Chapter Text
Yuuri Katsuki knew much better than spending his free time pouring over interviews of fellow skater and Russia’s sweetheart Viktor Nikiforov. But that never stopped him, in all of his glory, or should it be called dismay, with bookmarks and Google Alerts of new articles. In English, French, Russian, Japanese.
Sure, Yuuri only could read two, but Google Translate was rapidly improving. It used to give him clunky translations in which he’d only but fill in the blanks himself with his wicked dreams, pretending that the Russian super-skater was giving him hints in the way he’d address himself, the competition, his personal life.
A spread in the copy of Russian Vogue that had been scanned online showed Viktor with legs wide apart censored only by a stark white chair with slats. He had a piercing stare but was still smiling with his eyes. Yuuri took a moment to lament that he wasn’t the chair that Viktor was sitting on before shaking those lewd thoughts out of his head and copying the text into translate.
By no means did it come out without mistakes, but the gist of the interview was talking about Viktor’s diet and workout regime. Some parts were trade secret obviously but Yuuri understood the early mornings and late nights at rinks, dance studios, running through parks. Yuuri understood more than anyone the diet that consisted of clean protein and salad, often popping a peeled hardboiled egg into his mouth for his morning snack before heading back onto the ice for round two.
Only a little part of the interview skimmed on Viktor’s personal life. Of late, Yuuri had noticed Viktor more reclusive and secretive about his answers. Almost like he wasn’t dating a high-profile starlet. Though Kira Popov and him were titled as Russia’s power couple by every media outlet in English, Russian, French, Spanish, even Japanese, they never explicitly commented on the nature of their relationship.
In Yuuri’s crush-riddled mind (could it be called a crush if it was now a decade deep?), that simply meant Kira was a stand-in, until Yuuri and Viktor met and Viktor fell in love with him and whisked him away to a tiny mountain village where they could raise many poodles, skate until their knees gave out, and laugh at dumb jokes and words lost in translation until they were one hundred years old. In reality though, it was probably a ploy to keep just one shred of secrecy in this stark-white high-profile, over-produced world. With skating came fame. Especially if you were representing worlds, and incredibly attractive to boot.
Yuuri Katsuki didn’t think of himself as attractive, and even he had a following. His roommate Phichit was pretty cute and active on social media, and his followers were in the millions. It seemed like the whole world was watching figure skating these days. It seemed outwards like glitz and glamour and toned-up bodies.
It felt like bruises and heartache and starving oneself so the jump could hold for half a second more.
The attention contributed to Yuuri’s anxiety. Like everything else.
But back to the thoughts about Viktor, yeah? What an incredible man.
And Yuuri wanted Viktor to sit on his face like he was sitting on that seat.
-
In a world where Viktor Nikiforov allegedly had it all - the fame, glory, medals, girls hanging off his arms – he certainly felt like he was blindly going through the paces, keeping up with expectations. Day in, day out.
Pose. Chin down, eyes up. Bite your lip. Flash. Flash. Turn to the left, it’s your best side. Flash. Flash. Give us something fun, a cheeky wink. Scrunch up your nose a little. Laugh. Smile more with your eyes. Flash. Flash. That’s a wrap. Great job today.
Sitting down with the prestigious Viktor Nikiforov, winner of four gold medals thus far, with a fifth certainly on the horizon, we pry a little further into his fantasy the article read with a picture of Viktor splayed on a wooden slatted chair, using the backrest to rest his hands and chin on, skates on, legs suggestively wide, and silver hair brushed just enough out of his eyes to see the glistening blue while still looking mysterious and sexy.
Questions like ‘when are you going to retire’ didn’t phase him too much. With an air of mystery, he simply smiled and said that he’d know when it was time. But there was always the ‘marriage, kids, future plans’ that were a little greyer to answer.
After all, life was whimsical and a little lacking in details when you were stuck to a rink for hours upon hours a day, flying first class to compete worldwide, sticking to diets, fulfilling sponsorships and photoshoot opportunities that funded his lifestyle comfortably for years to come. Nikiforov wasn’t an idiot – nearing the senior years of his Olympic and Worlds reign, there would be a point where it would all just stop.
Stop. Maybe for long enough to hear the heart pulsing in his temples for a life well lived, but only in the fast lane.
“I’m hoping I can find someone who is brave enough to want to commit for eternity in the first place. That’s the real goal. We’ll think about marriage later.”
“Kids? Hmmm. I’m not sure. My future partner and I would have to discuss what it means for our lifestyle too. After all, it’s a lot of work.”
Viktor fronted big events in Russia with a beautiful lady he’d met through skating. Her name was Kira – officially Katrina but that was too vanilla for the starlet. A figure skating career that blossomed into ballroom dancing, her name was on almost everyone’s lips as often as Viktor’s own. Holding her gloved hand gently as she rose from the limousine and glided up the stairs in a Swarovski-dripped gown, Viktor gently smiled to the crowd as they snapped photos together. The sponsors of the event, a prestigious jewellery company, thanked them for their service in their newest ad campaign, whispering quietly about a significant increase in diamond rings after seeing one sleek black band on Viktor’s left hand, and a brilliant princess-cut diamond on Kira’s. Photos sparking discussions on when they were finally going to pop the question, or even better, get married.
Gosh, wouldn’t it be the wedding of the century, Viktor lamented, as he looked over the photos online with Kira resting her head on his shoulder in the limousine back home.
“Yes,” she replied between a yawn. “Wouldn’t it just be the wedding of the century if you, my love, were standing at the altar, wearing a gorgeous suit like the one you’re wearing right now. Hair slicked back, nervously biting your lip. Wouldn’t the décor be wonderful. Wouldn’t the cake be divine. Wouldn’t Makkachin make a wonderful best girl?”
Viktor giggled with the third glass of champagne (he didn’t want to go overboard, of course, in front of someone who had just paid him a sum near six pretty figures) seeping through his veins keeping his skin warm. “Makkachin will be the best best girl. But oh, Kira, what scandalous stories she could say in her speech. I must keep an eye on her from now on!”
