decision.”

Victor hummed his agreement, nestling into the backseat, clad in his wool coat. A warm feeling rushed through him as he stared out the window. He felt starved for affection, even though they had spoken every day. But finally, after much insistence, Yuuri’s doctor had given the all-clear; he was healthy and his lungs were fine and , as Yuuri eventually realized, he wouldn’t infect Victor before his trip. 

“I can walk from here,” Victor rushed out, clamoring out of the car at a red light when the traffic in front of Yuuri’s apartment entrance halted. The driver waved, letting out a belly laugh as he accepted his tip and watched the pink-cheeked man disappear into the cold night. 

Victor ran across an immaculate lawn that definitely was not meant for pedestrians. He didn’t want to wait any longer and Yuuri didn’t live in an HOA area anyway. It was getting dark and the sleepy neighborhood was likely all inside, having dinner, so it was quiet when he slipped into the complex. 

Bouncing in place, he waited for the elevator to reach the lobby. He was excited, but practice still meant the stairs were not an option yet. Maybe a bath would be in order for the night. 

The elevator took a century to arrive and then another century to reach the sixth floor. He was out the doors before they fully opened and down the hall. All the way at the end, Yuuri’s door opened and a pair of arms appeared, ready and willing as Victor launched himself forwards. 

“Yuuuuuuuri,” Victor wailed, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around the other man. Yuuri hugged back, taking all of Victor’s weight and stepping back into the apartment. He shut the door with a kick and pressed Victor’s back against it. 

“Welcome back,” Yuuri breathed in deeply, nose brushing against pale, smooth skin. He kissed the base of Victor’s neck, pulling a sigh from his lips. 

“I missed you,” Victor whispered, pulling back to look at Yuuri’s face. His blue eyes watered slightly as they scanned his lover’s. It was surprising; it hadn’t been that long since he had seen Yuuri. He had to admit he was used to the comfort Yuuri gave him, and it had been a long week without him. 

“You’re here now,” Yuuri smiled up at him. Simultaneously, they leaned in for a kiss, which turned into two, which turned into the steamy makeout session Victor had been dreaming about for days. 

“You can just get me sick next time,” Victor blurted when they came up for air. “I’ll be retired by then, it’ll be fine.”

The man holding him up groaned, thumping his forehead down on Victor’s chest. 

“No talking about work,” he eventually said, raising his head. Yuuri’s eyebrows were pinched together. “Or do I have to teach you a lesson?”

“God, please do,” Victor’s stomach flipped as he gazed down at his lover. He was being consumed by his desire, had been for days. 

A guttural noise left Yuuri’s throat as he pulled away from the door, pivoting to make a beeline to his bedroom with Victor in his arms. The lights were all dim and it was warm. There was a hazy coziness sinking into his bones. It was safe, it was home. 

Vicchan was nowhere to be seen, but Yuuri still kicked the door shut behind him. Victor slowly remembered that the small dog was with a sitter, so they wouldn’t get distracted for the night. A soft smile lined his lips as he cuddled in closer to Yuuri. 

Then he was falling. 

“Oof,” Victor exhaled as he thumped onto the mattress. Yuuri stood before him, already tugging his shirt over his head. A playful glint in his eyes had Victor holding back from following suit. 

“Clothes off. Now,” Yuuri ordered, golden skin on full display. 

“What if I don’t want to?” Victor rolled onto his stomach, crawling up the bed as sensually as he could manage. God, his knees hurt. 

Flicking his hair over one shoulder, Victor gave a bratty look behind him. Yuuri’s eyes were devouring him whole from where he stood, desire burning in his stare. 

“Then I’ll just have to make you,” Yuuri grabbed onto Victor’s ankles and dragged him down the mattress, eliciting a gasp. Victor’s stomach turned somersaults as Yuuri folded over him, weaving a hand into the silver strands at the back of his head and pulling. 

“Color?” A whisper in his ear asked, and in that moment, Victor would have agreed to anything if it was asked with the same gentleness in that voice. 

“Green, so fucking green,” Victor whimpered, a sharp bite to his earlobe and the weight on his body was gone. 

Nimble hands yanked his waistband down, barely clearing his ass before he felt the sting of a spank, then another. Yuuri kneaded his flesh, spreading him open. Then, the hands froze. 

“Happy early birthday,” Victor smugly declared, grinning into the sheets as Yuuri cursed under his breath. Every moment Yuuri wasn’t inside him was a waste of time, so he spared a few moments of his shower to prepare and now, Yuuri was staring down the barrel of his forethought. A sparkly blue gem sitting atop a steel butt plug. 

And if he took the time to match it to his eyes when he bought it, Victor wouldn’t be the one to point it out. 

A zing of desire traced up Victor’s spine as Yuuri traced the warm metal, Yuuri moaning at the sight as he pressed it in gently. 

“This is the best gift I’ve ever received.” Yuuri’s hands almost shook as they reverently rubbed the spank-reddened skin. “You were just pretending to be a brat, huh.” 

A quiet thud, and then Yuuri’s mouth was on him, kissing and sucking marks into each cheek. He had sunk to his knees in worship and was well on his way to making Victor see God. 

He should have stopped him, told him not to leave marks. He would be in crowded locker rooms for days in Japan, but Victor just couldn’t bring himself to care. Maybe he would just tell Yakov about Yuuri and it would be out in the open and off his chest and he could jump his quad axel without the weight of this secret dragging him down. 

Yuuri was gentle for his eagerness, grasping the base of the plug, tugging on it experimentally, pressing it back in. He slowly worked up a rhythm, never quite pulling it free, driving Victor into a frenzy. Victor eventually pushed back, rutting his hips against the sheets, meeting Yuuri with each thrust. It was almost embarrassing how close he already was, but this was his Yuuri. His Yuuri who was moaning along with him, maybe even touching himself there on his bedroom floor. 

“I miss you so much,” Victor cried out, “Please.” 

Immediately, Yuuri pulled the plug free and tossed it to the side. Yuuri’s weight was on him again, and in one smooth motion, he slid home. Their sighs of relief sounded off in unison.

“I’m right here, Vitya,” Yuuri soothed. He slipped one hand beneath Victor’s hips to finally give his neglected cock the attention he craved. “I’m right here.”

Victor cursed. The voice in his ear, the hand around his erection, his lover deep inside of him enraptured all of his senses, robbing him of his sanity. Each moan ended in a sob, and he was sure he was babbling nonsense, but Yuuri had nothing but reassurance to offer as he reminded Victor who he belonged to. 

It started off slow, sweet, but at Victor’s insistence, Yuuri showed him his hard earned stamina. His hips set a punishing pace, punching the air out of Victor’s lungs each time he bottomed out. Victor never wanted it to stop, never thought sex could feel like this. 

“I’m–” 

“Me too,” Yuuri interrupted Victor, already recognizing the change in his voice. His hand began stroking Victor’s aching cock, teasing out the slick precum gathered at the tip. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“Oh fuck,” Victor spit out a string of curse words and maybe it was in Russian. “Inside.” 

As if the demand cut the strings holding Yuuri together, he plowed down faster, harder, until he was a stuttering mess. Finally then, at the warm rush, the feeling of his lover filling him wholly, the world flipped upside down and Victor came, still pulsing in Yuuri’s hand. 

Yuuri slipped out, climbing off to finally remove his pants fully-Victor didn't even notice he was still clothed. Yuuri plopped back down, this time to his side. He carded his finger’s through Victor’s hair until the boneless man found the energy to turn his head to look at Yuuri. They were both flushed, hearts still beating fast in their chests. Victor smiled shyly, tucking a hand under his chin on the mattress. 

“I do actually have a birthday gift for you, you know.” 

“You didn’t have to do that, Vitya,” Yuuri protested, turning his head to glare. 

“Well duh, but obviously I did anyway. Last time we spoke, you mentioned you were looking for a gym, so I got you a membership at one that I like. They have a spa and a doggy daycare,” Victor gushed, hoping to distract Yuuri from asking him just how much a membership at this gym cost. 

He had hoped by gifting something Yuuri kind of needed, her could get away with it. Sure he didn’t need a whole year at the most expensive fitness club in the city, but it’s not like he was paying for his own membership. He had all of Yubileyny at his disposal.

“I should have spanked you more,” Yuuri settled on a response after staring blankly at him for a few moments. 

“Well, the night is young,” Victor winked. “And we have all day tomorrow, though you will have to offer me some manual therapy before I go. I cannot imagine getting on a plane after another similarly thorough fucking.”

The light in Yuuri’s eyes dimmed at the mention of his trip. It would only be for a week, Victor had to keep reminding himself. He tried to cut the trip shorter, but his coach wasn’t having it. Not when he had agreed to meet with a Japanese activewear company for an ad campaign. Naturally, it had nothing to do with the fact that Yuuri wore their clothing. 

It seemed like a horrible way to hide who he was, but maybe his subconscious was deciding it was almost time to tell Yuuri the truth.

Yuuri leaned forward, capturing him in a sweet kiss. He pulled back after a beat, but stayed close, noses nearly touching. 

“Thank you, Vitya,” he whispered. Victor brushed his nose against the other man’s. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. The quiet calm of Yuuri’s apartment was enough for him. 

“I’m going to miss you again.” 

“We don’t have to think about it now.”

Victor sighed. “You’re right, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Yuuri hushed him with another kiss. 

Victor closed his eyes, willing the tears that lined his lashes to sink back into where they came from. He felt like such a baby. 

He pulled away, painting a wide smile on his lips. 

“You weren’t lying then.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in subject. 

“You actually are feeling better,” Victor teased, reaching out to rest his other hand on Yuuri’s sweat-chilled chest. 

“Do you need more proof? I can go again.”

Drawn by pure magnetic attraction, Victor’s eyes trailed down. 

“Holy shit, are you sure you came?” he cried out at the injustice of Yuuri’s erection not flagging even slightly. Yuuri laughed, a deep, warm sound. Butterflies stirred in the pit of Victor’s stomach. 

His laughter faded, leaving only his smile lines and a serious look in his eyes.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Yuuri confessed. 

Heart stuttering, Victor’s mouth opened and closed again, but the words to tell Yuuri that he felt the same wouldn’t come. 

Instead, he pushed up from where he lay to straddle Yuuri. Before he could say anything else, Victor reached behind him to guide his cock into place and sat down, taking all of it in one swift motion. 

Yuuri jolted, reaching up to grab Victor’s pale hips in surprise. His brown eyes were wide as Victor moaned, readjusting to his size. 

“Good thing I’m all yours.”

Chapter Text

“I didn’t mean it.” 

He was lucky this was their first fight. He had said something horrible, but it was in the heat of the moment. Or maybe Victor was just lucky he was so forgiving. Even as he wished a chandelier would fall from the ceiling and crush him for taking so long to apologize, he was already being forgiven. 

Christophe just smiled at him, already reaching for a hug. 

“I know, mon chou.”

As soon as his flight landed in Japan, Victor began following Christophe’s location on his phone, ready to pay anyone to handle his luggage so he could find his friend. And, as if he was waiting for the apology, there he was, waiting at the hotel bar. Yuri got his next week’s worth of sugary coffee drinks paid for by dropping Victor’s suitcases in his room. 

“You were right.” Victor’s voice was muffled against Chris’s shoulder. Victor pulled away, resting his hands on his friend’s upper arms. “I don’t know how to enjoy myself and I wasn’t happy.”

“Wow, big revelations have been had.” Chris laughed, eyes sparkling like he was hoping for it. “Come sit, have you tried yogurt soju?”

And that was all it took. A few drinks and a few tears, and things felt normal again. 

“So what, you just got railed for twenty four hours and now you’re here?”

“Well, not twenty four hours straight, but close to it. We took breaks for food and he gave me a massage I would normally have killed for, and now I am here.” 

Chris whistled as Victor gushed, a secret smug look in his eye. 

“What’s that face for?” 

“Nothing, I’m just glad you get along so well.”

“Thank you. For introducing me. I think,” Victor hesitated for a moment. “I think I l–”

A commotion across the lobby interrupted the confession, a sudden cacophony erupting behind the two men. 

Victor turned around, frustrated. His frustration only grew when he spotted the paparazzi outside the hotel filtering into the building. They were all trailing after the one person he could have lived without seeing ever again. 

Anatoly.

He was dressed to the nines, smiling and laughing, even talking to some of the reporters who were asking rapidfire questions. It set a bad precedent, letting the sharks know they could feed if they were persistent. It was how Anatoly always was, but it took this distance for Victor to see him for what he was. An attention whore. And that was all he would ever be. 

“Tsk,” Chris tutted, rolling his eyes. “I knew there was something off about him. Only a complete sociopath looks that happy to be harassed by them.”

Victor downed the last of his drink and pulled out his wallet. “Come on, let’s escape before he sees me and acts like my long lost lover.” A good night’s rest would cast out the thoughts of his ex. 

Or at least that was what Victor told himself as he arrived at the rink, towed by Yakov, bright and early the next morning. And then he remembered where he was and who was skating at the same competition. 

By the time Victor left the locker room, Killian was already stretching rinkside, his coach standing silent vigil. 

“Ugh,” Victor closed his eyes for a moment. Just ignore him. It’s just one more month and you never have to see him again.

Logically, he had no reason to hate Killian. He was just a skater, doing what he did best. Skate. Could Victor really blame him for ratifying the lutz before he could? He glanced at Killian at the same moment the skater looked up. The brunette practically snarled at him, a vein in his neck appearing as Victor quickly looked away. 

Yes, he could blame him. 

Once again, envy settled around Victor, ugly and mean. Killian looked even stronger than at the last competition. Victor heard whispers that he was backloading his programs with quad jumps. Even with Yuuri’s help with training, he didn’t think he could ever beat that. 

It was fine. Victor had grace, elegance, beauty. He had artistic expression that the brute could only dream of achieving. And his aging body wasn’t quite about to give up on making history. 

“Stay away, Vitya,” Yakov warned. “I hear he’s been easy to anger this season. Just don’t make any waves.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Victor muttered under his breath, leaning into a hamstring stretch. His face burned as he thought of the last stretch Yuuri gave him. 

“Oh ho, what’s got you blushing, mon chou?”

“Nothing,” Victor answered quickly as Christophe plopped on the floor across from him. They grabbed each other’s hands, taking turns assisting in a deeper stretch. 

“Mhm,” Chris hummed, disbelieving and amused. “Just a sunburn, then.”

“I look forward to seeing your program in person,” he tried changing the subject. Thankfully, Chris let it go. 

“You know I love when you watch me skate, ma quiche.”

Victor grinned, happy to have his friend back. 

The rink was starting to fill out. It was a public practice, and Victor couldn’t deny the fact that he was part of the reason why it was so busy at seven in the morning. He recognized some of the reporters from the hotel the previous night. Didn’t they ever get tired?

A small gaggle of the Japanese skating entourage left the locker room, merging into the crowd. Automatically, Victor’s eyes found Anatoly, scowling as the older man shoved past a few of the ice dancers on his way to, he presumed, Killian. He bumped into a man standing near the coaches. Victor recognized the angry glint in Anatoly’s eye as he turned to say something. The other man began bowing nervously, a medical face mask making it impossible to read his lips. 

“He’s so fucking rude,” Victor seethed, “What the fuck was wrong with me?”

“Vitya in love can be a little bit of a fool,” Chris spoke fondly.

“Ugh, just kill me if I’m ever that blind again.”

“You got it,” his friend laughed. “Now, should we go hide from the reporters, or are you entertaining them today?”

“Yakov said I have to talk to them if I want my phone back,” Victor rolled his eyes. He was lucky Yuuri had been available to speak the previous night, because he wouldn’t be able to call him again until after practice. 

“No distractions!” Yakov had barked when he snatched the phone out of his hands as he got onto the bus. The old man was more shrewd than Victor gave him credit for. 

At least his sweet Yuuri understood he was working. “Don’t worry about it, just text me when you’re free, baby.” 

Victor’s heart fluttered just thinking about it. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he huffed under his breath, rising to his feet. He offered a hand to help Chris up, and together, they walked over to where the press had been roped off. 

Well-trained media smile on his face, Victor waved brightly as the cameras began flashing. A strange calm settled over him, an almost dissociative feeling as he thought about how he wouldn’t have to keep doing this for the rest of his life. It felt like relief. 

The questions were rapid fire, impossible to hear a full sentence as another was layered over it.

“Alright, alright, one at a time,” Victor laughed. He pointed to a familiar Russian reporter first, hoping for an easy one to start with. 

“Victor, have you made any changes to your program in light of Killian Sommer’s surprise ratification at Rostelecom?”

So much for an easy start. 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” Victor winked at the reporter, picking another at random. 

“You have not yet given context on your theme of “longing” this season, can you comment now?”

“I was saving it for the press conference,” Victor sighed dramatically, “but I guess I can give you something. The ice has been my one true love my entire life, but just like everyone else, I long to find what else is out there for me. Who knows, maybe I’ve already found it.”

He smiled slyly, pressing his index finger against his lips.

“Victor! When were you planning to announce your retirement? Is it fair to your fans that have supported you all this time to keep them in the dark?” 

Victor’s head whipped around, ponytail swishing. At the end of the line, a reporter he had never seen before was desperately reaching forward with a microphone. The others immediately jumped on him, shouting about his retirement. Another microphone shoved into his face, clipping his chin slightly. He jolted, putting a hand to his jaw, and stepped back. 

“Let’s go, Vitya,” Chris clasped a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. He nodded, never taking his eyes from the reporter who had somehow outed his future plans before he could tactfully share them himself. That same, angry, crippled part of his soul wept like it did when the quad lutz was taken from him, but he kept his face passive.

Chris guided him to the locker room, nodding his head at Yakov to follow, who somehow had missed the entire debacle. Luckily, there was no one else taking refuge inside. 

“What the fuck was that? Who does he think he is, “is it fair to your fans,” as if you’re not a human being. Why is he even talking about retirement? You’ve never–”

His friend was pacing the locker room, but he paused to turn and look at Victor where he sat on the bench. He curled in on himself, wishing he had been about to at least tell his best friend, and his long time competitor, on his own terms.

“Mon chou, no…” Chris trailed off. 

“I don’t know how he knows. I didn’t tell anyone other than Yakov and Yuuri,” Victor whispered. 

Was he just speculating? Did his programs look tired? Did he? 

“Yurachka?” Yakov’s face reddened. “Why, that little–”

“No! No, Yuuri, my– I’ve been seeing someone. But he wouldn’t tell anyone! He doesn’t even know–”

A knock sounded at the door, cutting him off. 

“We’ll discuss this later,” his coach stated firmly. 

The door pushed open, a meek head poking inside. The women’s RSF trainer. 

“Um, Mr. Feltsman, can you come outside?” 

He grumbled, waving off Victor when he tried to follow. “Stay. I’ll be back.”

“Why is this happening to me?” Victor wailed once the door was closed again. He closed his eyes, warding off the tears he wanted to cry. “I was going to tell you, I promise.”

“You’re really doing it then?” Chris was quiet. Victor opened his eyes, looking over at his friend. Christophe leaned against the lockers, looking sad, a lot like how Victor felt inside. 

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. I wanted to go out with a bang, you know? Before they start reporting that my knees are weak and my hair is thinning and little Yura is going to be my replacement. Though they’ve already started talking about him as my heir and honestly, he’s incredible so I can’t be mad.” 

Victor sniffed, “I’m just tired, Chris. I’m running out of surprises. And I’m afraid of the day they stop loving me.”

Chris stepped forward to kneel in front of Victor, resting a hand on his knee. “No one is going to stop loving you, Vitya. Not me, not Feltsman, not little Yuri, Makkachin. Your fans. You are Victor Nikiforov, greatest skater that ever lived. That doesn’t go away just because you want to retire.”

He smiled sadly down at his friend. He opened his mouth to respond, then Yakov stormed back into the room. Victor turned to scold his coach for interrupting their moment, but at the look on his face, the words died on his tongue. 

“Chris, you should go be with your coach. No arguing. I need to speak to Victor. Alone.”

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Christophe stood. He smoothed the silver hair on Victor’s head before bidding them both adieu and stepping out of the locker room.

“What’s going on?” Victor was just as confused. 

“They’re calling for drug tests,” Yakov looked angry.

“What, for who?”

“Everyone.”

Chapter Text

There were few noises that bothered Victor more than the sound of the press getting wind of a scandal.

Being rinkside was no longer a possibility. The din of the reporters’ interrogation caused an unpleasant nausea to settle in the pit of his stomach. He heard the crowd filter in as the stadium opened its doors for the public practice. Soon, they would be in uproar too, once they heard of the testing.

“Well, I would have saved my morning pee for this if they had warned us sooner,” Christophe laughed, taking another large gulp of water. Victor rolled his eyes, accepting the proffered water bottle.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, “Why are we wasting our time with this? Just test the person you suspect and leave the rest of us out of it.”

Yakov was wreaking havoc at the ISU’s Important People section. It was fruitless, but nurtured the fond feelings Victor held for his coach. At least someone looked out for him.

“I’m just saying, if I was going to take performance enhancing drugs, skating would not be the performance of my choice,” Chris winked at Victor, who could only snort in amusement.

“Don’t talk so loudly, someone might take you seriously.”

“Anyone can vouch for me, my performance has always been above average.”

Victor let out a loud laugh, shoving his friend playfully.

“Victor Nikiforov.”

A man in an ISU uniform called into the skaters’ waiting room. He was reading off a clipboard, and his accent fumbled over Victor’s name nervously.

“Well, that’s me. See you after sentencing, friend.” Victor patted Chris’s shoulder, following the official out of the room. He held his head high, kept his shoulders back. There were no cameras on them, but it was for the other skaters as much as it was for himself. He was the oldest; there were younger, more nervous skaters looking on. Little Yuri had been unusually quiet, staying by Otabek’s side as they waited to be called in.

He trailed behind the official as they made their way down the hall, towards the medic’s rooms. The ISU must have commandeered the area; several trainers were seated outside, looking disgruntled. Victor nodded politely to the man with the clipboard as he gestured for Victor to go on. Before he could reach for the knob, the door opened and out came Killian. He was dressed in his team tracksuit, a simple black and red outfit. Victor himself always wore his Olympic jacket on such occasions. Killian’s eyes swept over the red RU on his chest, nostrils flaring. Victor shouldn’t have felt so smug, but his Olympic gold was something no one could take away.

It was rude, staring, but Victor couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to talk to this asshole. It was bad enough they had to compete at the same event, but now his luck was forcing them to interact.

“Nikiforov,” Killian snarled, posturing needlessly.

“No need to get feisty, there are no cameras,” Victor took a step back. As much as he wanted to get in his face, one month before retirement was not the time to be causing trouble.

They stood still, glaring at each other. There was no place for antagonism here, but a spiteful part of Victor was finding it difficult to take the high road.

“Next!” A yell from inside cut the tension before either of them could speak again.

“See you on the ice, princess,” Killian smirked, shouldering past Victor.

Victor’s lip curled in disgust as he rubbed his arm. Asshole.

Inside the medic space, several techs were geared up in lab coats, glasses, and gloves. Three of them seemed to be ignoring him, focused entirely on bagging and labeling cups. They seemed rushed; the testing must have come as a surprise to them too.

“Victor!” An excited voice exclaimed as a shorter, tan man hurried over to him.

“Oh, hello! Phichit, right?”

“OMG– you remember!” The safety glasses widened the appearance of his eyes even more. Victor smiled at the enthusiasm.

“Of course I remember. You felt my existential dread,” and it had been one of Victor’s favorite recent moments with a fan, if he could consider Phichit to be one.

“I did, I really did. Well, welcome to our surprise lab. I hope you drank a lot of water today,” Phichit spoke quickly and with too few breaths. “You have to fill this cup to the line, though I won’t say no to extra. I mean, not me personally, but the lab, you know. The more the better!”

“You got it,” Victor flashed a bright smile, accepting the small plastic cup. He was ushered towards a single bathroom; the door was wedged open.

“Unfortunately, we have to monitor, just to make sure there’s no funny business. Don’t worry, I won’t make it weird or anything. Totally normal human function, nothing to be embarrassed about!”

He had been tested before, once, long ago, so he had been expecting this. It felt a little strange when you personally knew the medic monitoring you.

“Totally normal,” Victor chuckled, “That’s exactly what this is.”

He remained chatting with Phichit as his sample was bagged and labeled, and after signing an attestation, he was on his way back to the waiting room. Immediately, he walked over to little Yuri, who was watching a video over Otabek’s shoulder. Victor itched to take a photo of how cute the moment was, but Yakov held his phone.

“Hey, kotenok, doing okay?”

“Of course, I don’t do drugs,” Yuri scoffed loudly, drawing a few laughs from the other skaters around them. Victor and Otabek shared a grin over the blond head.

“Of course, silly me for asking. Anyway, I just wanted to warn you that they watch you pee. I hope you trimmed recently.” Victor wiggled his fingers in goodbye and walked back to where his best friend lay after his stretch. He snickered as Yuri sputtered behind him.

The rest of the testing moved relatively quickly. Again, Victor wished he had his phone. He almost felt tempted to ask Chris if he could call Yuuri, but he couldn’t handle the potential embarrassment. Once everyone had been processed, they were allowed back out of the waiting room; it was past time for the public practice.

The skaters’ milled out of the waiting room altogether, wresting loud cheers from the audience. Victor wondered if they knew why they were late to practice.

He cursed, feeling like he already needed to stretch again. A hot bath would have to be in order that night. Maybe he would be able to coax Yuuri into a video call, despite the time difference. A smile grew on Victor’s lips at the thought of what the call might lead to.

“You’re thinking about something dirty, aren’t you?” Chris nudged him as they laced up their skates. Victor removed his jacket, revealing a tight shirt that had some of the audience swooning.

“How could you tell?” Victor smirked, pulling his guards off. He stood up to his full height, stretching his arms above his head. He leaned to one side, breathing slowly as he lengthened through his right oblique, repeating the action on the other side.

As he went through the motions, his eyes wandered. If he was being honest with himself, Victor was seeking out Killian– so he could avoid him. Thankfully, the German skater seemed more interested in the press than the competition. He was near the locker rooms, talking to some reporters. They were asking the usual questions about his programs, his theme, when a group of trainers exited the locker room. Not for the first time, his mind conjured up what it would look like if Yuuri was there, dressed in all black with the rest of them. He imagined his black hair and blue glasses amongst the crowd, but in a blink, Chris was in front of him, waving a hand.

“Hello? Are we skating or killing our enemies with our eyes?”

“Skating, yes, sorry. Distracted.” Victor shook his head, shaking off his daydreams.

Victor turned away from the spectacle near Killian. He heard the reporters keep shouting questions, one asking what it was like working for the great Victor Nikiforov. He stepped onto the ice, kicking off before he could hear a response.

“Okay, impress me, mon chou,” Christophe clapped his hands, skating a circle around his friend. “What can you do?”

Victor glanced over his shoulder, noting where his coach stood vigil over the ice. Their eyes met, and the older man nodded his head once.

“I can do anything,” Victor smiled. The ice was still relatively empty so far. He picked up speed, waving to the crowd. They cheered for him. Good. That was how it was meant to be.

On his second lap around the rink, he kicked off the ice, turned one, two, three, four times before landing easily, skating back to his friend. A slight delay before the audience roared, capturing the attention of everyone in the stadium.

“Holy shit,” Chris exclaimed, “A quad lutz? During a practice? Are you kidding me?” He laughed loudly, clapping Victor’s shoulder in congratulations. “If that’s your idea of practice, I can’t wait to see what you have planned for your programs.”

“I can’t wait to show you,” Victor breathed deeply. He had been practicing for weeks until he could pretend that jump was easy as pie. He just needed everyone to think it was. If Killian could do it, so could he.

