Work Text:
Yakov's voice echoed distant in the large arena, berating Georgi for some new mistake. At the far end of the rink, Yuuri leaned against the boards, staring down at his phone and wishing heartily that he had never heard of Viktor Nikiforov.
Dietrich87 left the following comment on Midnight Salchow:
it was okay, I guess, for a story written 4 years ago. Victor seems OOC – you should watch his interviews before you write any more RPF like this.
Yuuri gripped his phone so hard his hand hurt. After Viktor's announced return to figure skating, all the figure skating forums had gone wild, looking for anything to do with Viktor. And then someone had dug up all the old Viktor Nikiforov fanfiction from the depths of the internet and blasted it out on Tumblr for everyone to see.
Including, to Yuuri's eternal horror, Midnight Salchow.
What had Yuuri been thinking?
VikkyNo1Fan left the following comment on Midnight Salchow:
Viktor Nikiforov is a real person and creeps like you shouldn't be writing perverted crap like this about real people.
Yuuri dug his toe pick into the ice. He knew Viktor was a real person and he knew he was probably the worst kind of pervert for writing this story, but it had been four years ago and Yuuri had really needed to practice his written English.
And so what if he had channeled that need into a six-thousand-word real-person skating fanfic in which Viktor, fresh off winning another gold medal at Worlds, encountered up-and-coming Japanese figure skater Shimizu Taizo at a rink after-hours? It wasn't like anyone would connect that with a nobody like Yuuri.
And so, four years later, Yuuri's inbox was being filled by cranky comments from people who had absolutely no idea who had written that story.
BlueFairy left the following comment on Midnight Salchow:
omg this is so cute!!! I really liked how Taizo blushed when Victor complimented his Ina Bauer
Okay, that one wasn't too bad. Yuuri flipped to the next notification.
WWBBDo left the following comment on Midnight Salchow:
I started off liking this, but then you had Viktor blowing Taizo (author self-insert, much??) and like Viktor would *never* do that. Shower sex, maybe, but not the rest.
Yuuri's cheeks went red, but he held himself back from hitting the reply button. "Want to bet?" he muttered at his phone. He and Viktor had been late to practice that morning due to Viktor's insistence on very thoroughly sucking Yuuri off before they left the apartment.
He moved his thumb off the screen. All those things that Yuuri now knew about Viktor, and he would never be able to respond to any of these comments left for "MasterFlip" on AO3.
He should have deleted this story years ago.
Yakov shouted again, and this time Yuri threw back a response over Georgi's words. Yuuri glanced down the rink, briefly taking in the other skaters' positions before looking down at the last comment again.
But.
Wait.
Yuuri looked up again. Viktor was nowhere to be seen. It was the middle of practice, too, and it wasn't like Viktor to just vanish. But if he wasn't in front of Yuuri on the ice, that only left one place for him to be.
Yuuri swallowed past the sudden lump of ice in his throat. "Viktor?" he said softly, unable to turn around.
"Yuuri." Viktor's voice slid like warm honey over Yuuri. "I missed you."
Yuuri let out a soft yip as Viktor's hand slid around Yuuri's waist, as Viktor pressed himself against Yuuri's body.
"What are you reading, Yuuri?"
What was he reading?
What was he reading?
Yuuri nearly dropped his phone in his haste to blank the screen. "Oh, just an email," he said. All the blood in his body had rushed to his head and his knees were in danger of giving out.
Viktor hummed as he rested his chin on Yuuri's shoulder. "We have a rest day tomorrow," he said softly into Yuuri's ear. "All day, and no skating. Whatever shall we get up to?"
Yuuri laughed nervously. "I thought you wanted to go shopping for clothes?"
"We could." Viktor's fingers worked their way under the hem of Yuuri's shirt, touching his skin. Yuuri's brain stopped working for a few moments. "Or we could… Stay home."
"We could," Yuuri said, then yelped when Viktor's unseen hand slid along Yuuri's spine, down to hook into his waistband. "Viktor, we are at practice."
"You weren't paying any attention to me," Viktor fake-pouted, then extricated his groping hands to spin around in front of Yuuri. "Come with me, Georgi and Yuri are working on their steps, so we can work on your jumps."
