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Victor’s eyes fluttered closed as he let out a long, tired sigh. He felt weightless floating in the pool; the cool waves washed over him, his body lax and rubbery. His mind was carefully blank, a luxury he rarely allowed himself. For a minute his mind was quiet, untroubled by the stress of the upcoming competition, unworried by all the practice undoubtedly left for Yuuri to complete before the final in a few days.
His brief, wonderful moment of isolation ended as abruptly as it began with the whirlwind that was Christophe Giacometti. Of course, he couldn’t say no to Chris, not when he still felt the slightest twinge of guilt for leaving him alone on the rink this season. He knew it was unreasonable; Chris was 25, a grown ass man, and it was about time someone told him no. But something in Victor still saw him as that kid in the stands, all big eyes sparkling with dreams under cherubic blond curls, deceptively innocent. If taking pictures self-indulgent poolside pictures would make him feel better, who was Victor to say no?
Yuri couldn’t believe this. Were all girls this shrill, or did he was he just lucky to have the loudest, most obnoxious ones as fans. This was all Yakov’s fault, anyways. Insisting that he check himself into the hotel. What was he, a peasant? Or even worse, an adult.
Fruity perfume and fake cat ears spread out in a never-ending sea, making Yuri feel even more nauseous than he had during the turbulent flight from St. Petersburg. But no matter how annoying and loud they were, they were Yuri’s fans. And nobody, nobody, insulted his fans. Except him, of course.
And a cocky Canadian asshole was definitely not Yuri Plisetsky. He growled and snarled, throwing out personal attacks that bounced right off JJ’s laughing exterior, hand curled possessively around what’s her name, the fiancé. That stupid smirk only made him angrier, insults growing more and more personal until JJ interrupted him, waving at someone exiting the hotel.
It was Otabek Altin, from Kazakhstan. Yuri knew little about him, only that he had made his senior debut in the previous season by taking bronze at Worlds. He won silver at Skate America and took gold at the NHK finals. He was the opposite of Yuri in nearly every way: stocky, dark, and classically handsome with a strong jaw and broad shoulders.
Yuri was immediately thrilled that he blew JJ off, but was careful to keep his glee off his face. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. He looked at Otabek closely, taking in his dark undercut, deep eyes, and plain clothing. There wasn’t a hint of a pattern anywhere, not even an accent piece like a bright hat or interesting shoes. Boring, boring, boring.
Belatedly realizing that he’d been caught staring, Yuri went on the offense. What’s with you, asshole? he growled, glaring out from the depths of his hoodie, hair covering half his face and an eye, giving him an edgy look that he definitely hadn’t spent hours in front of the mirror practicing.
Otabek gave him a lingering, unreadable look before turning away without a word, the door swishing shut behind him. Yuri’s mouth dropped in confusion. Did he just . . . walk away without a fight? Asshole, asshole, asshole. An attractive asshole, but still an asshole, leaving him alone with JJ and his fangirls again.
Jumping on Yuuri half-naked and dripping wet wasn’t how he’d imagined waking his sleeping beauty up, but it effectlivley got his attention. Victor craved Yuuri’s undivided attention like a junkie craves their next fix. Chris’s presence wasn’t ideal, but he was harmless. Yuuri didn’t look at the other man once, even when his robe fluttered up, exposing his unmentionables.
Later, after Chris had gone and the room was comfortably quiet, Victor drew Yuuri into his arms, holding him close and breathing in his warm, sleepy smell. He placed a small kiss by the nape of his neck before drawing back, telling Yuuri they had to get going soon or risk being late to practice.
Victor always found little ways to touch Yuuri, even when they were in public. Neither of their cultures approved of PDA, especially between two men. But sometimes Victor was so caught up in the overwhelming force that was Katsuki Yuuri that he couldn’t help himself, people’s innocence be damned. Fingers dancing down over arms, Yuuri’s mouth moved next to his ear, leaning in much closer than strictly necessary to talk about strategies and jumps and step sequences. Nobody noticed anymore; it had stopped being a novelty months ago.
After wrapping up practice, Victor leaned in, murmuring in Yuuri’s ear about how important it was to get a good night’s sleep before a big competition, eyes dropping to the other’s lips. Yuuri didn’t take the bait, insisting stubbornly that they go sightseeing. Victor was unconvinced for a brief moment before Yuuri glanced up at him, eyes big and brown and shining with hope. Melting, Victor agreed, rapidly thinking of all the places and things to see in the city. After all, one wasn’t in Barcelona often.
