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The Living Legend Victor Nikiforov.
Five-time World Champion Victor Nikiforov.
Ice Skating Genius Victor Nikiforov.
Every title they gave Victor seemed to lead to another and another. If he was in a competition, his competitors naturally began to fight over second place, ceding the first to Victor as a foregone conclusion. It was the life Victor lived, chained to it by his talent.
And for so long, it didn’t bother him. He liked figuring out how to expand the stratosphere that he inhabited alone. He liked the squeals and the glee when he unveiled that new program, now with four quads instead of three, now with a quad combination right at the end, now with emotions they’d never seen portrayed so cleanly on the ice, now with…
But those ‘now withs’ never ended.
There was always more.
They always wanted more.
Maybe that was why, when Christophe sent Victor that text message: Have you seen this? with the Youtube link, Victor clicked on it. Or why his stomach plunged to his feet as he watched Yuuri Katsuki skate his free program; there was something in the way he skated, something special, something beyond Victor.
“Be my coach, Victor!”
Victor had never responded to his plea. Hell, Victor had written that banquet off as a massively fun night with a massively fun drunk. It wasn’t like he’d ever spoken to Yuuri Katsuki before that (save for earlier in the afternoon when he hadn’t even recognized him), it wasn’t like Yuuri Katsuki had even been in his right mind when he asked for something so absurd.
Yuuri Katsuki was a skater who fell apart when the pressure was too high. He was a skater who peaked for one season then disappeared back into civilian life. Victor had seen it happen to skaters time and time again.
But those other skaters hadn’t asked him to coach them.
Those other skaters hadn’t followed up by putting out that request again, on the ice, in a language that they knew Victor would understand.
Victor was helpless to say anything except yes!
He had literally been swept off his feet, after all, by a man who could drunkenly break dance, pole dance, Paso Doble, Tango, Waltz, and probably many more that didn’t make an appearance in Sochi (including hopefully some that took place between the sheets. With Victor. Repeatedly.)
So, when Yuuri asked Victor the second time, he was helpless to resist. Yuuri needed a coach, and he’d asked Victor twice. The beautiful life-of-the-party Yuuri who picked himself up with a giant smile and a dance battle after falling apart on the ice. The gorgeous skater who managed to make Victor’s program entirely his own without a single note of music playing.
Yuuri was the fresh air emanating from outside the dark and suffocating place that Victor’s talent had imprisoned him in.
Be my coach.
Victor would be Yuuri’s coach, and Victor would be so much more, so very much more.
Victor was an idiot.
Impulsive, self-centered, idealistic… and completely unprepared.
Yuuri Katsuki was not human. He couldn’t be.
Victor didn’t have trouble with people. He was a people person: the ultimate pleaser.
Surprise your audience? Victor will do a quad loop at an exhibition!
Women want him? He would pose and wink suggestively at them.
Men want him? He would coquettishly smirk and whisper, “my lips are sealed.”
So, what was going on? He appeared in Hasetsu and granted Yuuri his wish. Victor was certain that his body was still in top form, that his suggestive winks and coquettish smirks conveyed the yes! to so many other things than just coaching, and yet… and yet…
Yuuri would not let Victor in, literally or metaphorically.
Victor left skating. He left everything he knew, everything that was familiar, everything to come to Hasetsu and be Yuuri’s coach. (And lover.)
He wasn’t misremembering the banquet. Yuuri had flirted with him. Yuuri had touched him. Yuuri had begged him.
But now, Yuuri closed the door and hid. He averted his eyes when Victor showed off his body. He ran away when Victor advanced, shutting any and all avenues that were not clearly defined as coach and pupil.
Victor wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t ready. Yuuri was perfect! Fallen from grace but beautiful on the ice. Sexy on the pole. And oh-so-worshipful of Victor (hell, Yuuri’s room was covered with Victor posters; Victor hadn’t seen them, but Mari had filled him in).
