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“Show it to me again.”
There’s a flutter of nerves in his stomach, something that leaps up to his lungs when Victor speaks to him. It sits tight in his chest, pounding in time with his heart, for one-two-three beats, then slips away when he sighs, kicks at the ice with his skate, pushes a hand through his sweaty hair.
“I’ve already showed you twice,” Yuuri says. Victor turns to him, smiling.
“I’ve only seen it in person once. The first time was on the internet. Again, please, Yuuri.” He says it so casually, as if he isn’t demanding Yuuri run through an imitation of the very program Victor was never supposed to see in the first place. But there’s no arguing with him when his mind is made up, even if Yuuri had the guts to refuse. So he skates to the center of the rink, takes a deep breath, and begins.
It’s different, trying to skate the Stammi Vicino program with Victor’s eyes on him. He feels just the slightest bit off kilter, like he’s lagging behind a second to the music that’s playing in his head. But every time he tries to catch his bearings, to fall back into that rhythm, he catches a glimpse of Victor poised against the boards, a frown creasing his forehead, a hand resting across his mouth, and it throws Yuuri out of whack again.
He barely finishes his final spin, his frustration with himself peaking. He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls down at the ice for an instant, then tries to smooth the irritation off his face.
“Yuuri,” Victor drawls out. Of course Victor noticed. “What was that?”
Yuuri’s heart sinks somewhere down to the blades of his skates. “The program,” he says. Petulance is beginning to rise in his voice, meeting somewhere with the frustration. “You just told me to skate the program. So I did.”
“That was not my program.”
“It was,” Yuuri snaps, “it’s exactly what you told me to do.”
Victor pushes himself off the boards, skating over to center with a grin on his face, a chuckle drifting between them as he circles Yuuri. "Why are you so upset?" he prompts. Yuuri opens his mouth to answer, and finds he has none. Nothing logical at least, only something swirling in the eye of the hurricane. "Stop," Victor says, "stop. Stop that." He raps a knuckle once over Yuuri's forehead, and Yuuri jerks back from the unexpected touch. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"I'm not thinking anything-"
"Yes you are. You definitely are. You're thinking too much, and that's why you failed to skate my program."
A frown creases over Yuuri's forehead, but it is short lived, as Victor leans forward, resting his hand on Yuuri's chest. He's close enough that Yuuri can smell a hint of his cologne, his shampoo, that perfumed lotion he uses.
"You feel–” he says, his fingers splayed and pressing against Yuuri's shirt, right over his heart beating wild in his chest, "-and that is when you shine. That is what I saw on the internet. Not this defeat, not this frustration. Skate with your heart, Yuuri, not your head." Victor straightens up and crosses his arms over his own chest, looking rather pleased with himself.
"Victor-" Yuuri starts. Somehow, Victor puffs up even more.
"Pretty good, right? Good advice. I just thought of that off the top of my head."
Yuuri stares, blinks once, and grabs onto a thread courage that's been escaping him ever since Victor crashed into his life. "Victor," he starts again, "that was terrible."
The effect is instantaneous; Victor deflates, incredulous at the insult, or maybe the truth of it. Yuuri rushes to comfort him, as embarrassment floods over him.
"I didn't mean that!” he says, his hands hovering somewhere near Victor’s shoulders, desperate to reassure, but too hesitant to touch. “I didn't– I–- it's just– ! It's not very– concrete! It's not concrete advice. I wouldn't know how to incorporate it into a program."
Victor sniffs, and turns away, beginning a lazy circle around the rink. "Well, I don't know what to tell you, Yuuri," he calls out. "That's what I saw."
"I don't know what to do with that information."
"Do whatever you want. It's my advice to you."
