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Yuuri
“Just watch, Yuri! The way that Vitya entered that spin!” Yuuri stopped at the door of Yakov’s office. This wasn’t the first time he would be caught off-guard by the cantankerous coach yelling his name, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Why am I even bothering? Victor is what, 10 years old in this video? It’s not like he—oh.” Yurio’s grumble was at least enough to understand that yet again, Yakov’s yelling was not directed at Yuuri. “Fine. I’ll stop looking at the ice when I do it.”
But… but…
Yuuri Katsuki, known Victor Nikiforov otaku (and fiancé, which what?!) had never seen any footage of Victor Nikiforov at the age of ten. Skating.
Now, Yuuri Katsuki, known Victor Nikiforov otaku, had a mission: to view any and all footage that could ever possibly exist of Victor Nikiforov on the ice when he was younger than sixteen years of age.
And Yuuri Katsuki, known Victor Nikiforov otaku, would do pretty much anything to get a hold of said footage.
It would take finesse, perhaps some bribery, definitely begging, but Yuuri had no doubt that he would succeed. He would see these wonderful Victor-Nikiforov-as-a-child-skating treasures if it was the last thing he ever did.
“Yuuri?” Yuuri nearly jumped out of his skin as electric blue eyes met his from the hallway.
“What?” Yurio’s head bobbed out of Yakov’s office, then snapped to Yuuri. “What is Katsudon doing here?”
“Uh, sorry. I—uh—I heard my name on my way to the locker room.” Yuuri prayed that there was enough truth to his words that none would see that there was something else in his face, on his mind. “I guess I’m just not used to there being two Yuuris!”
“Why don’t I just tell everyone to call you ‘Katsudon’ and then there will be no more problems.” Yurio somehow made his voice have claws.
“Why don’t I tell everyone that people in Hasetsu all call you Yurio and then there will be no more problems.” Victor was getting protective. It was problematic. It was hot.
“Why don’t I tell you all to get away from my office or I will start referring to all of you as fired!” Yakov’s bark, as usual, was worse than his bite, but Yuuri skittered over to Victor anyway. After all, if he wanted to get his hands on all that forbidden fruit, he was going to need to be on the man’s good side.
Victor’s arm came around Yuuri’s shoulder the moment that Yuuri was within range; Yuuri leaned into Victor’s side.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Victor whispered. “Yelling at you means he’s starting to like you.”
“I know,” Yuuri smiled. Yakov had been so formal with him when he first arrived, never really meeting his eye even as Yuuri caught him staring more often than one would expect, especially when Victor was in coach mode. The grimaces when Victor offered a critique were the worst. “I’m glad he’s finally yelling at me like he does at you all the time.”
That earned Yuuri a genuine Victor chuckle; Yuuri loved when he could make that happen at the rink, where Victor was still so guarded.
“He thinks that you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Victor sighed, squeezing Yuuri’s hand as he took it, then he rubbed Yuuri’s ring with his finger. “I can’t say I disagree.”
Yuuri had finally stopped trying to run away and crawl into an embarrassed hole every time Victor said something like that, but he was pretty certain that the blush would be permanent.
The whole thing still felt unreal. Each night, Yuuri would pad into Victor’s bedroom—their bedroom. It didn’t matter what time it was or how exhausting practice had been, when Yuuri crawled into the bed, Victor would wake up just enough to open his arms for Yuuri to snuggle into.
Yuuri was the man that Victor chose. He was the man that Victor loved. It was beyond even Yuuri’s wildest dreams, and yet, to see the way the facade fell away the second that they were alone, Yuuri stopped questioning the why.
Because Victor didn’t get to be just Victor around anyone else. And Yuuri adored just Victor far more than he had ever adored the ‘great Victor Nikiforov,’ who he had chased after for nearly the entirety of his career (and that was saying something).
…But that didn’t mean that Yuuri, knowing that Victor’s childhood skating videos were within his reach, would be satisfied until he had memorized each and every routine.
“Victoru?” Yuuri attempted to look innocent, but he could tell that his fiancé had already grown suspicious. “Does Yakov keep videos of all his skaters’ routines?”
“Yes, he does.” Victor raised his eyebrow as he answered; Yuuri would probably never get used to feeling X-rayed like this. When a spark of realization flashed across Victor’s face, Yuuri gulped. “Oh! Would you like to record your practices as well? So we can look over the footage and I will give you notes? That’s a wonderful idea!”
