Chapter Text
“Ah! Yuuri!”
Victor’s moan shoots a ripple of ecstasy through Yuuri’s veins, heating him from the inside out as he writhes where he lies beneath his coach’s fervent body. He spreads his legs wider, pulling Victor closer still and revels in the intoxicating warmth of his body.
Victor’s bed in Russia is much more luxurious than anything Yuuri is used to, from the silken sheets and feathered pillows, to the seemingly endless amount of throw cushions that at some point had fallen off the bed during their amorous activities. It’s certainly a far cry from the modest bed that Victor had been given in Hasetsu. Unconsciously, Yuuri tries to make himself as small as possible on the mattress, ashamed of ruining such fine possessions with his own sweat-slick skin.
Given the time of night, the two of them should really have gone to sleep a long while ago but after an extended make-out session, Victor had been insistent and Yuuri, as always, had been unable to deny his lover anything. Sacrificing an hour or two of sleep is worth it if it means making Victor happy.
However, Yuuri imagines he is going to regret thinking that in the morning. Tomorrow marks the first day of Victor and Yuuri’s training in Russia, and Yuuri can’t deny that he is anxious. Working with Victor in his home rink in Hasetsu is one thing, but training alongside Victor and all of his Russian rink mates in the unfamiliar city of St. Petersburg is quite another. Yuuri has grown used to training with only Victor’s eyes on him over the past year, so he can’t help the trickle of unease he feels at the thought of being surrounded by so many strangers.
After Victor had announced his comeback during the Grand Prix Final, there had been a number of debates as to how exactly things were going to work now. At first, Victor had wanted to return to skating in time for the Russian Nationals but Yakov had thrown a fit, yelling that there was no way he’d be able to get back to the necessary impeccable physique and choreograph new routines in time. But Victor had continued to insist that he could do it, so Yakov had changed tactics and instead told him it would be unfair to force such a change on Yuuri just before his own Japanese Nationals. Victor had quickly relented then.
So Victor had remained as Yuuri’s coach for the Japanese Nationals, Four Continents and World Championships, postponing his own comeback for the next Grand Prix Series in October. Yuuri had done well in his subsequent competitions, winning silver in the Japanese Nationals and then silver again twice, losing to JJ in the Four Continents and Yurio at Worlds. Victor had been thrilled with the results, proudly flashing Yuuri’s medals at anyone who’d look, but Yuuri himself isn’t satisfied yet.
Still no gold medal.
It’s April, now. Victor has been eager to get back into his own practice for weeks and with the World Championships now out of the way, there’s nothing to hold them back. So they packed up their lives in Hasetsu and moved to Victor’s hometown. Despite Yuuri’s anxieties he understands that logically, it makes more sense for them both to be in St. Petersburg now. Victor needs to be near Yakov and besides, St. Petersburg has much larger and more enhanced skating facilities than sweet little Hasetsu does.
Yuuri takes a steadying breath to clear his mind of worries for the next day, and turns his attention back to the Russian beauty above him.
He hasn’t exactly confided in Victor about his insecurities for the upcoming season. For one, there hasn’t been enough time to. They only moved their things into Victor’s old apartment four days ago, and a few cardboard boxes are still sitting around here and there waiting to be unpacked. For another, Yuuri knows for a fact that despite Victor’s usual mask of casual cheeriness, he’s concerned about making his own comeback. Victor’s fans, passionate and demanding, have very high expectations of him and Yuuri knows that Victor doesn’t want to disappoint any of them.
So Yuuri tells himself it would simply be unfair to burden Victor with his own issues on top of all that.
He trembles under Victor’s touch, allowing him to push the two of them closer to the edge as their bodies rock together. Victor captures Yuuri’s lips in a searing kiss as they finally reach their peaks, gasping against each other’s mouths as they ride out every electrifying sensation that courses through them. For a long moment, they pant together, gentle fingers stroking sweaty skin as they wait for their minds to come back to them.
Victor eventually rolls off and collapses onto his back beside Yuuri, letting out a breathy laugh as he struggles to catch his breath. “You never fail to take my breath away, love.”
Yuuri smiles shyly, carefully avoiding bringing up the fact that Victor had done all of the work. Instead, he reaches for the tissues on the bedside table to clean the two of them up as best as he can, before reaching for his t-shirt and underwear where he’d dropped them onto the floor earlier.
