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Another gold medal. In the grand scheme of things, Victor knew he should be happy, but continuously being told that no one could compare to you didn’t inspire motivation to become better. As he plastered a fake smile across his features, he skated to the middle of the ice to be ogled by the countless mass of people screaming and cheering in the bleachers. He kissed the medal as was customary by now, and hoped to God that things would be over soon. The stagnation was becoming overwhelming, and Victor was so tired.
Amid congratulations and constantly being told that he needed to start working on routines for future seasons, the hours blurred together. The only clear moment in the haze of boredom was when a random reporter asked about his future plans.
What did he want?
Skating had completely lost its luster. With no one to truly consider a peer or rival, how could Victor motivate himself to not only perform to the best of his abilities, but care enough to do so? He gave the reporter a noncommittal answer to keep the tabloids swirling in mystery, but more importantly to buy him more time. Victor wasn’t a quitter, but it was going to look like that to the entire world if he chose to retire, especially if people like Yakov told the media that it was ill advised and he had at least another year or two left in his career as a skater.
Victor wondered for the first time what his life would be like when he finally left competitive skating behind. He had never let himself consider it before because there had always been training and plenty of people to occupy his time if he felt like he needed a distraction. Sex had become a coping mechanism he resorted to when he didn’t want to think about anything but the pleasure he felt in that moment in time. He couldn’t even remember how many one night stands he’d racked up at this point, not that it effected his reputation in the slightest. If anything he’d been considered a playboy ever since he’d reached 16 or 17. The only difference between what the media portrayed about Victor’s love affairs and what they were really like, was that Victor had never actually been with any of the people he was shown with in the tabloids. Mainly due to the fact that everyone they pictured him with was a woman.
Getting ready for the post Grand Prix banquet wasn’t high on Victor’s list of things to do, but Yakov would pitch a fit if Victor didn’t show. He gritted his teeth and mentally prepared himself for a night of talking endlessly to sponsors and inside access reporters, judges and fellow skaters. Victor halfheartedly hoped that there would be someone to grab his attention that he could slip away from the banquet with to distract from the night’s ‘festivities.’
Looking around the room there didn’t seem to be many options. Chris would probably flirt, but Victor knew that he was not only in love with his boyfriend back home, but incessantly devoted to him; Victor wouldn’t make any headway there. Turning to grab a champagne flute, he noticed a flushed looking boy with dark hair and a terrible tie. There had to be at least ten empty glasses in front of him, and Victor was absolutely not interested in taking advantage of someone. To his surprise, the dark haired boy walked straight over to Yuri, his rink mate, and loudly challenged him to a dance battle.
Yuri was not the kind to back down from a challenge, and Victor had his phone out immediately in the hopes of creating some seriously juicy blackmail for the future. He may be at least slightly depressed, but picking on his friends was still a fun pastime. Yuri took a devastating loss in the battle and was huffing and puffing by the end. The dark haired boy looked like he’d barely broken a sweat, and sauntered over to Victor.
“Hey, you’re next. Dance off, now.” The boy poked Victor pointedly in the chest and walked away slowly backwards, wiggling his index finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. Not wanting to waste an opportunity for a good time, Victor obliged. It was less of a dance off and more of an improvised routine as they twined together and mimicked each other in turn. They ended their dance with Victor in a dip, leg in the air, and the cute boy supporting his neck, their faces close together. They giggled as they righted themselves and pulled away slowly.
“That was quite a dance…”
“Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri said in a very slurred voice. “I’ll be back, I’m gonna dance with someone else now.” And so he was off. Shockingly, Chris was the next challenger, and somehow a pole was produced. Victor’s disbelief turned to a Cheshire grin as he got to watch Yuuri work the pole like absolute magic, and only in his boxers! Champagne was everywhere and Chris inevitably conceded defeat when he became too tired to continue. Yuuri had replaced his shirt and tied his tie about his head, throwing himself at Victor once that was finished.
“Victor~” Yuuri breathed as he grinded his hips against Victor’s. “My family owns a hot spring, you should come visit!” He marveled up at Victor with a drunken haze that bore true affection. Victor saw the sparkle in his eyes and was totally captivated.