Thank goodness. Victor had not read his mind. He thought that Yuuri wanted to record himself skating and sit down and be told all the things he needed to work on. That was… not a bad idea, actually. It was something that Celestino did for his pupils when they left Detroit for a different home ice and—why had he and Victor not done this before? Victor had sent Yakov videos as they both practiced in Hasetsu and prepared for a move to St. Petersburg, before taking on their respective nationals.
Plus, it confirmed his suspicions: Yakov had old Victor footage.
“Y—yes. We can’t be together all the time, so—so this would be a good idea!” Yuuri smiled, probably a bit too widely.
“Sorry I had not thought to do it earlier,” Victor whispered. “I still have things I need to learn to be the best coach I can be for you.”
“You’re already the best coach I’ve ever had,” Yuuri admitted before he could stop the words (and the blush), not that he wanted to. He probably should have expected the wet smooch that Victor planted on his lips after saying that, too.
He wondered if he would ever get used to kissing Victor; he hoped he wouldn’t, because it was bliss.
“And you’re the best student I’ve ever had,” Victor purred into Yuuri’s ear when he’d had his share of kisses. “But I know we can both be better.” Uh oh. Victor had the look on his face. The one that usually meant that neither of them would be getting enough sleep. “Perhaps we can review some of your skating at home to… bring your Eros to another level.”
Yuuri had never been so happy to have his question so grossly misinterpreted.
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden in what Yakov likes?”
Yuuri probably should have known that this was going to happen. He should have thought through his strategy, but… well, Yuuri really needed to see those videos.
“Uh, well—” Yuuri was a terrible liar. “Well, I want to fit in here and get on Yakov’s good side since—since…” I need him to give me every single Victor Nikiforov skating video in existence. “Since I am skating here, too. With all of you.”
Yeah. Yurio’s silence was enough to know that Yuuri’s lie was about as believable as him claiming he needed to know what Yakov liked because he had been cursed by the Baba Yaga.
Yuuri was going to need to make a choice: double down on his obvious lie and hope that Yurio would not push too hard, or tell the truth and hope that Yurio had better things to do than run off and immediately tell Victor.
Yuuri really needed to see Victor-as-an-adorable-skating-child videos.
“Because I need Yakov to give me all of Victor’s old skating videos.” Maybe if Yuuri buried his eyes in his hands, Yurio wouldn’t start laughing at him.
“Is that all?” Yurio folded his arms. “Just ask Victor to show you the mo—”
“No, no. I—I mean I have not seen the novice class ones,” Yuuri stuttered. He was all-in asking; there was no going back now. “Victor’s competitions only started airing in Japan in Juniors and—and…”
“Oh. Oh—Gross!” Yurio had started to look like he smelled something foul. “Of course you want to see his old skating videos. I should have known that this was a stupid fanboy thing.”
“No no no no! (Yes.)” Yuuri swallowed down his denial, and stared at his hands. “I—I just… his skating has inspired me for so long and—”
“Fine! Whatever.” Yurio’s snarl silenced Yuuri’s murmuring. “But why don’t you just ask Victor yourself?”
Ask Victor? Was Yurio serious? There was absolutely no way that Yuuri would ask Victor for this favor. Because if he asked Victor for access to those adorable skating pictures, Victor would definitely ask to see Yuuri’s skating videos. His mother had done a most excellent job cataloging the entirety of his skating adventures, from age five (when Takeshi rightfully called him ‘fatso’) onward. Yeah, Yuuri would die if Victor discovered them.
Though that would not be a satisfactory answer for Yurio, and that would give Yurio leverage. Those things were bad. Yuuri opened his mouth; he would improvise. What was the worst that could happen?
“Well, you see, Victor probably forgot all about them so trying to find Victor’s copies would mean going to Yakov anyway, so…” That was actually pretty accurate. Yurio’s softening face confirmed this as well. “So it is just easier to go directly to the source.”
“But you want to be on his good side before you ask.” Yurio got it. Thank god.
“Yes.” Yuuri clapped his hands in front of his mouth. “Please help me?”
To Yurio’s credit, he only grumbled a little bit under his breath before his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. It was a relief. Yurio had decided to help, and seemed to be taking it seriously.
“Sweets,” Yurio finally answered. “He doesn’t really drink, so don’t go with that. But… at every competition, I see him sneak a piece of candy into his mouth. If you got him something from Japan that he can’t get here, I think he’d—he’d like that a lot.”
“Thanks so much,” Yuuri beamed; he wouldn’t ever doubt why he liked Yurio again. Underneath the angry teenager was someone with a pretty good heart.
“And see you here tomorrow, early, so you can show me how to do the quad flip.” A pretty good heart. “And I want some of whatever you make.”