Turning around, Victor caught Yakov’s eye again. His coach nodded at him again, but this time, it was tinged with a hint of pride. They had discussed this. Debuting a quad lutz during his program would earn him points, sure, but he was just copying Killian then. Casually dropping one during the practice? That would show everyone. He is the best skater in the world, of course he can do a quadruple lutz. No problem.

The ice slowly started filling up. Yuri came over to berate him for making such a big deal out of a “stupid practice” and Otabek followed up with his own questions about the quad. Victor was confident that both boys would be begging their coaches to add the jump to their own repertoires once they returned home.

Some of the others offered their own congratulations; it felt sort of wooden, coming from the older skaters he’s been competing against for years, but some of the younger competitors sound genuine. It had become all too easy to tell the difference, but he thanked them all the same.

Victor began a run through of his short program, marking the jumps when he didn’t have the space to complete them. Let Yakov tell him off later.

To his side, Chris followed suit. The two are used to skating around each other, knowing when to dodge the other’s steps. Usually.

“Vitya!” Chris’s voice was much too close but Victor was skating much too fast to stop.

A full second barely passed before they collided.

Victor was skating backwards, picking up speed for a jump combination where there had been an empty half of the rink. Where Chris shouldn’t have been.

An arm caught him around the waist, likely trying to slow him down but all it managed was to give him whiplash, halting all of his velocity before slamming him to the ice.

Head ricocheting off the ice, Victor’s eyes closed as the rink spun around him.

The sounds of the stadium faded in and out.

Victor thought he must have a concussion, before realizing the blurring of his vision was just from unshed tears. He blinked hard, forcing them to fall.

It was still blurry.

All skating around him ceased. He needed to get up. Tell them he’s okay. Tell Chris it’s okay.

He put a hand to his head, wincing. His fingers pulled away, wet, red. He heard Yura yelling for a medic. Otabek would take care of him.

Victor pushed up onto his elbows, or at least, he thought he did. He hadn’t moved at all.

The cold of the ice seeped through his thin shirt. Would blood stain his hair? Victor didn’t think he’d ever had blood in his hair. Warmth covered Victor. He forced his eyes open, not remembering when they closed. A black sweatshirt lay over him. Strong arms push under his body, and he was scooped up from the ice.

“I can walk, I’m heavy,” Victor’s words slurred. He tries again, head lolling to the side.

“No, you can’t and no, you aren’t,” a familiar voice huffed.

Victor jolted, using a monumental amount of energy to focus his hurting head and blurry vision upwards. A medical face mask covers the bottom half of his face, but Victor knew that voice. Knew those blue glasses.

He squirmed, pushing weakly on Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri just tightened his hold, a muscle in his temple twitching.

“Baby, you’re going to make me drop you.” Victor was in shock and didn’t stop shoving. “Vitya.”

Victor stilled at the harsh tone, unfamiliar to him.

“People are watching. You can hate me later, just let me take care of you now,” Yuuri pleaded.

He was being carried off the ice, Victor realized with a start. They were still in the rink. Everyone was watching.

Tears welled in his eyes; Victor squeezed them shut again.

“Stay awake for me, Vitya. I’ve got you,” Yuuri murmured as he walks, his mask muffling the words so Victor almost didn’t hear.

Yuuri certainly got him.

Chapter Text

“No concussion, he was just in shock. Keep an eye on his bruising, but he can compete if he feels up for it.”

A hushed thank you, and the medic left the room, leaving the three of them alone again. 

Victor stared down at his hands, surprised to find them shaking. 

“Vitya, are you–”

“Can we be alone? Please?”

He looked up at his coach, who was scowling as usual. Only this time, his ire was directed at the onlooker in the medic space. Victor nodded his head toward the door, hoping Yakov would understand. 

“Look, I don’t know–”

“Please. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Fine,” Yakov glared one last time, a particularly mean stare. “Five minutes, and then the press.”

Victor’s wooden smile fell off his face once the door shut behind him. He had asked to be alone, but now that they were, Victor didn’t know what to do. For the first time since he was laid on the cot, he turned his attention forward. 

Yuuri looked at him silently. He had stood in that same corner once the medics shoved him away, and he watched without words as Victor’s bloody hair was cut, his scalp bandaged. He wasn’t making eye contact, gaze fixed slightly upward. 

“Does my hair look that bad?” Victor tilted his head to the side, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“What? No, no, no, of course not.” Yuuri flinched, face slowly reddening. He wrung his hands in front of him, like he didn’t know what else to do with them. This wasn’t the man Victor knew.

“So you knew, then. For how long?” Yuuri bit his lip, eyebrows furrowing. “ How long ?” Victor repeated himself. 

“I’ve always known,” Yuuri peered through his lashes, head down in shame. 

Victor recoiled. 

“You knew .” Victor was horrified. “From the beginning, when I said I was a high-profile figure. When I came to you, tired and covered in bruises. When I complained to you about my ex, about my jumps.” 

All of the riddles, speaking in broad circles, just to avoid being treated differently– it had been pointless. Yuuri had been watching him struggle, probably laughing behind his back, when he had known the truth the entire time. Sad little prince, whining to a man he wasn’t even dating about his hard life from up on his throne. 

Pathetic. 

“How are you even here? Did you follow me to Japan?” Victor stood up from the cot, meaning to put space between them but stumbling on his way.

Yuuri reached out, but Victor held out his hand, leaning on a high-backed chair, “ Don’t. ”

As if Victor had slapped him, Yuuri flinched again, backing up. 

“I’m here for work, too,” Yuuri answered his question quietly. He pulled a badge out of his pocket, the RSF insignia reflecting in the cold light of the medical room. 

“How is that possible? I’ve never seen you before.” Victor’s breathing was becoming erratic. Was that even a real badge? Yakov didn’t have one. God, had Chris introduced him to a stalker?

“Vitya, please,” Yuuri started approaching again, but this time, he didn’t stop when Victor tried to wave him away. “You’re having a panic attack. Let me help, and I’ll explain everything.” 

He felt sick. Of course he was having a panic attack. It was because of him . He didn’t want help from the person that was hurting him. 

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe with me, Vitya. In. Out.” Yuuri took Victor’s hands, placing them both on his chest. It was easy to match his breathing with Yuuri’s. It was something he had been unconsciously doing for months. He hated that it felt the same now. 

He had trusted this man with everything, his hopes, his fears, his mind, his body. His heart. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispered in between his encouraging comments, and it was the apology that made Victor pull his hands away. 

“Victor, we have to go,” Chris shoved the door open, barging into the room and beelining for his friend. “Oh, Yuuri. You’re here.”

Christophe looked between them, confused. The tension was thick, as neither Victor nor Yuuri said anything. 

“Okay… we’ll talk about this later. Come, back door now, before the press stampedes over security.” Chris gently pulled on his arm, trying to urge Victor towards the hallway. Victor resisted.

“Chris, what are you doing?” 

“What– they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” 

“You tested positive.”

Victor’s gaze snapped to Chris’s. Chris had to be joking. But he looked serious, wouldn’t joke about something like this. 

“ What ?” It was Yuuri who had spoken then. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Victor’s spine straightened, and he loomed over Yuuri. He was hurt. Angry. “You fucked with my test. Was that it, get close to me and then make a fool out of me?” 

“What, no, ” Yuuri cried, looking so confused it almost made Victor back down.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Chris yanked Victor back a step. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you stay here, it’s not going to be pretty. Let’s go. ” He guided Victor to the door forcibly. “Are you coming, Yuuri?”

“No,” Victor answered for him. “He’s not.” 

Chris raised his eyebrows but said nothing. 

It was then that, at the far end of the hallway, the double doors to the rink loudly burst open, releasing a tsunami of reporters and stadium security.

A stream of disgruntled French left Christophe’s lips, and then they were running. Victor’s head ached with every step, but he knew it was better than the alternative: being left with all of those questions and cameras. Anything was better than that.

They shoved open the doors to the restricted parking lot; then, Chris seized Victor’s elbow again, veering to the right. A black car with heavily tinted windows idled by the curb, and as they neared, the back door opened, revealing the Ice Tiger. 

“Get in, old man, so I can kill you,” Yuri growled, making space for the two men. 

“Get in line,” Yakov crowed from the front passenger seat. 

“No one is killing me because my headache will do it for you,” Victor groaned as Chris slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating in his skull. 

“Here,” Yakov turned back, two painkillers in his palm already. He pushed his hand out farther when Victor hesitated. “Ibuprofen is allowed.”

“Anabolic steroids? Are you fucking joking?” Yuri punched Victor’s bruising side, though he could tell the younger skater was being gentle. His version of gentle. 

“Yura, you know I’m not on drugs, come on,” Victor felt slightly wounded. 

“I don’t know what you’re on,” Yuri snorted, “Apparently, sometimes you’re on our new team trainer and you never told me.” 

Victor gaze shot to Yuri’s, mouth hanging open. 

“ Yuuri ?”

“Katsudon. He can’t have my name, I was here first.”

“He’s been alive longer than you,” Chris chimed in, unhelpfully. 

“What do you mean ‘on’ your new team trainer?” Yakov erupted from the front seat. 

“Jesus, can we please stop yelling?” Victor slumped in his seat. 

“Sorry,” his friend nudged his arm gently. He was quiet, guilt coloring his voice. “How’s your head?”

“Oh yeah,” Victor had forgotten. “What the hell happened? You crashed into me!” 

Both Yakov and Yuri jumped in before Chris could respond, silencing almost immediately when Victor hissed in pain. They were both defending him. 

“I’m sorry, mon choux. Killian was playing chicken with me, but only he knew,” Chris sighed. “I should have heard him coming, but it was too late. I fell too, but not as hard. I hope they disqualify him or something. He definitely did that on purpose.”

“Anatoly would never let that happen,” Victor answered darkly. “You’re okay though?”

“Yes, friend, I’m all good. Did you need stitches?”

“Just butterflies,” Victor reached a hand up to brush his fingers over his shorn hair. The blood wouldn’t stop, and the medics thought they would need to close the wound and send him to the hospital. It was a surface wound, just a wide strip of skin had been scraped. “Any chance you can fix my hair?”

Victor was vain, he would be the first to admit. 

Chris chuckled, pulling out his phone. “We’ll see about getting you a real haircut, beau."

“Thank you.”

“You don’t think…” Yuri murmured from his side. “Did Killian really do that on purpose?”

“Oh, he most definitely did that on purpose,” Yakov snarled. “I will be having words with someone. Let’s just get Vitya to his room, and we will figure this all out. Victor Nikiforov, on steroids? Don’t insult me. My skaters don’t need that bullshit.” 

His coach didn’t doubt him. Even after all of his strange behavior since Rostelecom, Yakov didn’t need to ask him about the false positive. 

The car slowed to a halt in front of their hotel. A path had been roped off from the curb to the entrance, but the piranhas had already had their hint of blood. He wondered who had told the world first. 

Could it have been Yuuri?

He shook off the thought. For now. “Okay, time to run.”

Yakov scoffed, “I don’t run. Alright, boys, keep close and don’t say a word.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Yuri snickered before opening the car door. 

It was hard to ignore the camera flashes, but with Chris and Yuri flanking his either side, he could put one foot in front of the other. He ignored the shouting, the curious reporters, the angry fans. Their words didn’t register, Victor’s heart pounding in his ears. He was not an anxious person usually, but the day was testing him.

The hotel staff stood at the entrance, bowing as they made it past the threshold. Yakov spoke in hushed tones with a man in a crisp suit, presumably the manager, before ushering them up to his room. 

“I’m going to make some calls. Stay. Here.”

Victor shrank back at his coach’s glare, knowing his past behavior did not instill a lot of trust, but there was nothing that could make him leave the safety of that hotel room. 

“Do you think he’s going to be able to fix this?” Yuri asked once the door shut behind Yakov. 

“I don’t know, Yura,” Victor sighed, laying back on his bed. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, I think I’ve waited long enough,” Christophe piped up from where he stood, perusing the room service menu. “Are you going to explain why you blew up at Yuuri?”

“Blew up, what?” Yuri looked between the older men, confused. 

“Our Vitya here accused our pork cutlet bowl of tampering with his test results. You could cut the tension in the room with a butter knife,” Chris whistled. 

“Huh?” His disgruntled junior’s voice rattled his brain. 

“He was lying to me for months,” Victor defended himself, “Who knows what he’s capable of?” 

“Lying about what?” Yuri barked, “What are you even talking about? Katsudon is like the nicest person on the team.”

Victor sighed again, rolling onto his side to face his audience, preparing himself to divulge everything weighing on his chest..

“It’s a long story.”

Chapter Text

Silence. 

After his tirade, his long winded explanation of all of the events that led them to this moment, Victor was met with silence. 

He looked between Chris and Yuri. Victor had a penchant for surprising people– that was true– but these were the least likely two people he knew to be lost for words. To Christophe’s credit, he had listened to the whole story without flinching. Yuri, on the other hand, had long since flopped over on the couch, clearly feeling much too much secondhand embarrassment to look him in the eye.

Victor couldn’t blame him. 

“Vitya…” His friend began speaking. 

Yuri cut him off. 

“You are a bigger idiot than I thought. Ha! You think he followed you here? He’s the only one on the team with more than two brain cells! Why would he do that?”

“Easy, tiger,” Chris shushed him. “Vitya, you know I would never have introduced you to a stalker. Be so serious.” 

“And he’s actually a good therapist. He didn’t just get this job to creep around your dumb ass–”

“ Okay, you think I’m dumb, I get it. Say it a third time,” Victor huffed.

“You’re literally stupid.”

“Thank you.”

“He used to work for the ice dancers,” Yuri supplied, finally saying something other than an insult to his intelligence. 

“What? Then how have I never seen him?”

“Do you ever see anything other than yourself?” 

Victor pouted, feeling slightly hurt but he had some amount of self awareness. 

“He doesn’t usually travel with us, he was just an assistant before,” Yuri continued, answering questions Victor didn’t know he had. “But they were desperate for a new trainer for us, since we were coming here. Yakov said they forgot to tell him he was coming until a few days ago.”

“It’s true,” Chris chimed in. “I’m the one that told him to apply for the job.”

“Wait, you knew too?”

“Of course I knew. He worked me out after a pole dance class once and I knew he shouldn’t let those hands go to waste. How else do you think I met him?”

“But you said you paid him!”

“I said I tried to pay him. He never actually let me, stubborn boy. I think he was just intimidated by all of this,” Chris waved a hand over his body dramatically.

“Then how do you know what his usual rate is?” Victor thought back to that jealous feeling he had had when Chris teased him about spending the night at Yuuri’s place.

“Well, we’re friends. We talk sometimes, you know? I’ve never fucked him and I most definitely have never paid for the privilege.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t know anything about him?”

“Did you ever ask?” 

Victor thought back. He had been so concerned with keeping his own secrets, it had felt unfair to ask Yuuri to divulge any of his. 

A beep sounded at the door and then Yakov and Chris’s coach, Josef, entered the hotel room. They were seething. 

“I hope you didn’t unpack,” Yakov’s face was an unseemly shade of red. 

“What?” Victor whispered, horrified. 

“We’re leaving. All of us.”

Little Yuri dutifully stood, padding to the door without question. For all of his thorns and jibes, he was loyal to his team, loyal to Victor. A lump rose in Victor’s throat. This was his first GPF circuit. All of the blood, sweat, tears poured into these programs, all of the battles against puberty and his ever-changing anatomy. Victor was not going to take that away. 

“Yakov, wait,” Victor started, hands trembling. “What happened? Did someone else test positive?”

“No,” his coach bit out, “It was just you, and that’s why we are all leaving. They don’t get to make a pariah out of my boy.”

“Feltsman, you know you can’t leave,” Josef tried to placate the old man. “It’ll look like you’re hiding something.”

“I’m hiding the urge to commit mass homicide,” Yakov roared, “Now let’s go .”

“No, he’s right,” Victor hurried, even as the words cleaved his heart into further pieces. “You stay. I’ll go.”

“Victor Aleksandrovich, if you don’t get your ass out of this room–”

“That’s a great idea,” Chris took Victor’s side, gripping his shoulder in support, “Victor can go lay low, say it was just his injury, and the rest of team Russia shows they won’t be chased away. Our boy here has time to heal, and you have time to figure out what went wrong.” 

Victor caught Chris’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. “And I know just the place for him to go.”

“As if he should take any more of your suggestions, you incubus, he should go home,” Yuri scowled. “I hate to say this, but sir-thinks-with-his-dick is right. If we leave, we might as well admit Victor’s hiding track marks and a shriveled up Victor Jr. in his bedazzled costumes. He’s already balding, they’ll believe anything if you don’t put out a statement first.”

“Thanks, Yura.”

“No problem.”

“Fuck,” Yakov spat, throwing his hat onto the desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a usual Yakov tactic when Victor’s antics were giving him a migraine. Only, this time, it wasn’t his fault. 

His coach turned, locking eyes with Victor. “You know I know this is bullshit?”

Victor nodded, willing the wetness clinging to his lashes to stay .

“And you know I’m going to raise hell until they clear you?”

Again, Victor nodded. He smiled tearfully, “I’m going to go spend a few days with Makka, and Yurachka here is going to bring me home a gold medal, yeah?"

Turning to look at the kid, Victor saw the way Yuri stared at a fixed point on the floor. Glared, more like it. The reddening tip of his nose gave him away. 

“Yuraaaachkaaa,” Victor drawled, stepping forward to wrap the young skater in a hug. “Don’t worry about anything other than your beautiful skating. You should be happy. You’ll mop the floor with me out of the way.”

“It’s not the same,” Yuri grumbled into Victor’s shirt. His small hands clung to the fabric at his back. 

“Why’s that?”

“I was supposed to beat you fair and square,” he whined, acting every bit the sixteen-year-old he was. 

“I know, kotenok, I’m sorry.” Victor tucked the blond head under his chin, swallowing his sadness. “I know. But Chris is there to give you a hard time, aren’t you?”

Christophe grinned, patting Yuri’s back gently. “I sure am, and I packed an extra dance belt this time, so there’s no holding back.”

“Gross,” Yuri pulled away, sniffling. 

“Make me proud, kid. I’ll see you at home.” 

A few phone calls and a bit of shuffling and sneaking around, and Victor was on a plane headed straight for St Petersburg. Alone.

It was there, alone on that flight, that Victor finally let the floodgates go. Maybe it was more accurate to say that the dam was overrun because he didn’t remember giving himself permission to cry. He just knew that once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. 

He had been through worse. Worse had set him back. Worse had hurt him. And he had recovered from it. Knee surgery. Coming out as gay. Anatoly. 

Steroids. Victor wasn’t deaf. He had heard the whispers, the rumors. Everyone thought Russia just churned out drug-addled meathead athletes, and maybe it was true in other sports, but it wasn’t true at Yubileyny. It wasn’t . Victor didn’t even know how to get steroids, nevermind use them. A twelve year old Victor had cried once, getting prescribed corticosteroids for his already aching knees. Even then, he knew what it meant to be caught doping– just not what doping actually was. 

Every jump, every medal, every record, Victor had won by his own hard work. Unless someone had been drugging him for the past however many years since he started skating, he had been framed. 

He shook that thought away. Victor had passed many drug tests in the past. No one had been microdosing him with anabolic steroids.

The worst part of it all: the drug test wasn’t even why he was really crying. 

Victor had trusted him. 

Against his better judgment, Victor had wholeheartedly let Yuuri close enough to ruin his life and trusted him not to. And Yuuri had lied to him. 

Whether he had ever outright said he didn’t know who Victor was meant nothing. A lie by omission was still a lie. Worse than a stalker, he was a liar . He couldn’t forgive that. How could he forgive that?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yuuri was just supposed to tell him what to do, slap him around a little bit, and send Victor on his way. There weren’t meant to be feelings to hurt in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to end up heartbroken, because he didn’t have a heart. 

Or so everyone thought. Everyone that didn’t know him. Victor was still a person, wasn’t he? A human being with a bleeding heart, just like the next guy. And just because he had been broken by Anatoly, that didn’t mean his broken heart couldn’t break more. It did. It had, when Yuuri had shown up to carry him off the ice. 

He was always carrying him. For a moment, he hadn’t been surprised. For a moment, Victor had been happy to see him. And that moment promptly ended when Victor remembered where he was. In front of everyone, Victor realized what it meant that Yuuri was there, saving him once again. Yuuri, who had all but promised that he would take care of Victor, knew about his secret double-life. Knew that one of those Victors wasn’t real. 

Yuuri had known the whole time that the real Victor Nikiforov was a pathetic loser that didn’t know how to take care of himself. He walked around with bruises and a hunger that he tried to sate with gold medals instead of protein and carbs, and the Victor Nikiforov everyone else saw was a fraud. He was a tired, washed up has-been and whenever Yuuri got tired of trying to keep up the charade, he would tell them all, and Victor’s hard-won peace would be lost, just like his last chance at retiring on his own terms. 

Because that’s what it meant, to be on this plane. To be going home instead of preparing to compete at NHK. The ISU was ending his career before he was ready, when he had spent the past several months doing everything to ensure he got to set the narrative. Not Killian, not Anatoly, and especially not the press or his “fans.”

And whatever Yuuri’s agenda was, Victor was sure he would be finding out soon. And there, wiping his eyes with the single-ply plane napkins, Victor had decided he didn’t care anymore. 

-

Makkachin was excited to see him. Paulina was confused, but she bid them both a cheerful goodnight when Victor picked her up from the neighbor’s. He waved, feigning more emotions he no longer wanted to feel, and headed home. He had to unpack, not his feelings but his luggage and Makka’s bag. Yakov had sent him a statement to approve about pulling out of the competition– and about his injury.

After showering away the literal blood, sweat, and tears, Victor curled up on the couch with his dog and turned on the television, settling in to watch the sports news dissect his accident over and over again.

Chapter Text

Thirty-seven times. 

He watched the accident thirty-seven times. 

Seven times, he paused the video twelve seconds after his head hit the ice– twelve seconds so he could count the number of times his skull bounced before he slid to a stop. 

Twelve seconds, so he didn’t have to watch what happened after. 

Then, he found a “Victor Nikiforov Eating Ice for 12 Hours” video; he was thirty iterations in. It stopped and restarted before Yuuri appeared. 

In total, he watched Killian swerve a little too close to Christophe, not calling out any warnings even though he was looking and his dear friend was unaware, thirty-seven times. 

Thirty-seven times, he saw the way Christophe flubbed his jump as he dodged the other skater, eyes widening as he realized what was going to happen. The way he immediately called out to Victor. Tried to slow him down. 

Victor watched the beginning of the end of his career thirty-seven times. 

Chapter Text

“I’m so proud of you.”

A tired grumble left the teen as Victor pulled Yuri in for another hug. He held tight, though without his usual fervor. 

Little Yuri had made him, and all of Russia, proud. He returned home with a shiny gold medal and a bashful but self-assured smile on his face. As long as he placed at his next qualifier, which was almost a guarantee, he would make it to the GPF. 

Christophe had gracefully landed his way into second place, Otabek Altin scraping into third, much to Yuri’s pleasure. Otabek was officially in the GPF, after placing in both of his seed events. 

When he woke that morning, Victor promised himself to bite back the bitter jealousy. It had no place here, not when he had run away. 

“Shut up, old man. What did they say?” 

“Nothing yet,” Victor shrugged, a falsely nonchalant smile on his face. 

“Ugh, what the fuck?”

“Language!” Yakov scolded. 

“Those fucking assholes,” Yuri ignored their coach. “They stuck needles in you, ripped your hair out, probably shoved things up your ass, and they still haven’t realized? You’re a goody two shoes. You don’t even take aspirin .”

“Oi, tell me you at least don’t talk about my ass in public. I don’t need any more lies about me on the internet.”

Victor scolded his protege, holding back a smile. He shouldn’t encourage Yuri’s furiosity, but it was only endearing. 

The ISU had raged when Victor disappeared from the rink only to rematerialize in the St. Petersburg airport. He approved the statement Yakov had drafted, announcing that Victor was injured but stable, and he had chosen to withdraw from the competition for his health. His coach had asked for the public to give Victor space to recover, which the vultures waiting for him at the airport did not care to honor, but at least it left no one surprised when he refused to comment or even smile for a photo. 

In truth, even if there was no bid for privacy, Victor was tired of being a prized show-dog. He would not have answered any questions, and he was done smiling on command. There was nary an ounce of care for all his media training. He was done. 

Victor had been given all of twenty four hours of reprieve before the ISU summoned him. He was dragged from his sofa-pity party, poked and prodded, tested and interrogated until they retrieved all the information they deemed necessary to pass judgment. 

We will be reaching out in the coming days .

They had all but kicked him out of Yubileyny, and Victor was all too eager to leave. Hat pulled down low over his eyes, he ducked into the back of an SUV, and skulked home before he ran into anyone familiar. 

The team was still in Japan. Victor had made it home to watch little Yuri skate to victory. He sat through Christophe’s performances as well, but the rest blurred together. He would have to find replays of the Altin boy’s skates before Yuri asked for his notes. That was one of the few instances where the scathing remarks and knife-shoe threats were held to a minimum. Yuri would bring piroshki and his laptop and ask Victor for his post-performance notes and just listen . 

“When are you coming back?”

Yuri slumped on the sofa. 

Yuri and Yakov showed up at his apartment the morning after they returned from Japan. Victor accepted without protest when Yakov suggested he lay low at home until receiving the new test results back. Their visit had at least given him reason to take a shower. He still needed to get a haircut; he had sped away from Japan before Chris could help him find a stylist. 

“I don’t know, Yurachka. Whenever I’m allowed back, I guess.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Yakov said. He was fuming, Victor could tell. 

It seemed like a bad time to admit he wasn’t sure he cared either way. 

“What, you didn’t tell me!” Yuri exclaimed, sitting up. 

“It was not your news to hear first, Yurachka.”

“Whatever! What did they say?”

“What else? He’s clean. They were mistaken. Fooled, more like it.” He scoffed. “They want to issue a public apology and put you through to the final since you scored so high at your first event.”

Victor frowned, “Why would they do that? That’s not fair to everyone else.”

“Because obviously you were gonna make it in.”

“Because they know I would sue the shit out of them if they didn’t put him in,” Yakov interrupted Yuri. 

“Hello? Language?” Yuri held up his hands, disgruntled. 

“I’m your grandfather’s age, the rules don’t apply.”

“Can you sue them anyway?”

“For what damages? He was injured and chose to leave, they haven’t actually done anything.”

“Emotional distress, duh. Look at him, he hasn’t even called himself my dad once since we got here.”

Victor cracked a smile at that. “Sorry, son, it’s been a rough few days.”

“It’s fine.”

Yakov Feltsman sighed deeply, and Victor worried briefly that he was truly taking years off the man’s life. He would have lingered on the thought if Yakov was not akin to his own father. He was the only family he really had. After all this time, if his coach hadn’t kicked him to the curb, he likely never would. 

“Look, Vitya, this is unfair, and I wouldn’t blame you if you chose not to come back.” Yakov scrubbed a hand over his face. 

Yuri immediately began to protest, but their coach simply raised a hand to silence him. 

“You didn’t deserve to have your name dragged through the mud when you were so close to the end.”

Victor looked away, inhaling sharply through his nose to hide the fact that he could use a tissue. Yuri handed him the box anyway. 

“But,” Yakov continued, “You still have a chance to end this on your terms. You come back, tell everyone your side of the story, and win the damn thing one last time.”

Truthfully, the concession from the ISU was a surprise to him. The disappointment of his last season getting cut short had become easier to swallow each day that passed. Victor had almost gotten used to the idea. Had already thought of possible captions for his farewell post. 

Did he have anything left to give this unforgiving sport? 