He pretends he doesn’t feel Victor’s eyes on him in the dark as he re-dresses himself. Victor doesn’t comment on it though; it’s nothing new for Yuuri to cover himself up after they’ve been intimate. After being so exposed and vulnerable, Yuuri finds that his clothes act as a protective layer, a thin barrier between his body and the rest of the world.
Only when he feels comfortably concealed does he wriggle over to Victor, curling his body around him as he nestles his face in the crook of Victor’s neck.
Victor presses a sweet kiss to Yuuri’s hair, voice softer this time when he says, “Was it good for you, too, lyubov moya?”
Yuuri nods, though he can’t bring himself to actually vocalise his thoughts. Whilst he always greatly enjoys their love-making, he still finds it difficult to really be open with Victor about it, and the idea of verbalising just how pleasurable he’d found their latest escapades makes his entire face boil lobster red.
Victor doesn’t seem to need the spoken clarification though, as he settles himself more comfortably against Yuuri and sighs as his breathing finally begins to even out.
Yuuri, having caught his own breath a couple of minutes ago, can’t help poking fun. “Was the exercise a little too much for you, old man?”
Victor gives an affronted scoff, squeezing Yuuri’s waist and making him squirm. “Hey. Is that any way to speak to your coach?”
Yuuri sniggers, nuzzling his face into the impossibly warm skin of Victor’s neck. “Did you remember to set the alarm?”
“Are you worried I’m losing my memory to age as well, hm? Yes, I set it.”
“Just making sure.” Heaviness begins to tug at his eyelids, and he yawns. “G’night, Victor.”
“Goodnight, Yuuri. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
It’s been a long few days of travelling, packing and sorting so despite not knowing what tomorrow may bring, it doesn’t take long for Yuuri to drift off to sleep. He’s sure in the morning his uncertainties will awaken and return with a vengeance but for now, the gentle feeling of Victor’s chest rising and falling beneath Yuuri’s hand is enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber.
X
Yuuri reaches for the box of cereal still sitting on the dining table between him and Victor, lifting it up and pouring himself a second bowlful as he takes another large bite of the toast in his other hand. Before he has even finished chewing, he’s plunging his spoon into the cereal and bringing it up to his mouth, appetite still insatiable.
“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is gentle, concerned. Yuuri looks up at him where he sits on the other side of the table, slowly working on his own bowl of cornflakes. “Slow down, krasavets. You don’t want to be bloated for practice, do you?”
Yuuri’s mouth instantly freezes, eyes wide as he looks down at his breakfast. He’d barely noticed what he’d been piling onto his plate, just blindly reaching out for whatever as he tried to satisfy his seemingly limitless appetite. As he looks at the large amount of cereal he’s already consumed, the half empty plate of toast and the fruit bowl which is now considerably less full than it had been last night, he wonders if he’s gone overboard.
His brain supplies him with memories of when he’d first met Victor, and the positively delightful nickname Victor had gifted him with.
Little piggy.
Yuuri’s cheeks stain with colour, hot and ashamed, and he drops his spoon as though it’s burnt him.
"What did you just call me?” he asks Victor, eyes still trained downwards.
“Hm?”
“When you said to slow down, you called me something in Russian. What was it?”
“I said krasavets. It means beautiful. Why?”
Ironic, considering in this moment Yuuri couldn’t feel uglier. He doesn’t say a word.
He hears Victor sigh, and then the chair scrapes back as he stands up. He begins to clear a few breakfast items from the table and carry them over to the sink, pressing a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head as he passes him.
“I know you’re feeling nervous about practice today,” Victor says over his shoulder as he turns on the tap. “But really, love, you have nothing to worry about. I’m sure the change of scenery will take some getting used to but everyone will do their best to make you feel welcome. Besides, there won’t be anyone unfamiliar there, just you and me, Yakov, Mila, Georgi and Yurio. Maybe a few other skaters here and there but our rink is mostly reserved for Yakov’s students.”
Yuuri nods, mostly to himself. It’s true, Yuuri has met Yakov, Mila and Georgi a number of times during competitions and whilst they can be intimidating, they’ve never been mean to him exactly. Yuuri can’t deny that he’s looking forward to seeing Yurio as well; despite the teenager’s foul mouth and endless insults, Yuuri likes having him around.
“Yuuri?”