She pressed herself into the leather seat, slipping her pumps off to ease her aching feet. “I don’t know that it’s her speech you’d have to worry about. Possibly more like Christophe’s. After all, he’s seen you naked more often than I have.”
Viktor raised his hand to his mouth in feigned shock. “I cannot believe what you are insinuating. You know I have been nothing but angelic, even while he has tempted me so with his Swiss charm-”
“-and smooth buttocks,” Kira interjected.
“AND his smooth buttocks that everyone has probably seen.” Poking his tongue out towards her. “I believe the real scandal is you and that hot little thing you kissed in the bathrooms last week. Mmm mmm.”
Kira threw her head back in a shriek. “Viktor Nikiforov, you’ll give me a heart attack before any of this does.”
“At least you can say you had fun in your short thirty-one years.”
“We’re not dying yet, Vitya.”
-
Phichit was lying lazily on the sapphire blue sofa in their shared flat. Training under the same coach, Phichit and Yuuri had quickly made friends, and a lot of ruckus. Celestino said it was going to age him quickly. Phichit argued that it would keep him young and vibrant. The outcome was still to be seen.
Yuuri missed Vicchan so much, his adorable and friendly poodle. Though deciding that Vicchan wouldn’t like dealing with flights and quarantines, and Vicchan becoming increasingly attached to Yuuri’s Dad (which surprised the whole family), Yuuri had left him behind. Adopting instead, Phichit’s hamsters as his own stepchildren.
The only other thing you needed to know about the Thai boy spread lazily like peanut butter on the couch, was his addiction to social media. If his hands weren’t full of hamsters they held his phone. Instagram open. Commenting, liking, sharing. Choosing to take Instagram sponsorships over traditional ones due to time restraints. Phichit loved opening the mail to free sunglasses, or hamster wheels. He’d always give a story shoutout. He made a pretty penny off his 10% off codes scattered around the place.
“Yuuri,” Phichit bouned off the couch clutching his phone in hand, as Yuuri scrubbed the dishes in their kitchenette. Thrusting the phone in his face, Yuuri was assaulted by an angry Russian on Instagram live.
“Plisetsky?” Yuuri asked and Phichit made noises of approval. “He really seems to be worked up about something.”
Yuri Plisetsky was on the precipice of breaking through to the seniors. Though his body was still slender and small, like a lithe cat, his attitude was ferocious like a tiger. Animatedly, the Russian ranted, before responding to comments. A bunch of rainbows entered the chat. Neither Yuuri or Phichit knew what was being said but could gather by the reaction that it was something important.
“There’ll be a translation up somewhere soon,” Phichit nodded to himself, leaving the blond Russian ranting on his phone and searching on his laptop until he found a blog that was beginning to translate it. “Hmm,” he scrolled for a moment. “Seems like someone’s ruffled a bee in his bonnet. About sponsorships.”
“Sponsorships?” Yuuri thought aloud. “I guess I don’t know what sponsors he has.”
“I think they’re all sponsored by Rostelecom, but I’ve heard he’s been in talks with Adidas,” Phichit said knowingly. “A pretty massive one to get.” Phichit elbowed Yuuri. “I will never stop finding it funny that a Japanese Airline sponsors you, yet you haven’t been home to see your family in four years.”
“Ouch, P. That really hurts my feelings.”
“Yuri was talking aboutttttt,” he drew out his voice as he skimmed the article, “not accepting sponsorships from homophobic companies.”
“Kids got some principles. Good for him,” Yuuri said quietly, picking the skin around his fingers.
“Yuri goes on to say like, one of my biggest competitor’s lives in a country where they can’t come out and it infuriates him that this competitor’s leading this silent life. Yuri says he can’t stand the hypocrisy of it all.” Tapping his chin, Phichit thinks. “I wonder if he’s talking about someone close to him but didn’t want to say Russia out loud. He didn’t specify whether it’s a male or female competitor. Could be something to do with gender?” Phichit shrugs. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Good on him.”
“Good on him,” Yuuri echoed.
“I’m glad my fans accept that I’m pansexual,” Phichit nodded along. “I’m glad it just comes as part of the package. I couldn’t imagine being trapped in a cage pretending to be someone I’m not.”
Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh, feeling like that statement mirrored everything his life was about. Trapped inside a cage was certainly a theme – the feeling of imposter syndrome still pressed down on his shoulders.
At least nobody harassed him much about his sexuality or dating life. His lack of partners in both the media and real life had settled those rumours. There were three separate people whose lips Yuuri’s had been on, the first was Yuko when they were twelve. The second was a female competitor in Fukuoka which fizzled out quickly, the third was a male, a college regret and neither party talked about it.
Maybe, Yuuri lamented, knowing that his next big showdown on the ice was alongside his lifelong idol, just maybe Viktor would see him as a worthy competitor. That’s all he could really ask for. He could die happy if he could stand on the podium with Viktor. It didn’t really matter what placement. But maybe he could also be Yuuri’s fourth kiss if he was lucky.
-
Viktor’s blades carved the ice like sculptures every time. Even lazily drifting around the ice cleared his mind, like the Ice Goddess could heal the most gaping of wounds.
And recently his head had felt cloudy, though he couldn’t really explain why.
It was almost time for his last big tournament of the season – the Grand Prix Finals in Russia. It felt almost unfair that it was in his home country, but it didn’t matter where in the world it was held. Obviously, Viktor, at twenty-seven years old, was still the frontrunner but those glory days were numbered, feeling the impact on his knees after throwing himself into the air and landing sharply. Between his receding hairline and falling years, he was nicknamed Russia’s grandfather by some cheeky juniors – especially Yuri Plisetsky, who spat on the ground that Viktor walked on and swore black and blue this would be his last year in first place.
But even the worries about his physical health were muted compared to the cloud in his head. Maybe it was monotony. Maybe it was a lack of competition biting at his heels. Though some had come close in recent years, Viktor’s world records hadn’t been broken. Only by himself since he’d originally broken them four years ago.