Victor was in his element. He dropped his numerous bags next to a panting Yuuri on a bench and theatrically twirled around, smiling at Yuuri as his mind whirled with reasons for his boyfriend’s sudden desire to go on a shopping spree. Deciding it was best to keep Yuuri occupied, Victor grabbed his hand, vowing to buy him a suit that didn’t look like it belonged at the bottom of the “donated” pile at Good Will.
Yuri ducked into an alley, hiding in the first doorway he saw. His heart raced as he panted, half from running half a mile to escape rabid fangirls, half from the exhilaration of feeling like he was in a spy film.
Giving up hope of escape as he peeked out from his hiding spot, Yuri resigned himself to an afternoon of scribbling autographs, posing for selfies, and answering endless questions about his relationship status and love life. He was pulled from his frantic escape plans by the low rumble of an engine and the smell of exhaust.
Before he knew what was going on he had grabbed a helmet tossed to him, swung himself onto the bike, and was riding away from danger like a fucking damsel in distress being saved by a knight in shining armor. Only Yuri was no damsel, and Otabek was wearing leather rather than armor.
Yuri reluctantly twined his arms around Otabek’s waist, refusing to feel awkward. People did this kind of thing all the time. Lots of people had motorbikes and rode around saving boys they had just met the other night from crazy fans. Lots of people looked sexy in leather jackets and black scarfs. Lots of people had six packs hiding under their shirts that Yuri subtly felt up as they drove to god knows where. Lots of people, right.
They parked at a quaint park, locals milling around in the afternoon sunshine. Yuri was still wondering why Otabek had bothered to save him as a they climbed up a crumbling staircase. He wasn’t prepared for the bombshell Otabek casually dropped as they gazed out at the sunset. They had trained together at a summer camp together years prior? How could he forget someone like Otabek? Stoic, quiet, yet with a charisma strong enough to draw people to him without them quite knowing why.
Yuri realized he had forgotten to pull his hood up after getting off the motorcycle, but Otabek’s story was so interesting he didn’t even think to pull it up. Otabek had said he had the eyes of a soldier. Him. Not the other Yuuri, not Viktor, and not that idiotic asshole JJ. Otabek Altin, hero of Kazakhstan, thought that Yuri Plisetsky had the eyes of a soldier. For once he was speechless, unable to come up with a single barbed comment or a nasty insult. An unfamiliar sensation spread across him, originating in the pit of his stomach and radiating outwards until it reached the tips of his fingers and settled heavily in his cheeks, turning them red. Yuri didn’t know what was happening to him; the only other time he felt like this was when his grandpa enveloped him in a big hug after a hard day of practice that left him scowling back tears of frustration.
Yuri clenched his fists tightly as Otabek told him how he moved around the world to train, hopping from Russia to Canada to America in order to finally become good enough to return to Kazakhstan. How winning the championship wasn’t really for himself, but for his family, his friends, and most of all his country.
Turning from the sun, Yuri looked at Otabek, who shone almost as brightly. He felt the sudden ridiculous urge to squint, before squashing it into a million little pieces. Yuri covered up his momentary silence by demanding answers: why was Otabek talking to him? Weren’t they rivals?
Otabek turned to face him for the first time since he’d told Yuri to get on the back of his bike. He stared for a moment, looking Yuri up and down, from the top of his head to his leopard print shirt to his shoes. I’ve always thought we were alike, he finally said. That’s all.
He stuck his hand out, eyes flashing a challenge, daring Yuri not to take his hand and accept his friendship. Yuri didn’t hesitate. He grasped Otabek’s cool, glove covered hand in his own. If he lingered a little longer than necessary, that was no one’s business but their own.
The night wasn’t going as planned. Yuuri had misplaced a bag of nuts, causing him to panic and apologize profusely. They were both tired and cranky from being out all day, and after a brief moment of tension Yuuri snapped out of it, accepting that the nuts were gone and there was no reason to ruin a wonderful day by stressing about something that didn’t really matter, anyways.
They wandered to a nearby Christmas market and walked around aimlessly, enjoying the bright lights and each other’s company. Victor was enchanted, watching Yuuri’s eyes sparkle as they window shopped. He was up to something; Victor could tell even if he didn’t say anything out loud. Yuuri looked around nonchalantly, eagerly perusing the windows and looking carefully at each shop’s display.
Seeing something, Yuuri suddenly dashed away, nose pressed to the glass of a fancy jewelry store window, searching frantically for something. When Victor caught up, panting from holding all their bags, Yuuri demanded they go inside, disappearing into the shop before Victor could say anything.
Victor watch Yuuri closely as he looked at the silver necklaces, fancy pendants and glittering bracelets on display before suddenly pointing to two rings in the front and asking to see them. They were pale gold, shiny, and utterly beautiful. Unable to say anything, Victor watched in amazed shock as Yuuri bought two rings, more confident and determined than Victor had ever seen him. He took Victor’s breath away.