“You take some time to think about it. I’ll have someone in PR draft some statements for whatever you decide. Yura wanted to sleep here tonight, but I’ll take him home if you want to be alone.” 

At this, Yuri didn’t protest, though Victor could tell he felt hurt by the thought of getting kicked out. 

“No, no, Makka and I would love the company. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll see what happens.” Victor tried to smile at the older man, but it slipped into more of a grimace. 

His coach cleared his throat, stepping towards the door. The wrinkles set into his face were deep, sad. He didn’t deserve any of this either. 

Victor bid the man farewell at the door before turning and looking at the teen in his living room. They would have to order dinner; he hadn’t been to the store in days. Yuri fidgeted with his phone, looking uncomfortable and hostile the way he usually did for the first hour in Victor’s home. They were no strangers to sleepovers though, and Makka had already made herself at home by his side. 

She really was a little traitor. 

Dinner ordered, Victor set about herding the sectional sofa into a comfy arrangement, piling blankets and pillows for movie night. Yuri sat there quietly after changing into pajamas. Victor silently handed over the remote. He selected an anime Victor had never heard of, some school kids that enjoy BL manga, whatever that was. 

“Oh, so we do subtitles now?”

“We do when Otabek recommends them to me.”

“Ah, I understand.”

They settled in with their trays of gyros, hardly diet-safe when ordered with fries and sauces, but they liked to pretend, and pressed play. 

It was halfway through the show when Yuri finally spoke to talk about something other than his secondhand embarrassment. 

“You’re gonna come back, right?”  He spoke quietly. Victor almost didn’t hear. 

Victor sighed. 

“It feels wrong. I don’t want to retire like this, but everyone else had to skate their two seed events. It’s not fair to them.”

“Are you stupid? Do you really think anyone else wants to watch you be forced into retirement?” Yuri cried. “You’re their hero. Except for JJ but he’s special.” 

“I am not anyone’s hero,” Victor scoffed. 

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“Yura, Yakov can sense when you curse–”

“You’re my hero.”

Yuri cut Victor off, looking incredibly embarrassed by his own outburst. He sunk into the pile of blankets, trying to hide his pink cheeks. 

Victor was lost for words. Not a common occurrence for him. 

Yuri had never hinted towards having these feelings towards him. He knew Yuri valued his advice, however coy he played when Victor was offering it. He knew they were practically family. But Yuri’s hero ? That was unexpected. A precious admission that made his eyes water as he stared at the teen.

A new, desperate need to not disappoint Yuri washed over him. He was tired, worn-down by the weight placed on his bruised shoulders. But giving up felt like a betrayal. Not to himself, but to his protege. It was just one more competition. He could handle that. And he would keep telling himself that until it was over.

Sniffling, Victor looked away, desperate to keep from scaring away this honest version of the blond boy on his couch. 

“I’m scared of seeing him again,” he said quietly. 

“Killian?”

“Yuuri.”

“What?”

“No, no, Yuuri . Trainer Yuuri.”

“Oh. He’s not there.”

“What?” Victor’s shorn hair whipped around as he turned to look at Yuri. 

“Yeah, he got in trouble for walking onto the ice after your accident. Apparently, the medics were angry at him for moving you.”

“What trouble?”

“He was suspended. I don’t think he came back to Russia.”

Chapter Text

“Again.”

He’s not there.

“Again.”

I don’t think he came back to Russia. 

In the weeks following NHK, the world ceased to exist beyond the distance from Victor’s bed to Yubileyny. Once he decided, it was back to work. The Russian Skating Federation was thrilled. Yuri was luminescent, couldn’t wait to compete against his “hero.” 

Yakov was hovering. 

“Again.”

“No.”

Victor turned, chest heaving from the previous attempts at the axel. Yakov was frowning. The assistant coach was hunched over, trying to catch his breath after spotting the extra long harness rope they needed– the distance he had to skate to pick up enough speed was longer than all of his other jumps. 

“Skate if you must, but no more axels before dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were. Victor. Harness. Off.”

Catching himself before stomping his foot like a child, Victor closed his eyes. The cold air of the rink burned every time he blinked. He unhooked the harness and skated off, electing to ignore Yakov’s suggestion. He had already puked once that day. Everything tasted like cardboard. 

It was new, this habit of being unable to keep any food down. It was new and ugly and would kill him, but it was fine. As long as it waited until after the Grand Prix Final

So he skated. Yakov said it himself, “Skate if you must.” Victor felt that he must. He must practice. He must nail the axel before anyone else gets any ideas. He must find a way to retire peacefully. None of this felt peaceful. The sport would take him kicking and screaming, even if on the outside, he appeared still and silent. 

Things had never gotten this bad. When Anatoly broke things between them, it hadn’t broken Victor. Perhaps it meant he never really loved him. The Tolya he knew, he must have held at arms’ distance unknowingly. Or Victor had been pushing him away since the beginning, because the ending came with little surprise. Maybe he had always known Anatoly was a wolf in sheep’s clothing; he just thought he had more time to find a way out of the forest. 

Another possibility– he was older now, yes, more mature, but also more fragile. A young Victor, with flashy clothes and big dreams, was infallible. Every problem was simply a challenge. Every new face, a potential friend. There was always hope.

But Victor was not the same. A heart did not always break in the name of love, and break many times, his heart did. The cobbled-together mass in his chest was glued with fool’s gold. 

So what if Yuuri smashed it to pieces? The world kept spinning, and so would Victor, even past the motion sickness. He would Biellman his way to the top of the podium and then abdicate the throne before the next generation could overthrow him. 

The problem was his greed. Victor didn’t want to leave with grace, else he would have retired already. No, he wanted glory. 

Whatever part Yuuri played in his accusation or injury or anything else Victor hadn’t imagined yet– it didn’t matter. He would win in spite of it all. Maybe because of it. Hell hath no fury, and Victor surely felt scorned. 

Over the loudspeaker, the resurfacing of the ice was announced. A forced break from Yakov, if he guessed correctly. Very well. The training room didn’t need resurfacing. 

“Where are you going?”

Yuri sounded meek. It didn’t suit him. 

He smiled; his teeth felt too sharp in his mouth, but he bared them anyway. 

“To go stretch,”  Victor lied. He pulled his skates off, one at a time. There was a splotch of blood on his sock. Another toe nail. 

Yuri inhaled sharply, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he, too, unlaced his skates, slipping on sneakers. Garish things, cheetah print with rhinestones. 

Together, they marched down the hallway. None of the other skaters were around. Victor used to share the ice. He wondered if it was his fault or for his sake that his practice times were moved until only the little tiger was around. He was the only person whose gaze didn’t chafe. Barely. 

Sighing, Victor guided the boy past the gym, holding open the door to the mirrored room where they sometimes took ballet lessons. The reason why was unclear. He wasn’t afraid of Yuri. Yuri was the one who wanted him to come back. So what if he saw what “coming back” meant?

Still, he laid out a yoga mat, picking up blocks and foam rollers from their cubbies. Yuri mirrored his actions with familiarity. Truthfully, Victor hadn’t stretched like this in several weeks. 

He used to do this with Yuuri. 

It was like a reminder. Paying the penalty for falling for an enemy. For not seeing the enemy for who they were but what he had needed from them. For thinking it had been love. Each stiff joint, each tight muscle, just a self-inflicted price no one knew or cared that he was paying. 

Together, they stretched and rolled and stretched some more. It was silent, save for the uncomfortable groans and pained laughter. It was grounding, to share his pain with someone else. 

“Your toe is bleeding again,” Yuri winced, looking down at where Victor’s foot pressed into a band. Not surprising, the pressure against the rubber would have done it. If only Yuri hadn’t noticed. 

“Shit, I wasn’t done,” Victor cursed.

“Well, I’m sure the janitor will feel bad for you when he’s mopping your blood up,” Yuri hissed. He threw a towel over. Victor caught it, wiping the red from the band and staunching the flow from his foot. His sock was soaked through. 

“Look, just go home. This is stupid.” Yuri’s hands were shaking. He shoved them under his thighs where he sat on the floor. “Your cause of death is going to be really pathetic like this. Bled out from his pinky toe.” 

“I’m not going to die, I just cracked a nail,” Victor said, then smirked at the blond. “Did you already start writing my eulogy? Can I read it?”

“Ugh, I hate you,” Yuri groaned, rolling onto his back in defeat. He covered his face with both hands. Victor pulled his sock off, now that Yuri wasn’t looking. 

“I love you, too.”

“Do you really?” Yuri’s words were muffled. 

The nail on his right pinky toe was split in half. Blood gushed from the center. It was hideous. Victor dug into his bag, looking for gauze and tape. It was gross but he was no stranger to these battle wounds. 

“Of course I do, Yurachka,” Victor was resolute in that, if not much else. 

“So if I asked you to retire, you would listen?”

Victor paused in his ministrations, right before tearing the tape from the roll. 

Yuri was holding deathly still, maybe not even breathing. 

“I would listen to your concerns,” Victor spoke carefully, “but, you already know I’m planning to retire soon.”

The younger skater sat up in a rush. To Victor’s earnest surprise, there were tears leaking from Yuri’s eyes. 

“I never would’ve asked you to come back if I knew it was going to be like this.” 

Oh , Victor thought glumly, it is possible to still hurt more .

He held his arms open, expecting to be rejected, but Yuri dove into his chest like a child to his father. That was what it always felt like to Victor, anyway. 

“Yurachka,” he whispered, “it was always going to be this way.” He passed a hand over the yellow blond head once, twice. Yuri cried silently, but the sobs that wracked his body could not be mistaken. 

“I wanted to compete against you more than anything else in the world. But now you hate this.”

“I think I’ve hated this for a while now.”

“And I asked you to come back.”

“I love you, but I was going to come back if you asked me to or not.”

“You’re just saying that,” Yuri wailed. 

“No, I’m not,” Victor shushed him. “I told you, I wanted to see this through to the end. Do my best.”

“This isn't your best. I haven’t seen you eat since that day I slept over. Your eyebags have bags. Have you even been doing your skincare routine?”

Victor held back his instinct to push Yuri away, to run away from this conversation. 

“There’s a lot on my mind.”

“Just go home. Please. Just today. You still have time. But you’re bleeding and starving and probably exhausted and I hate it.”

“You’re going to tell Yakov about my foot.”

“Yes,” Yuri warned, pulling away and wiping the snot from his nose. “I’m not above being a tattletale.”

Victor sighed. “You’re not a tattletale, you’re right. Fine, fine, I’m going. Don’t tell Grandpa.”

“I’m going to make sure you went home, okay? No cheating.”

"What is it with you people and thinking I'm a cheater?”

Yuri spluttered a laugh through his hiccups, making Victor smile. 

They exited the complex together, with Yuri watching him climb into his summoned ride home. He had been too tired, too unfocused to drive himself. 

The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror occasionally. Victor was too tired to decipher the look on his face. They drove past the usual turn to Yuuri’s home in silence, like every other night. 

The elevator opened on his floor, and the hall smelled of fried meat. Victor smiled, thinking Makka might have been salivating at the door. He would have to give her an extra special treat. The door unlocked with a click and his dog came trotting to greet him with less urgency than usual. He toed off his shoes, a habit he didn't used to have but he could admit it kept his floors cleaner. 

Then, Victor froze. He did not remember leaving the lights on when he left that morning. Rather, the large windows faced the rising sun, meaning he never turned the lights on in the morning, regardless of whether it was winter and the days were shorter. 

Makkachin whined, turning to head towards the kitchen instead of letting Victor pat her head like usual. Slowly, he moved to follow, not sure of what, or who, he would find. 

Before he could turn the corner, a voice spoke softly, unsurely. 

“Yes, he's here. Thanks, Yurio, I'll call you later.”

Victor didn't know this man. 

Swallowing his fears and entering the kitchen, Victor stopped and stared. 

He wore a hoodie, grey and oversized. The cuffs were worn, as if he stretched them over his hands repeatedly. His raven hair was disheveled and flopped over his forehead. He wore glasses and stood with an anxious slump in his shoulders. 

A rabbit in a foxhole. 

And he was holding Vicchan. 

Yuuri set his phone down on the counter, drawing Victor's attention to the lone place setting on his kitchen island. On it, rested a bowl. A steaming serving of what looked like katsudon and a pair of chopsticks that didn't belong to him. 

“What are you doing here?”

Victor surprised himself with how steady his voice came out.  

Yuuri flinched like he had been slapped. Victor wanted to say the reaction delighted him, but he had just finished telling his rinkmate that he wasn't a liar. 

“Yuri called me,” Yuuri responded quietly. “He let me in at lunchtime.” 

“I'm changing the locks,” Victor muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, whatever he said, he's just a child and thought he was helping. You can go.” 

The man in his kitchen seemed to be contemplating two choices before one of them won out. “Please, sit down. At least eat.” 

“Are you telling me what to do?” Victor sneered, even as he pulled out the barstool and sat down. Vicchan began squirming in Yuuri’s arms and instinctively, Victor held out his arms for the small dog. 

“No, I'm not,” Yuuri replied quietly before letting his dog make himself at home in Victor's lap. 

Makkachin curled up beside the chair, resting her head on her owner's foot. She huffed once, comforting. 

The katsudon was enticing, making Victor's mouth water against his will. 

“I haven't won anything,” Victor said. 

“You don't need to.”

Despite his own wishes, he hugged Vicchan to his chest with one arm, and with the other, he picked up the chopsticks. He began to eat, wondering how they got here.

He took one bite, then two, and when he was sure he wouldn't throw it all up, he devoured every last grain of rice. When Yuuri set a glass of water before him, he drank it all. And when Yuuri loaded his dishwasher like he'd lived here all this time, he let him and didn't say a word. 

Victor got up and went to his room. He discarded his clothes on the way to the bathroom and took a shower in the hottest water he could stand. The water eventually ran clear, once he took the tape off his foot. It stung, but he barely felt it. 

Clothing himself in the loosest, coziest clothes he owned, Victor got into his bed and whistled. Two dogs came running into his bedroom, and when he patted his bed, they both accepted the invitation like they too, decided this was all normal. 

Quietly, like everything else he had done since Victor got home, Yuuri stepped up to the threshold, peering in tentatively. A small smile pulled at his lips at where he found Vicchan. Then he looked at Victor. Victor looked back. The questions clawed at his throat, but the exhaustion threatened to drown him first. 

Once again, he patted the bed, sighing. Yuuri's eyebrows rose up into his hair. 

“I won't ask twice,” Victor asserted, unsure of what he was doing. He was tired. Yuri told him he needed sleep. 

This felt like crossing a line he had tried drawing only fifteen minutes ago. 

When Yuuri got into his bed, a one-eighty from how their nights used to go, Victor curled into his side, shuddering from the familiar warmth. It was the way Yuuri stalled, halfway under the covers, before relaxing into Victor. The hesitant way Yuuri's arms came around him, when his embrace used to be given freely. That was when the tears began to fall. 

He cried until he fell asleep, without saying another word. Yuuri held him the entire time, and if any wetness landed on the shower-damp silver hair, Victor wouldn't know about it. 

Chapter Text

The first time Victor opened his eyes, he saw a mop of inky black hair. He thought he was dreaming, so he closed his eyes, rolled over, and ignored it. 

The second time, he was alone again. 

Sighing, he blindly reached for his phone on the nightstand. He knocked over a box of tissues before finding it. Victor squinted into the unusually bright light of his room, straining to see the time. 

He jolted into a seated position. It was 9:43 AM. Sleep had been difficult to find. Today, it seemed to have had a hard time letting him go. He was late. 

Victor scrolled through the notifications piled up as he flipped the covers off. Before he could stand, he came across a text from Yakov. 

>Yuri told me you have a visitor. Mandatory rest this morning. If I see you at the rink before noon, I’ll throw your skates to the zamboni. 

It was then that the front door opened. Keys were hung up on their hook in the entryway. Leashes and collars jingled as four pairs of paws thudded into the kitchen. Water sloshed, and then the dogs were barreling into Victor’s room, onto his bed. 

“Makka, Vicchan,” Yuuri whispered urgently, following them in, “You’ll wake him.” 

He stopped in the doorway, staring at Victor, who stared right back. 

Yuuri’s cheeks were flushed, more than just embarrassment. Exertion, considering his clothes. He was dressed in running tights under shorts, a tight black compression shirt. He had taken his shoes off at the door, it seemed, but Victor would bet Yuuri had taken the dogs on his morning run. Despite the tight clothes showing the outlines of his muscles, he looked small. 

Victor looked away, finally seeing a suitcase propped open in the corner of his bedroom. 

“Sorry, I’ll move it, they were just getting antsy,” Yuuri stuttered, catching Victor’s gaze again. He was still in the doorway, wringing his hands nervously. 

“When did you get here?” Victor asked, his voice more hoarse than he anticipated. He coughed to clear his throat.

“Yesterday,” Yuuri answered. 

“No, I meant, when did you come back to Russia?”

“Yesterday,” he repeated himself, looking away from Victor’s persistent gaze. 

“What, you just walked off the plane and came here?”

“I picked up Vicchan from Phichit first.”

The name jogged his memory. “You know him too?” Victor covered his mouth, feeling confused and, frankly, horrified. “He gave me my drug test.”

“No, no, no,” Yuuri rushed to the bed, falling to his knees in front of Victor. “He didn’t, he would never. Phichit is my best friend. I asked him to look out for you, not–”

“How am I supposed to believe that? You lied to me, everything that happened was fake–”

“It wasn’t fake. Vitya, please–”

“Don’t call me that,” Victor raised his voice, trying to create space between them. Yuuri flinched, but was quick to grasp Victor’s calves, holding him close. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t. Please, let me explain.” Yuuri’s head dipped, placing his forehead beseechingly on Victor’s knee. 

It was a pitiful display, one that tugged painfully at Victor’s heartstrings. He was so confused. Where was his strong, confident Yuuri? Who was this sad, scared man at his feet? How much of the Yuuri he knew was a lie?

Against his shin, Victor could feel Yuuri’s heart thumping. His pulse was quick, a little too quick. Victor’s eyes watered pathetically. Even when he should hate this man, Victor felt the excruciating twin pain to Yuuri’s. 

A loud growl from Victor’s stomach broke the tension. Instantly, Yuuri was on his feet again. 

“Breakfast, you need to eat, right.”

“I’m not hungry,” Victor replied automatically, wincing when Yuuri turned to glare at him. It was the first time Yuuri showed any emotion other than pure sadness. 

“Yurio told me you’ve been skipping meals. Come to the kitchen after you shower, or I’ll force feed you myself."

Victor was left on the bed, mouth agape, as Yuuri marched out of the room. It was surprising, the way he still felt compelled to listen. He didn’t really care to shower, nor eat breakfast, most mornings. 

It was just easier to do as he was told. 

“Yurio?” Victor whispered to himself, confused. 

He took his time in the bathroom. Using his most expensive products, Victor took a hot, hot shower, luxuriating in the humid air. He did his skincare. He double shampooed. 

Not that that was such a feat anymore, not with how short his hair was now. 

Still, he dried it with care, towel at his waist. His mind was empty, comfortingly so, for once. 

“Victor, you really have to eat–” Yuuri barged into the bathroom, cutting himself off at the sight of Victor’s naked form. 

It was stupid to be angry. Victor himself had told Yuuri to stop calling him by the diminutive, but he hated the disappointment in his chest still. 

Yuuri stood, gaping, for a moment longer than expected. 

The nasty side of Victor sparked to life before the sadness could take over again. 

“I would tell you a picture lasts longer, but who knows how many you’ve already taken and sold?”

A dark red blush bloomed on Yuuri’s face. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I deserve that. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I would never do that to you. Sorry for bothering you, but you’ve been in here for almost an hour.”

Yuuri turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Victor stood still, regretting the way his words painted that miserable glint in Yuuri’s eyes. He sighed and resumed drying his hair, albeit slightly faster than before. 

If it had really been an hour, he would have to leave for the rink soon. 

Victor exited the bathroom. A stack of clothes rested on the bed, folded neatly. His workout gear. He wasn’t sure that he had ever gone to Yuuri’s apartment wearing these clothes, but he stopped that train of thought. If Yuuri worked at Yubileyny, he would have seen what he preferred to skate in. A sweatshirt laid beside the pile, one he didn’t recognize. 

He got dressed, willfully ignoring the sweatshirt and retrieving his Team Russia jacket from the closet instead. 

The poodles rushed to greet him when Victor left the room. He smiled for the first time that morning, leaning down to pet them both. Yuuri was at the kitchen island, watching the interaction. Victor saw the way his bright eyes dimmed as they scanned his body. He couldn’t tell if he felt victorious or stupid. 

“I adjusted your meal plan based on what the dietician said, and what Coach Feltsman and Yurio said about your practice. Your energy is suffering from your lack of sleep, I assume, but if you can get more rest and eat more carbs in the morning, I think you’ll have an easier time. I also used whole eggs instead of just the whites, and i juiced. Please finish everything you can tolerate.” Yuuri rambled, gesturing to the various food items he had plated. 

He had clearly made good use of the extended time Victor had spent in the shower. Every dish catered to Victor’s needs in the most scientifically efficient way possible. Begrudgingly, Victor had to admit it all smelled amazing.

The hunger pains guided him to sit down without protest, even as he hesitated, scared of the potential of his nausea returning. 

“There’s ginger in the juice, it should help,” Yuuri gently pushed the glass forward first. 

“You’ve been gossiping about me a lot, it seems,” Victor laughed quietly, accepting the drink. It was sweet and tart and everything delicious that wasn’t on his diet plan. He had a feeling, if he said anything, he would be met with another glare.

“Yurio was worried.”

“Why do you keep calling him that? What did I miss?”

“Ah, sorry,” Yuuri coughed bashfully, “The PT team thought it would get confusing if there were two Yuuri’s, so they gave him a nickname.”

“I bet he hates it,” Victor smirked. 

“Sure does. But he responds to it, so, it stuck.”

“I see.” 

Victor pulled a plate of eggs and bread towards him and started eating. Yuuri was halfway through his own breakfast, egg whites and vegetables and no toast. 

“He called me. Yuri, I mean. He said you were going to kill yourself if I didn’t fix my mistake,” Yuuri stopped talking, sounding choked up. He laughed, a wavering sound. “He didn’t tell me he wasn’t being literal until I was already on the plane.”

“Jesus, that little shit, I wasn’t– I’m not,” Victor paused, exasperated. “You don’t need to be on suicide watch. You shouldn’t just be here out of guilt or whatever he said.”

“It’s not that,” Yuuri set his fork down. “I was honest when I said I wanted to take care of you.”

Victor watched Yuuri’s throat bob. He took a deep breath again, as if to steel himself. 

“I know you want to win, so you can retire without regrets. But you’re not going to win like this. I know how much you’ve been falling. You’re not sleeping, you’ve lost so much muscle mass. If it’s my fault, then let me make up for it.” 

“You think you have that much control over me?” Victor scoffed, pushing his plate away indignantly.

“No, that’s not– Victor, I love you.” Yuuri walked around the island, to him, where Victor sat, affronted with this new lie, or truth, or whatever it was. 

Yuuri cupped his face with both hands, both shaking hands. “I know you hate me, you have every right to hate me for lying to you. But I promise you, the only thing I lied about was not knowing who you were.

“Everything else was real. You don’t have to believe me or trust me or forgive me, but I love you , and when Yuri called me, told me you were going to kill yourself, I was so scared. Even when he told me he didn’t mean it, just that you were unwell, I was scared. I just wanted to see you with my own eyes, that you were okay. I begged Coach Feltsman to let me back on the team, so I could take care of you. I just want you to have what you want, Victor. I want to help you win. Even if you hate me. I’ll help you train, eat, anything. Please, let me take care of you. Until the end. Let me make it up to you.”

Victor sat still. At some point during the speech, his hands had moved up to grasp Yuuri’s, which were still on his face. 

Yuuri didn’t love him. Couldn’t. You didn’t lie to people you loved. You didn’t hurt them, not in private, not in front of millions of people. 

What was there of Victor to love anyway? He was needy, whiny, weak. He clung to anyone that showed even the slightest amount of affection. He was easy to manipulate, easy to throw away. Easy to break. 

But what was there to gain from this, anyway? Nobody knew what Yuuri had done. He couldn’t be virtue signaling, not when there was nobody watching. Maybe Yuuri did use him, but maybe he could use him back.

And. He was so tired of being alone. 

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

“This is new.”

Yakov wasn’t hiding his feelings. It was weird, Victor knew, but Yakov was being weird. 

“It’s no big deal. Just pretend like he’s not there.”

“Vitya, he’s my employee ,” Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“And technically, you’re mine, so.” Victor smiled triumphantly, leaning back against the boards. 

“I quit.”

“Coooaaach,” Victor slumped forwards, groaning. “Please, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Who’s going to talk about it then? Yurachka? The federation? The press ?”

“Nobody,” he enunciated each syllable. “He’s the team trainer, it isn’t weird if he’s here.”

“It’s weird because he’s here for you. You, Mr. Stone Cold Solo, who never ever works with a trainer publicly.”

“Then we just say it’s a precaution because of my injury. Easy.”

“Vitya…”

“Look, long story short, we fucked many times, I found out he lied to me, but he felt bad and sold his soul to help me until the end of the season. And nobody else needs to know that, so we’re not talking about it anymore. Good?”

Yakov stood on the other side of the boards, slack jawed, this being the first time he heard of any backstory on their relationship. Victor could only imagine what his coach’s reaction would be if he really explained what happened. 

“Thank you, Mr. Feltsman,” a timid voice interrupted from the sidelines. Yuuri had returned from the locker room, standing taller than Victor had been used to, but still shorter than him. He was wearing skates. “I’ll stay out of the way, I’m just here to track what needs more strengthening or recovery.” Yuuri bowed to the older man before removing his skate guards and approaching the gate to the rink apprehensively. 

“Katsuki, a word, please. Go warm up, Vitya.” 

Victor shrugged nonchalantly, even as he struggled to leave the two alone, feeling a little like he was throwing Yuuri to wolves. Well, it was his own fault. 

Only a few feet away from the boards, he already couldn’t hear their muffled conversation, so he gave up and skated over to Yuri Plisetsky, who was trying his best to melt into the ice. 

“What am I going to do with you?”

The younger skater blushed furiously, refusing to make eye contact. “Did you make up?”

“Enough,” Victor felt compelled to spare the details. “Thanks, Yura.”

This time, when he dragged the kid into a hug, Yuri went willingly, though his arms dangled uselessly at his side. Victor didn’t even provoke him purposely to get a rise out of him. They were maturing.

The sound of skates on the ice made the pair turn. With gentle steps, Yuuri skated over. He stopped a few feet away, his movements slow but deliberate and fluid. 

“Victor,” he nodded. “Yurio.”

“Huh?” Yuri looked back and forth between the two. “Why are you on the ice?”

“I want to watch up close, see if there’s anything specific we can train to get that quad axel a little more consistent.”  

“You knew he had a quad axel?” Yuri was in shock. Nothing about Yuuri really surprised Victor anymore after his accident. 

“Coach,” Yuuri pointed over his shoulder sheepishly. 

Victor, tired of listening and just tired in general, turned and kicked off. He opted to run through his short program as his warm up, downgrading all new jumps to singles for the sake of conserving energy. When he arrived at center ice, the music began. He sent a thumbs up in his coach’s direction and began. 

The morning was awkward, his time with Yuuri lacking the usual comfort it provided. But when Victor thought of asking him to leave, his heart stuttered in panic, and he couldn’t bring himself to send the man away. 

Momentary confidence he had for confessing his love receded, Yuuri shrank back into himself. In a way, it was a gift. Victor found it easier to keep his distance when Yuuri felt so far away. 