Viktor gazed over the list of finalists for the Sochi competition. Expecting nothing less than Christophe Giacometti nipping at his heels, and a few days either side enjoying each other’s company, he really didn’t know too much about the rest of the competitors.
Jean-Jaques Leroy had a bit of a reputation for being feisty, enough so that him and his former coach, Celestino had a “disagreement” and “parted ways.” Michele Crispino was another name Viktor immediately recognised, remembering his twin Sara was also competing. Michele and Sara had seemed fine to talk to, but Michele had always kept a tight grip on Sara’s arm like he was fending off hungry sharks.
Cao Bin had a big social media following, but not so much on traditional platforms. His Chinese fans adored him though. He didn’t talk much at competitions, but Viktor tried his best to smile towards him anyway.
That left Yuuri Katsuki. Resting his fingers on his temple, Viktor tried to put a face to the name before pulling up his social medias. It had been more than two years since Yuuri had last updated an Instagram picture, and a few months since Yuuri had tweeted something that wasn’t just a retweet of sponsorship deals and general competition information.
However, one of the few people that Katsuki was following, Viktor mused, was an upcoming star. Phichit Chulanont. Scrolling through his Social Media, Yuuri Katsuki was tagged in many more photos. Many with hands reaching out to push the camera away or covering his face completely. Viktor gathered the young Japanese boy, who was also working with Celestino, was fiercer competition than he’d portrayed on social media.
God, Viktor hoped so. Christophe was also heading towards seniority. And what a way to step off the ice, too firmly stuck to first place.
Was it bad for Viktor to want to experience the chase for one last time before stepping away gracefully?
-
“Do you have your costume packed?”
Yuuri sighed, open suitcase on the floor, socks and underwear rolled into neat balls. “Yes, I’ve got two of the exact same. We can’t have what happened in Juniors happen again. The crotch ripped out of my only one and I had to settle for another that looked amazing but chafed under the arms. I have two pairs of skates too. Celestino and I always bring a pair each on our carry-ons just in case.”
Phichit smiled, petting one of his hamsters on its forehead. “You know, we’re all proud of you. I’m gonna even let the little guys stay up past their bedtime to watch you! Seven hours difference. Already accounted for that in my calendar. Set a dozen alarms!”
Yuuri smiled, standing up to carefully hug his flatmate. “I’m so lucky to be paired with you Peach.” Sitting back on the floor he carefully zipped up his suit bag and folded it neatly inside.
Phichit grinned, tossing Yuuri a bottle. “Don’t forget these.”
Yuuri nodded, checking the time. Grabbing a pill and swallowing it down chasing it with his Mizuno drink bottle full of water. “Of course not. Without Lexi, I wouldn’t be getting on this plane.”
Lexi was a cute nickname Phichit had called Yuuri’s Lexapro prescription, gently reminding him to keep on top of his medication. Anxiety bit Yuuri’s heels at any chance.
“You mean,” Phichit gently reminded, “without your talent. Lexi just keeps your head calm enough to know what you’re worth.”
Yuuri zipped up his purple suitcase, standing it upright. “I guess it’s about time to head off then eh. Love you Peach.”
“Love you too Yuuri. Show us what you’re made of!” Blowing a kiss from the door, Phichit waved Yuuri off in his taxi, shouting out “you’re not allowed back in the house without at least a bronze!”
Yuuri laughed in the taxi on the way to the airport, where Celestino was waiting. Two business-class tickets in tow.
“This is your reward for your hard work. Let’s show them a little Japanese grace.”
Taking a deep breath as Yuuri boarded the plane, Yuuri knew that either way, this was the competition of a lifetime.
-
Viktor’s disappointment was palpable. Watching Yuuri fall apart at the competition that he’d worked so hard, like the rest of them, to get to.
It was almost insulting. That Yuuri had given up so quickly. That he’d taken up a spot in the finals from someone who was fighting tooth and nail. That could have scored above 250.
Viktor scrubbed that thought from his mind. Who was he to judge somebody’s demons when his were bubbling under the surface? It made no sense though. To train for a decade and fall like Icarus flying too close to the sun.
And nobody had come close to challenging him for the title of Gold Medallist in the finals. Christophe was still over thirty points behind. Improving, sure. But still, thirty points behind.
After a while, Viktor lamented to Kira, it had become boring to never have a challenge.
Saying that to Yakov would certainly earn a crispy roasting though.
Kira laughed, staying comfortably by Viktor’s side when they were both in Russia. “Yes, darling,” she agreed. “But Yakov’s living vicariously through you and your success. He’s like any proud father.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him that.”
“You think I’m scared of a grumpy old man? That’s cute.” Kira blew Viktor a kiss before grabbing her handbag and heading out the door. “Dinner, next Sunday? I’m in town again. Let’s compare notes.”
“I’d be delighted to. Safe travels, Kira.” Viktor sunk back into his couch in his apartment, scratching Makkachin behind her ears. Recalling the Kiss and Cry, where everything felt like clockwork. Looking at his gold medal he’d won, but that sense of longing and loss was back.
Viktor didn’t lose.
Why did he feel loss?
Even Kira couldn’t answer it. Perhaps he’d been shy on details sometimes with her. Perhaps it was trivial. She had her own plethora of things bothering her recently.
He had his own excess of things bothering him too. Not limited to but including Yuri Plisetsky and his feisty attitude, and the enigma of the shy Yuuri Katsuki. He laughed at the irony of two Yuri’s causing him headaches.
Not that Yuuri Katsuki knew he existed outside of a rink. He was the only one other than Cao Bin that had never attended a function outside of competitions. Even with other competitors that came and went for just a season, he could have a few banters; talk about coaches and sponsorships and ridiculous expectations under the guise of a bottle of bubbly and an interest in Swarovski crystals carefully sewn and glued to skin-tight garments.
-
In silence, Yuuri stepped back from the rink and let his flatmate Phichit take over the spotlight under Celestino while Yuuri finished his final year at University.