After leaving the shop they walked a short distance to the famous cathedral of Barcelona. Carolers sang on the steps and other tourists wandered by. Neither Victor nor Yuuri really noticed them.
Yuuri reached forward slowly, grabbing Victor’s hand. He gently removed Victor’s glove before holding his bare hand gently, trembling slightly. Yuuri looked beautiful as he slipped a golden ring onto Victor’s slender finger; eyes downcast, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, flushed red from the moment and the cold.
Victor stared at Yuuri as his hand was cradled. Yuuri thanked him for everything, staring at his ring finger. Yuuri’s emotions made him stutter as he spoke, eyes glistening as he released Victor’s hand. Victor immediately grabbed his hand back and slipped an identical ring onto Yuuri’s finger before he could change his mind.
Staring at each other in wonderment and awe, Victor felt tears bead in the corners of his eyes as Yuuri smiled up at him, big, sincere, and so full of love it made Victor’s heart hurt with how little he felt he deserved Yuuri’s true affections. They walked away from their quiet corner of the world, arms draped around each other, carefree and ridiculously giddy, almost drunk off affection. Victor doubted he had ever felt this happy, and squeezed Yuuri a little tighter.
Somehow, in a twist of events Yuri didn’t quite understand, he and Otabek had ended up in a teahouse. It was meant to be a quick stop on their way back to the hotel, a sorry for kidnapping you apology that Yuri demanded in order to spend more time with his unlikely savior. 20 minutes had turned into an hour and an hour had turned into two.
Otabek wasn’t lying when he told Yuri they were alike. It was almost uncanny how similar they were. From their careers to their ages to their hobbies. Yuri didn’t realize that hanging out with someone who liked the same things as you could be so . . . fun.
They argued for a while about their favorite movies before getting into a heated debate about whether the X-Box or Play Station was the superior gaming counsel. Things got a bit too heated, and their timid waitress had to step in and ask if everything was alright when Yuri suddenly stood up and slammed his palm on the table to illustrate his point.
The only negative thing about Otabek was his depressing lack of style. Yuri was just explaining how a tiger print could make even the most basic of outfits pop when they were interrupted by a bang on the glass.
He wasn’t sure how such an enjoyable night out with someone he was starting to like had turned into dinner with two sobbing women, his arch nemesis, that bastard Viktor, and two other skaters who had conveniently popped up out of nowhere. It was like Chris had a sixth sense for booze and gatherings of attractive men. At least he was still seated next to Otabek.
They were all chatting (except Yuri, who was sulking), when Yuri made an offhand comment about last year’s banquet. Victor spit his beer everywhere when Yuri mentioned that he didn’t remember any of it, choking slightly. His eyes flashed in shock and something else.
Yuri growled, teeth bared as he reminded the other Yuuri about their humiliating dance battle, ignoring Otabek’s small snort and Yuuri’s horrified expression. At least one of them could forget about it, the pig bastard.
The attention was quickly taken off him when a flash of gold caught the light. Chris noticed immediately, asking coyly what exactly was wrapped around their fingers. Victor smiled big, eyes crinkling in happiness. They’re a pair, he said, pride and amazement and love seeping into his words as he proudly held both his and Yuuri’s hand up.
The Thai guy, Yuuri’s friend, immediately stood up, announcing to the whole restaurant that his best friend had gotten married. The other patron’s burst into applause and cheers, shouting well wishes in Spanish. Otabek clapped solemnly next to him as Yuri vibrated with rage and surprise.
It was only after Victor had the audacity to assume that Yuuri would win gold that everyone settled down, going deathly quiet. Otabek glowered with his dark eyes and Yuri sneered in disgust, an insult on the tip of his tongue, sharp as a blade. Just because they were happy and disgusting didn’t mean that they were entitled to anything, much less Yuri’s medal.
Of course, the tension was broken by that idiotic asshole JJ bursting in and claiming the gold for himself, his girlfriend echoing his words.
Everyone immediately stood up and called it a night. Yuri and Otabek walked out side by side, elbows brushing every other step. Yuri supposed he could move away slightly, could adjust his arm a little to avoid the contact, but he liked it. The tingles that shot up his arm every time his elbow brushed Otabek’s were a pleasant distraction from the cool breeze. He always thought having tingly feelings around someone was something only morons succumbed to. Now he wasn’t so sure. He kind of liked feeling like a moron for a change.