The song came to an end; Victor found himself facing Yuuri, chest heaving from the exertion. Yuuri was watching intently, mouth slightly ajar. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Victor wondered if they would be shaking, much like his own wanted to. 

“Well?” Victor skated over to Yuuri and Yuri– maybe Yurio would be better– and waited for feedback. 

Yuri shoved a hand under the brunet’s jaw, closing his mouth. “You’ll catch flies, piggy. Don’t be such a fanboy, it’s embarrassing.”

Yuuri flushed all over, every inch of visible skin pink from Yuri’s verbal assault. Victor snorted, flipping his hair out of his eyes. “Shut up, Yurachka, go be mean somewhere else.”

“No, no, it’s okay. He’s right, I am a fanboy and it is embarrassing.” Yuuri admitted it like it was a dirty secret, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was amazing, like always.”

Having heard enough, Yuri scoffed and skated away, mumbling something about butt-kissing and old men. 

“A fan, huh?” Victor skated close, his blades sliding near Yuuri’s own. He noted distinctly that they were not rentals. 

With one outstretched finger, Victor tipped Yuuri’s chin up. Drawn up to his full height, Victor made it so Yuuri had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. 

“If you’re too much of a fan to criticize me,” Victor whispered, his breath surely kissing Yuuri’s lips. He let go of the other man’s chin and turned to skate off. “Then you can leave.”

“Wait!” Yuuri exclaimed, grabbing Victor’s wrist with both hands. Victor continued skating forward, but didn’t shake off Yuuri’s grasp, instead towing the trainer behind him. “Whoa,” Yuuri bent his knees for a moment, before stabilizing. 

“You favor your right leg, which is normal if you’re right-handed, but it looks unbalanced the more tired you get, meaning you have to strengthen your left leg more . More weight, more reps, either way. Do you get shin splints when you run?” 

“How do you know that?” Victor turned around, still skating and towing Yuuri around the rink. He had a determined look in his eye, different to the timid mouse that had first stepped onto the ice. 

“During your step sequences, your legs look stiff. Your posterior chain must be tight, we need to stretch them a lot. And when your posterior chain is tight, specifically your calves, you can experience shin splints, as the muscles in the front of your leg will have to overcompensate.”

Yuuri released Victor’s wrist, skating off where there was ample space. Immediately, he launched into a perfect replica of Victor’s step sequence, though his lunges were deeper, and when he bent at the waist, he didn’t have to bend his knees to reach his toes.

“See?” Yuuri skated back to Victor. He grinned as he slid to a stop, shaving some ice onto Victor’s toe. 

“What the fuck?” Victor voiced his thoughts aloud, eyebrows furrowing. 

“What?” Yuuri’s smile quickly faded, “Did I get it wrong?”

“No, you didn’t, that’s what I’m– how did you– you’re a skater?”

“I skate, for fun, sometimes.”

“You never mentioned it.”

Yuuri had the decency to look guilty at that. “I didn’t want to say too much.”

“Right,” Victor sighed, closing his eyes. “Whatever, so I have to stretch more. That’s it? Nothing I can fix immediately?” 

Yuuri hesitated. Victor raised an eyebrow, but ultimately, Yuuri shook his head. “You look beautiful when you skate. Maybe no one else would notice, but I can tell you’re just a little tired.”

“Hmm, I wonder whose fault that is,” Victor mused, turning to skate back to center ice for his free program. 

The rest of his ice time proceeded that way. Victor skated, Yuuri showed him what he was doing versus what he could be doing. His frustration just grew as he repeatedly made mistakes. Mistakes he couldn’t fix by tucking in his elbows or shifting his weight.

He had been pushing himself for years. Skate through the pain, stretch even when you can’t, hide your limp, hide your exhaustion. If he had just had a real trainer, maybe he would have gotten the quadruple lutz before anyone else. If Yuuri had just been honest, knowing about his skating, he could have gotten the axel sooner. 

At the bell, he skated to the gate, hearing Yuuri follow. It was Yuri’s turn to skate to his music.

“Here,” Yuuri quietly handed him his bottle. Victor took it, turning to watch the little skater take center ice. 

“Oi, piggy! Watch me,” Yuri called across the rink. 

Yuuri held up a hand in acknowledgement. Victor watched Yuuri’s reaction out of the corner of his eye as he gulped the cold water. The other man just smiled.

“That little shit, why does he keep calling you that?” Victor sneered, reminded that the brat was still a moody teenager. 

“It’s okay,” Yuuri chuckled softly, not taking his eyes off the performance. “I think it’s a term of endearment. He saw pictures of me from my dancing days. I’m bigger than I was then; ballerinos don’t need to maintain this much muscle. He doesn’t believe I’m hiding abs under here,” Yuuri patted his belly, gesturing to his sweatshirt, “so he started calling me that to goad me into showing him. Jokes on him, I was bullied as a kid, so nothing can phase me now.”

Yuuri kept a content smile on his face as he watched the young skater’s program, even as Victor jolted at his frank words. 

Yuri crashed to a halt, too much enthusiasm and not enough finesse. Immediately, he started demanding Yuuri’s attention. He wasn’t seeking advice so much as he was fishing for compliments. Victor could only watch as the tension left Yuuri’s shoulders while he interacted with the teen. Since his crash on the ice, he hadn’t seen Yuuri like that once. A window into the way he used to appear. 

Stepping off the ice, Victor kept his eyes off the pair, who were talking animatedly on the ice. He couldn’t help it– the nausea roiled deep in his belly, pushing him to the locker room before Yakov could notice his absence. 

It was when he was on his knees in front of a toilet, Victor thought that maybe this new arrangement wasn’t one of his finer ideas. 

Chapter Text

There was a knock on the stall door. The gentle tap made it clear who had followed him. 

“Here, I have some anti-nausea medication,” Yuuri spoke into the silence of the locker room. 

Groaning, Victor leaned away from the toilet to flick the lock before collapsing back against the wall. 

“How did you know where I was?” He asked this pointless question, taking the pill from Yuuri’s outstretched hand. He dry-swallowed it. 

“I have spies everywhere,” Yuuri joked. His eyes were sad, contrasting the forced smile on his face. “Come on, let’s get you home. We’ve done enough today.”

“But I still have to go to the gym–”

“Tomorrow. You are in no state to be weightlifting right now. For now, a bath, dinner, and manual therapy. Let’s go, Vitya,” Yuuri handed Victor a paper towel to wipe his face. He continued holding out his hand. 

Rejecting the impulse to take it, Victor pushed himself off the floor dizzily, flushing the evidence of his inner turmoil. He stumbled to the sink to rinse the acid from his throat and wash his face. HIs new trainer stood, just watching. 

Victor slumped onto a bench, removing his skates, having had barely enough time to put his blade guards on before needing to run to the toilet. It seemed, by now, that Yuuri knew better than to offer help. He wiped the blades methodically before setting the skates in his locker. Yuuri took to the same task, and together, they suited up to face the cold winter afternoon. 

Silence grated at him; more than once, Victor opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue. The scathing remarks at the forefront of his mind choked him whenever he imagined Yuuri’s sad eyes. Yuuri leaning in to kiss him. Yuuri above him. Below him.

How did this happen?

Sighing, Victor stood, blinking back the dark spots that clouded his vision. When they cleared away, Yuuri was watching him with concern. Concern that unsteadied him. He wanted to rest his weight in Yuuri’s arms, unloading his worries the way he always used to. 

The night they spent together, it was separate from real life. He could have that. No one would see. No chance Yuuri would be brave enough to reject him when they were home alone. 

“Okay, home.” Victor decided then. He could cry, could seek the comfort of his ex-lover’s embrace, if they were in his bedroom. 

“Home,” Yuuri confirmed, taking all of their belongings in one hand and waving Victor forward with the other. Victor didn’t try to help. 

Makkachin and Vicchan were thrilled to see their owners, their joint excitement bowling Victor over in his exhaustion. Still, he laughed, accepting their kisses and snuffles, resting on the floor by the doorway. He would take them out after a few moments, he was just so, so tired. 

“Go take a shower,” Yuuri unhooked the leashes from their spot on the coat rack, “I’ll take them out and make dinner while you’re in the bath.” 

As if he had done it a dozen times before, Yuuri wrangled the dogs into their leashes. By now, he probably had. Having Yuuri around made Victor a lazy dog owner– the man was always taking them out for a jog or feeding them before Victor even had a chance to think about it. 

He supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised. All he had ever wanted was someone that put his needs first. Victor had basically put an ad out in a newspaper, screaming to the world that he wanted to be taken care of. All Yuuri had ever done was predict his needs, fulfill them, and then some. 

The door shut behind the trio. In the hallway, Victor could hear the baby-talk Yuuri must have been suppressing when they arrived. The thought drew a crease in his brow. 

Climbing into the bathtub was no easy feat. Victor thought about skipping the shower, ignoring Yuuri’s orders to shower first, but in the end, not even spite was enough to make him want to sit in his own filth. Taking care to use his fanciest bubble bath soap, he melted into the hot water. He tried not to think about the baths he took with Yuuri, but it proved impossible. He could hear when the front door opened again, collars and leashes jangling and Yuuri cooing as he fed them dinner. The fridge opening as Yuuri took out something to cook. 

He must have brought quite a few groceries. The fridge had been empty before he arrived home to Yuuri cooking katsudon. Since then, he had been fed numerous meals and snacks, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. Victor didn’t think he had lost that much weight, but the puppy-dog eyes he received from Yuuri each time he was offered a protein shake or piece of cheese proved otherwise. 

“Dinner’s almost done,” Yuuri knocked once and called through the door. “Do you need clothes?”

“No,” Victor automatically replied, cursing himself for it. He didn’t bring clothes in with him, just stripped on the way to the bathroom. Yuuri probably picked those up for him. 

The footsteps outside the en suite bathroom faded. Victor sighed, pulling the drain stopper and climbing out of the tub. His muscles moved with a little more ease after soaking. His skin was red from the heat, but he savored the sting. It was a welcome contrast to the ice in his veins these days. 

He left the bathroom, hair no longer shower-wet, and moved to his closet. He stopped halfway, peering behind him at the corner where Yuuri’s luggage still lay. There was a rarely used guest bedroom, but surely it was too dusty to offer up without having a cleaner stop by. 

Careful to muffle his footsteps on the plush rug, Victor approached the suitcase like a wild animal– cautiously optimistic. He flipped the flap, scanning the contents until his eyes landed on the familiar fabric. Victor tugged it out, against every bit of common sense in his head, and pulled the sweatshirt on.

Before he could change his mind, he quickly tugged on a pair of his own thermal sweatpants and some thick socks to ward off the cold. He adjusted the thermostat and found his way to the kitchen. 

“Vicchan, don’t you dare beg, you already got your allotted piece of chicken,” Yuuri chastised the small poodle. Makkachin watched dutifully from her bed, but Vicchan sat planted at Yuuri’s feet as he scooped a steaming spoonful of chicken-and-something onto a plate. 

Gracefully, Yuuri picked up both plates and spun to the kitchen island, intending to set them on their place settings. Instead, he halted with the plates hovering over the counter, spotting Victor wearing the very same sweatshirt he had tried offering earlier that morning. 

Not wanting to start a conversation, Victor ignored the look and sat down on a barstool, pulling a plate to him. It looked like fried rice. He frowned; the heaping amount of vegetables still wouldn’t put this on his meal plan. 

“I didn’t use much oil, so it’s not the best, but hopefully it’s still edible. Do you want an egg on yours? I fried two just in case,” Yuuri babbled the same way he did earlier, holding up a frypan near the stove. 

“Sure,” Victor bit back the comment on his tongue about the calorie content, watching the hopeful look on Yuuri’s face morph into happiness at his acceptance. That was something still familiar about him. 

“Please finish it, you need the carbs,” Yuuri added quietly as he sat down beside Victor. His own plate was piled just as high, chicken and vegetables and an egg, but it was wholly devoid of rice. 

“You don’t?”

Yuuri winced, “I gain weight easier than most people. I try to avoid carbs, but katsudon is my weakness.”

“Valid,” Victor nodded, leaning down to meet his fork. Like every other meal Yuuri had made, it was delicious and the nausea didn’t rush in as he swallowed. “I would get fat for katsudon.”

Yuuri snorted, “I have.”

“Well you’re, like, ripped now.”

“Yeah well, before I met you, I only let myself eat it when my mom made it, and she lives in Japan.”

“Oh. I forgot about that.” Victor turned to look at Yuuri, continuing hesitantly, “Did you get to see them? Your family?”

He didn’t want to break this fragile peace by bringing up Japan, but he was curious. 

“Yes, I went home after the competition. Figured it was my best chance for a while, and I didn’t know when I would be allowed back at work.”

“Right…” Victor trailed off.

“Anyway, where do you feel the most sore today? I can give you manual therapy, but if you’d prefer to foam roll, that’s fine too. Either way, you need to do some sort of recovery before bed.”

“My hamstrings definitely,” Victor flexed his muscles to deduce where it hurt the most. “I’m just tired, mostly. I don’t think I have the energy to foam roll, to be honest.”

“Okay, well, that’s what I’m here for. You can go lay in bed on your stomach and I’ll go get a towel and some oil.”

A shudder ripped through Victor at the command. It went unnoticed, thankfully, as Yuuri stood to clear the dishes. 

“Oh, um, there’s some in my bathroom. Under the sink,” Victor responded, mouth dry. Yuuri hummed in response as he set their plates in the dishwasher. 

“Go, I’ll be right there.” 

Victor stood compulsively, and he had to force himself to stop acting weird and just go back to his bedroom. He whistled for the dogs to follow him and hoped Yuuri didn’t see the blush tainting his cheeks. 

Ridding himself of his sweatpants on the way, Victor belly-flopped into bed, a knot of unease in his gut. The anticipation grew as the sounds of Yuuri puttering in the kitchen filtered into the room. It was strange. The domesticity of it all. It had barely been a day since he had let Yuuri back into his life and it already felt like he had never left. 

Victor squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his hood down to block out the dim lamplight. The dishwasher beeped, signifying the start of a cycle. Water poured into the dog bowls. Yuuri’s steps came closer, walking past his bed and into the bathroom where he opened one cabinet, then the other, finding the massage oil. He opened the linen closet and removed a towel. 

“I don’t think my hands are cold, but tell me if it bothers you,” Yuuri spoke softly, indenting the bed beside him. Victor refused to look to see what position he was in. 

“It’s fine,” Victor spoke into the pillow, voice muffled. 

The cap of the oil flicked open. The bottle was closed and tossed to the side. Then Yuuri’s hands were on him. 

They were tentative at first. Exploring. Yuuri did as he usually did, seeking out knots and spreading the oil. Like the devil he was, he began to dig his thumbs in, pushing at the tender muscle. Victor groaned unintentionally, and Yuuri’s hands faltered before resuming their ministrations. He started in the crook of Victor’s knee, kneading his thighs in small circles. 

“How are you always this tight?” Yuuri grunted, focusing on a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Yuuri.”

“Oh, sorry,” Yuuri immediately backed off, rubbing his leg soothingly, but not stopping. Instead, he moved his hands higher, pressing into the tender space beneath his glute muscle, pushing his underwear out of the way. 

Victor bit down hard on his fist, praying he could make it through this. With every second, Yuuri’s thumbs traveled higher, and then, all of a sudden, it stopped. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Victor relaxed into the bed. Then he heard the click of the oil bottle cap, and Yuuri’s hands were on his other thigh. The process repeated all over again, and by the end of the massage, Victor’s heart rate was in zone four, and he could barely remember his own name. His traitorous mind replayed the images of all the nights that began this way, and ended with Yuuri turning him over and sliding into the empty spaces he belonged. 

“Okay, turn over,” Yuuri moved away, patting Victor’s calf. 

“Huh?” Victor jolted, looking back at Yuuri. A small smile was on his face, alongside a pale blush. 

“Stretch time,” Yuuri patted his chest. 

Victor exhaled, internally berating himself for making insane assumptions. For not being able to keep his mind out of the gutter. He was lucky he didn’t already have an erection. 

He turned over slowly, the hood falling off his head. Victor raised one leg straight into the air, and Yuuri slotted against him, taking Victor’s leg against his chest and holding on gently. Victor stared intently at the ceiling, even as Yuuri leaned forward to stretch his posterior chain. The position had never felt this suggestive. 

Chancing a glance at Yuuri, Victor saw the other man was also pointedly avoiding eye contact. Good. At least it wasn’t affecting only him. Jesus, was this really the only way to help him stretch?

Yuuri guided him to switch sides, but this time, he kept more distance. His hips sat slightly back. Curious, Victor searched his face. He could observe in real time, the longer he stared, the redder Yuuri’s cheeks grew. 

“Okay, that’s enough stretching for tonight,” Yuuri scrambled away from him, picking up the towel quickly and turning away. 

Victor sat up slowly, watching the way Yuuri was clutching the towel for dear life. 

“I’ll bring back some bands and a stretching strap tomorrow. Maybe more foam rollers. That would be best, I think. Right. Okay. Good night.”

The interest had already taken hold, the smart side of him too slow to catch up, to tell him this was dangerous. If he was wrong, Victor would have the rest of his life to be embarrassed, but if he wasn’t.

“Yuuri,” Victor said softly. 

“Huh? I mean, yes?” Yuuri kept his back to him, but stopped walking away, only a few steps from his bedroom door. 

“Turn around.”

“It’s late, you’re tired, I still have to shower, so I’m just gonna go,” Yuuri rambled, voice slightly higher pitched than normal. 

“Yuuri,” Victor rolled forward to kneel on the bed. He pulled the sweatshirt up and over his head, taking it off to toss it to the floor. He threw it next to Yuuri’s feet. Yuuri flinched and looked down, and when he registered what he was seeing, rapidly turned around to look at Victor. 

Victor, who was kneeling on the edge of his bed, no shirt, no pants, erection clearly outlined in his boxer briefs. Yuuri reflexively dropped the towel, revealing his own, matching interest. He looked like a sin. Frankly, he looked terrified. 

“Let’s have sex.”

Chapter Text

Yuuri stared, shell shocked. 

Yuuri’s eyes flicked down, lingering on Victor’s arousal, before meeting his gaze again. Victor felt his nerve evaporating rapidly, face reddening. Why did he say that? That was the worst idea. Yuuri would probably go to Yakov and report him for sexual harassment tomorrow. Victor couldn’t blame him. 

“Good night, Victor,” Yuuri pursed his lips before turning away once more. When the door shut firmly behind him, Victor let himself collapse back on his bed. He groaned, covering his face with both hands. He was an idiot. Very well. He would apologize. 

Victor sat up, but stopped himself before he could cross to the door. Why should he apologize? Surely, he was no worse than Yuuri. They fucked like rabbits when Yuuri knew they were coworkers. Did it matter now that Victor knew too? And at least Victor was being upfront about it. 

This was absurd. All of it. The previous arrangement, the current arrangement, the sex, the no sex. 

Throwing himself into a pile of pillows, Victor pulled the comforter over his head. He was exhausted. Despite leaving the rink early, it felt like the hardest day of training he had had in a while. Yuuri was not known for going easy on him. Surely, tomorrow, the work would really start. 

A few moments later, Victor was already asleep. 

The true embarrassment didn’t set in until he saw Yuuri again in the morning. When he realized Yuuri had left his room and never came back, Victor frantically jumped out of bed, tore his bedroom door open, and hurried down the hall. The guest room door still creaked when he opened it, the way it did when it hadn’t been opened in a while. The bed was pristine, and there was no sign of life otherwise. A strange despair settled into the pit of his stomach. 

Until four pairs of paws came trotting down the hall– Vicchan was still there. 

Victor followed the dogs back down the hallway, mentally berating himself for the previous night, for his reaction in the morning. He scooped up Vicchan along the way, hugging the small dog close to his chest. The kitchen was empty, but it soon became apparent that the morning had hardly arrived. The sun hadn’t yet begun its ascent, the windows still dim. 

The early hour explained, then, where Victor found Yuuri– on the couch, bundled in a fluffy, oversized decorative throw blanket, still asleep. 

It was an oversized couch, really, more of a daybed than a sofa. Victor himself had spent many lonely nights in this room, curled up with Makka and this very blanket. It might very well have been as comfortable as his own bed, but had the added benefit of the television to provide the sounds of life he was otherwise missing. 

Makkachin nudged Yuuri’s face with her nose, rousing him from a deep sleep. He cracked one eyelid, focusing first on the poodle, and then squinting up at Victor. 

“Vitya?” Yuuri’s voice cracked as he looked up in confusion. He looked over at the windows and the furrow in his brow deepened. 

Just as Victor took a step to turn and go back to bed, Yuuri lifted a corner of the blanket.

Victor stared for a moment, surprised. He wanted to turn, run back to his bedroom. But then what? Stare at the ceiling until it was time for breakfast? All while knowing he didn’t have to be alone. It was early, and he was tired. It was easier to accept than explain why he was hovering. At least, that’s what Victor told himself as he wordlessly climbed in next to Yuuri. Yuuri accepted him in with open arms, curling around Victor as they both settled on the sofa. Victor’s head rested on Yuuri’s shoulder in the end; Yuuri squeezed him tightly, securely. 

“Mmm, you’re so cold. Go back to sleep,” Yuuri mumbled, entwining his legs with Victor’s. Victor closed his eyes, resolving to stop thinking and just call the housekeeper when he woke up.

The days passed in a blur after that morning. Yuuri never brought up that first night’s incident, so neither did Victor. They woke up together, jogged with the dogs together, ate, trained, ate some more, and at the end of each day, Victor always found himself in Yuuri’s bed. 

Victor felt confused. The comfort he felt in Yuuri’s presence slowly returned, restored by all of the ways Yuuri took care of him. But they never talked about anything that wasn’t training or skating. Surely, if he was in love with Victor, Yuuri would have been more persistent. He would have tried to convince Victor to forgive him. 

Stunted communication aside, Yuuri was helping Victor so much more than he had expected. The lingering nausea faded after a few days, but Yuuri was always there with him when his stomach turned over. By the next meal, his diet plan would have already been adjusted to be more gentle. The high protein, high carb diet had his strength steadily returning to him. Each day of skating was easier than the last. 

Victor slept at least nine hours a night, pressed up against Yuuri as he drifted off each night. He had tried sleeping alone, especially after giving Yuuri his guest room, but rest evaded him. Scrolling on his phone had only made it worse, and when he got up aimlessly from his bed, his feet carried him to Yuuri’s room. Almost immediately, the corner of the comforter lifted, like Yuuri had been waiting for him. After that night, Victor hadn’t returned to sleeping in his own bed. 

“Come on, try it out.” Yuuri nodded encouragingly at him. 

The ice was clear; Yakov was in his office, leaving Yuuri to keep an eye on Victor’s solo practice. Instead of one long practice each day, Yuuri had broken it up into two sections: a morning program runthrough and a post dinner jump training. Between lunch and dinner, they took to the gym before Yuuri gave Victor a massage to help relax his muscles. It was a lot and somehow less and just enough all at the same time. 

There was one week until they had to leave for Barcelona, and Yuuri hadn’t let him try the quadruple axel without a harness yet. Until now. 

Victor did a double take, looking back at Yuuri in surprise. 

“You can do it, now, I’m positive,” Yuuri smiled at him, sweat dripping from his hair. Yuuri had shocked him. It had been quite some time since Victor had a coach who was actively skating, nevermind one that could keep up with him. None of his jump coaches had ever been able to pull off a quad flip like he could– neither could Yuuri, but at least Yuuri had been on the ice with him every step, copying every move. He fell every time he tried a quad jump, but regardless, he tried, and every day felt like that day they danced together. 

“Are you going to try this one too?” Victor joked nervously. Could he do it now? 

“This one is all yours,” Yuuri gestured to the open rink. 

Taking a deep breath, Victor nodded and turned towards center ice. This was it. 

He kicked off, building speed with a lap around the rink. All of his hopes for the Final rested on whether or not he could do this. He just wanted to erase the last few months from the world’s memory. The doping scandal, Anatoly, Killian, his accident.

It was now or never. 

When Victor landed, it was on his back outside edge, without his hands touching the ice. He was standing.

He had done it. 

“Victor!” Yuuri shouted from across the ice as Victor glided to a stop. Victor looked up slowly to the sound of frantic blades, just for an incredible force to slam into his chest. Yuuri skidded them to a stop, arms wrapped tightly around Victor, who automatically hugged back.

All at once, the floodgates opened, and Victor’s knees gave out as tears started flowing freely down his face. Yuuri caught him, lowering them both to the ice gently, holding tightly the entire time. Victor sobbed in Yuuri’s shoulder, unable to stifle them.

Pulling away, Yuuri took Victor’s face in both hands, wiping his thumbs under Victor’s eyes. He leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. 

“I knew you could, I knew it,” Yuuri whispered. “God, I love you.” 

Yuuri’s admission made him cry harder; Victor found himself pulled back in for another tight hug. His trainer held on tight, one arm threaded around his back and the other hand on the back of Victor’s head. For the first time in a long while, Victor felt safe again.

Together, they sat on the ice until the cold seeped through their clothes, limbs going numb, before Victor was able to stop crying.

Then, the rink doors slammed open, breaking the spell that had befallen the two on the ice. 

“What is this? New lover, Vitya? Or have you become a rule breaker and hired a personal trainer?”

Victor stiffened, pulling out of Yuuri’s embrace. 

He was standing by the gate, overly dressed-up suit, stupid quiffed hair, haughty look on his equally stupid face. 

Before Victor could snark back, Yuuri was off the ground and skating over to the gate, shoulders back and head high. 

“Mr. Ivanov, this is a closed practice. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Anatoly drawled, “Do I know you?”

“Katsuki Yuuri, men’s singles team trainer. No rules are being broken. Shall I call Yakov Feltsman for you?”

“Down, doggie, I can find him myself,” Anatoly scoffed. He gave one last lingering look to Yuuri, and then Victor, before turning to Yakov’s office. 

Victor waited until he was gone to rise, skating over to join Yuuri at the boards. Yuuri, whose fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the way Victor’s own heart clenched in his chest. 

“Fuck that guy,” Yuuri stared at the coach’s office door. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Victor repeated, a small smile on his tear stained face. 

Chapter Text

“Yeah, I got it, thanks. I owe you.”

Victor frowned, pausing around the corner from where Yuuri stood. He bit his lip, guilty as he hesitated in revealing himself. 

“I’m fine, Peach,” Yuuri sighed. “This is just frustrating. No, I know you know. I just… Our flight is tomorrow. I don’t know. I gotta go, Vitya needs to go home. Victor, I mean. Ugh, shut up. Bye.” 

The call ended with a groan and the soft thump of a phone being dropped in a bag. Waiting until Yuuri started moving, rustling around in his locker, Victor emerged, towel wrapped around his waist. He gave Yuuri the grace of ignoring his reaction– the way his trainer faltered at the sight of his near-naked form. 

Peach. That was Phichit, most likely. Were they so close that Yuuri called him to vent? Was it about him? Sure, Victor was frustrating. He was trying to be frustrating. Yuuri deserved a taste of his own medicine, even if Victor was the one that had trouble swallowing it. 

Victor got dressed in silence, mulling over the eavesdropped conversation, while Yuuri cleaned and packed up their boots. Typically, his gold blades lived at the rink, but their flight to Barcelona was the following morning and Victor was too paranoid to let anyone else touch his skates. He took them in his carryon, along with his costumes, and let everything be checked in. At the very worst, he could buy an entire new wardrobe wherever he went. But no matter what, the show must go on.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Yuuri meticulously dried off the blades once, twice, snapping on the guards and tucking the boots into a specially made bag. Victor had hesitated the first time, but the care with which his skates, and frankly, everything else, were taken care of, it was easy to settle into the lull of security.