Yuuri rubs at his eyes with the palm of his hand. "Okay. Alright, Victor? I'm sorry, okay? But maybe you can help me figure out how to use it. Please?" He waits, watching Victor make his slow turn around the rink, the pout on his face as he turns around the face Yuuri again. "I want–” Yuuri starts, then stops. Hesitates. Turns his words over and over in his head. No, don't think, don't think–
"I want to surprise everyone again," he says. "The video– it wasn't supposed to– no one was supposed to see it, but I want to feel that way again. And– and– " He looks down, acutely aware of Victor's eyes on him, and stares at his tracks on the ice. "I want to surprise everyone. To prove to them that this loser from last year isn't–”
"Yuuri, you're too hard on yourself," Victor says. The pout is gone, something fragile like cautious amusement on his face instead. "I love surprises. I live for surprises. If you want to surprise them, then we will. Tell me your ideas.”
“Well,” Yuuri says. Once again, Victor’s thrown him for a loop, and Yuuri’s scrambling to keep up. “I didn’t have anything in mind. I– I mean. I’ll already be skating your program. The only way to make that more surprising would be if we skated it together, I guess.” Yuuri rubs a finger over his chin, racking his brain for any other ideas. Surely Victor will have something to say–
He looks up when he realizes Victor has been silent, his eyes going wide when he sees Victor, staring at him with an expression of complete awe.
“Victor, what–?”
“Yuuri,” Victor says softly, “you would skate your exhibition piece with me?”
“I wasn’t serious! I was just thinking out loud! I didn’t, I didn’t mean– oh my god–”
“Yuuri! What are you talking about? It’s a great idea!” Victor shoots over and grabs him by the shoulders. “Magnificent! Superb! The world wouldn’t know what hit them! Oh, Yuuri, please, please, let’s do it together!” He shakes Yuuri by the shoulders, a bright grin on his mouth, and Yuuri’s heart skips a tremulous beat. That Victor would want to skate with him is too much, it’s too much of a dream to be real, surely–
“...make sure you place.”
Oh. Yeah. Reality.
“Right,” Yuuri breathes out. Victor’s slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, but instead of comforting it’s smothering, the weight of an expectation Yuuri himself isn’t ready to accept. “I’ll try,” Yuuri says, shrugging Victor’s arm off his shoulder. That doesn’t seem to bother him; Victor still beams with excitement, still invades Yuuri’s self-respecting personal space, still bubbles with a carefreeness that Yuuri envies. It’s enough that Yuuri can force a smile onto his face. He can latch onto Victor’s excitement, tamp down those nerves and the self-gnawing doubt, and convince himself, even if it’s half-hearted, that he can do this.
“I’m going to try it again, okay?”
Yuuri nods, and tries to will himself to relax. Victor’s hands tighten on his waist, and Yuuri winces, but forces himself to remember: grace, poise, trust. He wobbles in Victor’s grip, but stays more or less stable in the lift, until Victor wobbles, too.
At the very least they don’t fall this time.
“That was good, right?” Yuuri says, idly straightening out his shirt. “It’s better than it was last week. It’s a little easier.” He grabs the water bottle he’d left on the boards. He fumbles the cap off the top, clicking his tongue when he drops it. Oh well, it’s almost empty anyway–
“Yuuri, let’s try the lifts on the ice.”
The last mouthful of water ends up in his lungs instead of his stomach. And he tries– oh, he tries– not to make an absolute mess of himself, not in front of Victor, but breathing is important, so the coughing and hacking and tears really can't be helped. At least the boards are right there, so he can hide his face, or knock himself unconscious against them if the humiliation is unbearable.
Victor is patting him on the back, and it's nice, even if Yuuri can't even pretend that it's helping.
“There, there,” he says. Yuuri’s not totally sure Victor actually knows what that phrase means. “Can you breathe, Yuuri? Yeah? Good. Let’s run through the routine.”
“Victor,” Yuuri croaks out. He coughs, then squeezes the incoming fit down in his chest, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, bumping his glasses back up his nose. “Shouldn’t we practice it some more?”
“We will,” Victor calls from the other end of the rink, where he’s lacing up his skates.
“I’ve never done lifts on the ice. Have you?”
“No, but I will in a minute.”
Yuuri sighs, another sputtering cough escaping his mouth. “Don’t you think we should run through the choreography a few more times first?”
“Yuuri, you think I don’t know my own choreography by heart?”
