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Viktor is lounging in the hot tub when the clink of crystal draws his attention. He flops his head back to take in the full view that is speedo-clad Christophe, and also the twin martini glasses lying between the splayed thighs of the kneeling Swiss.
“Pool sign says no drinks allowed.”
“Old Viktor listens to pool rules?” lilts the other. “Maybe I should remind you that rules are meant to be broken by the beautiful.”
“Oh? Like the rule that one can’t win more than four gold medals in a row?”
Now the blonde pouts. “Actually, I was counting on you to follow that one.”
Viktor chuckles, twisting about so he can take the offered drink from between the other's legs. It is pink with a strawberry bobbing in it. Christophe is quick to tap the lip of the other glass to Viktor’s with a purr.
“ Zum Wohl.”
“Nasdarovje.”
The other sips his drink before setting it down, crawling about to slither in beside his rival. Then the martini follows. While they are not the only ones at the hotel pool, the skaters do not recognize the other swimmers. The dozen strangers around them ignore the pair in their corner of the whirlpool. The rebellious drinks the night before their first competition is left unchecked.
“Tomorrow we meet again as enemies,” sighs Christophe. “Or frenemies? Is that the word?”
“If you want to be,” Viktor shrugs. “It’ll be to your ruin no matter what you call it.”
Christophe snorts. “Maybe. Or perhaps you’ll feel the sting of standing in my shadow, huh?”
“I’m not sure how I’ll cope.”
“It’s cold there on those lower platforms. You should have Yakov bring you a scarf.”
Viktor hums. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll warn you about first place, then?”
“Do tell, Darling. What perils await me there?”
“You could strain a calf muscle on the long climb up.”
The Swiss skater drains his glass, coughing briefly in delight. “Can you imagine the irony? The best skate of your career and you pull something on the steps. And it is one of those utter agony hurts.”
“I don’t have to imagine,” Viktor drawls.
“No?”
“My second gold," confesses Viktor.
"No!"
"Yakov kept asking why I was smiling like a maniac during the ceremony.”
Christophe peers in the direction of the change room. “I must try to find a photo of that! From now on, my phone comes with me everywhere.”
“Pure pain,” Viktor continues to reminiscence, shaking his head. “A part of me feared I would not recover. I refused to limp that evening. Thankfully, the muscle sorted itself out by the week’s end.”
“You managed the banquet like that?”
“Somehow,” Viktor shrugs. “The banquet is a whole other beast.”
“I’m going to cut loose this year,” pledges Christophe.
“More than last year?” Viktor whistles. “There are laws in this country, my friend.”
Christophe grins. “I’ve only gotten hotter since Quebec. It is unfair to the world when I keep this body behind clothes.”
“I can see that,” Viktor agrees, toasting the last of his alcohol to the body bared before him. “Then I shall ask a favour, one frenemy to another.”
“Anything for the man soon to be shivering in my shadow.”
“Banquets can be awkward,” Viktor murmurs. “One tries to be gracious and have a good time, but there’s always someone who wears their heart on their sleeve or takes their standings too seriously.”
“I only know how to have fun at a banquet,” Christophe sniffs. Then he drops his hand down to Viktor’s where it rests. “But no matter the placements, I’ll keep an eye out for such bleeding hearts at the party, yeah? Not that you’ll need me, but I can cause a scene when required. And also when not required.”
“I appreciate and respect you for that,” Viktor says, sincere. Of all the skaters he’s competed against, Christophe Giacometti is both a worthy opponent, yet also someone who treats Viktor as human. He plays along with the act if the act is there. He accepts the reality of the people before him, too, as needed.
Win or lose -- history maker or conceding champion -- Viktor trusts that nothing will change between him and Christophe.
“Knowing my luck, I will stretch my groin,” groans the Swiss skater.
“Climbing the podium, surely.”
“Mmmmm. You’ll ice it for me?”
“If I’m properly dressed for standing in your shadow.”
They clink glasses to consolidate their promises, tipping back strawberries. Tomorrow they take on the Grand Prix.
Later, the banquet, where Christophe will follow through on his promise of causing a scene for Viktor’s sake.
The rescue ends, of course, in ways neither expected.