“Ready?” Yuuri smiled over at him, shouldering both of their skate bags. 

“I can carry mine, you know,” Victor zipped up his jacket quickly, reaching to take his duffel. Almost like a test. 

Like he expected, Yuuri dodged his meager attempt, moving back and towards the locker room door. 

“You had a hard day. I got it.”

You skated almost as much as I did, Victor thought and didn’t voice aloud. 

The door opened with a bang, little Yuri stalking in with his typical scowl etched on his face. 

“Are you two done being gross in here?”

“Who’s being gross here?” Yuuri answered, teasing smile on his face. “You were outside.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Yuri’s nose scrunched up. “You better get me breakfast at the airport, this flight is too damn early.”

“Fine, fine, whatever, kiddo. Just get enough sleep, no staying up late to talk to Otabek.” 

“Blah, blah, whatever, old man.” 

Victor caught Yuuri’s eye over the boy’s head, smiling fondly. It seemed Yuuri had already been endeared to his prickly personality.

Together, they left the teen, waving goodbye as they went.

“Let’s go, early bedtime tonight, so early dinner.”

“I just ate lunch an hour ago,” Victor complained, following Yuuri out of the locker room.

“Well by the time we get home and I finish cooking, you’ll have room for more.” Yuuri led the way to the car waiting for them at the curb. These days, they traveled to and from the rink at regular times. His usual driver was unused to Victor keeping a schedule. 

Victor ignored the flutter in his chest as Yuuri called his apartment “home,” and the next flutter as Yuuri opened the car door for him. 

“Are you trying to fatten me up to eat me?” Victor questioned as he climbed in. 

“As if it were possible,” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “You’re a muscle-making machine. I don’t think you’re capable of maintaining body fat while skating. It’s just unfair.”

“Somebody sounds jealous.”

“I am. If I looked like you, I’d be milking it for everything I had. I’d be an international supermodel. I’d make an OnlyFans.”

Yuuri cut himself off, eyes flashing to Victor’s. A dark blush blossomed on his face, noticeable even in the dim lighting of the SUV. 

“Would you?” Victor rested his pointer finger on his lips, feeling the urge to tease. 

“Sorry, ignore me–”

“I think you could start one. As you.” Victor prodded. 

“Me?” Yuuri squeaked from the seat beside him. 

“Yuuri.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, you’ll start one?”

“No, no, no! Please, just forget what I said,” Yuuri pleaded.

“You’re no fun,” Victor huffed, turning his head away to look out the window.

Images of Yuuri flashed through his mind unbidden, in all states of dress, of composure. Since that day Victor propositioned him, no further talk of sex had been brought up. 

It was for the best, surely, but part of Victor couldn’t let it go. 

It was disappointment. He could recognize it for what it was. The way their relationship had gone from one hundred to near zero in the blink of an eye. One accident, and his security blanket was ripped away, leaving him feeling unsafe and unsatisfied. 

In the late hours of the night, Victor had even allowed himself to recognize that maybe, just maybe, he had been falling in love. 

And it was over.

All he had left was a trainer that overfed him and a daily erection at the hands of said trainer’s mandatory recovery massages. 

The remaining car ride was spent in silence, and after the uncomfortable interaction they shared, Yuuri spent the rest of the evening at a distance Victor could not himself close. 

“Is dinner ready?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to take a shower first?” 

“No.”

“Should I lay on the couch or bed?”

“Couch.”

After the fifth one-word answer, Victor had had enough. Fine. If Yuuri didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t try. 

Belly full, Victor shed his sweatpants and lay on the sofa, ready to be led through the usual stretches, albeit begrudgingly. In truth, Victor had wanted to retreat to his bedroom in defeat, but there wasn’t a chance Yuuri would let him get away with skipping his recovery.

The clinking of glasses in the kitchen flitted through his apartment to where Victor lay. Yuuri always insisted on loading the dishwasher right after dinner. Victor couldn’t remember the last time he had touched a dirty plate. 

And he was starting to forget what it was like to have Yuuri look him in the eye. 

The quiet man padded into the living room, dogs trailing behind him. He knelt beside the couch, avoiding Victor’s gaze, and began their usual routine. Yuuri pushed and pulled, guiding him through stretching his hamstrings and calves, his hip flexors and quads. It was agony, as usual, but made only worse by the awkward silence between. 

Victor must have sighed at least four times before Yuuri spoke. 

“Are you nervous?” Yuuri asked quietly, holding Victor’s ankle up in a hamstring stretch. 

“For which part?” Victor scoffed. 

“Any of it. All of it.” 

“I am looking forward to seeing Chris. Maybe if I land the axel, I can feel relieved.” Victor ran out of positives to list. 

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

Victor looked up at Yuuri, who was finally looking back.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You’ve been landing the jump for days. You know you can do it. You don’t have to put yourself through another competition if you don’t want to.”

Yuuri returned his stare in earnest. Victor wondered if Yuuri realized the way his thumb rubbed his ankle soothingly. 

“How can I let all your efforts go to waste?” Victor smiled weakly. “It’ll be fine. One last competition. Go out with a bang, right?”

The troubled look in Yuuri’s eyes still lingered as he nudged Victor to make his way to bed. Their bags were already packed. The dogs would be dropped off with the neighbor in the morning, who had been slightly bewildered at the sight of a mini Makkachin, but had openly agreed to take both anyway. 

The two men lay in Victor’s big bed, huddled in the middle despite there being enough space for four people. Yuuri’s breath tickled the back of Victor’s neck. It was the same as most other nights. 

“Are you sure you want to come with me?” Victor hesitated to ask, had hesitated for days. When Victor had sat down to tell Yakov which flight he wanted, Yuuri peered over his shoulder, pointing out which options he preferred. Like it was guaranteed that they would travel together.

“Even if it wasn’t part of my job, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Yuuri’s grip tightened around Victor’s torso, grounding. 

“I’ve never had a trainer travel with me before,” Victor mused. 

“An oversight I wouldn’t allow.” 

Victor felt a thrill travel down his spine at the dark tone. Yuuri sounded angry, but not at him, and that excited Victor in a way he wasn’t prepared to deal with. 

“Everything will be fine. Go to sleep, Vitya,” Yuuri’s constraint almost always loosened enough to call him by his diminutive in the minutes before sleep. 

He didn’t respond, instead huddling deeper into Yuuri’s embrace and closing his eyes. Victor had an entire plane ride to analyze Yuuri’s words and actions; he may as well sleep now. 

-

The paparazzi was expected. The incessant flashing of the cameras, the rude questions. The gawking. The staring from his fellow skaters, however, unnerved him in a way Victor hadn’t quite prepared for. 

“Victor!” 

Shoulders slumping in relief, Victor turned to the sight of Christophe barreling his way through their competitors, loudly and proudly. 

“I was starting to wonder if you’d ever show up,” Chris hugged Victor tightly, and then glommed onto Yuuri. “And you, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I’m working, Chris,” Yuuri slipped out of his grasp, releasing a knot in Victor’s chest. 

“Our flight was delayed at the layover, we just arrived an hour ago,” Victor cut in. “My coach had someone bring our luggage back, but I didn’t want to miss practice. Well, maybe I wanted to, but Yuuri wouldn’t let me.”

He pouted, remembering the firm way Yuuri told the cab driver to bring them to the rink instead of the hotel, leaving the rest of Team Russia to catch up.

“Poor thing, you must be exhausted. I’m glad you’re here, it was getting weird.”

“Weird, what do you mean?”

“Everyone kept looking over at me like I would pull you out of my pocket at any moment. I imagine they’ll have words, now that you’re here.”

“Whatever makes them happy,” Victor shrugged. He leaned in, whispering, “Killian?”

Chris curled his lip in disgust, tilting his head toward the rink. “Pandering, as usual.”

Victor turned, trying to be discreet. There, near the boards, Killian stood in his hideous sweatsuit, talking to the media. And, as Victor had grown to realize would become a common sight, a few feet behind him stood Anatoly.

Common to everyone else. If Victor was lucky, he would never have to look at Anatoly again once he retired. 

Yakov had shared the purpose of Anatoly’s visit with Victor, who had shared it with Yuuri. The ISU’s board of directors was concerned and wanted to ensure Victor Nikiforov’s ability to compete . They sent Anatoly as their representative, considering their history . His lovely coach told Anatoly where he could shove his concern and history, and sent him on his way, Victor heard. 

He loved Yakov Feltsman. 

“Ugh, he came snooping last week. I’m lucky he missed out on jump practice by a hair,” Victor complained. 

Christophe’s eyes widened, gripping his friend’s upper arm. “Tell me, is it true? Are you doing it at the Final?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Victor nodded, a sly grin spreading on his face. 

His friend, who was his fan first, Victor reminded himself, stared in awe. He had caved and told Chris what he was planning, not wanting to leave his closest friend in the dust unexpectedly. With luck and hard work, he, Chris, and little Yuri would leave Killian far from the podium. Perhaps, it was not his most sportsmanlike behavior, but Victor was retiring. He didn’t care anymore. 

In the short program, Victor would unveil his new jump, and his name would go down in history one last time. He would do Killian’s too, just because he could. 

“Victor,” Yuuri spoke quietly at his side. “We have to warm you up, practice will begin soon. See you soon, Chris.” Yuuri nodded to him, donning his RSF badge and pulling Victor away.

“Dinner later, both of you! See you on the ice, mon choux,” Chris waved. 

“That plane ride was killer,” Victor yawned, feeling his tight hamstrings pulling with each step. 

“We were in first class,” Yuuri hissed, weaving them through the throngs to the locker room. 

“I didn’t move for hours!” Victor whined, following obediently. 

“You could have gotten up and walked around. I did.”

“But I was tired.”

Yuuri sighed exasperatedly, but Victor saw the tug of his lip into a smile that he tried to smother. It left a feeling of satisfaction in his chest. 

“Well, I hope you got enough sleep. Chris plus dinner equals a long night.”

Something about it, dinner plans with his best friend, Yuuri coming along, maybe just the fact that the Grand Prix Final had finally arrived sent a thrill down Victor’s spine. He didn’t know how he felt about Yuuri and his lie. But Victor couldn’t ignore the fact that Yuuri was here. Had been here, taking care of him, even when he denied all help.He felt lighter than he had in months. 

Victor threw himself at Yuuri from behind, arms over his trainer’s shoulders. Yuuri let out a surprised gasp, but scooped up Victor’s legs in a piggyback ride like he did this every day. 

“You okay?” Yuuri murmured over his shoulder, nudging the door to the skaters’ waiting room open. 

“I think I am,” Victor answered, holding on tight. 

Chapter Text

Pure panic. That was all Victor felt at hearing the announcement in the waiting room. The other skaters all froze, uncharacteristically silent. 

When Victor exited the locker room, ready for practice, an ISU official stepped into the room, calling for attention. Deep down, he knew what was coming. Another drug test. Mandatory for all men's singles skaters. There would be water bottles available to those who needed it. 

Yuuri was nowhere to be seen, having left Victor for what was supposed to be a brief moment. Victor spun in place, eyes scanning the room. He couldn't even see Chris. Was this room always so crowded? 

Victor pushed down the panic, desperately trying to put a lid on the nausea threatening to reintroduce his airplane meals. He stumbled forward. Water. He needed water. 

A boy in an ISU shirt was stacking cases of water bottles on a long table. Victor rushed to one, unwilling to wait even a moment for the cases to be opened. He clawed clumsily at the plastic, anxiety chipping away at the hope he had brought with him. 

If he got another false positive, there was no way anyone would believe he wasn't doping. Victor didn't know that he would believe it either, were it another skater in his place. Innocent until proven guilty, unless you were famous. 

Victor had torn his life apart to make it to this competition, primed to win. Bruised and battered his body to perform a jump nobody ever had before. Lived through one false drug accusation already. Accepted living with a man that had broken his heart. Maybe it didn't sound like much, but the last few months had tested him, and Victor didn't have anything else left to give. 

The sound of a cap opening. A hand appeared in his line of sight. Victor stared at it for a long moment before registering the offered water bottle. The offerer had even opened it for him. 

“Thank y-” The words died in Victor’s throat. “What are you doing here?” 

Anatoly smiled at him. Slimy and condescending. 

“Here to answer questions. Listen to concerns.” 

Right. He worked here. 

Anatoly raised his arm, offering the open bottle again. “Here. You were struggling.”

Victor stared: the ugly tie, the dull hair, the stupid smile. It all annoyed him. Still, the annoyance distracted him from the anxiety, so it accomplished something. Victor reached for the water bottle, ready to smile and nod and walk away. 

Only for another hand to snatch it from his fingers. 

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Yuuri said evenly, putting his own metal water bottle in Victor's hand. He bowed in Anatoly’s direction– Victor wondered if bows could be sarcastic– and thanked the man. 

“Thank you, but Vitya prefers cold water. Have a good evening, Mr. Ivanov.”

A small smirk rested on Victor's mouth, loving the affronted look on his stupid ex boyfriend's face. “Yes, good evening.” Victor wiggled his fingers over his shoulder as Yuuri guided him away with a hand on the small of his back. 

“Vitya, listen to me. Don’t drink anything anyone gives you, okay? We don’t know what’s happening, and we don’t need to take any risks.” 

Victor paled, the smugness dying quickly in his chest. “What, you think someone would drug me? Here ? In front of all these people?” Victor’s hushed tone doing little to hide his bemused reaction. 

Yuuri corralled him to the side of the room. Yuuri looked around, anxious, dark eyes scanning the other skaters and their coaches. 

“Look, I don’t know. But only this water bottle, and only from me or Feltsman, okay?” Yuuri set his hands firmly on Victor’s shoulders, leaning close. “Promise me.”

He wanted to laugh it off. He wanted to playfully shove Yuuri and go take a water bottle from the table just to prove Yuuri was overreacting. But the truth was, Victor didn’t know if he was overreacting. He didn’t know anything. So Victor just nodded.

“Promise.”

“Good, let’s go.” Yuuri tilted his head to the side, gesturing to the door where a familiar face appeared in his lab coat.

“Victor! Yuuuuuuri! I’m so happy to see you!” Phichit grinned as the two passed through the door into the empty hallway.

“Hey, Peach,” Yuuri sighed. 

“Wow, tone down your excitement there, pal,” Phichit answered sarcastically, a big smile still on his face.

He looked between Yuuri and Victor, almost expectant. Neither one spoke. 

“Jeez, alright.” Phichit turned, leading the way down the hall, “I hope you saved some pee for me.”

Yuuri snorted, placing a hand at the small of Victor’s back, guiding him to follow. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather have watch me pee into a cup, Phichit,” Victor smiled at his back. 

“Oh yeah?” Phichit looked over his shoulder, flicking his eyes at Yuuri, who let go of Victor to playfully shove him. 

Victor felt his cheeks burn. He followed behind dutifully, Yuuri and Phichit speaking too softly to eavesdrop. If he had laser vision, Victor imagined he would have burnt a hole through Phichit’s arm, which was laced through Yuuri’s. The familiarity shouldn’t have hurt so much. They were friends. Victor and Yuuri were…

He didn’t know. 

“Alright, get in there, friend. Here’s your cup.” Phichit set down a water bottle at his lab station, retrieving a plastic cup and a pen. 

Victor paused in reaching for the cup. 

“Oh, thanks, friend?” The word felt uncomfortable in his mouth, but not unpleasant. 

“Well, duh. You’re Yuuri’s boyfriend, of course we’re friends.”

“ Peach ,” Yuuri jolted, tomato-faced. “Please, stop talking. We’re not– he’s not.”

Victor took the cup, preferring to whip it out in front of both men than have that conversion. 

“What? I thought you lived together! Yuuri, it’s really not my fault if I have outdated information,” Phichit chastised, coming to stand at Victor’s side. 

“I’m working with him, Peach. Please. Can we talk about this later.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Later, huh? Are you promising not to disappear again?”

“He’s done that to you too, huh?” Victor snorted, washing his hands. 

“God, not to be racist or anything but he’s like a ninja or something! Whether he’s coming or going, in one country or another, I have no clue! He used to sneak up on me in the middle of the night all the time!”

“I was getting water, and your room was next to the kitchen.” Victor could hear the exasperation in Yuuri’s voice. “And just because you said you weren’t trying to be racist–”

“Okay, well. I can’t tell if you’re really fighting or not, and I have to practice, so it’s time to go. Phichit, we’re having dinner tonight with Christophe and we’d love to have you join us.” 

Victor smiled broadly as both Yuuri and Phichit stared at him wide eyed before he turned and left the room, leaving a warm cup in the latter’s hands. Yuuri would follow.

-

“Look, it was a dare, and I was 17, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

Christophe just laughed knowingly. Phichit couldn’t contain his curiosity, spewing questions about their lives, the other skaters, and so on. 

Yuuri, well, he just stared. 

Practice had been uneventful, once all the samples had been submitted. Killian had been placed in Group 2, so Victor was able to complete his own run throughs and leave the arena without needing to see him again. Yuuri stayed in his line of sight at all times, though he remained quiet. It wasn’t until they were headed back to the hotel to shower and change for dinner that Yuuri thanked him bashfully for inviting his friend to join them. 

And Victor was glad he did, for every time Christophe made any move to speak of Yuuri and their past, Phichit, in his magnanimous ways, would steer the conversation in a different direction. He wasn’t sure if Yuuri had forewarned him, or if Phichit was just seeing the poorly veiled murder in Victor’s eyes. 

Phichit and Christophe became fast friends, chatting about every bit of gossip either of them could think of and wringing the embarrassment from Victor with both hands. The stream of wine to the table at the tapas restaurant only bolstered the conversation and emboldened the men as the night went on. 

And for most of the evening, Yuuri just stared in slight awe, listening to tales of Victor and his modeling side-career, Victor and the boys he dated before Anatoly, Victor and his long hair’s origin. He was sure anybody else would have been bored, being regaled with Victor’s struggles with his identity and sexual expression. Yuuri’s eyes simply shone. 

It was the third bottle of wine that brought it out– of Phichit. Yuuri hadn’t had a sip. 

“I can’t believe my best friend is banging his idol. I mean, talk about manifesting, right?” 

And thus Yuuri was snapped out of his stupor. Automatically, his hand slapped over his friend’s mouth. He looked positively mortified, red faced and screeching. 

“No, my dear new friend, I don’t think they’re banging anymore. I think they should just talk it out, if you ask me. I think Victor was finally happy when they were banging,” Chris slurred his words, leaning forward conspiratorially. 

Phichit’s eyes widened in the dim restaurant lighting, pupils dilated. He wrenched Yuuri’s hand away, “Ohmygod. Yuuri! You never tell me anything!”

“Maybe there’s a reason,” Yuuri muttered, slumping down in his chair. Finally, he reached forward, taking Phichit’s glass of wine and downing the remainder in one go. “Wait, what do you mean, finally happy ?”

“No, no, no,” Victor cut in frantically, not ready to unpack his idiotic best friend’s words. “What do you mean “idol”?”

“Yuuri! You don’t tell anyone anything important.” Phichit turned to his friend, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. Yuuri just groaned, taking Victor’s glass next. 

“You see, before everything went to shit and my little sicky-poo over here had to give up all high-stress cardio, Yuuri was primo ballerino and number one club-figure skater. I thought he was finally gonna go for the big leagues, after a certain silver-haired Olympian caught his attention. Deny it all you want, buddy, but you were in love .” Phichit batted Yuuri’s hand away, another meager attempt to cover his mouth. 

Victor was glad of Phichit’s stubbornness in that moment. He wanted nothing more than to hear everything he had to say. 

“I knew I was going to give up skating for college, but Yuuri would have met you on the ice, I’m sure of it.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that.” Chris rested his chin in his hand, looking dazedly between the two men across the table. He raised one eyebrow, a wicked glint in his eye. “So why Russia? Japan doesn’t have college?” 

“Well, I have some cousins in St Petersburg, but when I told Yuuri to come get his man, I didn’t think he’d take me so literally,” Phichit glowed, grinning at Victor. 

Victor didn’t have time to panic when Chris raised his hand in triumph, “No, that’s where I came in. Yuuri was just too delicious, and I was taken, so I did the next best thing. Who knew it was fate, bringing us together.”

“Woah, you didn’t even know about Yuuri’s crush?” Phichit looked as flabbergasted as Victor felt. 

“Like you said, he’s a secretive man. I didn’t know, I just begged and begged until he agreed to at least meet my friend.”

“That’s crazy!” Phichit exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table, jostling the cutlery. 

Victor’s breath caught in his throat. He finally looked away from Chris to Yuuri, whose face really couldn’t have gotten any redder. Yuuri refused to meet his eyes, looking close to melting into the floor. If Victor had watched longer, he would have seen the smirks on the other two men’s faces, or the clinking of their glasses for a job well done. 

What did this even mean? So Yuuri wasn’t a freaky stalker; Victor had been reaching this conclusion on his own. But he was a skater, almost a competitor. If he had never gotten sick, would they have met anyway? Could they have met before Victor’s heart warped and broke and expected the worst of everyone? Before Anatoly?

It was stupid to think of what could have been, but still, he didn’t stop himself. Well versed in pointless endeavors, Victor tried to get Yuuri’s attention, but he was flagging down a waiter for another drink. Chris and Phichit had moved on, discussing the best clubs in Barcelona from Chris’s previous trips. They had a press conference the next day, but that never stopped Chris, and from the way Phichit was buzzing in his seat, he would keep up just fine. 

“Um, actually, I’m getting tired,” Victor didn’t think he’d actually be able to fall asleep, but he didn’t share that.

“Oh, duh, you’ve had a long day.” Phichit facepalmed, then lit up, smiling mischievously. “Yuuri will take you back to your hotel!”

“Yes, yes, buddy system! See you tomorrow, mon choux,” Chris blew a kiss in Victor’s direction. 

Over the course of two hours, Victor and Yuuri’s best friends had become thick as thieves, all but kicking them out of the restaurant. Yuuri stumbled out of his seat, but he was steady as they walked back to their hotel. They walked in silence, side by side. Victor wanted to speak, but could not find the words. 

Yuuri was his fan . And he lied to Victor. And punished him. Trained him. Fed and bathed him. Made love to him. Loved him. 

The line blurred. In another life, things could have gone differently. Victor could have bumped into Yuuri at a competition. Taken a photo together, like anyone would with a fan. Heck, Victor could have become Yuuri’s coach one day. 

In another life, Victor could have told Yuuri he loved him too. 

The silence felt awkward. At least, it did to Victor. Glancing over at Yuuri, he didn’t see any outward signs of distress. Maybe a slight hunch to his shoulders, a glaze over his eyes from the wine. Victor wanted to shake him until he said something. He didn’t. 

The elevator ride up their room felt centuries long. Luck kept the doors from opening on any other floor, leaving them in their isolated quiet. 

Once the doors opened, Yuuri shot out like a bullet. Victor sighed. 

By the time he followed, Yuuri had already tapped his keycard, holding the door to their room open for Victor. He walked past Yuuri, nodding his thanks. Yuuri nodded back, letting the door shut, but he didn’t move. 

The lights were still off, the glow from the city illuminating them just enough. Their luggage was set neatly in a corner. The bed was big. Victor had chosen a single, king-sized bed, but seeing it there– his heart skipped a beat. 

“You really didn’t know it was me? The friend Chris wanted you to meet.”

“No. I should have guessed, he must have been visiting you to end up in a pole dance class in Russia, but I didn’t really think about it.”

And then, wine drunk in the beautiful city lights, Victor spun around and closed the distance between them. Before Yuuri could even react, Victor’s arms wrapped around Yuuri’s neck, and their lips pressed together like they belonged. 

And even if Yuuri tensed up and didn’t immediately kiss him back, they did. 

Chapter Text

He didn’t have to wait long. 

There was a brief hesitation, and then Yuuri bent down, swooping Victor into his arms. Their lips met again and again, a mashing of teeth and hot breath. It was messy, nothing like it had been in the past. It was desperate, like it would be the last time. 

Yuuri turned, pressing Victor against the door in earnest. The peephole cover stabbed uncomfortably at the back of his head; he ignored it. The most attractive man Victor knew was licking into his mouth, grinding his erection against Victor’s own. Nothing short of a wildfire would make him stop. 

It was unfortunate that Yuuri didn’t feel the same way. 

“ Yuuri ,” Victor groaned, hands weaving into dark brown hair. 

It was the magic word, an off-switch. Yuuri pulled back, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and glassy. Drunk and somehow still aware he was making a mistake. 

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Victor felt Yuuri starting to release him, and he couldn’t help it. His eyes watered, feeling the distance begin to grow again. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s neck tightly.

“Please, don’t say this is a mistake,” Victor begged. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I just— I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you,” Yuuri sounded miserable, but he hugged Victor back so tightly, it almost hurt. 

“I kissed you first,” Victor insisted. “Don’t stop now.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered. “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.”

“I won’t,” Victor sniffled, sounding much like a petulant child. “I promise I won’t.”

“We’re both drunk.”

“Barely. I know what I’m doing. I want this.”

Yuuri groaned, turning back towards the bed. His grip never faltered. Victor felt safe with him. It was easier to admit now, in the dark, in a city that held no memories of their time together. He wanted to be closer, without the past tainting anything. He wanted to have Yuuri, even if just for one night.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Yuuri tugged Victor back so he could look into Victor’s eyes. Yuuri’s own looked sad– so, so sad. The tears pooling escaped, running down Victor’s cheeks embarrassingly. 

“I just want you back,” Victor admitted, head swimming when he closed his eyes. Too honest, he was being too honest, but it wouldn’t stop. 

Yuuri wiped his face tenderly, sighing. “You have me.” Victor was wrapped in another tight embrace. He tried to match his breathing with Yuuri’s, willing the sobs in his chest to stay, not to let Yuuri know how much he was affected. He didn’t move, not when his knees began to scream in agony, nor when his back ached in the hunched position. They sat there for what felt like hours, Yuuri’s hand running soothing circles on Victor’s back. 

“You’ll tell me when you want to stop.” Yuuri’s voice was quiet, but more lucid than it had been. “And this isn’t play, or part of a contract. Just us.”

Victor nodded emphatically, pulling out of the hug. Yuuri’s eyes looked red, but there was no evidence he had been crying. Victor probably looked a mess. 

“I will, I promise.”

“Tell me why you want this.” Victor’s stomach swooped at the instruction. His hands clenched involuntarily. 

“I miss you,” Victor whispered. “I miss feeling you. I miss feeling wanted by you.”

Yuuri moved fast, so sure of himself on the bottle of wine he had downed once Phichit started talking about his idol worship. Somehow, that tidbit didn’t bother Victor nearly as much as he thought it would. 

He was on his back, laying at the edge of the bed, Yuuri hovering carefully over him. “I have and will always want you,” Yuuri spoke adamantly, though his voice quivered. “God, you terrify me.” Victor laughed. 

“I could never tell.”

“I hid it well.”

“Why?”

Instead of answering, Yuuri moved down his body. He sank to his knees between Victor’s legs, kissing his way down. Victor’s breath hitched in anticipation. 

“Take it off,” Yuuri ordered, tugging at his jacket. Victor hurried to comply, wrestling off the offensive article of clothing while Yuuri simultaneously yanked away his pants. He went further, pulling his shirt away as Yuuri robbed him of his socks. 

He laid there, bare in seconds, while Yuuri kept his layers. He felt naked, exposed and not just for his lack of clothing. 

“Fucking beautiful,” Yuuri breathed, licking messily up Victor’s thigh. The praise sent shockwaves straight to Victor’s erection. It bobbed against his stomach, straining to reach Yuuri. 