Yuuri glances up at Victor, remembering Victor doesn’t actually have eyes on the back of his head. “Uh, sorry. I know, I’m just being silly.”
Victor looks back at him, casting a soft smile his way. “You’re not being silly, my love. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Yuuri’s heart melts and his mouth tilts up into a smile of his own. Bless Victor for always trying to help. Whilst he’s not exactly great at handling Yuuri’s anxiety, he’s definitely gotten better since witnessing Yuuri’s meltdown at the Cup of China last year. Yuuri doesn’t even mind anymore that Victor isn’t perfect when it comes to emotional support; it’s enough just knowing that Victor cares enough to always try.
Yuuri glances down at his breakfast again, calmer and suddenly feeling far too full to even entertain the idea of finishing all of the food. The portion size looks gigantic to him now, bigger than it had been a few minutes ago despite Yuuri not having added anything to it.
After tidying up the kitchen and packing their skates for a long day at the rink, the two of them leave Victor’s, no, their apartment hand in hand. They set up a brisk pace, using the short journey as an opportunity for exercise since neither of them got up in time for a morning jog. Yuuri’s belly is full and uncomfortable but he powers through regardless, knowing that this is his punishment for allowing his anxiety to control his appetite once again.
But when they round a corner and reach the rink, Yuuri’s stomach begins to churn for an entirely different reason. His feet grow as heavy as lead and he begins to drag them, rapidly slowing his pace until he stops altogether.
A group of men with large, professional cameras are lurking by the entrance of the rink, prowling around like vultures as their eyes dart this way and that.
Yuuri knows exactly who they’re looking for.
Victor doesn’t seem to have noticed them yet; he’s too busy grumbling about Yuuri trying to pull his shoulder out of the socket as he’d been yanked backwards when Yuuri had stopped.
Yuuri ignores him, instead pointing at the group and hissing, “Victor, look.”
Victor glances at the rink and sees the photographers straight away, though his reaction isn’t nearly as surprised as Yuuri expected it to be. “Paparazzi. They must have found out we’re starting training today. What’s the problem?”
Yuuri’s eyebrows shoot up, taken aback by Victor’s nonchalance. “So they’re gonna see us walking in!”
A little crease forms between Victor’s eyebrows, and he tilts his head. “They won’t do anything besides take a few pictures, Yuuri. They won’t actually be allowed inside the rink.”
“But…” Yuuri stammers, trying and failing to put his thoughts into words. They never had to put up with this sort of thing back in Hasetsu. Whilst Yuuri is used to paparazzi during competitions, his home rink has always been peacefully quiet; residents of Hasetsu are too polite to do anything apart from smile and wish him a good morning as he passes.
St. Petersburg is different though, and Yuuri feels foolish for not seeing this coming. Figure skating is a much bigger deal here. This is the rink that living legend Victor Nikiforov trains at, along with the current World Champion Yuri Plisetsky and the other students of well-renowned coach Yakov Feltsman. Of course there would be paparazzi here.
Victor is still eyeing Yuuri with hesitance written all over his face. Yuuri shakes his head in an attempt to rid his mind of trepidation and shoots what he imagines is an unconvincing smile at Victor. “Sorry, ignore me. Let’s go in.”
Victor doesn’t move though. “Yuuri, you don’t have to answer any of their questions if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to; just pretend they’re not there.”
Yuuri releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and then glances over at the photographers again. “Is that what you’re going to do?”
Victor hums. “I’ll probably answer a question or two. Don’t worry; I won’t make a big show of myself.”
Yuuri is about to respond when the sound of an obnoxious shutter makes him jump, wide eyes flying back to the photographers who have now noticed them and are hurrying over to catch their prey.
“Come on, Yuuri,” Victor says firmly, grasping his hand again and tugging it hard enough to get him to walk again. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Mr Nikiforov! Mr Katsuki!” the photographers yell when the two of them get close enough, swarming around them like bees as Victor drags Yuuri to the entrance.
Victor plasters on a dazzling smile that Yuuri only sees when he’s dealing with the media, and waves to them. “Good morning, gentlemen! How nice of you all to drop by!”
Yuuri refrains from rolling his eyes. ‘Nice’ isn’t exactly how he’d describe the paparazzi’s presence. He’d be more inclined to go for ‘a breach of privacy’ instead.
The photographers use Victor’s acknowledgement of them as an open invitation, attacking him with questions as they push and shove each other to get the best photos.
