Chapter Text
The quadruple flip, Victor’s signature move. It’s a triumph and a marvel, as fleeting as a shooting star. Every element - the positioning of his toe pick, the four in-air rotations, landing on the back outside edge of his right foot, the angle of his body in the inbetween - is an integral puzzle piece. Victor has enough bruises and exhausted enough curses that he understands how even a minute error can mean the difference between perfect execution, mediocre presentation or despairing injury.
Yuuri is that flip. He is complex, surreal, a thousand distinctive quirks for Victor to peruse and adore. But, there is one significant difference - Yuuri isn’t fleeting. Victor learns quickly that having Yuuri Katsuki as a part of his life...it’s something else. Ever since he first lay eyes on Yuuri, his doubts seemed to stall, the dissonance he harbored for so long melting away in a flash of charcoal and royal blue. Those doubts still visit him, creeping thorns that he doesn’t always have the energy cut, but all it takes is one look from Yuuri over Skype, one honest conversation with him, and Victor can breathe.
“Hey,” Yuuri nudges him as they walk down the darkened road, “I can hear you thinking.”
Victor bumps back into him, inclining himself deliberately until Yuuri giggles and rights him, “It’s nothing, I promise.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“Considering that you dragged me out of bed at,” Victor glances at his watch, “three in the morning, you aren’t allowed to sass me. Speaking of w-”
“It’s a surprise, Victor.”
Victor chuckles, a soft surrender that is more than worth it to see Yuuri’s cheeks brushed pink under the streetlights. They’re heading to Minako’s gym, Yuuri’s main training ground in Hasetsu; somewhere between Victor blearily slipping on a pair of sweatpants and almost tripping over Makkachin, he heard Yuuri mention that he has 24/7 access to the facility. He’s more awake now but still has little understanding of what this excursion is about.
It’s not the first time they’ve taken long strolls together, but tonight, there’s something persistent about Yuuri. His heavy footsteps, how anticipation shapes his beautiful smile, the sparkle of crimson in his eyes that blooms field upon field of fondness whenever Yuuri looks his way; it all seemed to be Yuuri’s default ever since he came barrelling towards Victor at the train station two mornings ago.
Victor flew to Japan after they played rock-paper-scissors over Skype to decide where they would spend their modest few days of a breather (he was only mildly disappointed that he would have to wait to show Yuuri around St. Petersburg). Hasetsu is breathtaking, inviting, an understated repose in its austerity. Victor felt every bit of competitive tension flake from his body the moment they stepped outside the station, more so when he slid into the Yutopia hot springs with Yuuri for the first time.
And then there’s Yuuri’s family; Victor is still taken aback, to say the least, by how unbelievably kind they are, how easily they accepted him into their home, how conspicuous they are in beaming approvingly at Yuuri when they think Victor isn’t looking.
That Yuuri would even want him in Hasetsu, that he would so easily make room for Victor in these personal spaces of his, give of himself beautifully and so freely...it means more than he knows how to say. Theirs was a comfortable friendship, simple, with a sizzling undercurrent of more . Perhaps they were both holding back but Victor wasn’t blind nor was he ignorant of his own feelings; seeing all but a blur of Yuuri as he hopped into Victor’s arms at the station, the whispered “I missed you” sending a heated blush all the way to his toes, there really was no room for denial.
The gym comes into view and Yuuri slings his bag over his shoulder, smiling brilliantly in Victor’s direction; it becomes somewhat sheepish when he comes face-to-face with Victor attempting to stifle a yawn. Yuuri opens his mouth, probably to apologize as he usually does when he think he’s done something wrong or overstepped his bounds, but Victor quickly loops their arms together and nuzzles a thick stream of Russian into Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri sighs, whispers a few words Victor can’t understand. Their steps slow towards the entrance, a gentle leisure in finding each other’s hand, both of them sharing light trembles and warm palms.
