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"Yuuri, come watch me skate tonight."
He doesn't.
"Yuuri, you work too much. Come to the rink."
He doesn't.
"Yuuri, did you see the video the girls emailed you? I was skating for you."
He wishes Viktor would just kiss him already.
He has seen the film. Multiple times. Viktor is working on a routine Yuuri once did.
That is a problem, though.
Viktor is perfect. He makes everything perfect. Yuuri could watch Viktor all day.
He doesn't.
Because it is a slippery slope. Once he goes to the rink to watch, it will soon be him on his skates. And sure, the promise of skating with Viktor wakes up butterfly swarms in Yuuri's belly. But it also brings with it a dread. Men should not have insects in their insides.
Unless they are dead.
And the shame of how different he is from the Russian could kill him. Yuuri's gotten bigger. He jogs, but there are muscle groups he's neglected. He can't do half the tricks he knew when he was competing.
Viktor will see him and know exactly how pathetic he is.
Can't he just order the other in and fuck him? Can they skip the "earning" part? Could he own Viktor, truly own him, when he knows the other hates him deep down?
"Yuuri, I thought you loved skati--"
The plying Russian stops when Yuuri clenches his fist and nearly, nearly throws it into the filing cabinet. It would break his hand, certainly.
"Could you leave me for a moment?" Yuuri grounds out.
And Viktor does. Gravely. Gracefully.
Yuuri does hear his newest agent softly command Makkachin to stand guard outside the room.
Yuuri rubs a hand over his face and sits, folding himself over the desk and listening to the tatami creak. This is exhausting.
He is exhausted.
*
The next morning Yuuri asks Viktor what his plans are. Viktor is helping the triplets with the map. Setting up drivers and deliveries. Timetables and routes.
"Take them to the Twin Cafe up in Kita-Hoshu," Yuuri murmurs. "For supper. They like to show it off."
"Will you join us?" Viktor hums, accepting the handful of bills Yuuri holds out.
"Maybe," the Japanese man lies.
He knows where he will be this evening.
Ice Castle. He has a key and Yuuko and Takeshi always do the same thing whenever they are free from their children. While they indulge in each other, Yuuri comes to apologize to his skates.
There is a smell to the rink. There is a sweetness to the moisture. Yuuri doesn't think of how foreign his body feels. How unattractive he is. He just moves onto the ice, his blades eager to carve paths across a surface. He stretches his arms, then reaches up. The shadows above him elude his grasp but he can still jump for them. And when that proves futile, he resorts to going down. Turning. Spinning. A descent always makes one faster and it is pleasant to see how his knees remember the crouches. The sit spins.
Around. Around again. Up. Down. Stretch. Cut and carve, his wrists waving at old patterns. Back to the jump he now trusts himself with. Rediscovering the steps that once were his signature. Again with the spins. Then again.
He is dizzy when he stops. Not as breathless as he feared. Giddy, maybe. God, why did he stop? He might have some music on his phone from an old routine. Maybe even Viktor's "Stand By Me."
And there...
And there stands Viktor.
Because of course there stands Viktor, braced on the wall with eyes as big as planets. Gloved hands are folded in prayer.
Yuuri stares, not sure what to do. He could yell. He could turn bright red. He may even cry.
"Say something," he finally commands, needing a reaction to work off of.
Viktor holds, fingers knotting into his lapel. "I don't want to stop watching," he breathes. "You're so... you ."
"I don't know what that means," the kingpin says, warily.
"Give me time to define it," Viktor replies. "The girls talk about when you used to skate. Yuuko. Your mother. They said I had to see it."
"There's videos," Yuuri dismisses. He should now ask why Viktor is even here. Kita-Hoshu is an hour away.
"You skate differently when you are not performing. You go somewhere else. I think I know what that means now."
"And what does it mean?"
If Viktor hears the frustration in his boss’ tone, he does not show it. He earnestly presses, "If you wanted to, you could control anyone, Yuuri. When you are confident, you inspire respect from your movement. When you are expressive about your vulnerabilities, you draw in an urge to protect."
"You shouldn't be here."
"And you danced as if you were safely alone," Viktor continues, as if he owes no explanation. "If you danced now, it would be something else. Something for me."
"I'm out of practice," Yuuri huffs. It should conclude the conversation.
"Yuuri, skate with me."
"I'm not doing that!" Yuuri snaps.
"Why? Am I so terrible?"
"You?! You--" Yuuri fumes, his lips catching his tongue as he flounders. Sputters. "You are the best, Viktor. I can't be..."
Something drops. It clatters, presumably by Viktor’s feet, out of sight. Yuuri can guess this is from the Russian's skates. "I don't want to skate with perfection, Yuuri. I can compete for that. I’ve done it before and it’s not what I want. What I want is to skate with you . I have told you already, I am not happy with being a prize. I don't invite you to see me skate at my best. I skate because anything on the ice is love. It makes me less a commodity. It gives me a voice. And that voice wants you to pay attention to me. And I want to witness what you have to say. Is there anything you want me to know? Anything at all?"
"I..."
Yuuri can't finish the sentence. Not without the dams of his eyes bursting. He hates being weak. He hates Viktor seeing him like this, even if the Russian has driven him to this emotional point. He wants to hear more of the other thing. To have Viktor’s eyes on him, though not at the cost of his pride.
But Viktor’s already seen him skate. It wasn't amazing.
It wasn’t terrible. Compared to Viktor, it was. But…
But...It just was.
"Stay with me," Yuuri breathes. Even if I’m a mess... "This is...what I remember from ‘Stay With Me.’"
*
It is a far cry from Viktor's routine. Yuuri can't do most of the jumps but he can improvise. He closes his eyes and when he does look, it is never to meet the other’s gaze. They have no music, but he finds the tempo without help. He makes it himself, praying Viktor hears it too.
And then he wipes out, recovering immediately only because he has the song in his head and it will not stop for him. Nothing stops for him. The bruise on his chin helps him keep up, pulsing with his heart. An ache. An ache. An ache. Then, like every high and low spell Yuuri’s known, the routine is over.
It could not have been the farthest thing from Viktor’s original.
But the Russian is hugging himself. His eyes shine. "How...Yuuri...how old were you when you started that?"
"I...don't know," Yuuri pants. He blinks, doubling over. It would be nice to take hands and knees. To feel the ground frozen on his face. "Young?"
"May I join you on the ice?"
It seems silly for Viktor to ask, but he does ask. He asks as if a denial might hurt him.
Yuuri realizes that this is the last thing he wants. Own Viktor, yes. Have him and keep him, yes. But hurt him?
"You promised to win my heart," Yuuri murmurs, straightening. "I apologize for making it so difficult."
"It is good your heart is so guarded," Viktor replies, pulling on his skates. He doesn’t bother to lace them. "You have no idea of your worth, Yuuri."
The statement makes something twist in Yuuri's chest. He automatically wants to dismiss the lie. But Viktor sounds genuine. And is this not what Yuuri desires? A seduction? Some love?
"Tell me more."
Viktor slides up to Yuuri, amusement on his lips. "Pay close attention," he warns, before tipping his boss' chin up with a thumb and then leaning in to graze the growing bruise with a kiss.