“Mr Nikiforov, what do you have in store for us for the next season?”
“Mr Nikiforov! How do you plan to take back your crown from Yuri Plisetsky?”
“How does it feel to be competing against your fiancé this season, Mr Nikiforov?”
Those are the only questions that Yuuri could pick up on since they had been spoken in English. The rest are all in rapid Russian, and the meaning is completely lost on him. Thoroughly bewildered, he looks up at Victor for guidance but Victor is too distracted to reassure him.
Yuuri watches as his fiancé brushes aside the paparazzi’s questions with a musical laugh and a casual wave of his hand.
“I’m very happy to be competing against my love this season; he inspires me and he’s given me lots of ideas for new routines. I look forward to sharing them with everyone when the Grand Prix begins. Thank you for your questions!”
At that, Victor winks at one of the cameras, sending the paparazzi into a frenzy, and pulls Yuuri the last few steps towards the doors. Yuuri barely registers the rush of warmth as they cross the threshold and escape the brisk morning air, instead gazing up at his fiancé.
Victor is so effortless. Yuuri is always a mess of stuttering words and blushing cheeks whenever he speaks to the paparazzi. How does Victor make it look as though he was born to be in front of a camera? Granted, he’s had several more years’ worth of practice than Yuuri but still, even when he was younger, he flourished under the attention. Yuuri remembers watching Victor’s interviews at Ice Castle with Yuuko when they were teenagers, ogling the long-haired stunner and marvelling at the way he could make everyone around him fall at his feet with merely a smile.
Despite now being Victor’s fiancé, it’s difficult to let go of the fact that Yuuri used to be his number one fan.
Victor turns to Yuuri, the paparazzi behind him already seemingly forgotten, and his eyes light up as he gestures around the empty lobby they now stand in. “Well, this is it!”
Yuuri takes a moment to blink at his surroundings, mouth parting as he tries to absorb it all.
It’s certainly an improvement from the modest entrance and tiny desk area of Ice Castle. Everything about the space is airy and modern, the walls and furniture a spectrum of brilliant whites and cool greys to give a sleek and polished look. It’s huge, too, probably three times the size of Ice Castle, and Yuuri can’t help imagining just how big the rest of the rink is going to be.
“It’s… very impressive,” Yuuri says quietly, cheeks flushing as he realises that this is the sort of place that Victor is used to skating in, and that Ice Castle must have been quite the downgrade for him.
Victor doesn’t notice Yuuri’s embarrassment, or if he does, he doesn’t bring attention to it. “C’mon, I’ll show you the way to the changing rooms.”
Victor skips off, leaving Yuuri to dash after him.
The changing room follows a similar design to the rest of the building, so refined and spotless that Yuuri hardly wants to spoil it with his own mediocre possessions. As they take their skates from their bags and collect what they need for a long morning of training, Yuuri finds himself fidgeting with his clothes and trying to tame his hair into something more presentable. There are going to be a lot of skaters out there, all as elegant and beautiful as the rink they skate in and Yuuri wants to make a good first impression on them.
He can’t help thinking that he isn’t going to fit in.
“Are you ready, Yuuri?”
Victor’s voice cuts through Yuuri’s thoughts, and he twists around to stare wide-eyed at his coach.
Victor is gorgeous, dressed all in black with hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, clutching his skates and a water bottle. His smile is relaxed and his features calm. There’s no doubt that Victor fits right in here. He’s the epitome of athletic beauty and precision, all long legs and lithe muscles, cool and confident. A world away from how Yuuri feels in this moment.
Yuuri gulps and nods.
Victor leads them out of the changing rooms and down a short hallway to their rink. There are a few different rinks in this stadium of varying sizes but it’s likely that they’ll have possession of the largest. He doubts Yakov would settle for anything less than the best for his students.
Victor bursts through the doors to the rink with a beaming smile, drawing everyone’s attention to the two of them as he loudly announces in Russian, “Good morning!”
Most of the skaters all wave in response to Victor and shout back their own greetings. It’s a little crowded in the rink; a few Junior skaters are milling around before their school lessons (most likely with private tutors) begin. Mila and Georgi are stretching together on the benches and Yakov stands to the side, beside two other stern looking men in overcoats who Yuuri guesses to be coaches for the Junior skaters.