It’s pitch black inside the building until Yuuri, having apparently memorized the layout down to a square foot, flips a switch somewhere to the far left. Light fills the main area, mainly the large custom-installed floor that’s the central vantage point for the entire gym. They toe their shoes off at the edge of the floor and Victor follows Yuuri to the middle of it, rubbing his hands together to offset the suspense. He watches curiously as Yuuri drops his bag off to the side, taking only his ribbon (wait...his ribbon , flame red, the breath of a dragon, oh my God!) and a portable speaker out; he turns the device on, syncs it with his phone, nods to himself and looks up at Victor, a flush rising high in his cheeks.
“Stay in the center, okay?” Yuuri instructs and Victor hums a yes, bouncing on his feet with a playful smile and a dozen questions as Yuuri hands over his phone and ribbon, the satin like a memory against his skin.
“Is this the new routine?” Victor asks; they share videos of their practice sessions all the time, though Victor has never seen this particular shade of ribbon before, “did you figure out a structure for...the...second... Yuuri …”
His playfulness gives way to shock when Yuuri sheds his softshell jacket and pants to reveal a glittering unitard bodysuit, shiny ruby with fine gold inlay that wraps from his right shoulder, around his back, ends splashing on the left of his torso. Fine crystals follow the golden path, sparkling under the lights. Victor’s eyes follow the deep, deep V of the suit, thin, transparent meshing that stops above his navel; the same meshing loops around his left thigh, jewels and gold outlining the not-so-subtle flash of skin. Yuuri discards the extra clothes, stands in front of Victor, searches him with a relaxed smile.
He is utterly and inconceivably beautiful.
“Yuuri…?”
“Two years ago during practice, I misjudged my entry into a backflip and fractured my wrist. An easy enough problem to solve, but then my doctor asked me if I’d been having persistent issues with that wrist. Even though I’d kept that to myself for a while, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. I admitted to him and Minako that I knew something was wrong for a couple of months,” Yuuri twines his hands together, “Minako didn’t take it well; she thought she failed as my coach because she didn’t see the signs. But it was never her fault. She didn’t see it because I wouldn’t let her or anyone see. I’m stubborn, you know that, but when I found myself out for the season, I realized just how stupid I was too.”
Victor can relate to that stupidity well; it’s a miracle that he was still intact from what he put himself through to perfect the quad flip. Yuuri draws circles into his left wrist, smile wistful.
“The good thing about that whole mess is this,” he gestures to his outfit, “and the fact that I can wear it tonight. For you .”
“Why didn’t you use it in another season?” Victor asks softly, and it’s definitely not what he wants to say (they have time afterwards for Yuuri to flesh out his story) but his head is spinning with how beautiful Yuuri looks and how tightly the red clings to his lithe figure and how hot Yuuri burns this close to him. And, God, he burns; not just the ground he walks on or the hearts of his supporters or the demands of his routines; he’s burning Victor up, lighting fire after fire in his heart without ever realizing he’s doing it. Except for now, when Yuuri seems very aware of exactly how much this affects them both.
“I couldn’t put it on. I used to look at it and remember how I failed, not only myself, but my coach and my country. After…” Yuuri bows his head, blush deepening as he picks at one of the many crystals on his outfit, “After I met you, I came home and took it out for the first time in ages. It felt...different. Better. Right. ”
Victor stares at him, “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“This thing where you…” Victor brings his free hand to his temple, makes a fist of it and mimics it exploding; Yuuri laughs at the motion, “You say things like that and you make it seem so easy.”
“Where do you think I get that from?” Yuuri smiles, brushes his hair back, “Okay, before I start, there are rules. You can’t move and...you can’t try to touch me. No matter what.”
“I was kind of thinking this was a good time for a hug.”
“We can go back to Yutopia, you know.”