Yuuri would have to remember that there was a reason that Yurio had won the Grand Prix Final on his senior debut; it wasn’t just the hard work and the skating prowess.
“Fine. I’ll see you then,” Yuuri acquiesced, then turned toward the exit, a signal that their clandestine meeting was over.
“Whatever, see you tomorrow morning,” Yurio called back, then disappeared deeper into the locker room.
“Okay.” Yuuri took a deep breath. “Okay.”
A plan had formed in his head. A good plan.
Maybe he could kill many birds with one stone here. He could endear himself not only to Yakov, but to all his new rinkmates with one simple recipe.
It was time to bring something sweet from Japan to St. Petersburg.
“Yuuri, what are you doing?”
Busted.
Apparently Victor’s ‘quick interview and photoshoot’ had actually truly been quick; it was unusual. Because here he was, only an hour later, staring at Yuuri and the kitchen covered in rice flour.
“Uh, I’m making dango.” When he was literally elbow-deep in the gooey stuff, there was no room for a lie. “I—I wanted to make something from Japan.” So that Yakov will give me all your skating videos… (but Victor didn’t need to know that).
“Yuuuuuuri, why didn’t you say something?” Victor almost looked hurt. “Were you worried I would think you were cheating on your diet?”
Yuuri frowned at that. He was ashamed enough of the stretch marks on his belly (that Victor loved to kiss), and that his binge eating at last year’s Grand Prix Final had meant humiliation on the ice.
Victor was already to him, eyes locked and studying Yuuri’s face. He stretched out his hand and brushed Yuuri’s bangs away from his eyes.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” Victor was still pretty terrible at dealing with the consequences of his words, especially when he hadn’t meant for them to cut. “You were trying to surprise me, weren’t you? And I went and said that and ruined it. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”
“Oh, it—it’s okay.” A lie was only a lie when you were the one to say it, right? Misassumptions were completely innocent and pure. “Um, would you like to help me?”
The way Victor’s entire face lit up with relief? Yuuri was definitely going to hell for this one.
“Sure! Yes! Let me—let me go get changed.” Victor bounded into the bedroom, leaving Yuuri with his hands in the dango dough.
Okay, so making dango with his fiancé that was going to be used to bribe said fiancé’s coach into giving him access to the library of adorable skating Victor videos was not the original plan, but maybe this was a better plan.
Victor emerged dressed in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt that did not leave his godlike physique to the imagination, roping his arms around Yuuri’s torso and setting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder as Yuuri began to knead the dough again.
“What are we making?” Victor nuzzled into Yuuri’s neck.
“Mitarashi Dango,” Yuuri replied, trying not to pay attention to the little tingles that flowed down his body with every exhalation of Victor’s breath. “If you would like to start on the glaze, then—” This was not going to work. Apparently Victor took ‘help’ as ‘slowly seduce your fiancé by kissing his neck and distracting him.’ “Victor, I’m going to burn something if you keep—you win.”
Victor didn’t seem to care that Yuuri was on a mission. Apparently the dango was going to have to wait, because Victor’s lips were soft, and their bedroom was right there.
“You’re a terrible sous chef,” Yuuri grumbled between kisses.
“I will just have to make up for it by being a wonderful lover.”
They were already halfway to the bedroom (and halfway undressed) before Yuuri realized that this probably meant remaking the dough; he also found that he didn’t mind all that much.
“What is this?” Judging from the icy skepticism that radiated off of Yakov, Yuuri had made one hell of a miscalculation. “Why are you coming into my office and trying to get me to eat this?”
“It’s Mitarashi Dango!” Yuuri ignored the way his voice cracked as he said it, or the way that his brain was screaming to run away as quickly as possible. But no, he was going to do this. He thrust his hand forward, a single skewer of delicious rice balls dancing under Yakov’s nose. “I wanted to say thank you for letting me use your ice and—”
“So you took off some of this valuable ice time to cook me strange food,” Yakov interrupted. “Why.”
“Katsudon wants to see all the old Victor videos.” Oh no. Oh no. That voice. That snarl. “So he’s bribing you with dango.”
Maybe if Yuuri tried hard enough, he could just die on the spot. Then he could haunt Yurio for all eternity. Yeah, that would be nice. That would be the appropriate justice for this.
Except…
Why the hell was Yakov smiling?
Oh god.
What was the sound he was making? Was that—was that—laughter?
No no no no no! No. Yakov was not laughing. That was—
“Is that really all you wanted, Katsuki? To see Vitya’s old skates?” Yakov tugged the dango skewer out of Yuuri’s hand.