Phichit was getting closer and closer to qualifying for Worlds. Yuuri hoped that a year out of competition, and a little less time on the ice meant he would reignite his own spark with the rink. And it worked, a little, watching Phichit do all the wonderful things that Yuuri had managed a few years prior, feeling that surge of pride in his chest. The first time Phichit had landed a shaky quad. But Yuuri certainly didn’t feel like he was ready to return to the ice.
The longer Yuuri went without returning home, the worse he felt. So, he sacrificed his family, and didn’t get to say goodbye to his sweet and loyal puppy. And for what? Sixth fucking place.
“Yuuri,” Phichit had encouraged, throwing Yuuri’s bottle of Lexapro at his head, “sixth in the world. The WORLD. There’s like, seven billion people or some shit.”
“Yeah, and you’re going to surpass me,” Yuuri said, sighing and taking a pill.
“Yes, you old man. You’ll eventually age out and I’ll surpass you. It’s the circle of life.”
Yuuri just buried his face in his hands and let out a long sigh.
“Goddamnit,” Phichit said, grumbling and exiting the room. “When’s your last exam?” he shouted out.
“May twenty-sixth.”
Prancing back into the room ten minutes later, Phichit handed Yuuri a piece of paper.
“What’s this?” Yuuri squinted.
“Flights home. Go see your family. Figure it out. Come back and compete for real.”
“But Phichit, I have a comp-“
“You’re in no state to compete staying here and lamenting. See your family, practise on some familiar ice, compete in Nationals. Celestino will come around to it.”
Yuuri needed to tell Phichit that he was the best friend he could have ever had more often.
-
Kira turned up at Viktor’s apartment, quarter to seven. Beautiful post-photoshoot makeup juxtaposed againt a muted outfit.
“Wow,” Viktor cooed, “I can’t believe you dressed up for little old me!”
She poked out her tongue.
“Well, come in,” Viktor grabbed her coat off her shoulders and hung it on the spare hook in his entranceway. Laid out on the small table was silverware and plates on top of a beautiful tablecloth, and a refrigerated bottle of wine.
“Ooh, what’s for dinner? It smells divine!”
Viktor grinned. “It’s been a while since we had a night with Chinese and a movie.”
“Ooh,” she shimmied her shoes off and sat down, letting Viktor pour them both a glass of wine before getting the takeaway containers from the kitchenette. “How did you know I was in the mood for some sweet and sour?”
“Well,” Viktor lamented, spooning some fried rice into his bowl, “I know you don’t have any photoshoots for a few weeks so let’s have a cheeky wee cheat day.”
Kira laughed delightfully, and they filled themselves with sauced-up pork, fried rice, wantons, Peking duck, wine, and gossip.
Kira loved gossip. But Viktor loved it more. Especially when it was removed from his professional circles. But that didn’t stop his loose lips when he’d had a few too many wines and had swapped out his slim black jeans for a pair of sweatpants.
After so many years together, Viktor felt comfortable enough to show off his sweatpants collection around the house as they lounged on his sofa watching trashy reality TV.
“Something’s been on your mind all night,” Kira said softly, reaching over to touch Viktor’s forearm.
“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked, grabbing her hand.
“Well, something’s been on your mind for months. We haven’t had the time to address it. You doing alright boo?”
Tapping his finger on his chin, Viktor smiled to her. “That’s a loaded question, Kira. You know that. It-“
“-depends on your definition of ‘alright,’” she finished. “Tell me about it. You know I won’t judge you.”
Viktor shifted in his seat, pulling his knees into his chest, and resting his back on the armrest to face her. Feeling a little safer with his guard up, Viktor began to speak slowly. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve recently become more aware of my age.”
Kira smiled. “Yeah, it happens on the rink. They don’t let you forget it.”
“And,” Viktor continues, reaching his hand out to hers, “you know how it is. You start thinking about what your years post-competition are going to look like.”
“How you’re going to spend it, who you’re going to spend it with,” Kira added after Viktor paused for a while.
“Yeah, exactly that.”
Kira pulled her hair out of the ponytail so she could loosely play with the locks as she talked. “I get it. You know I do.”
“God,” Viktor held back a curse, but his face scrunched up. “Why couldn’t it have been easy? Why couldn’t it have just worked out with us.”
“We both know why,” Kira threw her head back and laughed wickedly. “Because on paper, it should work. Minus that tiny little detail.”
Viktor remembered back to a few months earlier when Yuri had popped off on an Instagram rant about sponsorship deals. For some reason, it played in his head almost daily. “Did you ever catch Yuri’s rant about pride?”
“I was wondering when you wanted to talk about it but I didn’t want to force your hand, as someone close to him.”
Viktor just paused and sipped the dregs of the wine that had been left to go flat in the bottom of his glass.
Kira sat forward. “Are you the friend he was talking about?” When Viktor didn’t answer with anything but his expression, Kira sunk back in her seat, swirling her own wine around before reaching over to the coffee table and pouring herself another glass. She tipped the bottle towards Viktor and he tipped the glass towards her. “I agree with the kid. I wish it was as easy as he says it is, but the world seems much blacker and whiter when you’re fourteen. Plus, that shit’s come a long way in two decades. What about you, Vik. Where were you when you were fourteen?”
“In a relationship with the ice, and only the ice.”
“Such the playboy.”
Viktor rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to feel more like I’m ready to come clean.”
“And,” Kira said truthfully, “I’m here to support you every step of the way.”
“But it’s so difficult,” Viktor said staring directly into his wine glass. “I worked so hard to get to a point where I’ll never need to explicitly worry about money. So now I can be a martyr if I want. An example. A pariah. I don’t really care. But I do. It’s still fucking terrifying. That I had to work as hard as I did because I needed insurance for what’s going to happen next.”
“I’m sure it’s scarier because you’ve never been with a man before.” Kira looked at her nails. “And it’s much easier to hide a girl-on-girl relationship. Guys think it’s hot. That you’re doing it for attention. That girls hold hands in public as friends all the time.”