Victor couldn’t remember the last time he had been so angry. He knew Yurio was only 15 and was probably picking a fight because he was bored. He knew that he shouldn’t let the crass words of a teenager – a mere boy, really – get to him. But nobody insulted his Yuuri and walked away unscathed. His hand shook as he grabbed Yurio’s cheek, his ring glinting in the morning sun. He kept his voice pleasant and face calm, eyes a raging storm. He was sure Yurio could feel the cool metal pressed against his skin, was sure it must feel like a brand. That cheered Victor up immensely.
Yurio wiggled out of his grasp and stalked away. He turned back once. This place reminds me of Hasetsu’s ocean. Victor felt a smile stretch across his lips, eyes going soft at the thought of Hasetsu, at the thought of katsudon, of Yuuri, of love and ultimately of home. He closed his eyes and turned away, walking back towards the hotel, to Yuuri.
Last Night
Yuuri was asleep next to him, soft puffs of breath warming Victor’s neck, his arm clutching firmly at the other’s shirt as he slept. They had pushed together their two hotel beds in order to sleep together like usual, but the uncomfortable crease down the middle prevented Victor from dozing off.
His phone vibrated on his nightstand, indicating a text. He carefully extracted himself from Yuuri, who grumbled and reached out unconsciously, missing Victor’s comforting warmth. The message was from Chris, containing several videos and numerous pictures from last year’s infamous banquet. Victor’s eyes widened in interest as he opened the first of them.
An intoxicated Yuri greeted him, dressed in a dark suit with his tie loosely knotted and his shirt sleeves rolled up. Victor smirked, a flush of memories coming back from that night. The timid Japanese representative, standing alone at the champagne table downing drink after drink. Victor wanted to talk to him; he was intrigued by his short program, and even if he had done poorly, his step sequence and spins had been beautiful.
Victor played the first video, the “humiliating” dance battle between his Yuuri and Yurio. Despite his protests, Yurio looked very into the battle, and had kept up with Yuuri even as the moves had gotten more and more ridiculous. At one point Victor could see himself cheering wildly in the background. He couldn’t remember who he had been rooting for. Probably Yuuri, with hips that moved like that.
When he opened up a picture of Yuuri writhing against a pole with Chris he almost dropped his phone. He knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of Chris (and a pole), he couldn’t stop the hot rush of possession that ran through his veins at the sight of another man’s hands on his fiancé’s body.
He stopped scrolling through the Chris and Yuuri and pole pictures before he did something drastic, and played another video instead. It was of him and Yuri dancing. Victor couldn’t forget that dance if he tried. He knew he would take the memory of holding Yuuri, of breathing him in for the first time that night to the grave.
They danced a sloppy tango, both inebriated; Yuuri off alcohol and Victor off Yuuri. Their touches were long and lingering. Victor remembered with a shiver how Yuuri had whispered in his ear that night, how he told him that Victor had been his idol ever since he was a child, and that he was his reason for skating. It was the first-time Victor had felt alive in a long, long time. The honest ramblings of a drunk Yuuri had touched something inside Victor, something that he thought he’d lost years ago when the thrill of winning became a dull throb and eventually vanished altogether. It was drive. It was passion. It was love.
The video ended with a close-up of Yuuri and Victor, mouths curved into grins and joy shining in their eyes. Victor’s memory filled in the gaps, of what happened after the video stopped recording.
Yuuri had clung to him, hips grinding a smooth rhythm against Victor’s. His face was flushed red from the whine and was sweaty from the dancing. His tie was looped messily through his hair and his glasses were askew. He looked up at Victor with big, brown eyes sparkling with hope and something else Victor couldn’t name. Yuuri grinned sweetly at him before throwing his arms around Victor’s shoulders and burying his face in his neck Be my coach, Victor!
That was all it took. Victor was hooked on a sloppy drunk Japanese boy who happened to share a name with Yakov’s latest protégé. And he could shake his hips like nobody Victor had ever met. He’d follow him anywhere, even back to a small village in a country thousands of miles from his own that spoke a completely different language.
Victor could think back to the day following the banquet much easier now that Yuuri was his. It had been confusing when Yuuri turned his back on him that night in the airport. He had felt . . . hurt. Maybe Yuuri regretted everything? Maybe he changed his mind and didn’t actually want Victor? It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.
But no, his little katsudon had no memory of the night. Victor put his phone down and snuggled up against Yuuri once more, delighted when the other curled up in his arms as though he’d been waiting for Victor to get back before falling deeply asleep again. Victor peppered little kisses over Yuuri’s neck and cheeks, only stopping when the other scrunched his nose and his eyelids fluttered.
No matter the details of how they met, they were together now. That was all that mattered. Victor grasped Yuuri’s right hand in his, placing their linked fingers above his heart, the rings cool against his chest.
I love you.