“Y—yes,” Yuuri murmured, his brain still trying to catch up with the situation.
“Oi! Katsudon, do you have more of those? Give me one!” Yurio plopped himself in the chair next to Yuuri, peering into the bento box that housed the meticulously made dango before grabbing himself one of the skewers.
After their bedroom excursion, Victor actually had been a fantastic sous chef, measuring out and shaping the rice balls while Yuuri made the sweet soy glaze. They had not only turned out deliciously, but also beautifully.
In unison, Yakov and Yurio took a bite.
“This is quite good, Katsuki.” Yakov had not successfully wiped the smile off of his face. “Definitely worth at least one video.” Yakov then leaned forward, his teeth tearing the second piece of dango off the skewer. “Maybe a few more, if you continue to… practice your Japanese cooking skills.”
“And make enough for me, too.” Yurio was already reaching for his second full skewer of dango.
“I can do that,” Yuuri replied. He couldn’t hide the smile that had come to his face as he passed Yakov another skewer of dango. “It is always nice to make something from home, and to share it with all my new rinkmates.”
“Bring an extra sports bag tomorrow, Katsuki. I have been taping Victor as long as he’s been skating, and he’s been skating for quite a while.” Yakov opened a drawer behind him and pulled out a DVD. “You can start with this one.”
“Thank you!” Yuuri beamed, and he set the bento box of dango down between Yakov and Yurio before getting up to head home, the forbidden fruit now seated safely in his jacket pocket.
He had some adorable child-Victor-skating footage to watch!
Victor
It had been a long day. Though that seemed to be every day now. Victor probably should have thought more carefully about the practicality of returning to skating while remaining Yuuri’s coach, but his heart had spoken before his brain got a chance to catch up.
And that didn’t really matter either, because Victor would never give up being Yuuri’s coach. He would be Yuuri’s coach until Yuuri retired, and if Victor had anything to say about it, Yuuri would not be retiring anytime soon.
But he couldn’t shake the itch. Yuuri and Yurio both bested his world records, and Victor did not like the idea of taking that lying down. He wanted to see Yuuri fight for it, to find another gear in his skating brilliance against a Victor who was skating with a gusto he had not felt for over a decade.
Falling in love will do that to a person.
Victor didn’t know what he expected when he stormed into Hasetsu to become Yuuri’s coach—inspiration, maybe?—but a fiancé had not been it. Yet here he was, deliriously happy and heart forced open so that Yuuri could crawl in and find a home, gifting Victor his warmth and light every single moment that they were together. Victor could never get enough of his fiancé, whose eyes still sparkled when he was searching for something; who could fall on his face thirteen times and get up fourteen while trying to land the quad Lutz (he’d graduated from the flip); who snuck a reading light on late at night and studied his Russian-Japanese dictionary and muttered phrases to himself, so that he didn’t have to depend on English to get around; who made dango and sushi and tempura for his new rinkmates, becoming a staple on the St. Petersburg ice.
Yeah, Victor was going to marry Yuuri.
Never had his apartment felt like home before Yuuri was there, cooking or lounging on the couch with Makkachin (and Victor); even just the presence of his shoes in the little cubby he bought for them in the front entrance… Yuuri made it home.
Maybe that was why Victor was hurrying home from the stupid interview today. People seemed utterly obsessed with his comeback, and Yakov seemed to consider all those pressers ‘penance’ for abandoning skating (and him) for nine months.
At least he could finally be honest in them. Yes, he was engaged to Yuuri Katsuki; yes, he was staying on as Yuuri’s coach until Yuuri retired; and yes, he was going to skate to reclaim his world records from the two Yuris. Could they let him go home now, please? Yuuri was going to cook his I-won-Nationals katsudon tonight and Victor didn’t want to keep him waiting. It didn’t help that Yuuri-in-the-kitchen was about the sexiest thing that Victor had ever seen, and neither of them had any impulse control when Victor started to kiss Yuuri’s neck.
God, what if Yuuri was in an apron this time? What if he was already in the kitchen preparing the breading or sweating and hovering over the pork as it cooked?
Yep. Victor needed to get home immediately.
Because good fiancés make sure the pre-meal quickie doesn’t burn the food.
“Yuuri!”
Victor was home! Except…
There were no scents of the kitchen, no answering call from Yuuri, just…
Squealing. As if Yuuri were watching that baseball team he liked win. Except…
The tinny sound of the television was a man… speaking Russian.
Why would Yuuri squeal animatedly about…
Nikiforov takes the ice and…
Huh.