Victor would get to play coach with a side of sex (or was it sex with a side of coach?) He’d get to show the world that he was a coach now, all while Yuuri simpered at him during the day, and drove him wild during the night.
It was a perfect plan! A perfect escape! A perfect… break.
Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans.
Victor could say jump, and Yuuri would ask how high.
Victor could call him piggy, and Yuuri would answer I will do better, I promise.
Victor could expat the impossible, and Yuuri would deliver, time and time again, until his feet bled and his muscles gave out.
But the second Victor tried to ask that question—the one he wanted the answer to more desperately than all the rest—Yuuri shut down and walked away.
I can use sex to motivate! Fun for him, fun for me! went out the window on that first night; Victor was still chasing after it, but Plan A was done for.
He was going to have to coach, really coach.
VIctor didn’t know how to coach. He didn’t know how to motivate. He didn’t know how to inspire or cajole or scold in just the right way. He didn’t know how much to charge, or how to help someone else condition, and he certainly didn’t know how to bring out the best in anyone but himself.
For the first time in a long time, Victor was staring down the unknown.
He was going to fail.
He was going to fail.
He should have just lied and said Yurio was the superior skater, and headed back to Russia with his tail between his legs. He was still in top form (thanks to training with Yuuri), and could wink and blush about chasing Japanese tail, no harm, no foul.
Except…
Victor stood at Yuuri’s door. The one that always shut when he approached. The one that kept him chasing the unattainable and staring down the barrel of his own failure.
Did he knock today, to see if the answer would finally be different? Or did he slink away to the bedroom that the Katsukis had given him, to snuggle into Maccachin and—
“Minako-sensei?” It was Yuuri’s voice. “W—why English?”
It would be rude to listen in. Victor did anyway.
“I studied in Michigan. I can speak English w—” There was a pause, apparently for Minako to retort. “I already do speak only English with Victor.”
If Victor was going to walk away, this was the time to do it. It would be the smart thing to do. To head to his room and close his eyes, and regroup tomorrow.
(Victor didn’t).
“I don’t think he’s ever coached before,” Yuuri chuckled; Victor’s stomach dropped. “But I really like working with him. It’s—it’s like every fantasy I ever had!” Wait, fantasy? “N—no. Um, he told me that I can pay him later.”
Right. Victor had promised results before he was to get paid. Professional coaches sent bills and invoices. They didn’t just randomly show up at their skater’s parents and say they were a coach now. They most certainly didn’t stand hopefully outside their skater’s bedrooms wanting to be let in. Playing the game of ‘coach’ and ‘student.’
Victor really was viewing what he was doing as playing at being a coach. He had said it so casually, so glibly. It was fun coach cosplay. It wasn’t real. He had not been treating coaching as real. God, was he really that self-involved? He really hadn’t thought at all about what Yuuri thought of all this. What even something as simple as not charging him a coaching fee could look like—well, could look like Victor was not taking this all seriously. And… Yuuri knew. He could tell. He saw right through Victor.
Victor was so ashamed. This game was cruel, this play acting was pointless, this try at coaching was—
“No! No! No! Victor is brilliant! Maybe this is just him taking a break but—but…” Yuuri was so aware of Victor not taking it seriously that he spoke of it without so much as a waver in his voice; the shame of it smacked against him hard enough that he had to brace against the door. “I—I am so happy. Every day, Minako-sensei, I wake up and I think about how lucky I am. If he’s taking a break, then I hope that I can show him that coaching me is worth it. I’ll give this—him—everything I’ve got!”
Yuuri knew.
Yuuri knew and accepted it.
Yuuri knew, accepted it, and still thought that it was worth it.
Victor backed away from Yuuri’s door. He bent down and gave Maccachin’s chin a scritch.
Coming to Hasetsu to coach Yuuri Katsuki had been the right decision.
I’ll do better, Victor silently promised, for Yuuri, I’ll do better.
If he was going to be the type of coach that someone like Yuuri Katsuki deserves, he had a lot of work to do.
Artwork commission by arethsart