“I know, if I win the dance off, you can be my coach! Won’t you? Be my coach Victor~” Yuuri said as he tightened his grip on Victor and brought their faces closer together. Victor inhaled and felt a blush creep over his cheeks. Yuuri nestled into his chest and stilled. After a bit, Victor realized Yuuri had fallen asleep standing up, and moved to support his weight in a better fashion. With his arm around Yuuri’s ribs, he slowly walked to the edge of the room, talking to Yuuri in an effort to wake him up.
“Yuuri, what room are you in? I’m going to walk you back.” Yuuri stirred briefly and muttered a room number. Victor sighed in relief and made his way to the elevators of the hotel. Once the correct floor button was pushed, Victor adjusted Yuuri in his grip, allowing the boy to lean his head on Victor’s shoulder. Yuuri let out a soft hum of contentment.
“You smell so nice. You know I named my dog after you? He’s a poodle just like Makkachin.” Yuuri said in a sweet voice. Victor was surprised to say the least, especially when this comment was immediately followed by Yuuri standing up on his own, eyes wide. “Oh Vicchan…”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Yuuri’s bottom lip began to tremble and tears began to fall. Yuuri was obviously too drunk to brush them away, and progressed to full on sobs of heartbreak. Just then, the elevator opened and Victor put a light hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.
“Why don’t I get you to your room?” Yuuri nodded with a loud sniffle and walked out of the elevator. He dawdled his way down the corridor with no regard for Victor, seemingly forgetting Victor’s presence entirely. Yuuri stopped in front of a hotel room door and stared at it sadly.
“Is this your room?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you… want to go in?” Victor prompted with a wave of his hand since Yuuri was just standing there, his face inches from the door, doing nothing.
“I don’t know where my room key is.” Yuuri said sadly. He ran a hand across his face, turned, and abruptly sat himself against the door. Victor was at a total loss. This cute boy had given him one of the sweetest compliments, and then immediately dissolved into tears; how was Victor supposed to go on from here?
“Do you want to talk about it?” Victor said, hesitating before finally deciding to sit across from Yuuri on the floor. Yuuri looked up and Victor’s heart broke. There was so much pain in those eyes, and Victor had no idea how to help wash it away. He missed the carefree smile he’d seen on the boy’s face for almost the entire night.
“My dog died yesterday.” Yuuri said before more tears began to flow.
Oh.
“I’m so sorry. I would be a mess if I lost Makkachin.” Victor reached out and patted Yuuri’s knee in an effort to seem comforting.
“I totally bombed in the Grand Prix after that. I came in last place! You saw, you know how awful it was.” Truth be told, Victor didn’t know. He had been wrapped up in his thoughts about his fears for the future and had completely zoned out for at least three of his competitor’s performances. “I should just quit, Yuri Plisetsky told me as much in the bathroom earlier.”
“Well that’s not a good reason to give up; you wiped the floor with him in the dance off. Obviously he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he faced off against the dancing machine you are.” This garnered a small laugh. “You know that means I’m your coach now.” Victor said teasingly. Yuuri looked up with renewed interest.
“Really Victor?! You would coach me?”
“Why not? You’re clearly talented, you just had a bad day is all.” Victor smiled and felt a wave of relief wash over him. Now he had a plan, and could retire without too much thought. Now it didn’t look like he was as depressed as he was, not that that was his main source of motivation to coach Yuuri; he wanted to know more about the cute Japanese boy, and coax a gold medalist out of hiding. This remark unfortunately, did not have its intended effect.
“A… bad day? My dog died Victor. I hadn’t seen him in five years and he’s gone.” Yuuri said in a pained voice. Tears glistened in Yuuri’s eyes, and the enormity of what was said apparently hit home after it came out of his mouth. Yuuri’s eyes widened as he began to tremble.
Uh oh.
“I’m sorry that was the wrong thing to say.” Victor rushed out in a panic. “Dermo...” He held his hands up in surrender in the hopes Yuuri would get the message. “I’m not good with people crying, I don’t know what to do in this situation.” Yuuri deflated.
“It's fine, I'm such a mess, how could you know what to do?” Yuuri said quietly. They sat in silence for a few long moments, Victor not wanting to mess anything up further by opening his mouth at an inopportune time. Yuuri fidgeted uncomfortably, then reached into a back pocket, pulling out his room card.