Victor closed the door as silently as he could, greeting Makkachin with an animated shhh before taking off his shoes and walking quietly (it wasn’t sneaking if he had technically announced himself) into his living room.
The kitchen laid completely untouched. No rice cooking, no pork breading, no eggs out and resting, but there Yuuri was, leaning impossibly forward toward the television, so engrossed in whatever it was that Victor was fairly certain he could drag out a pole and twirl around it without Yuuri noticing.
…amazing flying sit-spin from this youngster…
Youngster? In Russian?
Victor squinted his eyes at the television, the very same television that had arrested every ounce of Yuuri’s attention. The television that…
Oh no.
The television that was currently displaying him. When he was 10 years old. In that froofy green and blue costume, when someone had told him that wearing a blue rose crown in his hair while he skated was an outstanding idea.
Something that only a single human being had any record of. A human being who was possibly the worst sneakthief coach that Victor had ever had the displeasure of working with.
A certain Yakov Feltsman, who appeared to have decided to give Yuuri Katsuki, Victor’s fiancé, access to the mountain of old skating tapes that should have been burned in the same fire that incinerated Yuuri’s old suits.
“Yuuri…” Victor was the embodiment of calm; Yuuri did not look up. “Yuuri…” Nothing. God and his eyes were sparkling and he was making those little squeal noises that were—well there was only one appropriate place to sound that happy, and it was not while watching a ten-year old Victor Nikiforov trip over his feet.
Victor plucked the remote off the armrest (still completely unnoticed by the love of his life) and clicked OFF.
“Yuuri…”
That got a reaction. Unfortunately, it was a nearly-fall-off-the-couch jump scare, not… turning around with that adorable little guilty grin that Victor would kiss off his face.
“V—Victor!” One would not believe that Yuuri Katsuki was a world-renowned ice skater known for his grace, because at that moment he jerked around so hard he managed to fall off the couch… from a seating position. “You’re home!”
“What do you have there?” Victor tried to sound blasé; he knew what Yuuri had there, but he wanted to know how bad it was going to be.
“Um. Uh…” Yuuri could not be trying to find a lie, not right now. Not with his hand still in the cookie jar.
“What did you have to bribe Yakov with to get these?” As entertaining as it would have been to see what the world’s clumsiest liar came up with, Victor had run home from that interview for katsudon and bedroom time. He didn’t have the patience to play 20 questions to amuse himself.
“H—how did you—” Yuuri at least had the good manners to look penitent. “Um. Dango.”
“You bribed my coach with dango, which I helped you make for…” Victor frowned. “For my old skating videos?!” Victor was going to kill Yakov.
“I’m so so sorry!” Apparently Yuuri really was, because he bowed in a dogeza as he said it. “But—but I heard Yakov showing one to Yurio and—and I’ve admired you for so long but only got to see you skate for the first time when you were sixteen and just—just… I—I” God, he actually looked like he was in physical pain. “I really wanted to see all the skating I missed.” Victor could feel his resolve cracking under his fiancé’s puppy dog eyes—more effective even than Makkachin’s. “You were amazing even as a novice, huh?”
Victor swore he could hear the sound of his frustration crumbling to dust. Damn.
“You could have asked me if you wanted them,” Victor offered; this was true. But the way that Yuuri’s face grew to the color of a beetroot required intervention.
Victor walked around the couch and pulled Yuuri to his feet, not letting go of Yuuri’s hands.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed about wanting to know about my life, Yuuri,” Victor said, his finger playing with Yuuri’s gold ring. “I like that you want to know these things about me.” He then leaned down and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s lips. “So next time you want to see my old skating videos, make me dango instead of Yakov.”
“I’m sorry.” Yuuri tried to bow his head, but Victor caught his chin before he could complete the motion.
“I know a very good way for you to make it up to me,” Victor purred, suppressing his own squeal when Yuuri licked his lips in response.
“O—okay,” Yuuri leaned in and captured Victor’s lips. Now, he no longer sounded even the least bit penitent, but Victor found he didn’t mind. Not when Yuuri was the one who was currently dragging him into their bedroom.
Katsudon could wait, at least until Yuuri had shown how sorry he was at least twice.
Plus, it gave Victor an idea. A genius idea. One he could not believe he had not thought of in all that time in Hasetsu!
One that Victor would put into motion when Yuuri plodded back into the kitchen to begin cooking.
One that involved a single text message.
To Katsuki Hiroko, asking: [Do you have old videos of Yuuri’s skating?]
After all, turnabout’s fair play, and Victor could not wait to emit squeals of his own at Katsuki Yuuri’s first moments on the ice.
Artwork commission by FeedMe_Katsudon!