Yuuri blindly follows Victor over to Mila and Georgi, eyes trained downwards to avoid the gaze of anyone who may be looking. He knows that nobody is going to care about him when Victor is around to admire, but there will probably be a few people who’ll question what Victor is doing with someone like him.
Mila gives Victor a big hug as Georgi nods at him over Mila’s shoulder. Yuuri only smiles at them, not acquainted with either of the skaters well enough to warrant any sort of physical display of affection.
He sees Yakov approach them before Victor does, and Yuuri’s muscles tense up. Whilst he knows that Yakov isn’t cruel in any way, Yuuri has only ever seen the man when he’s either scowling or scolding someone so he can’t help feeling a little on edge around him. They had shared one awkward hug and a few brief conversations during the Rostelecom cup but aside from that, Yakov is essentially still a stranger.
Yuuri gives him a polite nod, which Yakov returns before turning to Victor.
Victor pulls away from Mila, finally noticing his coach and exclaiming with almost childish excitement, “Yakov!”
Yuuri holds his breath, half expecting Yakov to shoot down Victor’s glee with a frown and a command to hurry up and get on the ice.
He’s more than taken aback when Yakov instead holds both arms out and says in the softest voice Yuuri has ever heard from him, “Vitya.”
Victor jumps into Yakov’s arms, kissing his coach’s cheek as they murmur to each other in Russian. Yuuri can’t tear his eyes away as Yakov sweeps a hand through the back of Victor’s hair before wrapping an arm around his waist again, squeezing him tightly.
Yuuri supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised by their touching reunion. Victor and Yakov seem to be very close; after all, Yakov has been Victor’s coach for as long as Yuuri can remember. Yuuri can’t help but wonder why the two of them are as close as they are, though. How long has Yakov been in Victor’s life, exactly? With the extensive hours of training that Victor has endured for most of his life, it’s likely that Victor spent more time with his coach than with his own parents.
Not that Yuuri really knows anything about Victor’s parents, or his childhood in general.
Yuuri shakes away that last thought and sits down on one of the benches to put his skates on. He starts to fumble with his laces, only to be immediately startled when another pair of skates is unceremoniously tossed onto the floor next to him, knocking against his own and forcing his attention up.
Yurio drops down heavily onto the bench beside him, completely ignoring Yuuri as he pulls off his sneakers with more force than probably necessary.
“Yurio, hi!” Yuuri says with his first genuine smile since entering the rink, grateful to see that familiar, sullen face.
Yurio doesn’t even look up, busying himself with his skates. “I see you finally made it here, pork cutlet bowl.”
“Yeah.” Yuuri and Victor have invited Yurio over for dinner every night since they arrived five days ago, but Yurio has declined every offer. It’s certainly surprising to them both but neither of them have pushed him for a reason why. Teenagers are complicated enough, and the two of them certainly don’t want to aggravate the boy any further.
The two of them sit in silence as they finish lacing up their skates. Yuuri struggles to find something to say; he personally feels as though the two of them have bonded since Yurio’s week-long stay in Hasetsu last year, but Yurio doesn’t seem much interested in conversation this morning. Is he mad to be having to share his rink with his rival now?
“Hey,” Yuuri finally says, looking sideways at Yurio with a hesitant smile. “Congratulations again for winning gold at Worlds.”
Yurio grunts, fishing around in his bag and pulling out a pair of earphones. “Well, it was the least I could do to stop you from retiring.”
Yuuri’s eyebrows practically shoot up to his hairline, and he opens his mouth to speak when Yurio grumbles and hurries to correct himself.
“Not that I care if you retire or not.”
At that, Yurio stands up and stomps off towards the rink. A smile lingers on Yuuri’s face though. As much as he finds Yurio’s petulance endearing, it’s nice when he slips up sometimes and admits his true feelings. Since Yurio had refused to come and visit Yuuri this week, Yuuri had worried that all of the progress he’s made with the boy had for some reason been undone. It’s reassuring to know that Yurio still cares, even if it’s just a little bit.
Victor, who has finished catching up with Yakov, intercepts Yurio on his way to the ice. Yurio has already turned on his music and doesn’t see Victor approach, which Victor takes full advantage of by sneaking over and sweeping him up into a very unwanted hug.
“Agh!” Yurio yelps, skates lifted a couple of inches off the ground by the sheer force of Victor’s love. “What the…? Get off me!”