Earth shattering; the feeling of Yuuri touching him again, of looking like that again. The feeling could swallow him whole if he let it, and spit him out over the cliff of his love for Yuuri. He reached out, and Yuuri answered his call, moving up Victor’s body until they were face to face again. 

“How do you want it?” Yuuri kissed the side of his neck, robbing Victor of breath. 

“Oh god, you want me to pick?” Victor groaned as he felt Yuuri’s teeth scrape against his skin. “Everything.”

Yuuri’s lips pulled into a smile. “Okay, everything, but do you want me on top?” He pulled one of Victor’s legs up and around his waist, grinding down enticingly. At Victor’s whimper, he laughed, hand hooking under Victor’s other knee to bring them closer together. He nestled comfortably in the space between Victor’s legs. 

He had barely been touched, and Victor was ready to explode. Precum was dripping, leaving a sticky trail on his stomach. Yuuri looked down where their hips met just as Victor groaned particularly loudly.

“So wet already,” he murmured, letting go of one of Victor’s legs to drag a fingertip through the small puddle. 

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” Victor begged. He clawed at Yuuri’s shoulders, trying desperately to pull his shirt over his head. Yuuri relented, pulling away to kneel on the bed. His gaze was hungry. He broke eye contact only to pull his shirt off, throwing it behind him without looking. 

“I don’t have lube,” Yuuri suddenly realized, “But I can–”

“I do,” Victor’s cheeks reddened. “I never unpacked it.”

“Hmm,” Yuuri’s hum was smug as he slid off the bed, kissing one of Victor’s knees on his way. Victor stayed silent, letting the man sift through his things to find the bottle, petty as he was. 

Yuuri stumbled back to bed, shucking his pants along the way, holding up the bottle, victorious. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he grinned boyishly as he flopped back onto the bed. He laid his full weight on Victor. It was comforting. “I imagined this too.”

“Yeah?” Victor asked breathily as Yuuri leaned in to kiss him. 

“Yeah.”

And then Yuuri was on him. 

He felt devoured, wholly consumed by this man who was his every thought once he woke up until he fell asleep. Sometimes, Yuuri overtook his dreams. Victor hated him for making things complicated. He skated, he modeled occasionally, he did interviews, he slept, he did not fall in love. He did not.

Except he did and it was fiery and soft and beautiful and scary and it had changed him. Saved him. He didn't know what to do with it, but he knew what he wanted to do with Yuuri. 

The way they slotted together was the most natural thing in the world. Yuuri’s eyes traced the lines of Victor's body, following his gaze with his fingers. 

“I imagined taking your clothes off, only yours,” Yuuri murmured, looking enchanted. “Seeing how flexible you could be for me.” He demonstrated, pulling back to spread Victor’s legs. 

Victor was vain. He rested his hands on his inner thighs, knowing how it would look– how hot he could look. He flexed his calves as Yuuri pushed his legs open into a near split. He pointed his toes like a good little ballerino. And he smiled when Yuuri groaned.

“You can keep going,” Victor purred. He was dutifully doing his stretches and recovery, but still, the pose burned deep in his muscles. Still, he could go farther. He would, if it would make Yuuri look like that . He was mesmerized as Victor let his trainer maneuver him into a deep side split with little resistance. Absolutely debauched. Victor fucking loved it. 

“Look at you.” Yuuri closed his eyes briefly before they opened again. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Like he himself hadn’t coached Victor into being able to ease into a split himself. “So perfect for me. Can you stay open like this for me?”

Victor nodded, curling his hands under his thighs to replace Yuuri’s. He shuddered at the sweet tone, goosebumps raising on his arms. Without any notice, Yuuri dove forward, claiming Victor with his mouth. His tongue lathed against Victor’s sack, sucking gently, eliciting a gasping moan. Victor felt Yuuri’s lips pull into a smile, but only briefly, because then he was mouthing his way up his shaft, and Victor was lost. 

The pleasure was vast and reminiscent and overwhelming when Yuuri wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. Victor had to remind himself to hold his legs apart when all he wanted was to crush Yuuri’s head between his thighs. Yuuri would probably forgive him, maybe even enjoy it, but Victor wanted so badly to be good for him. To be praised by this man that saw him for who he was. Victor hated to be told what to do, unless it was by Yuuri. 

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Victor jerked his head forward, eyes wide at man between his legs who had suddenly sucked his entire cock down his throat. Yuuri hummed, sounding so pleased, and then Victor heard a plastic click. The squelch of the lube squirting onto Yuuri’s fingers. 

“ Yuura. ” It was hard to hold in the gasp as wet fingers sloppily spread lube, one gently prodding his tight hole. He almost came just from the touch alone. 

He released his legs, pushing frantically at Yuuri’s head. “Stop!”

He had to give Yuuri credit. The other man was at the foot of the bed in an instant. Victor rested on his elbows, panting. In the dim light of the room, his cock glistened with Yuuri’s saliva. It pulsated, and Victor had to shut his eyes tightly just to calm down. 

“Did I hurt you?” Yuuri asked, anxious, but still not touching him. 

“No, no, I was going to fucking cum,” Victor groaned, laughing pathetically. “Just, give me a minute. It’s been a little while.” He threw his head back, looking at the ceiling to avoid the humiliation roiling in his belly.

He heard Yuuri sigh in relief and then mutter in Japanese. 

“Vitya– you can cum whenever you want.” A hand touched his ankle. “Don’t look so embarrassed.”

“I don’t want this to be over so fast,” Victor whined, flopping back on the bed and throwing one arm across his eyes. His words were met with silence, just that steady weight on his ankle. He lifted his arm a millimeter and peered down at Yuuri. Yuuri, who was looking at him with that aggressively fond look on his face. 

Yuuri, who was still dressed. 

Victor got an idea. He reached over to take up the bottle of lube, and shimmied backwards on the bed until he met the pillows. Yuuri stayed where he was, watching. Forcing down the shyness that was suddenly trying to claw out of him, Victor pulled his knees up, spreading his legs once more. 

“Give me a show then,” Victor ordered, wetting his fingers and slowly circling the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks. He failed at willing away the blush. “I can’t be the only one naked here.”

This wasn’t how it usually went. Yuuri was the one in charge, and Victor usually reveled in it. But this was different. Yuuri rose from the bed without a word, eyes zeroed in on Victor’s hand. It should have made him more nervous, but it simply made Victor preen. 

Yuuri peeled off his clothes slowly while Victor worked himself open. Victor did the bare minimum to prep, wanting to feel Yuuri stretch him, but he took his time. He tried to calm down, but the way Yuuri watched him only made his excitement grow. His cock bobbed against his abs involuntarily. Naturally, Yuuri clocked it immediately. 

A small smirk slid onto Yuuri’s lips once he was down to only his boxer briefs. He stretched, his muscles rippling deliciously. He palmed his erection, staring down at Victor with hooded eyes. Victor’s lips parted at the sight, which only spurred Yuuri on. Finally, Yuuri hooked his thumbs in his waistband and tugged his underwear down at a snail’s pace. He stepped out of it, one leg at a time, and stood there. Unabashed and beautiful. He was stunning, and tonight, he was Victor’s. 

Victor patted the space next to him, mouth watering as Yuuri walked towards the head of the bed. Even his thighs flexed as he took each step. It really was unfair. 

Resting his back against the headboard, Yuuri sat beside him and took Victor’s hand as he turned over and climbed into Yuuri’s lap. He was taller than Yuuri, but it was no hardship to lean into the other man, meeting his lips in a filthy kiss. Their tongues found each other urgently. Yuuri’s arms came around his back and Victor ground down hard, the lube easing the slide. 

Yuuri was gripping him tightly; there would be marks in the morning, but Victor didn’t mind. A reminder of the way he was held as if he was something precious, desired. He welcomed it. 

“Oh, that’s it,” Victor moaned as Yuuri ducked down to suck a nipple into his mouth. Hands went to Victor’s ass, spreading him open as they humped against each other desperately. Yuuri hummed, sounding far too calm, and switched his attention to Victor’s other nipple. He was nothing if not fair. Victor hissed at the feeling of being bitten, but gripped the back of Yuuri’s head, unwillingly to let him stop his ministrations.

“It’s so fucking good. Fuck, Yuura, no one makes me feel good like you.” He was babbling on and on, feeling Yuuri’s hands squeezing tighter the more he spoke. “Oh, fuck. Please, inside. I need you inside.”

Yuuri groaned, his hips stuttering against Victor’s. He clamped his arms around the pale body above him, holding Victor still. “Vitya, you’re going to make me cum too soon if you keep talking like that.”

“I thought there was nothing to be embarrassed about,” Victor teased, trying his hardest to squirm in Yuuri’s grasp. 

“I’m not embarrassed. If I’m going to cum, it’s going to be in your ass. At least the first time.”

Victor swooned at the wicked glint in Yuuri’s eyes, going boneless in his arms, head tucked in the crook of Yuuri’s neck. He whimpered at the thought of Yuuri fucking him over and over, under him, over him, against the wall. Orgasm after orgasm. 

Arms locked at his sides by Yuuri’s embrace, Victor whined, unable to coax Yuuri’s cock inside on his own. “Yuura, please.”

“You want me to fuck you?” Yuuri breathed in his ear, tilting his hips back so the mushroom head lined up with Victor’s hole. He nudged forward when Victor whined wordlessly. Not enough to give any satisfaction, just enough to drive him crazy. “Words, Vitya.”

“I want you so bad.”

“You already have me. I’m right here. Tell me what you want.” Victor squeezed his eyes shut tightly, huffing a quiet laugh at the sound of Yuuri’s smug voice. 

“I want you to fuck me until I cum, and then I want you keep going while I’m so sensitive and tired and fill me up so much that you’re dripping out of me for days. I want to feel it while I’m being interviewed. I want to feel it while I’m skating. I want to stand on the podium, wearing my gold medal with your cum sliding down my leg.”

Victor felt Yuuri freeze beneath him, like his brain was performing a factory reset at the words spoken into his ear. It lasted all of five seconds before Yuuri was cursing and then, he thrust his hips up and slid home. 

“You’re so perfect,” Yuuri praised him, cock buried deep in Victor’s ass. The words were nearly drowned out by Victor’s moans. “So fucking perfect for me. Everything you do, the way you skate, the way you stretch, the way you work so fucking hard.” 

Victor gasped, unable to do much as Yuuri held him down on his chest. He started off slowly, relishing the drag of his thick cock rubbing against every centimeter of Victor’s insides. 

“Let me take care of you, Vitya. I see you, I know how tired you are.” Victor must have rubbed off on Yuuri because the man just kept talking. His hips rolled up into Victor’s at a steady, strong cadence. “I know what you deserve, baby. You wanna cum, don’t you? You’re such a fucking dream. I’ll make you cum as many times as you want. I’ll give you anything you want.”

On and on, the litany of praise and promises continued. It was overwhelming, all of the love being poured into him, the filthy sounds of their lovemaking as the backing track. Every thrust of Yuuri’s cock into that tight, wet hole produced obscene noises that only drove Victor closer to the edge. Every whispered sweet-nothing sent Victor hurtling faster towards completion, his moans becoming more and more hysterical as Yuuri fucked into him. And he could tell Yuuri was not far behind. It wasn’t over yet and Victor was already missing it. 

Yuuri held Victor’s arms tight behind his back, and by anyone else, Victor would have felt used, a cocksleeve for an enthusiastic participant. But all he felt was supported. Taken care of. He didn’t have to move a single muscle, and Yuuri was giving him everything he needed. Yuuri knew the exact pressure with which to hold him down. Knew the exact angle to stroke against his prostate with every thrust. Knew exactly what Victor needed to hear. 

“I want to feel you cum around me. You’ll cum for me, won’t you, baby? You’re gonna give me all your cum like my good Vitya. You’re so, so good for me.”

It wouldn’t stop, the words in his ear. Victor tried, but he couldn’t hold back the wail that left his throat when Yuuri thrust particularly hard once, twice, three times. His own cock was trapped between their bodies. The immense friction and constant pressure sent convulsions through his entire body as his orgasm hit Victor like a freight train. 

Yuuri groaned just as loudly, but he did what Victor wanted. He kept going. He fucked up into that warm heat with reckless abandon, overstimulating Victor just as he craved. Victor came hard , cum pumping desperately into the space between them. It was hot and thick and only added to the intense sensitivity of his waning erection. It was so much, and Victor never wanted it to end. 

“Fuck, you came so hard. I feel you squeezing around me. It’s fucking perfection,” Yuuri groaned, still thrusting fast. “I’m gonna give you what you want, Vitya. I’m gonna fill you up like you want, baby. You still want my cum, yeah?”

Yuuri asked him desperately, repeating himself and sounding a little unhinged. Tears were leaking from Victor’s eyes at the everlasting pleasure, but he gathered himself enough to nod into Yuuri’s neck quickly. 

“Please cum inside, please, I want it,” Victor pleaded. 

“Oh fuck,” Yuuri cursed, and a moment later, his hips slammed upwards into Victor’s ass and halted. Victor tried to rock back and forth, wanting to give pleasure back to this man that had given him everything he wanted, but he barely moved. Still, Yuuri cried out at the slight motion, and Victor could feel the warmth as he came, savoring the pulsing as Yuuri emptied into him. Victor clenched down, admiring the guttural groan from Yuuri’s throat. 

They laid there together as the adrenaline fizzled out, panting until they recovered. Yuuri finally released his grasp, and Victor gingerly pulled his arms up, wincing at the tender flexion of his joints. 

Still speared on Yuuri’s perpetuating erection, Victor stayed put, letting his arms starfish out. Yuuri’s gentle hands went to his shoulders, massaging gently. 

“Sorry,” Yuuri’s voice was rough from overuse. “I shouldn’t have–”

“Ah ah,” Victor tutted, nuzzling his face against Yuuri’s neck, leaving a kiss there. “I loved it. If you’re going to keep apologizing instead of complimenting me more, just shut up.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh, finally turning his head to look at Victor. His cheeks were pink, and his dark eyes held an unrecognizable emotion as they met Victor’s. “You are so incredible.”

Victor closed his eyes, content, and puckered his lips. Yuuri closed the distance, kissing him with so much care. A hand came up to cup Victor’s cheek. Gone were the desperate grabs and hurried kisses. All that was left in the tired afterglow was tender affection.

Finally, Yuuri had softened enough to slip out, and Victor felt the slick dripping out as he rolled off of the man beneath him. For once, the stickiness didn’t bother either of the men, and besides Yuuri scooping up his shirt to mop up his abs, they didn’t move from their huddled places on the bed. 

The exhaustion crashed over them both in waves, weighing their eyelids down rapidly. They lay in silence for minutes. If Victor had fallen asleep for half an hour, he couldn’t remember. When he opened his eyes again, the lamps were off and the duvet had been pulled over him. 

“I didn’t fall asleep, just give me a minute” Victor mumbled into the pillow, reaching over to weave his fingers into Yuuri’s hair. 

Warm air blew across his face as Yuuri chuckled. Mimicking his movements, Yuuri gently stroked Victor’s hair back from his forehead. “Go back to sleep, you have a press conference tomorrow. We can go again after that.”

“Mmm,” Victor frowned, even as he was falling asleep. “No, not again.”

And he was out like a light.

Chapter Text

Waking up in Yuuri’s arms the next morning was no different than any other morning. 

Except it was. 

The comforter tucked tightly under his chin, it took Victor several moments after regaining consciousness to realize he was naked. And Yuuri was naked. If there hadn’t been a press conference scheduled, he might have considered staying there all day. 

Gingerly, Victor turned over to face his still sleeping companion, untangling their legs. His hair was ruffled, sleep lines from the pillow pressed into Yuuri’s face. He was beautiful, and he was holding onto Victor’s waist, even in his sleep. 

The slight furrow in Yuuri’s brow sent a pang to his chest. Victor reached up, pressing his thumb to the crease until it smoothed out. 

The previous night was vivid in his memory. Victor had been tipsy, but well aware of what he had signed up for. Even if he hadn’t remembered, the ache surely would have reminded him. 

A glance at the clock on the bedside table, which read 07:08 AM in aggressively red text, had Victor extracting himself from Yuuri’s embrace. He was meant to meet his coach in the lobby in less than an hour and he likely had marks on his neck he had to cover up. Or not. Maybe he would just leave them. 

Lugging his bag into the bathroom, Victor huffed a silent laugh. The press would have a field day with that. And while it would entertain him greatly, he didn’t yet know how Yuuri would feel about it. Going public. They would have to talk about it later. 

Victor was in the designated meeting spot early, if Yakov’s surprised expression was anything to go by. He had suited up in the bathroom, cringing as he turned on the hairdryer, but luckily, it hadn’t woken Yuuri up. He was a heavy sleeper, it seemed. 

“Vitya… Is everything okay?” Yakov stared as Victor accepted a cup of coffee from little Yuri, who insisted it was Beka’s idea to buy him one. 

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?” Victor shot a dazzling smile at his coach, believing his own words for once. 

“Hmmph,” his coach sounded dubious. “Well, you remember the plan? No angering the ISU, no announcing anything. Just your usual charming smiles and nods, and then we move on.”

“So boring,” Victor sighed, following his coach to the car. “But yes, I will behave .” 

“As if,” little Yuri snorted, climbing into the backseat after him. “Since when do you ever behave? Whatever, just don’t ruin this for me.” 

“Yuri!” Victor gasped, “How could you say something like that to your papa?”

Yuri groaned, slumping down in the seat, much to Victor’s chagrin. “Stop that, you’ll wrinkle your suit. I did not buy you this season’s Armani for you to disrespect it like that.”

“Oi, I didn’t ask you to!” Yuri complained, but still sat up straight. 

“You didn’t have to, Yura. It’s your first Seniors’ Grand Prix Final press conference! You have to look your best. The braid was a nice touch, by the way.” 

The sun was barely over the horizon, but Victor could still detect the faintest blush on Yuri’s face. “It was Beka,” he muttered, turning to face the window. 

Victor decided it was best to leave him alone for now. This Otabek was a rather positive influence on his Yura. 

“Vitya, you’re not going to speak to that Ivanov today.”

Victor scoffed, “Of course not. It’s not like I want to, he just keeps showing up.”

“Well when he shows up, you turn around and walk the other way.”

“Even if it means walking off the stage?”

“I’m serious ,” Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like him, I don’t trust him, and I don’t want either of you near him.”

“Worry not. After this competition is over, I’ll never run the risk of being around Anatoly Ivanov ever again.”

Yakov’s mouth closed, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He had this slightly pinched look, almost like he was… sad. 

Victor sighed, unable to look at his coach showing emotion other than annoyance. His eyes burned without his permission. “Coach, we talked about this. Can you please pretend to be happy about it before I lose my shit and ruin my makeup?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to be happy that I am losing my prodigy skater over something so stupid. It’s just ridiculous. You are like my son, and I am just supposed to let you go.”

“I am not a prodigy, that’s Yura. I was just a sad little boy with nothing better to do,” Victor smiled sadly at his coach. “You’re not letting me go that easy, I will still be around to irritate you. Maybe I’ll take my own students. I can steal Yura from you. Now there’s an idea.”

“Bah!” Yakov snorted, waving one hand at him while the other wiped under his eyes suspiciously. “He will not go with you.”

The men both turned to Yuri, who was looking at Victor with stars in his eyes.

“I’m sure,” Victor grinned mischievously at the man that was still his coach for three more days. Four, if you counted the exhibition he didn’t bother to prepare for. 

“You can have his choreo and that’s it. I will not have the blind leading the blind; he will end up with broken bones and stunted growth and I will be the one to blame for letting it happen.”

“Deal,” Victor laughed. He felt a sudden lightness, a grip he wasn’t aware that was on his heart loosened. Could it be that easy? Deciding what he wanted from his life after all of this was over? He could keep modeling, sure, and he was rich enough to live through his retirement, but what was he going to do besides that? Be a stay at home dad to his dog? He thought about Yuuri. Stay at home husband? 

Victor shook away the thought. He didn’t even really know how to cook besides chicken and steamed vegetables. The sad athlete’s diet. That wouldn’t do. 

The car halted, parking in front of the hotel where the press conference had been scheduled. There was minimal paparazzi waiting outside– most had been allowed inside for the conference. The fleeting feeling of happiness Victor had felt faded as they exited the SUV. He wished, for a moment, that he had been selfish and woken Yuuri up. 

But a team trainer didn’t have to be at a press event for the skaters, so that would have caught somebody’s attention, surely. Yuuri didn’t deserve that. 

Victor smiled and waved, clamping a comforting hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “Ready for this?”

“Born ready,” Yuri scowled, but didn’t shrug Victor’s hand off. He counted that as a win. 

Once inside, the younger skater made a beeline for his boyfriend– Victor hoped– and Victor remained at Yakov’s side. Hopefully, Christophe would find him, but Victor was not taking any chances by wandering away. He took his water bottle from Yakov’s hands, trying to remember not to drink from any plastic ones offered to the skaters.

The ballroom of the hotel had been transformed. Rows and rows of chairs, all filled with photographers and reporters, leading to a low stage. There were tacky balloon columns and a big screen where the competition name and date were projected. December 5th. It was almost his birthday. 

On the stage, there was a table set for the twelve skaters, and if Victor knew the ISU like he thought he did, he and Killian would find their name tags in the center. 

“What is that, your emotional support water bottle?” Christophe greeted him almost immediately after Victor ducked behind the curtain that shielded the skaters from the crowd. 

“Something like that,” Victor grinned, hugging his friend. He was going to miss this. Competing with his best friend. It was already rare that they saw each other, but now?

Well, it’s not like he would be too busy to visit Switzerland anymore. 

“Killian hasn’t shown up yet. Or your ex.”

“Can we not call him that?” Victor hissed quietly.

“Sorry,” Chris flinched, matching his volume. “Where’s Yuuri?”

“I didn’t want to wake him,” Victor answered, keeping an eye out for either of his nemeses, mostly to avoid Chris’s eye. 

“You will have to tell me about it later,” Chris nudged him playfully with an elbow. Surely the blush on Victor’s face told him all he needed to know. 

He scoffed, dodging more of Chris’s elbow. He felt giddy, wanted to tell everyone at the press conference, the whole world. Victor Nikiforov was in love. 

Sure, they still had some things to sort out, but it hardly mattered. No one would treat someone else with so much care and affection if it wasn’t real. Yuuri wasn’t a stalker or a manipulator. He was just a person. And he loved Victor, however it ended up happening. Things could be fixed. 

Or maybe Victor was just delusional. 

The call came to line up, a man with a clipboard summoning the skaters for the conference. Victor nodded at his friend and they took their place at the base of the stairs. A quick scan of the line revealed Killian was still missing. Was he not planning on showing up? Victor shrugged it off. Better for him. 

There was something unsettling about the whole situation, Victor couldn’t deny. But what was there to do? There was no proof of any wrongdoing, just a lot of coincidences and bad timing. All he could blame Killian for was the skating accident, but all of the internet had done that already. Thankfully, the camera footage of that made it clear that the other skater was at fault. He didn’t want to think of what this press conference would be like if the jury had voted the other way.

The men’s singles skaters streamed onto the stage, finding their seats. Victor let out the breath he was holding in relief. Between his seat and Killian’s was none other than Chris. The universe was being kind to him today. 

“Lucky me,” Christophe purred, sliding into the seat beside him. “Grumpy boy sandwich.”

Victor laughed, holding his own water bottle tightly in his hands. “If he even shows up.”

Little Yuri appeared at the end of the table, making eye contact with Victor for a moment. He looked very handsome and very determined. Victor felt a modicum of pride. A profusion of pride, if he was being honest, but Yuri didn’t need to know that. 

“If everyone could be seated–” The mediator began, but was cut off. 

There was a loud crash somewhere behind him, making both him and Chris jump. A door slamming open, maybe. Hushed conversation, and then, there to burst their bubbles, Killian strolled onto the stage. He was dressed in a severe black suit, a size too small, frankly. It highlighted the intimidating size of his quads. At this point, Victor could only theorize about the physics behind what got his sheer weight off the ice at all. Killian looked pissed off, but then, what else was new.  

“Well… Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Grand Prix Final,” the mediator hesitated but carried on. He gave a succinct opening address, and then they were released to the wolves. 

Their howls sounded much akin to Victor’s own name, to his chagrin, but he smiled and laughed on cue as the mediator failed to hush them. Like clockwork. From the side, he could just make out the sound of Killian scoffing.

Victor held up one hand, and they silenced. The power used to amuse him, but now, it was tired. He was just a man, not a deity. Christophe whistled beside him, grinning in amusement. His friend was much better suited to the attention nowadays. 

“Hello everyone, yes, thank you for your questions. If you would be so kind as to–” Victor tried to help. 

“Just shut up and raise your hands,” Yuri intoned from down the line. Victor fought the urge to roll his eyes. It’s as if their media training day never even happened

There was a smattering of chuckles (they didn’t realize Yuri wasn’t joking) before the host took control again, selecting a reporter from the front row. 

“Mr Nikiforov, what can you tell us about your exhibition for this GPF?”

Victor groaned internally, pasting on a bashful smile. “Oh, now, that would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?” He threw in a wink at the cameras, just on the safe side. 

Thankfully, the mediator was well trained, asking for questions for the other skaters, moving down the line. Otabek stoically attributed his new found confidence to his fellow skaters. Little Yuri spoke of how he was ready for a clean sweep of Victor’s records– which he may be able to accomplish in a few years, Victor thought with pride. 

Chris’s response to his question was most delightful. 

“Yes, well, I would like to dedicate my programs to my partner, Masumi, the only man to seduce me first, and the one who inspires me every day. See you in the audience, baby.” Christophe blew a kiss at the video camera aimed at center stage, shocking even Victor. 

He elbowed his friend as the conversation moved on, whispering between his teeth. “ The ice dancer whose videos you kept sending me? Are you serious? ”

“As the plague, mon cher. He was my cat sitter, and let me tell you, he’s not just good with pussies.” Chris stuck his tongue out at Victor, eliciting a snort that Victor tried to cover with a cough. 

“Well,” Victor gulped down water to clear his throat. “As long as he treats you well.” Chris had had dalliances here and there, but he had never openly claimed a relationship during official skating business. It was a surprise, but a welcome one, certainly. 

“Can the rest of you tell us your relationship status?” A particularly young reporter yelled the question out of turn. 

And for some reason, down the row, the skaters responded. Starting with Otabek. 

“Taken.”

Little Yuri was blushing faintly when he spoke next, easy to blame on the lights. “Taken.” 

“Single.” Michel. 

“Single.” Leo. 

“Taken.” Killian. Victor bit back a sigh. Poor thing. 

“Happily taken.” Christophe spoke with a smirk. 

“...Single,” Victor’s microscopic hesitation went unnoticed, before the rest of the row continued.

He wasn’t, not really. But that wasn’t really a decision he could make on his own. Well, it seemed made, probably. Most likely. It wasn’t like he could let Yuuri go now, could he? No, that was out of the question. But talking about it in public, on camera. That was new territory. For Yuuri. New for Victor since Anatoly. His skin crawled at the thought. 

No. Positive thoughts only. He would see Yuuri soon. It would all be sorted out and cleared up and back to normal. 

As normal as being in love with your ex-dom slash current conflict of interest at your place of employment could be. It could be worse. He could have met Yuuri as a skater, separated by thousands of miles and had to chase him to Japan and appear naked in his onsen just to capture his attention. 

Absurd.

“Mr Nikiforov! How can you explain the false positive from the drug testing?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Victor’s smile slid from his face briefly, before he realized his place and firmly slotted it back on. The cameras were flashing incessantly now. Of course, he should have been expecting this. He did, even prepared his canned replies with Yakov and the RSF publicist, but Victor had been living in a happy bubble all morning. A bubble that allowed him to forget about this circus. 