He knows his protests are useless. He knows it. Victor’s patience when it comes to getting what he wants is saintly, and he seems to have a particular knack for cajoling Yuuri into doing things.
“What are you worried about? I won’t drop you,” Victor chimes from the ice, where he skates in lazy figure eights. He circles closer to Yuuri, letting his fingers drag over the edge of the board, and smiles a smile that makes Yuuri’s stomach shift nervously. “Or are you worried about having my hands all over you?”
That’s the other thing about him, that he has some uncanny way of pinpointing exactly what Yuuri’s thinking.
He can feel the blush starting on his chest, creeping up his throat and settling over his face. “No!” he squawks to Victor’s tittering back, “I just want to be prepared!”
Victor skates to center ice and turns, holding his hand out towards Yuuri in mirror imitation of their choreography, placid smile in place. Yuuri huffs; he’ll stand there forever, his hand always outstretched, calling Yuuri towards him, towards something amazing, a surprise, the greatest point in his career. If only he’ll reach out.
He turns away abruptly and stomps over to the bench to pull on his skates. He wills himself to calm down, to flush out all these frantic, conflicting thoughts, to focus. It’s work, it’s nothing more than work. A performance he’s chasing to perfection. A performance he’s skating with perfection–
Stop.
First step on the ice and he’s forcing that unbalance out of his mind. Victor’s smile warms as he approaches, and he skates backwards, giving Yuuri the center.
“Shall we start from the beginning?” he asks. Yuuri takes a deep breath, and nods.
His body falls into the routine automatically. It’s a little easier now, to perform it while Victor watches, a little less nerve-wracking. Yuuri misses a step here, flubs a jump there, but it doesn’t derail the entire performance. Instead, Yuuri finds himself getting so caught up in the movements that he’s almost startled when Victor skates across the ice to join him.
Tension seeps into Yuuri’s movements, and he most certainly misses a piece of the choreography as his mind trips into blankness, but then Victor’s hand is a warm, gentle touch on his waist, guiding him back into easy movements. Grace, poise, trust, grace, poise, trust–
Victor’s grip tightens around his waist, and Yuuri barely remembers to push off the ice in time with the lift, but he does, and it happens, he’s in the air before he knows it, blades solid on the ice before he knows it, Victor’s touch gone before he knows it.
Yuuri begins to turn, but something jerks him to a stop, and he flails sideways. Victor makes some grunt of noise behind him, grabbing tight onto Yuuri’s hips, but the sudden extra weight tips Yuuri’s balance, and he tumbles down with a squawk.
“Oh, that’ll bruise,” Yuuri winces out. He groans as he tries to lift himself, but there’s a pressure on his back, something that abruptly disappears as a hand plants itself close to Yuuri’s face.
“Yuuri, are you hurt?” Victor says above him, sounding a touch frantic. Yuuri groans again, but takes stock of his body, feels the throbbing of his knees, the tension in his wrists, but judges himself to be okay.
“No, I don’t think so. Nothing major. Are you?” An hysteria rises in him, as he pushes himself up fully. “Victor, are you hurt? What happened?” Without realizing it, Yuuri shoves Victor off of him. He’s fallen dozens– hundreds– of times, so this soreness in his knees is nothing new. But Victor lands with a thud next to him, all long, awkward limbs, a pout settling over his mouth, and Yuuri has to bite down the sudden burst of laughter that almost slips out of his throat.
“Are you hurt?” he asks again, this time a bit more frail, a wavering thing, as he struggles not to laugh. Victor shakes his head, and carefully stands up, brushing off his shirt. “What happened?” Yuuri has to ask, as he carefully maneuvers himself upright.
“Nothing,” Victor says, somehow in the haughtiest tone. “I miscalculated where you landed.”
“And tripped over me.”
“I miscalculated,” Victor insists on. Yuuri nods along. “Sorry. I’m sorry you fell.”
“It’s alright. Not the first time.”
Victor slides a look in his direction. Yuuri reads it all too well. “We’ll try again?” Yuuri says, and it’s a touch too bright, too loud in the empty rink. He doesn’t need any sympathy, especially not from Victor. But Victor doesn’t protest. He narrows that gaze just a touch, and smiles.