“I’m so gay, Kira. So gay. So unbelievably gay.” It was the first time that Viktor had ever said the words explicitly. Years had passed together where they’d talked around their same sex attractions. “I would love to wear rainbow cufflinks and donate to gay charities and kiss a boy in public.” He’d made it clear to her, but solidifying what the feeling was called with the label made it tangible.
“I,” Kira cleared her throat, “will be here. If and when you want to talk about it. We can make a plan if and when you’re ready. I’m not quite there yet, I need to work on my family and getting them to come around to it all. But maybe we can start with telling them we were never together.”
Viktor just sighed and let the drowsiness of the wine take him away. It was too much to think about and he was certainly going to have a headache in the morning.
-
Yuuri had arrived in Tokyo from Detroit and was waiting for his transit in Haneda airport. With just two bags in tow he was sitting with his hood up to stay inconspicuous, but sweating from the lingering humidity.
Turning his phone back on and connecting to the patchy airport Wi-Fi, a barrage of texts came in from Phichit. Sure, other people had contacted him too, Celestino wishing him a good flight, Mari telling him they’d pick him up from Hasetsu station, but Phichit’s message bombing drowned them all out.
PC: Yuuri
PC: You will never
PC: Believe
PC: check this link
PC: there is hope
PC: <click here>
PC: I am hyperventilating.
PC: You should also be hyperventilating.
PC: Please tell me when you’ve finished freaking out.
Yuuri clicked the link and saw a press release, Viktor looking calm but stern, holding Kira Popov’s hand.
Viktor Nikiforov and Kira Popov break the silence on their relationship.
Yuuri gasped, not sure if he was prepared for the news.
“I would like to lay to rest any rumours surrounding myself and Kira. Truthfully, we were never dating,” Viktor said clearly, eyes directly into the camera. “That isn’t to say that I don’t love her, but we are not, and have never been romantically involved.”
Kira squeezed his hand. “Viktor is nothing but a gentleman. Someone is going to be very lucky to date him and his sweet poodle. They come as a package. Just a warning for Viktor’s real partner-to-be.”
Viktor laughed. “The same goes for Kira. Kira has been a wonderful friend. She is beautiful and talented and wickedly funny. I’ve enjoyed getting to work with her on the ice and off. But this is the end of, shall I say, Vik-kira. Thank you for being so kind to us together though.”
The interview went on to talk about other parts of their long and public “fauxlationship” as the media was calling it. Yuuri sunk into his plastic airport seat, searching up all of the previous relationships he’d ever been photographed with. All beautiful women. All standing just a few centimetres apart. His hand only ever touched their shoulders or back or cupped in their hands, but fingers never interlaced.
Yuuri tried to control his thoughts. The way Kira had all but said Viktor was single. All the times Yuuri put off the word “partner” to a mistranslation. There were never mentions of girlfriends or wives on Viktor’s end. Just partners. There was no way that Viktor was…was he?
Was he?
Yuuri guessed he didn’t really know anything about Viktor other than what he showed on the ice.
Yuuri’s face went crimson and stayed that way for the whole ninety-minute flight home. Because after all, the only time Yuuri knew Viktor had laid eyes on him on the rink was the time that he’d had a mental breakdown and lost everything. Including the chance to convince Viktor that he was worth his time.
-
Viktor could hear the rain battering at his windows. Despite the gloominess of the dark clouds and occasional claps of thunder that caused Makkachin to cuddle in closer, he finally felt a little freer. Like he was allowed to finally loosen the belt around his hips that had been digging in and leaving red marks on his skin.
He didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath so tight. People had shouted after him, asking him to confirm or deny all previous “dating” relationships but Viktor had felt overwhelmed, simply dismissing any further comments graciously and leaving.
Viktor had felt overwhelmed. It was a foreign feeling.
Unexpectedly, a phone call came in, from a welcome number. Chris, on the other end of the video, was laying in the Swiss summer heat with a shirt off.
“Viktor! You scrumptious Blini,” Chris drawled with a grin on his face. “You drop that on us and don’t give us a warning?”
“My ass isn’t flat enough to be called a pancake, honey.” Viktor replied with a sly smile.
“Yeah, but you’re not the whole bakery like moi.” Chris fluttered his exceptionally long eyelashes and laughed.
“So, what brings you to grace my phone with a call?”
“Oh, nothing but the revelation of your relationship that wasn’t one at all.”
Viktor sighed. He’d been doing a lot of that recently. “You already knew it was nothing.”
“You didn’t say it explicitly,” Chris defended. “But, we had a clue.”
“We?”
“Me and Adrian.” Christophe was referencing the mid-twenties lad that had been hanging off his arm of late.
“Talking of, how long has it been now?”
Chris held up his hand. “Long enough to accidentally go through with this.”
Viktor gasped. “Congratulations! Engagement? Marriage?”
Chris winked. “The big M. Though we had to do it abroad since it’s not legal yet. Where we did it? That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”
“You know you love me, xoxo gossip girl,” Viktor ended, and Chris laughed melodically.
“God, you stopped pretending you’re straight then?” At Viktor’s shock, Chris continued. “I may have a gaydar but I was never going to pressure you into saying anything aloud. Want me to send you a rainbow flag?”
“I can order my own rainbow flag,” Viktor riffed back before catching his words. It was the type of conversation Kira and him had had of late.
“Guess I’ll have to buy you a drink at the Grand Prix Finals. Want a rainbow cocktail?”
“Vodka serves just fine. I feel like I’m going to need it.” He cracked his neck. “How’d you know you were gay, Christophe?”
“Well, my love,” Christophe reminisced, “I always found my interest gravitating towards males. Right from hitting puberty. All the lads would be talking about girls, but I was thinking about them I was thinking about the guys talking about them. At the same time, you must admit skating attracts a queerer audience than other sports.”
Viktor laughed. Yeah, he really didn’t know many explicitly heterosexual skaters. He just pretended like he hadn’t noticed at what was going on around him and got on with it. Yuri had shaken that up with his rant last year.
“Is there someone?” Chris asked, cutting Viktor out of his thoughts.