A sliver of ice ran through Yuuri's limbs. Had Viktor seen the words on his phone screen? "What, er, what jump?"
Viktor looked at him, eyes as bright and blue as a summer sky. "Triple axel, of course!"
At that, Yuuri could breathe again. He was being paranoid, he told himself as he skated over to put his phone on the bench. Viktor couldn't have been reading over his shoulder, and even if he did, Viktor didn't know the first thing about fanfiction or real-person fic.
Viktor would never stumble across Yuuri's most shameful secret.
Never.
Later that night, after dinner, Viktor took Makkachin on their nightly walk while Yuuri caught up on his email. He pointedly ignored the mounting comment notifications, instead focusing on an email chain with the JSF about the upcoming World Championship.
After so many years of writing and conversing in English, first in Detroit and now in Russia, Yuuri's formal Japanese felt stilted. That was one of the things he liked best about English, at least as he used it – it was seldom formal, and he could get away with a level of casual familiarity that would have his ears slapped back home.
His phone pinged with another comment notification. Yuuri made the mistake of looking down at his screen.
ThorBabies left the following comment on Midnight Salchow:
Technically, Viktor Nikiforov didn't land a quad flip until 2014.
"Fuck you," Yuuri said to his phone, shoving the thing away from him. Fuming, he carried his laptop over to the other end of the couch to finish his email.
Of course Yuuri knew that Viktor hadn't landed a quad flip in competition until 2014 – it had been in his long program at the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics, where Viktor had earned a gold medal and broken yet another world record. But he had been practicing it as early as 2012, when Yuuri had written this stupid story – anyone who had watched any of the b-roll on his Russian language interviews would know that.
Honestly, if Viktor's fans wanted to slag Yuuri's writing, they were welcome to it – he even half-agreed with the ones that called him a creep and a pervert for writing the things he had about Viktor's dick. But he was Katsuki Yuuri, Viktor's biggest fan, and he would never get mixed up over the details of Viktor's skating.
Yuuri had to backtrack on his email, forcing his brain to function in Japanese as he wrote nice polite lines about meetings with sponsors and skating officials. He read the message three times over, then hit send. He closed his laptop with a snap and set it on the coffee table, before curling up into a ball on the couch.
He should delete the story. It didn't feel right to have that sort of thing out there, Yuuri's fantasies of meeting Viktor Nikiforov on the rink, not when Yuuri knew so much more about Viktor. Viktor had been his coach for many months, spending practically every minute of every day together. Every day, Yuuri learned something new about Viktor, and every day he loved Viktor more.
The front door opened and Makkachin bounded in, making a bee-line for the couch and Yuuri. Yuuri barely had time to sit up before he had a lapful of dog.
"Makka, you're heavy," Yuuri complained, then winced as Makkachin's tail whacked him in the face. "Why are you like this?"
"He's a big baby," Viktor said, closing the door behind him. He quickly shed his jacket and scarf onto the floor, kicking out of his shoes as he locked the door.
"He's a heavy baby." Yuuri pushed gently at Makkachin until the dog got the hint and hopped down, to wander over to his favourite blanket. "He—oouf!"
While Yuuri had been distracted, Viktor had come up to the couch and plopped himself into Yuuri's lap, squishing the other man into the cushions. "You're warm," Viktor said, pressing his cold nose against Yuuri's throat, making Yuuri squeal. "So warm, Yuuri."
"Why are you so heavy?" Yuuri asked as he tried to wiggle out from under Viktor, but Viktor had his arms around Yuuri now and was settling in. "Too heavy."
Viktor nipped gently at Yuuri's earlobe. "Are you calling me fat?"
Yuuri let his head fall back. "If I say yes, will you get off me?"
Viktor snuggled against Yuuri. "No."
"Fine." Yuuri freed one hand to stroke Viktor's hair. His fingers brushed against tiny drops of water. "Is it snowing out?"
"Only a little." Viktor shifted his position to retrieve his phone from his pocket. "Yuuri, guess what?"
"What?" Yuuri asked, his eyes half-closing. He felt safe and secure with Viktor like this, all warmth and happiness.
Viktor unlocked his phone. "I want to read you something."