His response was to be as unresponsive as possible. That had been the plan. The publicist had agreed. Yakov had agreed, and he never agreed. Even little Yuri thought it was a good idea. 

“All the information I have has already been shared at this time. If you have further questions, you can direct them to the–”

“Look, I am trying .” A speaker crackled to life behind them. “Don’t go near him, you’ll only make things worse.”

Victor turned in his seat, along with the others on stage. The screen behind them had morphed from the GPF insignia, instead casting a blurry cell phone video to the room. The person filming was clearly hiding, the video showing mostly a wall, but every once in a while the image shifted. The camera was unsteady, but it revealed someone around the corner, trying to speak into their phone quietly, but the anger coloring their tone made it difficult to miss. 

“Miliy, please. You know I didn’t mean it.”

The man raked a hand through his hair as he paced. His voice grew louder as he came closer to the hidden observer. It became more familiar. Victor gasped, covering his mouth with one hand, drawing Chris’s attention. Everyone else was rapt on the screen. The entire room was silent.

“Is that…?”

“Mhmm,” Victor nodded, staring wide eyed. 

“I tried! He wouldn’t take it! That fucking physio took it from my hands.” Anatoly turned erratically, punching a random door down the hall. “It’s like he knows something. Fuck!” 

Victor’s heart was pounding. What was this? His memories from the moment they arrived all sifted through his mind rapidly. 

“They disappeared before I could get it back.” The Anatoly in the video cursed again, kicking a garbage can. “I am going to get that little bitch drugged if it is the last thing I do.”

It was Chris’s turn to gasp then, grasping Victor’s arm. A pit cleaved open in Victor’s stomach. The camera quickly ducked out of the hallway, but Anatoly’s voice was still audible. 

“I’m going to trigger another test. No, no, don’t be stupid. You can’t get caught switching his test again.”

The crowd behind him– Victor had forgotten they were even there– was audible at that, whispers and sounds of shock. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just stressed. I have money on this, you understand.” Anatoly sounded apologetic, but Victor knew better. He knew the impatience in his tone, the hurried way he tried to move on. The empty apology.

“This ends now. Victor Nikiforov is done.”

The video cut out harshly on the final word, blinking out of existence. The only evidence Victor had that he had even seen it was the uproar in the room behind them. 

“Vitya!” 

Victor turned his head; his coach was at the base of the stage, waving him down hurriedly. Victor rose from his chair, gripping his water bottle for dear life. Christophe stood with him, clamping a hand supportively on his shoulder, and Victor was ever grateful for it. Together, they moved to leave the stage, not looking at anyone else amongst the fray. The reporters had leapt from their chairs, trying to crowd the exit, as the ISU worker fought them off. 

They had just made it down the stairs when the yelling began.

Behind the stage, a loud scuffle had begun, the words overlapping from several mouths. It echoed in the large room, and Victor couldn’t make out what was happening, but he didn’t have to wait long. Opposite from where he stood with his coach and Chris, several security guards with ISU emblazoned on their backs were struggling to exit the room. 

“Unhand me!” 

A wry smile made its way onto Victor’s face. Between the guards, who seemed to double in quantity in the blink of an eye, Anatoly fought to escape. His suit was utterly bedraggled, expression despondent. And he swung his arms until they were pinned to his sides and kicked his feet until he was entirely lifted from them, and like a log, he was carried from the conference. 

Yuri was the first to laugh, roaring into the microphone in front of him, left on by someone clearly too shocked to continue doing their job. Victor couldn’t blame them, or even Yuri. Chris covered his mouth to hide his chuckle, and even Victor himself had to bite his lip as the rest of the skaters on stage began to make fun of the miserable man. 

It was rather funny, the entire situation. Even Victor could admit that. 

He turned to the reporters, who were still struggling to get close. They were shouting their questions, cameras flashing as microphones were pushing past the shoulders of the employees trying to rescue him. 

“Well. I told you I never did drugs, didn’t I?”

With that, he shot one final charming smile at the crowd and turned on his heel to leave. Chris let a laugh out at that before following behind. Something prompted him to turn back, a niggling in his brain that said he was still missing something. He cast a glance over his shoulder, and Victor’s gaze found Killian, who was not looking back, but only watching the doors where Anatoly had once been. 

Chapter Text

“Well, we’re happy to report that your drug test came back clean.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “Shocker.”

“Victor Alexandrovich, what my colleague here means to say is that the ISU is on your side. With the proof that you have not used any performance enhancing drugs, and now this video that has surfaced of the illegal tampering, we are ready to support you however necessary.”

“I see. So my word wasn’t enough for you.” It wasn’t a question, but Victor voiced it anyway, disdain coloring his tone as he stared down the two officials sitting across from him. Benoit Molina, the “Anti-Doping Director,” and some guy with a briefcase.

It was a rather gaudy set-up. Immediately following the press conference, Victor was whisked away to a suite in the same hotel. Some official’s living space had been sacrificed as an office, and it was hideous. The walls were floral and embossed with gold leaf. The coffee table was beneath a heavily embellished chandelier and held a large bowl of fruit. Victor sat stiffly on the overly plush, grandma’s curtains-upholstered sofa, opposite the two ISU pencil pushers that had kidnapped him.

It smelled like old people.

“You have to understand,” Benoit continued, “we must take every claim of doping seriously, with our history. Such events could result in a ban for our country. This must be avoided at all costs.”

“Hmm,” Victor eyed the men with suspicion. “What now, then?”

“Now, we must locate the origin of this video and ensure its legitimacy. In the meantime, we will summon the police here to collect your statement, and we can move forward against Anatoly.”

“What do you mean, move forward against?” Victor straightened, now intrigued. He was sure it would hit him eventually, the gravity of what Anatoly had just been discovered of. That his ex lover was ready and willing to ruin Victor’s life for his own gain. It was almost cartoonishly evil. He was an athlete for Christ’s sake. If Victor was any less popular, he may never have recovered from the first accusation, nevermind actually being drugged and returning a positive test result at the fucking Grand Prix Final. 

“Well,” the first man spoke, the one who had reported that Victor was clean , “What Anatoly Ivanov has been attempting is illegal. Attempted assault, unlawfully administering drugs, tampering with classified health information, fraud as an ISU official. Whilst he technically didn’t say that your last test was positive, we can pursue a case for defamation regardless.”

He cleared his throat, pushing a thick pair of glasses up on the bridge of his nose. 

“I am a lawyer for the ISU, and I will be setting up a meeting with the legal team of the RSF to explore our other options, but we are going to be prosecuting to the fullest extent of the law.”

“Gambling,” Victor suddenly spoke up. “And adultery.”

“I’m sorry?” The lawyer looked surprised that Victor was speaking without the air of annoyance.

“He cheated on me with his assistant. And he used to bet on my competitions. From the sound of it, he’s still doing it, but now he’s betting on my losing.”

“Well,” the lawyer spoke slowly, as if to get every point correct. “Adultery is no longer a prosecutable crime, but we will take all evidence you have of his gambling. Certainly, that is a violation of his employment contract, and it is illegal in most of Russia unless he was travelling to a Special Gaming Zone.”

The man was like an encyclopedia. Though, Victor supposed, that was his job. 

“I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Well, there’s my card,” he leaned forward, handing Victor a prepared business card.

“Leonard,” he read. “Thank you. This has been enlightening.”

“Well, that’s just my job–”

“Yes, excellent,” the other official cut in. Benoit had the decency to look guilty. “We want to apologize for this, this oversight. We were not aware of Anatoly’s misdeeds and you have suffered at his hands.”

Watching them across the cherry wood table, Victor had to push down the emotions roiling in his gut. Suffering was an understatement. 

“I suppose he has learned well how to hide it well. The psychopathy.” Victor just wanted to go back to his room and hide. “Is that it then, I can go?”

“Well,” Leonard began for the thousandth time, ”we would like to conduct an in depth interview, and I’m sure the police will have questions. He may have committed most of his crimes in Russia, but the security here is insisting, as he tried to drug you here in Spain?”

The lawyer’s statement ended in a question, making Victor reflect on his last interaction with his ex. 

“Yes, um, I guess. After they announced the testing yesterday, he offered me a bottle of water. I didn’t think anything of it, but my trainer took it from me. I should thank him, I wasn’t even thinking about the possibility, but then, why would I?”

Lost in thought, Victor trailed off, thinking of how Yuuri had snatched the bottle before Victor had even processed who was handing him one. It was like he had known…

“Well, I will go find the authorities and bring them back here.” The lawyer nodded at Victor once before standing. Leonard turned to the Director and shook his hand before leaving the suite. 

“Is there anything I can get you, Victor Alexandrovich?” Benoit offered with an uncomfortable smile.

“I appreciate the research into patronyms, Director, but you can just call me Victor,” he returned the smile, though Victor’s own was much better rehearsed. “Is my coach aware of what’s happening?”

“Oh yes, my colleague was to brief him, and he can be present for your interviews if you wish.”

“Yes, I do wish,” Victor paused. “What about Yuri Plisetsky, where is he?”

“He and the other skaters have been advised to return to their hotels. I believe Yuri has been taken in by Team Kazakhstan.”

That was comforting, at least. 

“Can I use the restroom?” Victor stood, looking around at the doors branching off from the main living space. 

“Ah yes, go ahead. Down that hall and to the left,” Benoit pointed. 

Victor nodded in thanks and, once behind a closed door, was able to catch his breath. He slumped against the door, sighing, before turning to the sink to splash water on his face. The entire day had been overwhelming, from the moment he woke up beside Yuuri. Not for the first time, he selfishly wished he had woken the man up. He didn’t even have his phone to contact him. 

The reflection staring back at Victor looked tired. It was all so tiring. Victor was shocked. Not at Anatoly’s actions, but the video. His ex-boyfriend’s shitty behavior was nothing new. He was essentially a groomer, a narcissist, and a psychopath. Narrowly escaping getting drugged by Anatoly’s hands was nothing surprising. It was alarming, certainly, and Victor was expecting the crash to come later, when the adrenaline faded. 

But the video. 

Perhaps, Victor could imagine taking such a video. If he had the inkling that he would be overhearing something so nefarious, he’d like to think he’d be quick on his toes and gather proof. But for someone to be expecting to hear such a thing could only mean that they knew Anatoly could have been up to something. Right? 

And for it to be played at the press conference. How did they accomplish that? Why did they? Surely they could have gone straight to the police? Or Leonard or Benoit. A small part of Victor, the dramatic, vindictive side of him, was pleased. It was bad enough that his life had become such a spectacle. Let Anatoly get a taste of the hell he had surrendered Victor to. Served him right. 

The day flew past in a hurry. His coach showed up, carrying his phone with a depleted battery. It was useless; even if he had a charger; he had no time to think about it. Victor lost track of how many times he recounted his story. He left out the saucy bits about Yuuri, of course, but otherwise, he finally told them everything. Leonard had properly chastised him upon hearing Victor’s history with Anatoly. It was only when Benoit stopped him from victim blaming did he halt and look contrite. Victor guessed he was usually defending the rights of the Federation as a whole, unused to facing sensitive skaters like himself. 

Victor only cried three times. 

The police officers were surprisingly emotional with him, one reaching over to hold his hands as he recounted the abuse he had suffered right there in Barcelona, years ago. It only further bolstered the likelihood that Anatoly would do something to hurt Victor. 

His coach sat beside him the entire time. Yakov was quiet as Victor spoke, an unusual display from the man, and he simply handed Victor tissues when the sniffling increased in frequency. It was embarrassing, finally sharing everything that had happened in front of this man that he considered to be like his father. But Yakov said nary a word against Victor’s own foolishness, and for that he was grateful. 

The RSF had informed him he would have to sit through more interviews once they were back in Russia, much to Victor’s dismay. At least he would be home by then. A small consolation. 

Victor yawned as the lawyer spoke to the various ISU and RSF staff. They had called room service to the suite twice since he had been sequestered, and the dinner felt like it had been hours ago. 

“Gentlemen, it has been a long day.” Victor flinched slightly, surprised by Yakov’s sudden loud call for attention. “Vitya needs rest, so long as the competition is still continuing.”

The old man raised an eyebrow at the small crowd that had gathered in the hotel room. Benoit looked exhausted, weighed down by all the information he had gathered. Surely, he had a lot of work to do now. 

“Yes, Mr. Feltsman, I apologize again. We have a suite for you here, Victor. I think it would be best if you stayed near. We can have someone retrieve your belongings, and we can have security escort you to the arena in the morning.”

“But–” Victor protested.

“Thank you, Mr. Molina, we appreciate this very much.” Yakov interrupted him, reaching out to take the offered room key from another staff member. 

He stood from the sofa, joints creaking from age and fatigue. He waved Victor up with a stern gaze, and he was helpless to follow.

Once in the hallway, Victor felt it safe to argue. 

“Yakov, please, I am exhausted, I haven’t even been able to call Yuuri all day. I want to go back to our hotel.”

“Victor Alexandrovich Nikiforov, for once in your life, please do not fight me.” Yakov pleaded. “There is some unknown evil out there trying to destroy your career and we don’t know how else to keep you safe. I will see about getting you a phone charger and your suitcase. Just stay here. ”

Victor bit his lip, trying to bite back the sudden rush of tears. He felt thoroughly chastised, that was for sure. But he also felt frustrated. None of this was his fault. Why did he have to suffer alone?

“Here,” Yakov handed him a keycard once they reached his suite down the hall. There were a handful of security guards in the hallway. No chance he could sneak away. Even if he could, he had a dead phone, no wallet, and no way to get back to his own hotel. 

“I will come back with news. It’s,” he looked at his watch, “almost 11:00 PM. Try to sleep. I will wake you at 7:00 AM on the dot. Call down to the front desk if you need anything.”

His coach looked frazzled, trying to figure out if he could even leave Victor there safely. Victor felt bad for even thinking of trying to escape. 

“Oi! You there. You’re going to watch his room all night?” Yakov Feltsman was gone without a goodbye, interrogating security to make sure they would do their jobs. Victor overheard him asking one of them where he could get a phone charger as he shut the door.

With little fanfare, Victor stripped down to his underwear and climbed into the bed, tired and frustrated and sad. He didn’t touch a single lightswitch, bathing in the darkness of this unfamiliar room. There, under the safety of the covers, Victor finally let himself go. The ugly sobs burst from the lockbox where he had hidden them away. The unfairness of the last day leaked out of his every pore as he cried and cried and cried. 

Attempted assault . That’s what Leonard had called it. Anatoly had hurt him before. Mentally, emotionally, physically. But that had all been the heat of the moment, emotional outbursts. Yes, the sports betting had gone on for some time, but Victor couldn’t say it had really caused him any actual harm. Anatoly may have put a little pressure on him to win, to be the best, but was that all that different from the pressure he put on himself?

But this felt different. Somehow, he couldn’t reconcile this evil, premeditated act with the man he once knew. The Tolya that he thought he had once fallen in love with. 

Victor knew better now. What they had wasn’t love. Anatoly groomed him into a blank check, and when Victor tore, Anatoly would throw him in the fire and watch him burn. He said it himself, in that video. Victor Nikiforov is done. 

The crying, surprisingly, lulled him to sleep. Sooner than he expected. 

So soon, that he missed the sound of his door opening. Barely heard the bags dragged across the floor or the click of his phone being plugged in. Slept through the covers being slid back, arms sliding around him. Victor’s eyes opened briefly, too quickly to adjust to the darkness, awareness escaping him. He burrowed deeper into the warmth that had suddenly appeared, and quickly fell back into a dream. 

“ Aishteru. ”

Chapter Text

Victor had woken up like he fell asleep: alone. 

His bags were in his room, like Yakov had promised, so when the hotel phone rang with his wakeup call, Victor rolled out of bed and got ready for practice with little fuss.It was the day he had been waiting for. He would ratify his jump and, by doing so, secure his win. Then, the free program would be a breeze, and he could finally be finished with it all. 

A knock sounded at the door. Victor zipped up his Team Russia jacket, striding over to answer. In the hall, Yakov greeted him, looking haggard as ever. Little Yuri stood behind him, staring at his phone, bored. 

“I hope you slept well, Vitya.”

“I did, somehow, but it looks like you didn’t,” Victor frowned at his coach. “Where’s Yuuri?” 

Yakov waved him off, turning towards the elevator. Victor quickly turned and grabbed his skate and costume bags, before following behind. Yuri had waited for him, and took Victor’s skate bag wordlessly. 

“Where are your bags?”

“Beka took them for me,” Yuri blushed faintly. “Katsudon is sick or something. Maybe he’ll show up late.”

“He’s sick?” They caught up with their coach at the elevator. “What do you mean he’s sick? Where is he?”

“Vitya, please. Focus. You know how to stretch on your own. I will try to find him. Just focus.”

“ Find him ? Why does he need to be found?” Victor was aware he was raising his voice, but he didn’t care. “Yura, give me your phone. You have his number right? Let me call him.”

Victor held his hand out impatiently, panic slowly building in his chest. Yuri slowly unlocked his phone and placed it in Victor’s open hand. 

“He didn’t answer when I called,” Yuri trailed off. “He’s probably just sleeping. He texted Yakov he was sick and that was it. Maybe his phone died.” 

Victor ignored him, pressing “Katsudon” in Yuri’s Recent Contacts and raising the phone to his ear. It went straight to voicemail. He called again. No ringing. Again. Voicemail. 

“It’s fine. You have done a hundred competitions without him, Vitya. You can get through practice. He’ll turn up.”

The elevator doors opened to the lobby. Standing before them were six tall men wearing all black– and sunglasses. Indoors. 

“Benoit arranged for security.” Yakov waved his hand at the men, who nodded at Victor and assumed a rather dramatic formation around the three of them. Little Yuri scoffed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. 

They were escorted outside. Immediately, the lights began flashing in their faces. The paparazzi were particularly bold, trying to shove their cameras between the guards, but they were hardly successful. Benoit had clearly chosen the biggest, scariest security guards he could find. 

The arena was a stone’s throw from the hotel, and yet they were guided into a car waiting at the curb. As the car circled the block, Yuri grumbled about how he could have walked there sooner. Victor quietly agreed, but still, he was grateful to not have to shield his eyes from the cameras for the entire journey. He sighed, leaned back against the leather. Two more days. 

The ordeal repeated as they exited the car and were escorted into the arena. The security guards stationed themselves at various intervals around the skater’s section, doing little to blend in. Little Yuri beelined to the locker room, and Victor moved to follow him, but a hand on his arm gently stopped him. 

“Just, be careful, Vitya. You’re almost done.” His coach patted his shoulder once firmly before moving to meet up with the other coaches and trainers. 

Over the years Victor had perfected the art of looking unapproachable. He made his way to the locker room without anyone bothering him. He claimed a locker far from the doors and tried calling Yuuri one more time to no avail. He felt sick. Abandoned, even though he was the one who disappeared on Yuuri without a word. Still, Victor tried not to let it get to him. He worried over whatever illness had befallen the trainer, hoping his lungs were alright.

“I was starting to think you weren't going to make it,”  Chris appeared out of nowhere. “You have to tell me everything.”

Victor groaned, but he was grateful for the distraction. He told Chris everything, from the moment he was swept away by the ISU staff to earlier that morning when he was told someone had to find Yuuri. Chris was silent through it all, looking bemused and eventually vindicated.

When Victor finished, his friend whistled low. “All that and they have no idea who took the video? Well whoever they are, I hope that both sides of their pillow stay cold for as long as they shall live.” He raised a fist in victory. “You should take a page out of their book and start recording all your conversations. Get you a little body cam and everything.”

Smiling, Victor shook his head at Chris. “I wish I knew who they were so I could thank them.”

“I’m sure they’ll be found eventually. Speaking of being found, I hope Yuuri appears soon. You’re looking a bit tense,” Chris teased, a sharp glint in his eye. 

“Don’t even get me started.” Victor pouted. He leaned in, whispering, “We made love that night, after dinner, and I left yesterday morning without saying goodbye. I thought I would see him after the press conference!” 

Victor shoved his friend at his mocking appalled expression. Chris held a hand to his chest, clutching at his pearls. “Oh Vitya, not the pump-and-dump. What must our poor loverboy be thinking?”

“We barely talked. I was drunk and lonely and God, I miss him.” 

Chris frowned at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you just fuck him because you were drunk? He’s fragile, Vitya.”

Victor snorted, but at the sight of Chris still frowning at him, the laughter trailed off. 

“I didn’t fuck him because I was drunk, I fucked him because I love him. We just didn’t talk first because we were drunk and I thought we had all the time in the world!”

“Victor, he has anxiety, you can’t just sweep things under the rug and disappear for a whole day and expect things to be fine!”

Chris was angry. It wasn’t often that Chris was angry. 

“It’s not like I disappeared on purpose! And so what? I have anxiety. Everyone has anxiety!” 

“Not like Yuuri has anxiety,” Chris closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. “And I fear it might already be too late, if he’s hiding.” 

“What are you talking about? Too late?” Victor stood from the bench, imploring. 

“I got Phichit’s number, I’ll go call him. He probably knows where Yuuri is. Just, stay put, stretch, whatever.”

Victor smiled tightly at Chris before the other skater walked off, pulling out his cell phone. Once out of sight, Victor immediately disobeyed his friend’s request, turning towards the exit, ducking out when no one was looking. He roamed down several hallways before settling in a dark spot, an unused part of the stadium. He leaned back against the cold wall, hugging himself. He wondered if he looked as pathetic as he felt. 

Victor pulled Yuri’s phone from his jacket pocket. He hadn’t yet returned it, his own still dead in the hotel room. He guessed at the password a few times, cracking it on the year Yuri adopted his cat, Potya. Dialling Yuuri again, he was only met with disappointment. He tried twice more before tucking the phone away, leaving his hands in his pockets. 

Yuuri wasn’t hiding from him. He couldn’t be hiding from him. Victor wracked his brain, trying to recall a time they had ever spoken about Yuuri’s anxiety. He remembered how Yuuri had always been able to contour himself around Victor’s emotions, but he thought that had just been a hallmark of Yuuri being an excellent dom. 

His own anxiety began creeping up, sending Victor spiraling. He wanted to kick himself; did he ever ask Yuuri anything about himself? If he had spent so long with the man, thought he was in love with him, how did he not know this seemingly simple thing? Yuuri always knew when Victor was upset or sad or anxious. God, he was the worst .

“You must be stupid, being by yourself like this,” a voice drawled from the darkness down the hallway. Slow footsteps approached, but Victor had already recognized the voice. 

He blamed Chris for putting the paranoid thoughts in his head, but immediately, Victor double pressed the lock button, swiped, and then pressed the volume button on Yuri’s phone, hoping desperately that it worked the same way as his own. He had the pattern in his muscle memory from all the times he had sprang to action, wanting to record Makkachin being cute. 

Killian emerged from the dark hallway, standing a little too close for comfort.

“What do you want, Killian?” Victor intoned, trying his best to sound unconcerned, but intentionally mentioning Killian by name. Just in case. 

Yakov was going to be pissed. 

“You’re a real piece of shit, Nikiforov,” Killian growled.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Victor rolled his eyes. “What did I do?”

“You covered up the doping somehow,” the other man accused. 

“For the love of– I’m not doing drugs,” Victor exclaimed, exasperated. 

“You got him arrested because you’re angry he left you.”

Victor snorted. This was just ridiculous. He rose up off the wall, ready to tell Killian exactly what he was angry about, but he didn’t make it far. Killian shoved him back by the shoulders, hard. 

“Who was he on the phone with, huh? Or was it a fake?” The venom in his words was punctuated by Killian’s fist slamming into Victor’s abdomen. Stomach caving from the unexpected punch, Victor wheezed as he made contact with the brick behind him. 

“Fuck you,” Victor spat out. 

“The video,” Killian clenched his jaw tightly, a vein popping out in his forehead, before he continued. “Who was Anatoly talking to?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you fucking psycho.”

“You should be grateful, I’m staying away from your money maker,” Killian laughed as he hit Victor again, square in the gut. “Did you film that video? Or did you pay someone to do it for you? Rich little Victor, never having to get your hands dirty. I can’t wait to see how that feels, once you’re gone.”

Once, twice, three more times, Killian hit Victor. It was probably in his head, but Victor swore he could feel his ribs cracking under the force. God, Killian hit like a boxer. If skating failed him, he should consider a change in sport. 

Somewhere, distantly in his mind, Victor thought that he should be trying to get away. Fight back. Call for help, maybe. His feet were glued to the floor, however. He just took it, hit after hit, wondering if his phone ever started recording. 

“Victor?” Victor slid down to the floor, knees drawn to his chest. He could hear Christophe approaching, looking for him. Killian stepped back, panting. The vein in his forehead was pulsing.

“He won’t go to jail, you know. I won’t let it happen. He’ll be free, and you’ll have nothing. I’ll make sure of it.”

By the time Chris found him, Killian was long gone. Victor had paused the recording– it had worked, thank God– and schooled his features into indifference. If he gritted his teeth hard enough, he could pretend his ribs didn’t feel like they were on fire. 

“Where have you been? Silly,” his friend held a hand out to him. Victor accepted, mostly because he didn’t think he could get up on his own. 

“Just needed to be alone. Is it our practice time?” Victor thought he hid his grimace well as he stood up, all things considered, but still Chris looked at him curiously. 

“Yeah… you missed it. Your coach was ready to throw a fit when he didn’t see you, but I said I knew where you were. Lucky I found you.”

“Lucky,” Victor smiled at his friend and started walking back to the locker room. 

Christophe threw an arm over Victor’s shoulders suddenly, sending a shooting pain through his abdomen. Victor gasped, unable to hide his reaction. Chris immediately released him, hands hovering like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” 

Victor clamped his lips together, stifling the groan that wanted to escape. He curled in on himself, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass.

“Vitya,” Christophe whispered, “Should I get a medic?”

Victor shook his head fervently, “No, no, they won’t let me skate. Christophe, please, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

Chris looked at him furiously, clearly wanting to protest. “Tell me what happened and I’ll think about not telling your coach.”

“Killian, he followed me,” Victor spat out, still struggling to fully inflate his lungs. “He’s angry about Anatoly getting taken away. He blames me.”

Colorful French flew from Christophe’s lips, “That bastard. He hurt you? Let me see,” Christophe insisted, reaching for Victor again. 

“Christophe, please.” Victor pleaded, lip quivering, the truth finally settling in. If his coach, or even a medic, were to see the extent of Victor’s injuries, they wouldn’t let him skate. He knew it to be true, and he hadn’t even looked at the damage himself. But he could sense the bruising already. “I need to skate. Please don’t take this from me.”

Tears slipped down his face as he looked at Chris beseechingly. “Please,” he begged. 

Clearly torn, Christophe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know this is fucking crazy, right? Not telling someone. Sure, you get to skate, but then so does he. He still gets to go out there and win something.”

“I have a recording,” Victor stumbled over the words. “I skate before him. I’ll give it to Yakov right before I go on, and maybe they won’t let him skate. I need to do this, Chris, I need to. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. I have my axel and his lutz, I just need to do them today. I want to win one last time, Chris. Please understand.”

“You recorded– what? Let me see.”

The video was all dark, that Victor knew, but the audio was clear and crisp. Chris flinched at the sound of Victor in pain with the first hit, frowning as he listened to the rest. 

“Send it to me, and yourself. Make sure there are copies backed up. I skate first, I’ll show your coach when you go on the ice. This is so fucking stupid, Victor, but fine. I am never doing something like this again, you hear me?”

“I love you,” Victor sobbed, leaning forward to rest his head on Chris’s shoulder. It was the farthest he could bend at the moment. Chris laced his fingers into the hair on the back of Victor’s head comfortingly. 

“You know I love you, mon ami. Stay here, let me get you painkillers. You’re dressed under your clothes, yeah? I’ll bring your skates and help you lace up.”