“We’ll try again,” Victor answers, “from the start?”
Yuuri nods, and as Victor skates away, he shakes the nerves out of his limbs. The tension has left his body, and the laughter still bubbling inside of him has cleared his head. Even legends fall on their asses. Who knew.
“Victor?”
It’s that cadence, that soft, yet demanding tone of voice, that sends a shiver down Victor’s spine, like an electric current snapping right down to the marrow of his bones. He takes his eyes off his phone and watches Yuuri, skates laced, hips angled, one hand pushing through his sweaty hair. A smoldering vision of casual confidence, poised on the edge of the rink.
Yuuri glances over his shoulder, meeting Victor’s gaze easily. “Should we practice the exhibition piece?”
They’ve been in Russia less than twelve hours, slept less than half of those twelve hours, before Yuuri slipped out of their room to practice. He’s been restless ever since China, buzzing with a newfound energy that Victor’s been hard pressed to keep up with.
“Just in case,” Yuuri goes on to say, a smirk beginning to curl at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t wait for Victor’s answer, just pushes off the sideboards with the expectation left hanging in the air between them. Victor’s teeth sink into his lip, a brief press of pain that’s gone as soon as Victor realizes what he’s doing. Making Yuuri cry was unacceptable, and although it’s only been a few days since the performance in China, Victor is trying. He’s trying to mind his words, to think before he speaks, to consider the weight of his words before they come tumbling out of his mouth. And it’s made a difference; a slight one, but a difference all the same. Yuuri smiles at him like he knows, but that same smile stirs something in Victor’s chest, a misplaced ache fluttering for a place to land.
That same ache blooms in his chest now, in time with the pain that blooms in his lip as his teeth sink into it again. Yuuri has awakened something in him, whether he’s aware of it or not. The longer Victor finds himself caught in Yuuri’s orbit, the harder he bites down, holds back.
He rises from his seat without a word, shuddering at the chill air of the rink. It's habit by now to pack his skates, even when he's not the one competing, and it's been a little while since they've had time to practice the choreography, but he isn't particularly worried. They managed one full run through of the choreography the day they left for China. A couple of weeks ago now, but the hard part is behind them. Nothing left but to keep practicing.
As soon as Victor steps on the ice, Yuuri begins. Victor watches, breathless, like the air has been squeezed out of his lungs. Yuuri skates, jumps, turns flawlessly, even better than Victor could have imagined, but it's the way in which he commands the performance that keeps Victor's attention. He almost misses his cue to join Yuuri, he's so caught up in his staring. Yuuri smiles as he falls into place beside him, smiles like he knows Victor doesn't dare to touch him now, that holding himself back will be impossible if he's to press his hands to Yuuri's waist, feel the shift of muscle beneath the too-thin fabric of his shirt. Yuuri smiles, and encourages it, resting his own hands over Victor, pulling him closer so they're a singularly moving twist of limbs, two bodies joined as one, like love, like sex–
The routine, it's impassioned; it's a manifestation of yearning, an empty kind of love waiting for reciprocation, but in this quiet early morning, Yuuri's turned it to something else. To something sensual, a lithe stretch of limbs, the gentle echo of his breathing, his sighs, his exertion ringing loud in Victor's ears. He shouldn't– he should not be doing this; Yuuri's yelled at him once already for being inconsiderate when he needed support the most, tears beading on his eyelashes, his face flushed and hurt. But, Yuuri. He is in control over the entire routine, stringing Victor along with the promise of his breath hot on the side of Victor's neck.
So he caves.
Victor's hands slide down, running smooth over the fabric of Yuuri's thin shirt, fingers dipping just under the hem, pressing cold against warm skin.They separate, but only for an instant before the choreography draws them back together. Magnetic. Like they couldn’t bear to stay apart for more than a second.