"Okay."
Viktor cleared his throat. "It is a very nice thing that someone wrote. Do you know how it starts?"
"Tell me."
"I will." There was a pause, then Viktor said, "This is how it starts. It was late, hours after everyone else had left the practice rink. "
Yuuri's eyes snapped open, sudden adrenaline screaming through his veins.
That was the opening line of Midnight Salchow.
"Shimizu Taizo skated in a lazy circle around the ice, glad that he was alone, glad that he had the ice to himself."
Yuuri tried to sit up, but Viktor was as heavy as concrete, holding him down. "Viktor—"
"It was the last thing he expected, when a voice came from the benches. 'I didn't know anyone would be here so late.' "
Yuuri closed his eyes with a whimper. His entire body felt like it was on fire, the heat of compete mortification burning in his blood.
"Taizo came to a stop on the ice, his feet unconsciously falling into third positon. 'Viktor Nikiforov,' he said, bowing his head very slightly. He hoped that his nervousness did not show, at this unexpected meeting with figure skating's favoured son."
"Viktor…"
"Hush, Yuuri. Viktor stepped into the light, the silver gleam of his hair a contrast to the dark, form-fitting clothes he wore. 'Can I join you on the ice?' he asked. Part of Taizo wanted to laugh widely, while the other part wanted to skate away and hide. Him, to skate on the same ice as Viktor! It was something he had thought about for years, since he had first seen Viktor skate in the Junior World Championships when he was sixteen."
Yuuri made another break for freedom, but Viktor took the movement as an invitation to twine his legs around Yuuri's. "Viktor, let me up," Yuuri pleaded. "I have to go."
Viktor took his eyes off his phone, looking at Yuuri in surprise. "Go? Go where?"
Yuuri made one last desperate shimmy, falling off the couch and onto the floor with a splat. "Somewhere," he blurted out as he crawled away from the couch. "Back to Japan."
"But Yuuri, this is the best part!" Viktor sprang up, crossing the room in a few long strides before reaching down to pull Yuuri upright. Yuuri put his hands over his face as Viktor hugged Yuuri to his chest. "I like this part. Taizo pushed off on his skate, moving backwards. 'I would be honoured to share the ice with you,' he said, hoping that the rink was dark enough that Viktor could not see the heat rising to his cheeks. 'We all have to practice.' Viktor removed his skate guards and stepped onto the ice, with the grace and agility of a swan. Taizo was reminded that compared to Viktor, he was figure skating's ugly duckling.
" 'I am glad that I could meet you alone,' said Viktor. He curved over the ice, gliding to a stop just in front of Taizo. 'You skated your free program so well, such beauty.' In the dim light of the arena, Viktor's eyes sparkled like sapphires. 'After I saw you skate, I had hoped that we could… get to know each other better.' "
Yuuri whimpered, pressing his face against Viktor's shoulder
"I like that," Viktor said as he put his phone back into his pocket so he could wrap his other arm around Yuuri. "I think it's true, that I would see someone skate and want to get to know them better. Do you?"
"I don't know," Yuuri said, his voice muffled by Viktor's shirt.
"And the rest of it," Viktor said. Yuuri's knees threatened to buckle. "I do not think all the parts of it are like me, but maybe most of it is." He traced a line up and down Yuuri's spine. "Do you know what I liked most of all?"
"What?"
Instead of answering, Viktor kissed Yuuri's hair, then his forehead, then hooked his finger under Yuuri's chin to lift his head. "I like that whoever wrote this very interesting story, they made me kind."
Yuuri's brain stuttered on kind for a moment before looping back to the start of Viktor's sentence.
Whoever wrote this.
Who.
Yuuri let out his breath in a whoosh. Did Viktor really not know that Yuuri was the author? For a wild, hopeful moment, Yuuri let himself believe that he might be able to get out of this with some shred of dignity left.
Then Viktor swept all that away by asking, "Do you know who wrote this lovely story, Yuuri?"
Yuuri tried to think of some way to save himself. "Um, no? What story is it?" He swallowed. "Where did you find it?"