Victor completely ignores Yurio’s squirming. “I missed you, Yurio! Did you miss me, too?”
“You’re disgusting, get off me right now before I skate over your throat!”
Victor finally drops Yurio, but not before pressing an overenthusiastic kiss to the top of his head. Yurio scowls, stumbling for a second as he tries to regain his balance and spitting what Yuuri can only imagine are Russian curse words before hurrying onto the ice.
Victor only laughs at Yurio’s tantrum, turning to Yakov and asking, “Has he grown? He seems taller.”
Yakov nods. “By a few inches. Still tiny, though.”
“I must say,” Victor says as he glances over at Yurio who is now skating fast, furious laps around the rink. “I thought he’d be happier to see us back.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Mila says, stretching one leg behind her at a perfect ninety degree angle. “Yuratchka’s been acting weird since Worlds.”
Yuuri frowns, his own eyes now following Yurio as he asks, “Why?”
Mila shrugs. “I’ve tried asking him, but he won’t say.”
Yuuri catches Victor’s eye, and they share a meaningful look. Whilst it’s nothing new for Yurio to retreat into himself and act out aggressively, the fact that it’s been going on for weeks could be a cause for concern.
“Right, enough chit-chat,” Yakov grumbles. “Mila, Georgi, get on the ice. Vitya, make sure you stretch properly first.”
Victor nods at his coach, admiration shining clear in his eyes. He then turns to Yuuri, beams and says, “Yuuri, make sure you stretch properly first!”
X
Since Victor is both coaching Yuuri and practising for his own comeback, the two of them had to go over with Yakov just how Victor is going to divide his time now. They agreed for Yakov to train Victor during a designated time slot in the morning, leaving the rest of the afternoon for Victor to coach Yuuri. Yakov had said he’d only give Victor a few hours of his time a day; Victor doesn’t technically need much coaching due to his experience and the fact that he produces and choreographs all of his routines, but given his year-long break, Yakov needs to be around to help whip him back into shape.
Yakov had also said that he refuses to spend unnecessary time on a skater who pointedly never listens to him. Victor had smirked at that, insisting that he had no idea what Yakov was talking about.
So that’s how the morning passes. Victor tells Yuuri to work on his quads whilst he’s busy with Yakov, and Yuuri keeps to himself on one side of the rink. Yurio has gone next door to the ballet studio with Lilia but Mila and Georgi are around, though Yuuri barely says two words to them. Since he’s the newcomer, he doesn’t want to step on anyone’s toes or get in the way.
The main source of noise in the rink, louder than the sound of blades cutting through clean ice, is Yakov endlessly telling off Victor. When they reach mid-morning and Yuuri stops for a water break, he spends five minutes watching Victor from the side-lines with a faint smile on his face.
Yakov has been making Victor go over every spin and every jump, just to get an idea of how Victor’s ability has changed in the last year and what he should be focusing on. It’s fascinating to see Victor this way. In the whole time Yuuri has known him on a personal level, he’s only ever seen Victor in coaching mode on the ice. This is completely different though, being able to see him practice like the other skaters. Yuuri has seen video clips of Victor’s training on news segments and social media but to be able to actually see it in person is a rare treat. Victor is even more flighty and carefree than Yuuri had expected. He ignores probably eighty percent of the things that Yakov tells him, gliding around in his own little world as Yakov shouts himself purple from the side-lines.
“Triple axel!” Yakov orders next.
Victor nods and skates away to build up enough speed, before launching into a perfect… quadruple flip. Yuuri sniggers as Yakov smacks the barrier with a gloved hand, face reddening as he once again begins to yell.
“Vitya! Do you want me to coach you or not?!”
Victor at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Yes, Yakov!”
“Then for God’s sake, do as I say for once!”
Yuuri watches long enough to see Victor finally land the triple axel Yakov asked for. Victor seems to over-rotate a small amount but he disguises it well, regaining his balance quick enough for anyone to really notice the mistake and skating away again. Yuuri goes back to practising his quad toe loop, choosing not to draw attention to Victor’s tiny error for the sake of his pride.
At one o’clock, the skaters are dismissed for lunch. Yuuri follows the group to the cafeteria, the five of them sitting at the same table once they’ve collected their meals. Yuuri sits where he feels most comfortable; beside Victor and opposite Yurio. Everyone chatters away as they begin to tuck into their meals, but they’re quickly disturbed by Yakov who marches over to their table with a small, plastic tub in his hand. When he reaches them, he silently picks up Victor’s lunch tray and replaces it with the tub, which on closer inspection, looks to be a little portion of plain, chicken salad.