“I-“ Viktor started before pausing. “I don’t know. I never let myself think about it.”
“Well, do. You might be surprised. It’s not like the skaters don’t talk about what they would do with seven minutes in heaven with you.”
“Like who?” Viktor said enthralled.
“Oh my, Viktor. Quite the wee gossip you’ve turned into. Am I really at liberty to say?” Chris winked. “Next time, take a peek at who seems to be hanging around the side-lines trying to catch your attention and ducking away when they do.”
-
The Grand Prix Finals were in Japan.
After all of this. The year after Yuuri falls from his peak, the finals are literally an hour by train from his town.
Fuming wasn’t a big enough emotion to describe the rage Yuuri felt at the slab of irony.
Phichit had calmed him down. Despite Yuuri’s divorce from Celestino for the time being to work on himself, after falling into a depression back in his towns skating rink, he’d still been invited to be by Phichit’s side to watch the competition. Celestino knew it was the exact motivation Phichit needed to fire him up for his sure-to-be debut next year.
Yuuri was explicit, of course, in saying that this year was just a reset. He’d be back at the Japanese nationals the next.
Phichit didn’t tell him that the invite included the gala dinner. Phichit would learn in a few years that leaving early with Celestino was the biggest mistake of his life.
Yuuri wasn’t a competitor, but that didn’t mean people weren’t ready to see him. Even Celestino.
“Your mother’s Katsudon sits nicely on your hips,” Celestino chided, but with a kind gaze nonetheless. Yuuri was the first to admit his clothes were just a tiny bit snug. And he knew he’d get through that rut. But he had five years’ worth of fried pork on rice was singing his name. It’s like his mother put heroin in the breading as her secret recipe.
“Hello to you too, Celestino,” Yuuri muttered, dressed stiffly in his suit, and downing a glass of wine in record time. While other skaters were talking about their accomplishments, Yuuri faded into the background, knowing his abysmal placing in the Japanese Nationals earlier in the year practically banished him to the darkness.
Still, Yuuri hypes himself up, drinking his second, third, fourth glasses to get a grip on the night, at least he was in the same room as his idol and future husband, “freshly” single Viktor Nikiforov.
Yuuri nearly chokes on his wine when he let that monologue sit. And again when the extra flamboyant Christophe pulled Yuuri into a sideways embrace and dragged Yuuri into a conversation about his lack of attendance this year. There went drinks five and six. At drink seven, Yuuri was found having a conversation with other skaters whose names he knew. At drink eight, he was in the bathroom sitting on the toilet grinning to himself as he swayed.
He doesn’t remember past drink nine. But he certainly remembers the pounding headache on the train ride back to Hasetsu. And he still remembers the way that Phichit asks him slyly if he’d had a good night, though Yuuri had said he didn’t want to know what he’d gotten up to.
It’d been a hot minute, after all, since their last big blowout at college. At that point, Yuuri had ended up in a tree as a dare, delicately placing a road cone right at the top.
-
Viktor’s skin was on fire.
It started in his forehead, just a dull ache. It wasn’t a hangover. Viktor’s mouth wasn’t dry, and he’d only five drinks over the night before drinking ample water as he hit the sheets. Drinking to excess was much more what freshly-eighteen Viktor did with full access to alcohol and no self-control. And sometimes of late to numb the pain. But many a morning were lost to the thumping headaches and kissing the porcelain god which usually acted as a fine deterrent.
Viktor’s fingertips were on fire. His palms. His shoulders. His hips.
Being physical with Chris, and less so with Kira didn’t feel like this. But Viktor was sure if he looked at his skin he would be marked where the feisty young Japanese man, after swinging his body around a stripper pole encouraged by a mischievous Chris, had grabbed his hips to dance. Pressing his body close like nobody was watching and slurring words in English so much he’d reverted to what Viktor assumed was Japanese.
Where was that Yuuri Katsuki on the ice last Grand Prix?
Phichit had mentioned in passing that something had happened to cause the meltdown. Something outside of performance anxiety. But gently mused that it wasn’t his place to “spill the beans on behalf of Viktor Nikiforov’s biggest fan.” Might Viktor even quote “literally. I don’t know how many posters are in his room in Japan, but in his Detroit room there were seven on display, and more under his bed. He doesn’t know I know about those though.”
Viktor’s cheeks were burning from the compliment before a plastered Yuuri turned up and took his hands.
Viktor could admit it was the most alive he’d felt in a long time.
Maybe since his second gold medal win. Maybe even his first.
Viktor thought a long time about Yuuri’s proposition – be my coach.
Maybe Viktor said he’d think about it at some point in the night if Yuuri could convince him when he was sober. He didn’t know whether that was something he was serious about, but it felt pretty freeing to think about giving his own body a break. There were days now where his knees ached well after practise. Maybe a season off wouldn’t be a crazy idea.
Maybe Viktor would decide closer to the time though.
Rolling over and grabbing his phone in the sterile hotel room, he saw his phone blown up by fellow skaters of Japan and the competition, especially by Chris and Phichit. A flurry of photos downloaded. Viktor with cheeks pressed to Yuuri’s face. Yuuri hanging off the pole in nothing but tight black underwear.
Viktor whistled, feeling heat shoot to his face. Sure, Chris was also on the pole. But his eyes weren’t focused on the Swiss man. Where did Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s shiest sportsperson, learn to do that to a pole?
And what could he do to Viktor and his pole?
Viktor gulped, realising where his thoughts were leading. A soft feeling in the pit of his stomach sliding around like jelly.
Was it bad that Viktor could hardly recall anything from the last four days in Japan? The competition was a competition. It was just a Grand Prix. It wasn’t the Olympics. He went through the paces. He warmed up on the ice. Blocked out Yakov’s grilling and did the opposite of whatever advice he’d been given. Did some quads, some flips, some fancy footwork on the ice. Heard some cheers and dodged being assaulted by plush toy poodles. Skated away with another Gold medal.