Viktor smiled at him, that knowing smile that always made Yuuri want to run away and hide. "It is a fanfiction story." The word fanfiction fell stilted off Viktor's tongue. "A person wrote a fictional story about me."
Yuuri, desperate now, tried to think of how a normal, non-stalker creep would respond to that line by his boyfriend. "That's terrible."
Viktor's smile went sharp. "And I saw you looking at comments on it on your phone at practice."
Yuuri's stomach dropped. "I—um—maybe you're mistaken?" It came out an octave higher than his normal voice.
"Mistaken?" Viktor purred, turning slightly so Yuuri fit in against his body. "Am I mistaken that the author of this lovely story… Is you?"
Yuuri was caught in Viktor's eyes, unable to look away, unable to move.
"Yuuri." Viktor traced his thumb over Yuuri's chin, his lower lip. "Do you know how many of these stories I have read about myself over the years?"
"I—What?" Yuuri blurted out. This conversation was moving too fast for him to keep up.
"Too many." Now Viktor's thumb was moving over Yuuri's cheek. "Too many, with too many people treating me on paper like I am some toy, some…" He said something in Russian. "What is it in English? A plastic doll, you put air into it, for sex?"
"A blow-up doll," Yuuri replied automatically. All of the blood in his body was rushing to his head. Was this what Viktor thought of him now?
"Yes." Viktor tilted his head down so he was looking Yuuri square in the eyes. "Also, they never got the skating right. So I stopped reading them."
"Oh. Um, good idea."
"But I would liked to have read this one." Viktor moved in to press a soft kiss against the tip of Yuuri's nose. "Why did you write it?"
Yuuri closed his eyes. Maybe, if he didn't say anything, broke away from Viktor, grabbed his passport and wallet and went straight to the airport, he would never have to admit anything.
"Yuuri."
Yuuri let out a long breath, opening his eyes to stare at Viktor's collar. "I wrote it," he said shakily, and the admission made his stomach heave. "Because I'd just watched you skate an amazing performance at the Grand Prix Final, and I was having a terrible month and I had idolized you since I was twelve years old and all I had ever wanted to do was to skate on the same ice as you." He stopped, head buzzing with the shame. "I wasn't able to land a triple flip and everything felt worthless and I thought…"
"You thought what?"
Yuuri dug his fingers into Viktor's shirt sleeve. "I was taking writing courses in college and I thought maybe I'd write something where someone like me might meet you, and it might not be terrible."
But that wasn't it, not at all, and if Viktor had really read all of Midnight Salchow, he would know exactly how much time and energy 20-year-old Yuuri had devoted to thinking about his dick. And his mouth. And the curve of his ass under his well-fitting skating tights.
Viktor leaned in to kiss Yuuri's forehead again. "But we did meet, and it wasn't terrible."
Yuuri groaned. "Do you mean at the banquet I don't remember?" he asked, pulling back to glare at Viktor.
"We danced all night!" Viktor pointed out.
"My dog had just died and my figure skating career was in the toilet," Yuuri shot back. "I drank so much champagne that I blacked out and nearly puked my guts out the next morning."
"But you made me fall in love," Viktor retorted. "And then I came to be your coach!"
"You showed up at my parents' inn unannounced and told me you were going to be my coach while you were naked in the hot springs."
Viktor smiled. "Is that any stranger than two men meeting late at night at the rink to admire each other's technique?"
But Yuuri wasn't to be mollified. "I'm going to take the story down," he said, pulling himself out of Viktor's arms. "It's not right."
"Yuuri!" Viktor cried. He flung himself bodily between Yuuri and his laptop. "Leave it up, please. For me."
"For you?" Yuuri repeated. "You want people reading a story like this?"
"Yes." Viktor held his hands out. "The skating you describe, it is divine."
Yuuri narrowed his eyes, not sure if Viktor was poking fun. "A lot of people have told me that it's so technical that it makes the story drag."
Viktor dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "None of them are skaters, then."
"What about the part where I wrote you…" Yuuri made a graphic motion with his hand.
"The sex?" Viktor asked brightly. "I liked that part."
"Viktor!"
"What?" Viktor pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "It was very nice sex. You wrote me as a very considerate lover."
Yuuri hunched his shoulders. "A lot of people said the blowjob was out of character."