Another lift, and Victor’s hands tighten over Yuuri’s hip bones. When Yuuri lands, he tilts back, his head resting for an instant on Victor’s shoulder. There’s a scent of Yuuri’s day old shampoo, of sweat, of warmth, an intoxicating mix of aromas that has Victor chewing on his lip again. When Yuuri arches gracefully forward, intent on slipping into a spiral, Victor doesn’t release him. It earns him a curious look from Yuuri– not angry, flustered, anxious: it’s curious– but he doesn’t try to pull away, instead spinning beneath Victor’s arm, the choreography falling to pieces. It becomes a dance between the two of them, as Yuuri turns into Victor’s arms, skating backwards as Victor surges forward. Yuuri doesn’t say anything, doesn’t question anything; he skates in tandem with Victor, watching him with a dark, glittering gaze.
They don’t stop until Yuuri’s back hits the boards with a low thump. Victor rushes in, the taste of that promise sitting heavy on the tip of his tongue. His arms find the boards behind Yuuri, caging him in close, intimate, but Yuuri makes no move to slip away. He stands there, a calm juxtaposition to Victor’s thundering heart, fingers curled loosely in the front of Victor’s shirt.
“Victor,” Yuuri says, his voice barely a whisper, frail, but not afraid or nervous. “Will you kiss me?”
Again goes unspoken, bit Yuuri doesn't need to say it. He doesn't need to say anything.
“A different track?”
He offers Yuuri an earbud, and wills down the trepidation that’s suddenly overcome him. “It’s a little different– the same song– but. I thought it would be more suitable to your performance.”
Yuuri presses the earbud in, waiting expectantly. Victor takes a quiet breath and presses play.
“It’s a duet,” Victor murmurs softly. “I forgot there was another version of this song until a few days ago.”
“A duet,” Yuuri says. They listen in silence until the track ends gently, and Yuuri plucks the earbud out. There’s something secret to his smile, a tiny bud of a quiet delight Victor’s slowly learning to recognize. “Can we give it a try?” Yuuri asks.
Victor nearly falls over himself to agree. “Yes, of course! I’ll set it up.”
They leave for Spain in two days. Upon Yuuri’s return from Russia, they’ve been near inseparable, never straying too far from each other. It’s a slow-simmering thought, that something’s changed between them, a shift of balance that’s drawn them closer that ever. Victor doesn’t think too hard on it, as his experience with change has always led to complication, and that’s the last thing he wants. Complication.
Yuuri is already on the ice, waiting patiently for Victor to get his skates laced and the music prepared. He couldn’t pinpoint when Yuuri became the one waiting for him. It probably happened somewhere in that change, but it’s a change that makes his heart soar.
He hits play, and the duetto begins. It echoes hauntingly through the rink, that ache of loneliness set to music. Yuuri falls right into the choreography, mirroring that same loneliness that caused Victor to choreograph the piece in the first place, well over a year ago. He’s truly a vision on the ice. Victor can’t tear his eyes away as Yuuri goes through the routine as flawlessly and effortlessly as he had in the video that wasn’t supposed to be uploaded online.
Victor braces himself for his cue, the music sweeping into the true duet. Yuuri holds a hand out towards him, waiting, calling him forward. Victor is all too eager to answer.
The music shifts to a sweet harmony of two voices, the blending of two souls, two bodies, two great loves. They are a heartbeat apart, Victor’s hands a gentle guide on Yuuri’s body, Yuuri’s touch an answer. Moving in sync, they orbit each other, spin, turn, but always come back to each other, again and again, until the music hits its last, sweet note.
They meet in the center of the ice, hands together, their chests heaving with exertion. Yuuri holds his poise for a second, but quickly drops it when his smile slips into a grin, curling against Victor’s chest.
“That was perfect,” Victor murmurs, one hand stroking through Yuuri’s hair. “Unbelievable. Spectacular.”
“Stop!”
“Never. It’s true. I could feel your heart, Yuuri.”
“Yeah?” Yuuri says. He pulls away from Victor a little bit, looking up at him with wide eyes. “All of it?”
A weighted question. A simple answer.
“Of course,” Victor answers. He reaches up to brush a strand of dark hair away from Yuuri’s face. “Did you feel mine? My heart?”
Victor doesn’t need an answer, not when Yuuri squeezes him tight.