Yuuri was the single most interesting thing in years and years and years and…Viktor fixated on this for a while longer while his stomach filled with beautiful butterflies. While his cheeks flushed red. He felt too voyeuristic looking at the photo of someone who was so past inebriation. But Yuuri’s cheeks were crimson and that fiery look swirling in his chocolate eyes called out to Viktor’s soul.
And, apparently, other parts of Viktor too. It was a long time coming. Viktor sunk deeper into the sheets and let his mind run free. What he would let any version of Yuuri do to him if he could get a conversation and dinner first.
Or, really, if he couldn’t wine and dine him first but the opportunity presented itself to sixty-nine him? Viktor could probably accept that too. Scrap that. The Japanese man looked like the whole buffet and Viktor was starving. He would accept it. No questions asked.
Reaching over to the bedside table, he pulled out a few tissues and lay them lazily beside his torso. Viktor’s right hand lazily lulled around his thighs, feeling the skin pulling tight as his penis came to life. It wasn’t often pre-coffee he felt like he was in the mood, but the more he thought about Yuuri and the way he bit his lip and sauntered up to Viktor like he was the only man in the room, the hotter he felt until he felt his hand clamp around his penis. Slowly he stroked up and down. It felt good enough, until Viktor closed his eyes and dropped his phone and captured the mental images of Yuuri’s tie tied around his head. Shirt unbuttoned. A tiny trail of wispy hair trailing down his defined chest. Skin soft and smooth. The way Yuuri’s voice slurred Viktor’s name. Viktor wanted to know how Yuuri would draw his name out in the bedroom before putting his lips around Viktor’s tip.
Viktor had experience with blowjobs before. That’s about as far as it’d gone and it was only with girls. But he could just tell Yuuri’s mouth was hungrier for him. The way his pretty lips were full and parted, like Yuuri was waiting for Viktor to paint them white. Remembering his second blowjob with the girl with black hair, Viktor imagined it was him looking back up with hollowed out cheeks. A satisfied moan from both. “Viktor, you’re so big,” he imagined Yuuri vibrating around the base of his cock. Feeling his heart thumping in his chest as his arm automatically pumped faster and his fist tightened its grip, Viktor gasped for air. Gasped for air. Let out a breathy moan.
He thought about the revelation that Yuuri’s walls were covered in posters of him and how many times Viktor had seen him writhe on his sheets before coming.
Viktor felt his body build up to the waves. Holding his breath as he teetered on the edge, before remembering to grab the tissues and use them to catch the spurting mess. Yuuri, he breathed out deeply as he shuddered, and ribbons painted his hands and dampened the tissues. Viktor, even post-orgasm liked the way Yuuri’s name played on his lips. He repeated it as he softened his posture back into the sheets.
Viktor, post-orgasm, wanted Yuuri on his lips in every way possible. That’s how he knew he had it bad.
But who was to say that Yuuri did? Viktor had to come up with a plan.
-
“Yuuri, I miss you.” Phichit sat in their couch from the flat they’d shared in Detroit, a family of hamsters sitting in and around the hood of his jersey.
“I miss you too,” Yuuri admitted, lying on his small bed holding his phone above his head.
“You still got all the posters of pretty boy stuck to your walls?” Phichit teased, and Yuuri did a sweep of his room on video to Phichit’s delight.
“His face is the motivation I need to get back on the ice next season.”
“I’m glad to hear there’s a next season.” Phichit stroked one of his hamsters under its chin and it squeaked in delight. “Let’s aim to compete in the Grand Prix Finals next year together!”
“Well,” Yuuri gritted his teeth. “It sounds easier than it is without a coach.”
“Celestino would take you back in a heartbeat.”
“I need to be in Japan,” Yuuri said slowly. “I’ve really missed being around my family and well, I still can’t shake that Vicchan-”
“Nobody blames you for that Yuuri.”
“Still,” Yuuri wiped the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “It feels right for me to be here for now. There’s probably a coach around Fukuoka that might take me. There’s some up and coming blood in Japan. I’ll do a little groundwork.”
“Maybe the coach will come to you?” Phichit replied, but Yuuri scrunched up his face like it was impossible.
“There’s a rumour going around. That Viktor’s not as straight as the arrow flies.”
Yuuri was surprised at the return back to talking about Viktor. “Yes, but that’s to be expected. Viktor currently has no official girlfriends on file. It’s only natural that the media would definitively decide he might be batting for the other team.”
“That talk’s not coming from the media,” Phichit tutted. “You’re so ready to discount any chance you have with him.”
“Because he’ll never look at me unless I give him something to look at.”
“That,” Phichit said carefully, “sounds like you have something up your lycra sleeves.”
“That,” Yuuri matched his punctuation, “may be the case. We’ll, just have to see.”
“I,” Phichit mocked their rhythm, “heard a rumour that you have been working on Stammi Vicino.”
“I never stopped working on it. I’ve been shadowing it for years. But sometimes it makes me remember where I’ve come from. Viktor isn’t my only passion on the ice, but he’s the one that grounds me and makes me realise life is going to be alright.”
“Minako whipping you good in the studio?”
Yuuri was fond of the dance studio. Minako was the only person in his life that was frank and tough on him once he was already down. He needed that tough love. Minako never pushed him further than he could handle, but Yuuri had left the studio in tears more often than not some years. When Yuuri cried, he rose like a phoenix. Minako understood that about him. Wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit. Wasn’t shy of getting him to do extra lessons. Threw him a key to the studio where Yuuri would work on his posture and just dance when he couldn’t bear the rink.
“Yeah,” Yuuri confirmed. “She’s whipping me good. Still doesn’t want to hear my excuses for failure.”
“Excellent,” Phichit laughed.
The conversation then moved into talks about more nostalgic things about Detroit, University, Celestino’s battle with controlling one of his younger students. Phichit’s new roommate that wasn’t interested in much more than dancing and not doing his dishes. Yuuri in turn talked fondly of his parents, his sister Mari, the Nishigori family. Talking it out made Yuuri feel like a huge hole in his heart was becoming smaller. Maybe by the time the Japanese Nationals rolled around again it would be filled up.