He was not expecting Viktor's sudden laughter. "What do they know?" Viktor asked, still laughing. "If they think that, then it's obvious that none of them have ever had sex with me."
Yuuri turned away, taking off his glasses to press his hand over his eyes.
"Yuuri, my love, my beautiful love." Viktor came up behind Yuuri to wrap him into another embrace. "This does not bother me."
"It should," Yuuri muttered. "Anyone else would be freaked out."
"Possibly," Viktor conceded. "But I am not anyone else."
Yuuri turned in Viktor's arms to hug him back. "I'm sorry."
"What for?" Viktor's hands were playing up and down Yuuri's sides, helping Yuuri to centre himself. "For admiring me? For having fantasies of us?"
"I don't know."
"Listen." Viktor's breath ghosted over Yuuri's cheek, moments before Viktor kissed him. "You wrote a very nice story about me being a very nice man who is an excellent figure skater." Another kiss against Yuuri's temple. "You didn't make me read it."
"But… the sex…"
Viktor left out a huff of laughter. "If you want to see some truly outrageous sex, you should go read the ones about Chris."
Yuuri pulled a face. He could just imagine.
"But do you know what the best part about reading the story is?" Viktor asked as he pulled back. His eyes were calm, and that helped Yuuri let go of some of his lingering panic.
"What?"
"I read that story, and now I know so much more about you." One of Viktor's hands slid all the way down Yuuri's back, sliding over his ass, to give a gentle squeeze. Yuuri bit back a yelp. "I want to know, those things you wrote? About how Taizo wanted Viktor on his knees on the ice? And how Taizo wanted Viktor to make love to him up against the wall in the shower room?"
Yuuri's heart was beating in his throat. "What about them?"
Viktor's free hand slid around the back of Yuuri's neck, their faces an inch apart. "Are those the things you fantasize about me?" Viktor's voice was soft and low, wrapping around Yuuri like liquid warmth. "Are those things you want me to do to you?"
Yuuri ran his tongue along his lower lip. "Not really." Viktor's face fell. "I mean, I do want you to do all those things. But not at the rink, not in public. I want you to do them here with me." He took a deep breath, praying for courage. "Where nothing will interrupt us." He moved forward, closing the distance between them to kiss Viktor, hard.
Viktor's lips parted under his, welcoming him in. Viktor clutched Yuuri to him, holding him tight, and it was the only place Yuuri ever wanted to be.
Yuuri broke the kiss first. "Viktor," he said, feeling far too confident for a man whose shameful past had just been unveiled. "Do you really want to know what I want from you?"
Viktor, breathing hard, nodded.
Yuuri hooked one finger in Viktor's waistband. "Then come to bed and I'll show you."
Heart pounding, Yuuri pulled Viktor toward their bedroom. Once inside, it only took a few moments to get each other's clothes off, then Yuuri pushed Viktor onto the bed and straddled him, pinning him in place.
"Oh, Yuuri," Viktor gasped as their bodies slid together.
"What I want," Yuuri whispered in Viktor's ear. "Is to show you my… appreciation."
"Yes," Viktor whimpered. "Yuuri, please, please do."
With a smile, Yuuri set about demonstrating his regard for the other man. Repeatedly.
Yuuri woke the next morning to a room full of sunlight.
"Huh?" he said as he rolled over, grabbing for his glasses. It was nearly nine o'clock, far later than Yuuri woke up on rest days. But then, he had been awake late the previous night. Very late.
Rolling upright, Yuuri winced at the low aches in his body. The problem with Viktor was that he was as competitive in bed as he was considerate, and that had meant that Yuuri had most definitely not gone unsatisfied.
With a yawn, Yuuri went looking for Viktor.
The apartment was empty of both man and dog, so Yuuri changed direction for the shower. Once clean, he headed back to the bedroom, scooping up his phone on his way. He would read whatever came in overnight when he was awake.
After putting on a clean pair of sweatpants, Yuuri flopped back into bed. He'd get what sleep he could now before Viktor came home and demanded attention.
Yuuri smiled as he snuggled under the covers. Maybe Viktor would demand more than just attention. The thought made Yuuri shiver with pleasant anticipation, and he fell back asleep thinking of all the ways he and Viktor could spent their day off.