Victor throws his hands up in defeat before assuming an exaggerated at attention stance. Yuuri chuckles, points at the phone - “Keep watching me, so you’ll know when to start the music” - and takes the ribbon from Victor, touch lingering in the exchange. He holds the dowel parallel to his chest, ribbon threaded through his middle and ring finger and after studying Victor for another few seconds, he nods.
He knows Yuuri is about to dance; the bodysuit and ribbon were, after all, the giveaways. But nothing can prepare Victor when he presses play and Yuuri begins twirling around him to the rich Spanish tune, a blend of flamenco and mainstream beats that pulse all the things he’s yet to say out loud. Satin flutters in Victor’s peripheral as Yuuri tosses it into the air, his soft palmas so close to Victor’s cheek that he strains not to take hold of Yuuri’s hands.
Yuuri doesn’t make use of the floor, stays within an arm length of him, forgoes his usual stunning acrobatics for an intimate performance that details the sway of his hips, the curves of his body, his control of the ribbon around them both. Victor is mesmerized by the thoughtfulness, the seductiveness, the sheer sexiness of seeing Yuuri move this way; when Yuuri pauses, back to him, head tilted so Victor can see the wink, Victor’s heart ricochets uselessly in his chest.
It’s right then that he realizes just how in love with his best friend he is.
Oh. God. OhGodohGodohGod…
Victor grips Yuuri’s phone, sure that his nails will leave scratches on the case; his other hand clenches around nothing as Yuuri draws shapes near his waist. Yuuri’s rules are fast becoming unsustainable, life-ending even because Yuuri is gorgeous and evil, coy but ever so bashful. There’s a blatant heat in his proximity, that much is obvious, but...that isn’t all this is. It isn’t and Yuuri confirms it when he stops behind him before the music is finished; he doesn’t say anything and Victor can’t speak, can’t breathe when Yuuri rests his forehead against his back, a short burst of Japanese spoken on his jacket. Yuuri slides a hand into his free one, locks their fingers, whispers something that Victor can’t begin to decipher.
And they stay like that after the music ends, not moving or speaking, only feeling. And Victor waits, not very patiently, not at all rationally, but he waits for Yuuri. Victor doesn’t have anything to compare this too; in all the time he’s known Yuuri, all the moment’s they’ve shared, this is the one that makes him ache, the minutes stretching as effortlessly as the taffy they polished off yesterday.
“I wanted to see St. Petersburg,” Yuuri finally says in English, “but I was so happy I lost our rock-paper-scissors game. Having you here…” Yuuri drops the ribbon, rests his hand on Victor’s back, “You say I do this thing but you do it too. You came all this way and it feels like you’ve always been here and…”
“And?” Victor breathes.
“And I want you to always be here. Even when you to go back to Russia, I want you with me.”
The phone slips from his hand and Victor lets it go, along with whatever reservations were left in him. He turns on his heel, reaching for Yuuri before he’s fully facing him, caressing his cheeks and leaning right in until there’s no mistaking what he thinks or how he feels. Yuuri looks momentarily stunned, smiling a thing so pure and beautiful that Victor still can’t believe it’s only for him.
“I wasn’t sure” Yuuri whispers, “I knew, I know, but until yesterday I wasn’t sure..."
Victor presses a thumb to the edge of Yuuri’s mouth, watches as he casts his eyes down and then back to him, Adam's apple bobbing when Victor’s lips chase the touch; the first kiss is soft, dreamy, transient...too transient for Yuuri’s liking it seems because he seizes the front of Victor’s jacket and tugs, the second, third, and forth kiss exploding with months of quiet yearning. The world whittles around them until there’s only the warm embrace of their bodies and mouths, and the pitch of joint moans, Yuuri’s own sending gooseflesh down the back of Victor’s neck.
They part to breathe, to hold onto each other, to laugh contentedly in the millimeter between their lips; Yuuri sweeps aside stray silver, tucks it behind Victor’s ear, kisses his cheek with a sigh.
“I think it’s time to go home.”