“What’s this?” Victor asks, staring down in distain at the uninspiring meal before him.
“Your lunch,” Yakov snaps. “I’m putting you on a diet, as of today. You may have let yourself go while you were coaching but I’m not going to stand for it now that you’re back under my training.”
Victor gapes at him, placing a hand on his stomach and staring down at himself. “Wha… ‘let myself go’?”
“Yes. I can’t have you eating like you did in Japan, not if you want any chance of winning gold again.”
“Ha!” Yurio says, mouth already full as he points his fork at Victor. “Who’s the little piggy now?”
Victor doesn’t say a word, head dipped as the hand on his stomach tightens into a fist. Yuuri inches closer, placing a hand on Victor’s thigh and squeezing.
Yakov ignores Yurio and goes on, “We’re going to step up your training, too. From what I’ve seen this morning it’s clear you’ve fallen behind. You’re still good, don’t get me wrong, but if you ever want to win gold again then we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“I…” Victor’s voice is quiet. “I didn’t think I was that bad.”
“You’re not bad at all. But you can’t come back after a year break and expect to immediately be on top of the podium. Anyone would have to work their way back up, even you, Vitya.”
Victor gives a non-committal nod. Yakov sighs, and then tells the rest of the skaters that they’re allowed up to forty-five minutes for a break before he expects to see them all back out on the ice.
Victor still doesn’t look up from his lap even when Yakov leaves. Yuuri shoots Yurio a warning glare to stop him making some kind of comment, and then takes his hand away from Victor’s thigh to rub his stomach instead. Victor may have lost a little bit of muscle tone in the last year but he isn’t overweight in the slightest, and Yuuri isn’t going to let him believe he’s anything less than perfect.
Yuuri drops a kiss to Victor’s shoulder, and Victor sighs in response. “It’s fine, Yuuri. I should’ve expected that.”
Yuuri nods. He’s no stranger to a harsh coach himself, so he understands. Yakov’s approach to teaching is the reason he’s managed to raise so many world champions. But it hurts to see his lover look defeated, and Yuuri can’t help wanting to comfort him.
Victor gently pulls away just enough to give Yuuri a sad smile, and then picks up his fork to begin his new lunch. Yuuri watches him for a long moment, residing himself to the fact that he isn’t going to get anything else from Victor now. He gives Victor a parting kiss on the cheek before sitting up straighter to eat.
Georgi sighs wistfully from the other side of the table, head resting on one hand as he stares at the two of them. “Is there anything more pure than a new relationship?”
“How about anything and everything else in the world?” Yurio spits, looking at the two of them with disgust. “This is a place for eating, stop making me wanna throw up my lunch.”
Victor perks up marginally at the opportunity to tease the teen, smirking and saying, “Do you not like public displays of affection, Yurio? That’s a shame, because Yuuri and I love them…”
He slides both hands around Yuuri’s waist and begins to nuzzle his neck, making Yuuri blush and Yurio snap, “Get a room, old man!”
Yuuri slaps a hand over Victor’s mouth to stop him winding up Yurio any further.
The five of them eat their lunch in companionable silence, all too hungry after hours of training to even consider dragging their attention away from their meals. Victor is the first to finish (Yuuri’s stomach aches in sympathy since Victor is probably still going to be hungry) and once he’s downed his water, he stands up to leave.
Yuuri frowns up at him, taking hold of his arm to stop him walking away. “Where’re you going?”
“Back to the rink.”
Yuuri glances at the clock on the wall behind Victor’s head. “It’s barely been fifteen minutes; you need a longer break than that!”
Victor only smiles, pulling Yuuri’s hand off his arm and squeezing it. “I’ve had enough of a break, love. I’ll just use the extra time to practise a little more before I start coaching you this afternoon.”
Yuuri tries to protest but Victor is already gone, bounding off towards the doors and pushing through them with a flourish.
He sighs, shoulders slumping as he stabs at his food with his fork. He startles at the feeling of a hand on his bicep, looking up with see Mila reaching across Victor’s empty seat to pat him.
“Don’t sulk, Yuuri!” she says in heavily accented English. “Victor’s used to Yakov being like that.”