The ping of his phone woke Yuuri. Blinking, Yuuri reached first for his glasses, then for his phone, dimly noting that at some point Makkachin had climbed up onto the bed and was drooling onto Viktor's pillow.
You have 30 new emails.
Yuuri blinked again. He unlocked his phone and swiped to his email. Someone with the same username had been replying to comments on Midnight Salchow. Yuuri opened the latest one.
Victoree left the following comment on Midnight Salchow:
Viktor was practicing the quad flip as early as 2012, but was not able to reliably land it in competition until 2014, and his coach advised him to keep it for the 2014 Sochi Olympic performance. He was also the first person to land a quad flip in competition.
Yuuri frowned at his phone. He had never heard that bit of info about Viktor's coach recommending against the quad flip before, not in any interviews. He wondered where the commenter had gotten that bit of information about Viktor.
Yuuri looked around the bedroom, suddenly suspicious at the silence in the apartment. If Makkachin was back, that meant that Viktor had returned as well. So why was it so quiet? So quiet, in fact, that Yuuri could make out the distant sound of typing in the living room.
Typing?
A ping. It was another comment from 'Victoree', this one tearing apart criticism about the technical detail in the story.
"No," Yuuri said, horrified. He sprang out of bed, bounding over the pile of laundry by the door, then burst out into the living room, in time to see Viktor hitting submit on a familiar red and white webpage. "Viktor!"
Viktor swung around, looking satisfied with himself. "You're awake!"
"Viktor, no!" Yuuri dove for the computer. "You can't reply to comments on this!"
"Why not?" Viktor took the computer away from Yuuri. "I'm not using my real name. No one will know it is I."
"You just can't!" Yuuri exclaimed.
"I can do what I want." Viktor went back to typing. "And I want to tell these people how they are all very wrong."
"Viktor, please, stop!" Yuuri begged.
Viktor looked at Yuuri. "You were asleep when I got home," he said. Yuuri was just grateful that his typing slowed. "I got bored."
In spite of his panic, Yuuri very nearly rolled his eyes. Viktor Nikiforov was many things; subtle was not one of them. "I'm awake now," Yuuri said, reaching for the computer again. This time, Viktor let him take it. "Maybe I can make you be not bored?"
"How?" Viktor asked, leaning back against the couch cushions. After putting the computer out of arms' reach, Yuuri knelt down in front of Viktor. He was both pleased and gratified to see Viktor's eyes grow dark as he eased in between Viktor's knees.
"I can think of a few things," Yuuri said. He reached for Viktor's belt. "Maybe I can thank you for all the very nice things you did for me last night."
Viktor sat forward, cupping Yuuri's face in his hands as he captured Yuuri's lips in a kiss. "So many very nice things," he murmured.
Yuuri let Viktor kiss him for a long, delicious minute, then pushed Viktor onto the cushions. "I believe I was in the middle of keeping you from boredom," he said as he undid Viktor's belt.
Viktor's gaze was heavy on Yuuri as Yuuri undid the trouser zipper. "Maybe you can write another one of your stories. Now that you know more about me."
Yuuri looked up at Viktor, wondering what was in the other man's mind. "No."
"It would be popular."
The idea of writing anything about Viktor, his Viktor, to be consumed by a faceless and greedy public, made Yuuri's guts clench in anger. Abandoning his original seduction plan, Yuuri climbed up onto the couch, his knees bracketing Viktor's hips, his face inches from Viktor's. "You're mine," Yuuri said, voice shaking with feeling. "And I'm yours. No one else, do you understand? I'm not sharing you with anyone else."
Viktor looked at him for a moment, blue eyes full of something that Yuuri could not understand. Then Viktor said, "I'm yours. And you are mine."
"Always."
"Forever."
Yuuri reached up to tangle a hand in Viktor's hair. "Let me show you," he breathed against Viktor's lips. "Let me show you that I'm yours forever."
"Show me," Viktor murmured, sliding his hands over Yuuri's bare chest. "Forever."
This time, when they kissed, Yuuri sank into Viktor's embrace.
This was the only place he had ever wanted to be.