Maybe Yuuri would have a chance to change his narrative on his pace.
-
“I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Viktor had said that aloud twice. Once to Chris, who gave him a pep talk about how Yuuri wasn’t straight and he probably had a shot. Especially with all the cheeky things Phichit had shared about Yuuri’s idolisation of Viktor, and his report card of only ever dating a guy in Detroit. That was apparently short-lived though and Viktor didn’t get a definitive answer as to why.
The other was to Kira, who squeezed his shoulder. “This is the most animated I’ve seen you in a long time darling!”
“But how do I know he wants me sober?”
“Drunk words are sober thoughts. ‘Be my coach, Viktor.’” She marked it with quotations and exaggerated “sounds pret-ty heterosexual to me.”
Viktor was taking a rare rest day in his St. Petersburg apartment, Makkachin lying heavily on his lap when suddenly his phone vibrated. And vibrated. And didn’t stop vibrating. Thousands of notifications on twitter. At least ten messages from Phichit alone in his DM’s. Viktor hadn’t been text bombed like this in a long time.
PC: Viktor.
PC: Viktor.
PC: <video attachment>
PC: I knew he’d been working on it for a while.
PC: But seriously.
PC: If you didn’t think he was serious about you being his coach?
PC: Aggkjgkglkjglkgjkj
PC: I’m still freaking out.
PC: I don’t think he knows this is online.
PC: This isn’t like him.
PC: I’m sorry for the spam. Hi, by the way.
PC: But I want you to hear about this before the public harass you.
Viktor’s heart thumped in his head, not knowing what to expect. But opening the message, he saw a beautiful man in a skating rink he’d not seen before.
It only took him half a second to realise it was Yuuri Katsuki. And then the first note of Stammi Vicino played as Yuuri took off, gliding around the ice rink. Shards of translucent ice flicking behind his skates. A soft look on his face as he effortlessly did step work. A brow furrowing just as he takes off for the first jump.
Why me, Viktor thought to himself. But the body language spoke to him. It has only ever been him. Viktor understood. Every decision Yuuri had ever made on the ice was to get through to him. To skate on the same ice as him. Viktor contemplated the heartache Yuuri must have had to fail so spectacularly at the Grand Prix Finals. To run from Viktor when he’d offered a commemorative photo. He must have felt the most intense of heartbreaks. On the fourth, fifth, sixth, twentieth time watching the performance, Viktor had a lot of notes. About the ways that Yuuri could ace those jumps. But none of them mattered when he simply felt the love that Yuuri conveyed through the ice.
The next week passed in a blur.
Viktor made the decision to leave Russia. To respond to the call Yuuri was giving him loud and clear.
To wear Yakov’s screeching on his shoulders and to drop all of his Russian sponsorships.
To wear those subtle rainbow cufflinks on his navy suit when he announces his year off.
To like a few comments on Twitter that noticed the shoutout causing the media to frenzy about whether this was his big coming out.
Because fuck it, if Nikiforov was going to leave, he was going to go out with a bang before getting on a flight to Fukuoka airport and catching a taxi using Google Translate to a tiny town called Hasetsu.
Finding Yu-topia Katsuki wasn’t hard - but communicating once he arrived was. Though Viktor didn’t speak a lick of Japanese yet, it didn’t seem to matter. There was a lot of screeching and Japanese pronunciations of his name. It was obvious he was at the right place, with a framed picture of Yuuri standing on the ice in his Grand Prix Final outfit, looking up at the ceiling and arm raised high.
“Ah, ah,” she yelled something in Japanese with vigour. “Viktor Nikiforov,” Hiroko Katsuki grinned as she greeted him at the door. “Yuuri. Big fan. Big big fan. We also big fan. Very cute dog. Makkachin. Cute!” She grabbed out her phone and typed excitedly into Google Translate.
Are you here to see Yuuri?
Viktor typed back on his own phone. Yes. I hope it’s not too much trouble. When is he home?
Yuuri will be home around 7pm. Please make yourself comfortable. Take a bath in the Onsen! We will take care of your sweet baby.
“Arigatou” Viktor said in his accented Japanese and bowed. Hiroko Katsuki clapped gleefully and rushed off to get him a towel. A taller, thin Japanese lady stepped into the entranceway and dropped her basket of washing.
“V-v-viktor Nikiforov?!” she covered her hands and looked like she was about to pass out. “What are you doing here?”
Viktor held out his arm. “Nice to meet you?”
“Nice to meet you too.” She shook his hand. “I am Mari. Yuuri is my younger brother. He is a big fan.”
“So I’ve heard!” Viktor exclaimed, scratching the back of his head.
“Why?”
“Why?” Viktor blinked. “Why did I come here?”
Mari nodded. It seemed like her English was passable, but maybe still not so fluent.
“Because I want to talk to Yuuri. I think he is very talented. Special. Yeah, special.” Mari nodded along and her face lit up when she recognised the word.
Some Japanese was exchanged between Mari and Hiroko who had returned back with some towels. “She asks how long are you going to be here?”
Viktor tapped his finger on his chin. He hadn’t really planned this far in advance. “Well, it depends on Yuuri. If he tells me to go home I will. If he says it’s okay, a long time.”
“A long time,” Mari repeated before relaying the conversation to her mother. A bit of back and forth before Mari turned back to Viktor. “We can clean the room upstairs. It is in our house. Not the onsen hotel. Is that okay? We have not many rooms here.”
“That’s fine!” Viktor nodded, and Hiroko led him down the hall to the baths’ entrance. She pointed at the right one emphatically. “Boys.” She pointed at the left entrance. “Girls. Easy mistake. Careful.”
“Thank you!” he bowed again, and she ruffled his hair like he was already a part of the family.
Viktor stripped down and cleaned off. Soaking his jetlagged bones in the water, he lost track of time. Being in the silence of not having a phone to distract him and no fans banging at the door, he let his mind wander, before letting it just be at peace.
The peace was eventually interrupted when Yuuri stormed into the Onsen and shouted his name before fainting.