Without much of a choice, Victor slumped to the floor and waited. And when Chris returned, he dutifully took the pills and let his friend take off his sweatpants and lace his skates, and he waited some more. Each breath felt like breathing in fire. Yuuri would kill him for this. If Yakov didn’t first. 

The announcements blared through even the dark hallways; the competition was starting. Victor slipped on his mask– once Chris helped him up– and the two men made their way rinkside. Each step, pure agony. On the outside, he was a paradigm of peace. His media training prepared him well. 

Yakov was busy with little Yuri when he finally arrived. Chris disappeared to go find his coach, with a gentle pat on Victor’s shoulder. Victor trusted him. Everything would be fine. 

The world shrank, Victor’s vision tunneling to the ice. He hoped that the audience just believed him to be focused. He was, using every modicum of his self control to look like he wasn’t about to pass out. The painkillers would kick in before it was his turn. Probably. 

“Vitya. Vitya!”

Victor flinches in surprise. His coach is at his side.. 

“Now is not the time for daydreaming,” Yakov snapped. “I don’t know where you disappeared to, but you better not have done anything foolish.”

A faint smile ghosted Victor’s lips. “No, you know me.”

His coach pursed his lips, looking slightly bewildered at the odd calmness emanating from his student. It was taking everything Victor had to remain nonchalant. 

“Hmph.” Yakov turned to the ice as Christophe was announced. “Yurachka is next, then the American, and then it’s you. Are you going to do it then?”

“This is what I’ve been waiting for. It’s time, Yakov.”

“You know, you were a pain in my ass, but I wouldn’t have traded these years for anything.”

If Victor looked closely, he could see the glassiness of his coach’s eyes. He fought back his own tears, sniffling once. Yakov was not a crier, and likely this was the most emotional moment he would get from the man, but Victor was grateful. 

“Me either, coach. Me either.”

The time dwindled down slowly, thankfully giving the drugs enough time to partially numb his pain. He was able to clap enthusiastically for Christophe’s explicit routine, and sob at Yuri’s true Agape. By the time his coach left to meet Yuri in the Kiss & Cry, Victor had only just realized his disappointment. 

Yuuri had never shown up. 

The announcer called his name moments after Leo left the ice. Victor turned his head, searching, his eyes finding Chris’s from across the room. His friend nodded at him solemnly before blowing him a kiss. Chris would take care of it, and Victor would do his best to never put this much pressure on him ever again.

Taking his first step onto the ice was a scary moment. So was skating a lap without any practice for the day. But nothing really made his heart race like the moment Victor stopped at center ice and saw his best friend walking up to his coach. The music began before Chris arrived, and Victor was forced to turn away and hope he got to finish his program before the old man exploded.

The adrenaline coursed through Victor’s veins. He skated harder than he ever had before. Or maybe it just felt harder than it ever had before. Every layback, spin, and Biellman pulled pained sobs from his lips, but the music masked it all. He felt a tear or two escape, but Victor hoped the audience just believed he was in character. 

The music crescendoed. He sped up. The past weeks had taken everything from him, and this was all he had left. Victor kicked off the ice, rotated one, two, three, four, and a half times, and landed without wavering. For good measure, Victor jumped again, claiming that fucking asshole’s jump for himself too.

The crowd’s cheers became a deafening white noise. The program ended abruptly, just like he had planned. Sobs wracked his body the moment Victor’s skates stopped sharply on the ice. The cheers melted into a chant– they were chanting his name. Victor waved, knowing he couldn’t bow for the audience like he should have. Couldn’t pick up the flowers they had thrown to him, like he wanted to. And all the while he cried. He had done it.

And Yuuri had never shown up. 

Chapter Text

Victor didn’t make it to the Kiss & Cry. 

By the time the ice was full of flowers and stuffed toys, Yuri was waiting to snap his skate guards on for him. Off the ice, Victor was immediately bundled into the arms of the medical team. Well aware of the eyes on him, he declined the stretcher and the wheelchair. He rested one hand on Yuri’s shoulder, and Victor limped out of the arena, spurred by the adrenaline coursing through him. 

“They’re calling the cops,” Yuri whispered, guiding him to the medical bay. 

“You did a beautiful job Yura,” Victor patted his shoulder as they made their way down the hall. “The best skate of the season. Your grandfather will be proud.”

“Shut up, old man,” Yuri sniffled, refusing to look at Victor. “Why the hell did you skate?”

“I had something to prove,” Victor smiled sadly. “If you think I’m stupid, don’t be like me.”

“I’ll never be as stupid as you.” Yuri swore, but still rested his own hand on Victor’s.

A medic directed Victor onto a cot, ushering Yuri away. “Is Yakov pissed?”

“Oh, you’re so dead,” Yuri smirked, hovering in the doorway. 

“I should have expected that. Did anyone find Yuuri?”

Yuri frowned at him, “Not yet. I’ll go ask your gross friend.” He hesitated, but eventually turned to go.

Victor groaned as the medics pulled and prodded him, taking his vitals and maneuvering him on the stiff bed. His blood pressure was high, much higher than it should have been. One of the medics said it pointed to the possibility of serious swelling. Eventually, they decided his costume would have to be cut off. Silently, he mourned the loss, but the longer Victor laid there, the harder it became to move, his muscles locking up and the swelling around his ribs squeezing him tighter. 

As the fabric was cut away, tears slipped down his face against Victor’s will. It was humiliating to lay there like a doll, made even worse when one of the medics gasped as they peeled away the sweat soaked costume. 

Several of the medics spoke in hushed Spanish, sounding rather horrified. Victor was thankful he only had a rudimentary knowledge of the language. It must have looked worse than he thought. 

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Benoit Molina appeared in the doorway, looking disheveled. He did a double take at Victor’s exposed skin, eyes widening to saucers. Yes, it was worse than Victor thought. 

“We have to get Mr. Nikiforov to the hospital. He needs x-rays as soon as possible.” One of the medics stood up, interrupting the Director before he could say anything. “There may be internal bleeding.”

The Director was a deer caught in headlights. He stuttered, looking between the medic and the cot where Victor lay. 

Victor closed his eyes, trying to center himself. “Where is my coach?” He spoke quietly. 

“Right here,” Yakov stormed in, all but shoving Benoit out of his way, but stopping in his tracks when he saw the sorry state of his pupil. “For the love of– I want an ambulance right now. The stretcher comes here, and you clear the way. No one sees my student, do you understand?” His coach turned to the Director, face reddening with barely tamed anger. He stabbed a finger into the official’s chest, who was looking increasingly paler by the second. Benoit nodded hastily, backing away and yelling to the guards in the hall to bar the doors. 

Victor felt a little amused. He had not been referred to as a “student” by his coach in quite some time. Though, perhaps he deserved it by how childish he had been acting, skating with such an injury. This was something Yuri would do, not Victor. 

Yakov didn’t speak to Victor the entire way to the hospital. He barked orders at security, even at the EMTs, but he hardly looked at Victor. It was a relief when the EMT in the ambulance took one look at Victor’s chest and immediately hooked him up to an IV for pain management. The lightheaded feeling that came once the flow began was a godsend. 

Belatedly, Victor wondered if whatever magic drug this was was even allowed, but he figured Yakov had it under control. He should tell Yakov he loved him more often. 

The day passed in a blur, mostly because Victor was asleep in between all of the tests and scans. His coach stayed by his side throughout, fielding phone calls and making sure someone was looking out for Yuri at the competition. Still, he didn’t speak to Victor. Victor didn’t try either. 

Ice packs wrapped in towels surrounded Victor, soothing his aching body, though he was in much less pain now. He had been moved into a private room once the emergency department finished with him, and after what felt like many hours of waiting, a doctor appeared with a diagnosis. 

“Hello Mr. Nikiforov, Mr. Feltsman, I’m Dr. Sanchez, thank you for your patience.”

“Hello,” Victor responded weakly. He didn’t really have much of a choice anyway. 

“Are you in any pain?” The doctor stopped at the foot of his bed, a clipboard in his hands. Victor shook his head. 

“If the pain gets to be intolerable, please press the button for the nurse,” Dr. Sanchez smiled kindly. “Well, I’m relieved to say your ribs are not fractured and there is no sign of internal bleeding. You seem to have a high inflammatory response, but the swelling is going down with the ice, so I will have someone come in often to replace those packs every so often. I hear you’re in town for the Grand Prix, yes?”

Again, Victor nodded, dumbfounded. He had truly expected to hear of a hairline fracture, at least, with how much pain he had been in. He was a lucky man. 

“I have to apologize then, we’ll need to keep an eye on you for a few days,” he continued, apologetically. “If you need us to call anyone, or if you need anyone to speak to, we have a team of psychiatrists available, as well as social workers.”

“No, no, I have to get out of here, I don’t have a few days,” Victor began sitting up, wincing in discomfort but desperate not to show it. “I’m fine, i just have to compete tomorrow–”

“Vitya,” Yakov sighed from beside him, putting a hand on Victor’s, pulling him from his panic. “Thank you, Doctor. Can we have a minute alone, please?” 

“Of course,” the doctor nodded once, smiling at Victor and leaving the room. He shut the door behind him. 

“Yakov, please,” Victor immediately began to cry. It had been a mistake to let Chris share the video. He should have waited until the next day at least. After the free program. He didn’t come all this way, skate with bruised ribs all for it to make him forfeit the gold medal. 

His coach stood, pulling Victor gently to put his blond head on his coach’s chest. Yakov held him as he cried, albeit stiffly, but he held him nonetheless. Yakov stayed quiet through the worst of his sobs, stroking the back of his head once or twice. 

“Oh Vitya, what have I let happen to you?” Yakov sighed again, once Victor quieted. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Victor sniffled, pulling his head back to look at the older man. “It’s my fault. I left by myself.”

“Not that,” Yakov waved his hand, sitting back down with a huff. “Look at you. Covered in bruises all the time. In the hospital, and all you’re thinking about is competing. Skating. How did I let this happen to you?”

“What are you talking about? I chose this. I did this to myself,” Victor protested. He felt confused. The thought to blame Yakov had never occurred to him. How could he? The coach had taken care of him since he was young, before he even thought to take ice skating seriously. Victor had chosen this life.

“I am a selfish old man– I’m grateful you don’t blame me. But you’re a fool if you think I didn’t raise you to care too much. I should have stopped you before it was too late. I kept telling myself you knew your limits. You would stop when you were ready. And now this is where we are. You’re willing to destroy yourself because you think this is all you have.”

Victor looked down at his hands, wet from his tears. “This is all I have. Yakov, I need to skate tomorrow.”

Once again, his coach sighed. He stood up from his chair, shaking his head. “You are wrong, but I will blame it on the painkillers. You have so much, Vitya. I’ll go call Leonard and see what I can do.”

His coach disappeared without a backwards glance. Logically, Victor knew he would be back, but it felt like everyone he loved had been doing that lately. 

Nurses came in then, asking after his pain levels and the ice packs. They removed them, suggesting a break from the cold for the sake of his skin, promising to return with newly cold packs in an hour. 

They were all kind. Apparently, they had all watched his performance, curious about all the commotion when Victor came up to their floor. Victor caught sight of a security guard at his door and understood. The nurses gushed about his program, showering him with compliments. Apparently, if they hadn’t known he was injured, they wouldn’t have been able to tell. 

They left eventually, without asking for photos, which had been a relief. If the Grand Prix had been in America, well. 

It was easy to fall asleep, when they topped off his IV and dimmed the lights. Victor dozed off; he didn’t know for how long. It was a relief to stop thinking. When he was awake, all he thought of was the ice. And Yuuri.

Victor’s sleep was fitful, but he clung on for as long as possible. After a time, Yakov returned, followed by Leonard, Benoit, Dr. Sanchez, and several other men in suits that Victor had never seen before. 

The doctor explained, frowning, that he was not in agreement with Victor’s decision to leave the hospital early, nor his desire to compete at the GPF again the next day. He explained all the risks and concerns he had, but, in the end, said they could not hospitalize him against his will. 

Leonard informed Victor he had to sign some paperwork declaring that he was leaving the hospital AMA, against medical advice, and was forfeiting his right to any legal action against the hospital or any of its employees. Yakov had also suggested a press release, Victor thanking Dr Sanchez and the staff for all their efforts to return Victor to the ice. This had been enough to convince the legal team to not release their own statement. 

Victor signed the waiver as his coach rang the team’s PR staff to draft a statement. He waved off Yakov when asked if he wanted to approve it before it was posted. He didn’t care what it said, as long as it meant he could leave the damned hospital.

“We are in agreement then,” Benoit clapped his hands together, face returned to his usual complexion. “Victor will remain the night until discharge at 6 AM. Excellent, thank you, gentlemen. We are so appreciative.”

The Director shook hands with the men in suits– the hospital’s legal team– and they left the room, laughing like old friends without as much as another glance back at Victor in his hospital bed. Leonard nodded to him, at the very least, and Victor was reminded again that his worth lie only in his skating and ability to win gold medals for Russia. 

“Tsk,” Yakov made a disgruntled sound, “That man is too slimy. Schmoozing, ass-kissing. Like your last love.” 

Victor shuddered. “I thought you promised to stop talking about him.”

“Sorry. Cannot help myself.”

“Where’s Yura? With Otabek?”

“Yes, thankfully. I have to thank that coach of his. He took your things back to our hotel, in his room,” Yakov hesitated. “He said no one answered your door when he knocked.”

It was like another punch to his gut. Victor bit his lip, desperate to ward off any more tears. 

“I’m sorry,” his coach rested a hand on Victor’s, which was clenching the crappy hospital blankets until his knuckles were white. 

“I told you, Yakov. I have nothing else,” Victor smiled sadly at his coach. A thought occurred to him suddenly. “You didn’t ask me today. If I was going to win.”

Yakov wrinkled his nose at Victor, like he had said something foolish. “You already did, Vitya.” A phone began to ring, his coach’s.

“It is the publicist. Try to get some sleep. The guards are in the hall. I will come back in the morning, if not before.”

Victor nodded, a fondness bubbling up in his stomach as Yakov patted his head before taking the call and stepping out of the room. Every competition for as long as he could remember, his coach would ask him if he was going to win. When he was just a child, it amused the man to hear Victor confidently declare victory whether he was at a local skating recital or Worlds. Then it became a comforting ritual, and Victor still always answered with a resounding “Yes.” Even when it stopped feeling exciting or challenging. Long after he could confidently say he wanted to win. 

Yakov Feltsman was the first true constant in Victor’s life. The way he pushed Victor was consistent. The way Victor irritated him was consistent. The way Yakov believed in him, believed he would always win. Everything would change when he finally retired, but maybe not Yakov. Maybe he would stay the same. 

In the relative silence of the hospital room, Victor closed his eyes, eventually dozing off. The day had exhausted him, regardless of how much he had slept already. The next time he woke, he would have to sneak back to his hotel to get ready for the day. One final skate. His last ever program on the world stage. Yakov would kill him before letting him skate the exhibition. He didn’t care. He didn’t need to.

After tomorrow, it was all done. 

Victor fell asleep with that comforting thought. 

When he woke up next, it was still dark. People were screaming. The lights flickered on, harsh and blinding. Someone was holding tight onto his arm. There was an IV there, Victor tried to say. His mouth didn’t move.

He opened his eyes with great difficulty. He flinched as something dripped on his face. The ceiling lights created a halo around someone’s face. Someone who was leaning over him, someone yelling. They were yelling his name. Victor. Victor.

Victor blinked again and again, trying to get their face in focus, but eventually his body stopped responding to him. 

He tried and tried, focusing so hard. As his eyes rolled back in his head, Victor realized who he was seeing. 

Yuuri had shown up.

Chapter Text

“This ends now. Victor Nikiforov is done.”

Yuuri arrived at the press conference just as the video ended. It didn’t matter. Yuuri had been there to watch Phichit record it.

His hands shook with rage, but he stayed back. It was all happening now. Anatoly would get arrested– if they were lucky, Killian would get taken down with him. Victor would be safe, and Yuuri would fade into the nothingness like he had planned. 

Because Victor Nikiforov had climbed out of bed with him to declare to the world that he was single. Yuuri’s love was not reciprocated. 

And Yuuri would learn to be fine with that. 

The months since Victor came into Yuuri’s life were some of the best and some of the worst he had ever lived through. But he still wouldn’t trade them for anything. 

The press rushed the stage. Once seeing that Victor was safe with his coach, Yuuri took his chance to duck out of the double doors at the back of the ballroom. Mask covering the lower half of his face, Yuuri escaped unnoticed and unrecognized. 

“That was crazy, huh?” Phichit stood waiting near the exit, blowing bubbles with his chewing gum. “Any regrets?”

“No,” Yuuri shook his head, turning towards the exit. “If we just told the Federation, they would have swept it under the rug or blamed Vitya for everything. It’s better this way. The ISU will investigate. I’ll step forward as the one who filmed.”

“Even if they fire you for hijacking the big screen?” Phichit grinned mischievously as he fell into step beside his best friend. 

“Even then.” 

“Well, good thing I already told them it was me.”

“ Peach ! What the fuck?” Yuuri exclaimed, grabbing Phichit’s elbow. 

“What? They’re already used to me and my drama. They barely cared. Even if they did, this is my side gig! You think I wanna process pee for the rest of my life? Get out of here. This is your calling. I’ve never seen you so happy.” 

“I’ve never been more miserable.” Yuuri spoke under his breath. 

“D’aww, little Yuu-chan is missing his boyfriend.”

“Phichit. Seriously. Let it go.”

“No way! You went back to your room last night all doe-eyed and gooey. You expect me to believe nothing happened?” Phichit nudged Yuuri’s side as they made their way back to their hotel. 

“Something happened alright, and he regrets it and I’m tired. I keep hurting him and I’m tired of it. This is the last thing I wanted to do for him, and then I’m done. He never has to see me again.”

Phichit frowned at his friend. Yuuri was serious. Everything Yuuri had done, trying to protect Victor, just hurt him more. He didn’t know how to stop it. He just had to leave Victor alone. 

“You’re being too negative, Yuuri. I’m sure he wouldn’t have let you stay if he didn’t love you back.”

“I was just making it up to him. I owed him. He doesn’t love me.”

Yuuri pulled his hood over his head, effectively cutting off the conversation. Phichit sighed as they approached the hotel. Yuuri knew he was being difficult. Annoying. Phichit didn’t understand. He had never been in love before. He didn’t have Yuuri’s anxiety, and he most definitely had never met his idol, lied to him, accidentally manipulated him, and then blew up their relationship as dramatically as possible, in front of thousands of people.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Phichit always knew when to leave Yuuri alone

“Chin up, buddy. You’re showing him your love all the way from here, I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks for your help,” Yuuri gave Phichit a tight smile, ignoring his friend’s comment. “I’m gonna go wait for Victor upstairs. I’ll give you an update when I can.”

“And I’ll text you if I hear anything,” Phichit held his hand out for a fist bump, which Yuuri automatically returned, conditioned from years of friendship. “Don’t mope! I’m sure everything will work out the way it should in the end.”

They split up in the hotel lobby, Yuuri opting to take the stairs up to the twelfth floor to try and work off his nerves. When that didn’t help, he took a cold shower to clear his mind. He unpacked and repacked his luggage. He tidied Victor’s things. He made the bed. 

Yuuri didn’t like the housekeeping at hotels. He had set the Do Not Disturb sign when they arrived. Victor didn’t even question it. Just looked at him and said, “I don’t like when strangers touch my things either.”

He just understood.

Yuuri collapsed into the freshly made bed, hugging his phone to his chest. So far, there hadn’t been any news. He debated calling Yakov Feltsman, but his resolve shriveled up inside him until he could no longer move, no longer even think. It felt as though he used up all his courage on asking Phichit to find a way to share the video, and now he was left feeling exhausted. Scared. Like if he made another move, there was no chance he would succeed. It was better if he just waited. Let someone else take care of Victor. 

He had thought he could do it. Yuuri wanted so badly to shield him from all the pain he was feeling. From the day Yuuri had invited Victor to his home, had seen the sadness in his eyes, Yuuri decided then and there that he would be everything Victor needed. A dom, a friend, a caregiver, a lover. He would become a chameleon. If he thought about it, he always had been one.

But he didn’t think it would turn out like this. Yuuri had never believed Victor would keep coming back. Surely, with how greedy Yuuri had become, Victor would be driven away. He didn’t expect to have the time to fall in love. To want more in return. Become selfish. 

One teary smile and those sad blue eyes, and Yuuri was never going to be able to easily let go. 

Yuuri drifted to sleep, desperately wishing he could turn back time. But even knowing Victor didn’t want him, he still wouldn't have changed a thing.

-

By the time Yuuri woke, it was dark outside. Cotton mouthed and bleary eyed, he sat up in bed. Instinctively, he reached for his phone. His stomach grumbled; he ignored it. The light blinded him momentarily. 

He looked around the room. It looked untouched; Victor either hadn’t been back, or he took one look at Yuuri and promptly left their shared room. 

Rubbing his eyes, Yuuri scrolled through his notifications. Mainly, it was Phichit updating him that there were no updates, but Victor hadn’t been seen since the conference. Yakov had called him one time. And to his surprise, Yurio had called and texted. 

His most recent text stood out to Yuuri as urgent. 

“Oi, call me, Victor needs his shit.” 

Yuuri fumbled his phone as he tried dialing the young skater’s number. He rushed out of bed, putting the call on speaker as he hurried to pack Victor’s things back up. The phone rang only once before the teen picked up. 

“Where the hell have you been, Katsudon?”

“Sorry! I was asleep.”

“Huh? Whatever, weirdo. Do you even know about the press conference?”

“Hai, yes, uh, I saw! Uh, what did Victor need?”

“Ugh, they’re keeping the old man in the hotel where the press conference was. Yakov wanted me to bring him his stuff, but you should do it. He could probably use it,” Yuri muttered the last part under his breath. “I’m in mine and Otabek’s room, come get Victor’s room key.”

Yuri hung up abruptly, leaving Yuuri panicked, with unanswered questions. Victor could use… him?

Hurrying to get everything back in Victor’s bag, he paused only to glance at his own. Best to leave it behind for now, it would only serve to slow him down. He donned only his backpack, taking a change of clothes for the morning. If Victor wanted him to stay, Yuuri would just come back for the rest later. 

He rushed down the hall to where Yuuri knew Otabek and Yuri were staying, Victor’s suitcase and skate bag in tow. He was sleep-disheveled, but at least he had showered before falling asleep. 

“Finally,” Yuri rolled his eyes when he answered at Yuuri’s knock. “Here.” Yuuri accepted the proffered key. 

“Do you have your badge? The guards will ask for it.”

“ Guards ?” Yuuri squeaked, shuffling the key cards for his own room and Victor’s new room into his pocket. Thankfully, he had brought his backpack, the ID card tucked inside. 

“Yah, the ISU thinks someone’s out to kill the old man or something. They made him talk to the police.” Yuri tried to sound nonchalant, but he was much too quiet. 

“That makes sense,” Yuuri tried to sooth the young skater. He glanced over the blond head. There was a pile of blankets on the sofa where Yuri had seemed to slot in beside a sleeping Otabek. “It’s best to document everything officially. Don’t worry about it now, it’ll get taken care of. Promise.”

“Whatever, I’m not worried. Yakov wouldn’t let anything happen to him anyway.” Yuri looked to the side as he spoke, but surprised Yuuri by quickly slotting his arms through the bag straps to hug him. Automatically, Yuuri returned the hug, resting one hand on Yuri’s head. 

“I won’t either. Thank you for texting me, Yura. I should get going,” Yuuri smiled at the teen fondly when they separated. “Call if you need anything. Everything will work out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuri nodded to him, looking embarrassed when he stepped back into the hotel room. The door shut gently; Yuuri knew that was for Otabek’s benefit rather than his own. Yuri’s agape extended off the ice, it seemed. 

Failing to text Phichit seemed like a hazard, so Yuuri shot off a quick message in the elevator, letting him know he was going to see Victor. His friend, chronically on his phone, quickly sent back several thumbs up emojis and a photo of a heart-eyed hamster.

Yuuri allowed the doorman to call him a cab, not wanting to attract attention by hauling the oversized suitcase down the street at the late hour. He debated asking the driver to stop at a restaurant, but didn’t want to delay for longer than necessary. They could order room service if Victor hadn’t eaten. His own hunger was of little consequence. 

The short car ride allowed Yuuri time to shove his anxiety deep down, locked in a box in his chest. Sometimes, he felt like he had created a split personality. One that could go to work for him, don his skin and take it to the clinic or take BDSM clients or even trick the RSF into believing he was even remotely qualified to work with Victor Nikiforov

It was easier this way. Yuuri knew better than to take off the mask. 

The cab pulled up to the curb sooner than Yuuri was ready. He fumbled the bags out of the car, passing the driver a tip and giving his thanks. Immediately, Yuuri could tell there was a higher security presence at this hotel. It was 11:00PM but the lobby was abuzz. Men in matching black jackets stationed at every entrance, elevator, and staircase. ISU officials in small groups, quietly arguing. 

Yuuri showed his badge to no less than four security guards before reaching the hall where Victor’s hotel room was. He showed it one final time to the man outside of the room, who questioned him and called Yakov before allowing him entry. 

Yuuri sighed in relief, sliding the keycard into the slot and turning the knob as quietly as he could. According to the guard, Yakov had told Victor to go to sleep and be awake at 7:00AM, so Yuuri was sure he was already asleep. Victor had always been fast to doze off. It was dark, so Yuuri quickly hauled the luggage in and shut the door before the hall light could cause a disturbance. 

When his eyes adjusted, Yuuri found a small lamp to turn on. He looked around the room, and there he was. Curled up on the bed, under the covers, a lump that was approximately the size of Victor Nikiforov.

The vice around Yuuri’s heart finally released. He sighed in relief, and then he set about putting Victor’s things where he would find them. Leaving the skate bag by the door, he dragged the suitcase over by the dresser. By a scan of the room, Victor had stripped his clothes, tossed his phone on the nightstand, and went straight to bed. Yuuri didn’t even want to think of what his day had been like to cause him to skip his skin-care routine.

Yuuri rifled through the pockets of his backpack until he found the phone charger Victor treasured so. It was ten feet long, so he could roll around in bed and still charge his phone. The small brown poodle charm wrapped around the plug made Yuuri smile. It was so Victor . 

Oh, Victor. 

Yuuri plugged in the phone. It was dead. He felt bad for finding it reassuring. At least Victor hadn’t been able to call him at all. Yuuri didn’t know if Victor wanted to, but it was a consolation nonetheless. 

He hesitated, standing at the bedside, but for only a moment. Then, Yuuri was shucking most of his layers, setting an alarm for 6:15 AM, and pulling the covers away, hoping Victor wouldn’t be angry when he realized he wasn’t alone. Yuuri slid into bed beside Victor, feeling a deep discomfort that only physical contact could hope to abate. As his arms slid around Victor, Yuuri could feel his nerves start to settle immediately. 

God, Yuuri had missed Victor so much. Missed being able to hug him. Missed the way his octopus-lover automatically wrapped around him in return. 

In his sleep, Victor moved to seek more of Yuuri’s warmth, and Yuuri gave it freely, desperate to convey his love to Victor somehow. However he could. Victor burrowed into his embrace, sleepy noises sounding pleased. Yuuri nuzzled his face against Victor’s white blond hair, hugging his love close to his chest. 

Never in his wildest dreams did Yuuri imagine he would ever confess his feelings for Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri knew he was unworthy. He wouldn’t expect anything in return. But, if for one last night, he could give Victor any amount of comfort, Yuuri would do it. 

And maybe, in the morning, Victor wouldn’t hate him for it.