Yuuri gives her a grateful smile. “I know. I just wish he’d given himself a longer break.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Georgi says with a wave of his hand. “Victor is desensitised to ruthless training; probably from living with Yakov for so long.”
Yuuri frowns, now forgetting his lunch altogether. “Living with?”
Mila and Georgi share a glance of surprise.
“Yes, you didn’t know?” Mila asks. “Victor lived with Yakov for most of his teenage years, I think.”
“Oh.”
No, Yuuri did not know that. Victor has always been rather secretive about his life before he met Yuuri and Yuuri is mostly okay with that; Victor will be honest with him when he is ready to and Yuuri would never push him. But the fact that Yakov had been Victor’s primary caregiver for such a large portion of his life seems like something important, and Yuuri is a little hurt that Victor never mentioned it.
Yuuri goes quiet again, mind swarming with a hundred new thoughts. Why would Victor keep something like that from him? Does he not want Yuuri to know for some reason? Does he not care enough to tell Yuuri himself?
Opposite him, Yurio drops his fork onto his plate with a clatter and kicks his chair back. “On that note, I’m going back, too. I can practically hear Katsudon stressing.”
Yuuri barely registers him leaving. He hears Mila mumble something about angsty teenagers and then she and Georgi start to speak to each other in Russian, effectively shutting Yuuri out of the conversation. He finds that he doesn’t really mind; he’s probably not much company right now anyway.
X
Victor and Yuuri end up being the last skaters at the rink. It’s getting late, the setting sun casting shadows on the side-lines and leaving everywhere but the ice in a state of dimness. The ice seems to thrive under the attention of light, the surface of it still gleaming and glistening despite the endless scratches left by the blades of several sets of skates.
Everybody else went home almost two hours ago, leaving the two of them alone. Yuuri had been ready to leave with the others but Victor had given him puppy eyes and begged him to stay for just a tiny bit longer and well, Yuuri can never resist that look even if he tries.
But now, with his stomach crying out for dinner and a heavy ache in his muscles from too many hours of use, Yuuri is beginning to regret being such a pushover. He leans against the barrier, fiddling with his now empty water bottle as he watches Victor launch into a quadruple salchow, triple toe loop combination for what feels like the fiftieth time. Yuuri rolls his eyes. Victor executes the jumps as perfectly as he’s always done them, so why won’t he stop doing them?
Yuuri huffs and takes advantage of the short window of time when Victor isn’t moving, whining, “Victor! Are you ready to go home?”
Victor glances up at him as he skates back to his starting position, and shoots Yuuri a sheepish smile. “Almost, my love. Just one more time, please?”
Yuuri rolls his eyes again – any politeness he once had had left with the other skaters at six o’clock. “Victor, it’s late. We both need some dinner and Makkachin has been alone all day.”
Victor’s shoulders droop, and Yuuri knows that he’s won. Victor skates over to him like a child whose been dragged away from their favourite toy. Yuuri fixes him with a steely look and hands Victor his own water bottle.
“Your jumps are flawless, Victor,” Yuuri says, watching Victor’s Adam’s apple dip as he drinks. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard today?”
Victor only shrugs. “I’m not pushing myself that hard. I used to train this late all the time before I came to coach you.”
That may well be true, but Yuuri is positive he knows the reason for Victor’s reluctance to stop today. “Is this because of what Yakov said at lunch?”
Victor visibly tenses. “No.”
Yuuri is thoroughly unconvinced. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Victor skates away before Yuuri can question him any further, stepping off the ice and calling back, “What do you fancy for dinner tonight? I’m thinking noodles!”
Yuuri sighs, but decides to let the conversation drop. Victor is extremely slippery when he wants to be and if he’s already made up his mind about something, there’s not much more that Yuuri can do to change it. He follows Victor off the ice, collapsing onto the bench and carefully pulling his skates off as to not disturb the blisters he can already feel forming on his feet.
It’s been a hectic day. Between dealing with the paparazzi this morning, Yurio being even more grouchy than usual, Yakov’s endless yelling and Victor wanting to stay so late, Yuuri is ready to all but dive into bed as soon as they get home and not resurface for at least twelve hours.
After packing up their skates, Yuuri follows Victor back to the changing rooms as he hides a wide yawn behind his hand.
Is this how it’s going to be every day?