“Oh.” Yuuri said softly. Victor stood first, giving Yuuri something to grab onto and steady himself before opening the door, both of them filing in. Yuuri seemed to be calming down from his emotional strain, and the crying had sobered him up a good degree. Yuuri began to tug at the tie around his head to no avail, and turned with a pout to Victor.
“It’s stuck.” Yuuri said laughing at his predicament. Victor chuckled and moved to undo the tedious knots in Yuuri’s tie. The closeness imbued a comfortable silence in both of them. After about a minute of struggling, Victor looked down to see Yuuri’s soft gaze on him. It caught Victor entirely off guard, and he took in a breath. Yuuri moved light fingertips across Victor’s cheek.
“Are you real?” Yuuri said in a low, confiding voice. Victor shivered at the sound.
“I am.” He said simply. He continued his work on the knots in the tie, and they eventually came loose. “Better?”
“Better.” Yuuri breathed, as the tie dropped to the floor beside them. The tension was palpable and warm.
“Yuuri~” Victor said brushing a hand across the other boy’s forehead, checking to see if he’d started a fever with how flushed he was. Yuuri took Victor by surprise, and closed the distance between them. The kiss was soft, but firm, and ended far too quickly. Victor refused to take advantage, no matter how much he wanted to kiss Yuuri again. Yuuri seemed to have other ideas, and grabbed Victor’s arms in either hand, drawing him near to be kissed again. Victor could feel his control slipping under the softness of the lips on his; the mute press of skin under unnecessary layers of clothing. It became evident fairly quickly that Yuuri was in control. Hands roamed freely as the kiss deepened and they explored more of each other. They were so close there was almost no space between them, and they were inches from Yuuri’s hotel bed. Victor pulled back, gasping for air after the veracity of Yuuri’s bruising kisses.
“Yuuri, Yuuri, we have to stop~” Victor said as gently as he could. “You’re very drunk and you should sleep.” Victor smoothed the Japanese boy’s hair out of his eyes to cup his face and make eye contact. “I refuse to take advantage of you in this state.” Yuuri’s dazed look of want faded at the last words, and he turned his eyes away from Victor.
“I… I understand.” Yuuri said solemnly. Victor gave him a soft kiss and walked towards the door. “Just so you know," Yuuri called after him, "if I was sober I’d still want this.” Those words gave Victor pause, and he turned.
“So would I.” Was all he said before he let himself out.
Months after the banquet, Victor still found himself thinking of Yuuri almost constantly. It had been clear that whatever they had shared that night had been a lie. What else could Victor think? Yuuri hadn’t made a single attempt to contact him, and had left Sochi so quickly the next day Victor had found himself apologizing to the new resident of Yuuri’s hotel room. Victor was utterly heart broken. He tried to pour how he felt into a routine, but he couldn’t bear to perform it in front of anyone. What if they could see the pain that fueled the routine? He pushed himself harder than he wanted to as a distraction from his pain, and found himself giving another empty smile to another unknown crowd of people and kissing another gold medal. Now that Worlds were over, he had some free time.
He decided for now his time was best spent with Makkachin. Victor could tell his beloved dog was getting older, and Yuuri’s story had haunted him. What if Victor wasn’t there for Makkachin in his last few years? It seemed like Victor and Makka’s lives were beginning to parallel; the end of his dog’s life, and the end of his career. On a morning like any other, Victor’s phone was flooded with thousands of messages telling him to watch a skater who had performed his short program at their local rink. Apparently it’d gone viral and people thought it was a good performance. Victor blanched when the video started, and he saw none other than Yuuri Katsuki.
With an expression of absolute concentration, Victor attempted to extract the meaning from Yuuri’s performance. Surely it was a call to Victor? Yuuri was performing his program, and pouring his soul into it. Victor could hear the music in his head even though the only sounds to come from the video were the scrapes of Yuuri’s skates against the ice.
Come to me.
Don’t leave me.
Stay close to me.
Yuuri seemed to be saying all these things in his dancing. The performance was as close to perfect as Victor thought he’d ever seen a program done. It was insane how much emotion was packed into it without sacrificing the technical elements. He narrowed his eyebrows in anticipation as Yuuri pushed off for a quad… and landed it perfectly. Victor’s resolve was set. He was going to Japan, and he was going to coach Yuuri Katsuki if it would be the death of him.