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slusheeduck · 5 years

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Intruder

The time has come and I can share the full one-shot I wrote for the @yoimoviezine!! Young Vitya is one of my favorite things ever, and getting to show how his relationship with Yakov might have started is something I’ve wanted to write forever, so THANK YOU ZINE FOR GIVING ME THE OPPORTUNITY TO.

Yakov hadn’t been a young man when his life had changed. He’d just begun his descent into old age, just beginning to entertain the thought of retiring. He had plenty to show for all of his years of hard work, after all: a fruitful skating career of his own, now thirty years behind him, and reputation as a coach who put out gold medal winners. But, well, he liked his work, and he liked pushing students to be the best possible skaters they could be.

That said, he didn’t run a charity. Even with parents offering frankly obscene amounts of money for their children to be part of his classes, even with coaches calling him begging to take their students, he had a very strict set of rules to be considered before he would even consider taking them on:

Students had to be passionate about the ice

Parents had to accept that he was the one in charge of their child while on the ice

His time was to be respected.

Rules one and two were the ones most often stumbled upon; he had no patience for lazy students or overbearing parents. The third rule, though, was never an issue. Auditions were always made via appointment, and all of Russia knew that class time was sacred. Students—and only students—were the only ones allowed in the rink at that time, and no one—not even the pushiest parent or the most hopeful coach—would dare to interrupt it.

So, when he heard an unfamiliar voice call out, “Hey! Are you Yakov Feltsman?” in the middle of warm-ups, he nearly had a heart attack.

The entire class came to an abrupt halt, the dozen Juniors staring wide-eyed at the intruder as Yakov took a moment to silently fume. There would have to be a long talk with management about the shoddy security at the rink. He took a deep breath, then turned to look at the very unwelcome arrival. A young boy leaned against the wall, skates slung over his shoulder. One smile, one head tilt, and slightly widened, bright blue eyes told Yakov what he needed to know; it wasn’t shoddy security that got this boy in. No, this was a charmer.

And Yakov hated charmers.

“This rink is—”

“I was told to come find you by my coach, Irina Mikhailova,” the boy continued blithely, as if Yakov hadn’t spoken. “She said you used to coach her, and that you could teach me more than she can. So I came here as quickly as I could.”

Yakov huffed a sharp breath through his nose, crossing his arms. “If you want to join, your pa—”

“Oh, I have the money for it,” the boy barreled on, starting to dig in his bag. “I can actually pay for the first few classes now! And I swear I won’t complain, no matter how hard…”

“Quiet!”

The snap rang out through whole rink, finally quieting the boy. Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose, taking and releasing a long, slow breath as he shut his eyes. Losing his temper was bad for his blood pressure. But, hopefully, once he opened his eyes, the boy would be smart enough to leave immediately.

He opened his eyes, and two wide blue eyes were staring right back at him. Rather than being cowed (like the rest of the class currently was), he stood strong, face set in determination and silently refusing to move.

So he was a stubborn charmer.

Yakov let out another huff, then pointed to the seats just off the rink. “Sit.”

The icy determination suddenly melted away, and he eagerly dropped into a chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but Yakov held up a hand.

“For the love of god, don’t say a word and just sit there. I’ll talk to you once class is over.”

The boy shut his mouth, and he nodded before sitting up straight, attention raptly on the ice. Yakov rubbed his temples, then whirled around to face his students—who all quickly tried to look like they’d been warming up instead of watching to see how their coach would deal with the intruder.

“You know what’s next! Drills! Now!” he barked.

He crossed his arms as the whole class scrambled to show that they did indeed remember that drills came next, and the class progressed as normal—with everyone, especially Yakov, doing their best to ignore their visitor.

However, despite his best efforts, Yakov’s gaze kept drifting over to the boy. He sat straight up in his seat, eyes following the other skaters through their routines. Yakov had been around long enough to know when someone was itching to skate, and it looked as though it were taking all of this boy’s self-control to keep himself from launching himself over the wall to join them.

Well. At least the passion was there.

The class did finally come to an end, and the students meandered off the rink. Several hung around off the ice, obviously waiting to see what would happen to the intruder, but were quickly ushered out with a hard look from their coach. Finally, when it was just him and the boy, Yakov turned to look at him. He fidgeted in his seat, excitement radiating from every inch of him as he boldly met his eyes. Yakov sighed and shook his head.

“So. You want me to coach you?”

“Yes! Very much!” The boy leapt up to his feet, but dropped back down as Yakov motioned for him to sit.

“Why?”

This question was always the hardest for potential students to answer. “Because you’re the best” was the usual response, which resulted in an automatic dismissal. “Because I want to go to the Olympics” was another common one, and usually that one resulted in continuing with the audition. “Because my coach says I can do better, and you can help me” was the one he liked the best; almost all of those students wound up joining him.

The boy pressed his lips together for a moment, but there was no hesitation in his eyes as he looked up at Yakov. “Because I love skating more than anything,” he said, voice steady and determined, “and I’m going to be the best skater in the whole world.”

Well. It wasn’t often incoming students were so bold. But those that did rarely measured up to their pride.

Time to see if this boy was any different than the others.

He nodded, then gestured to the skates sitting on the boy’s lap. “Get those on and show me what you’ve been working on. You must have at least one program ready if you’re here.”

The boy’s face split into a wide, beaming smile, and he automatically pulled off his shoes to get his skates on. They looked well-broken-in, so that was a good sign, as was the obvious eagerness as he practically ran out onto the ice.

“Warm up first!” Yakov barked once his blades hit the ice. The boy nodded, then easily began a few laps around the rink. While his excitement was still palpable, he was laser-focused as he did his figure-eights, a few camel turns, and his practice jumps. When he was sufficiently warmed up (Yakov had to admit, he was impressed that the boy had given himself enough time; skaters at his age were rarely so well disciplined. He’d have to call up Irinka and give her his compliments), he made his way to the center of the ice. He took a deep breath and sent a bright grin to Yakov.

Then, with no warning, his entire demeanor changed.

The overly-excited, impatient boy that had interrupted the lesson disappeared, and a cool, collected skater appeared as he got in position. He lifted his arm, lifted his head, then immediately sank into his routine. He glided across the ice as if he’d been born on it, twisting and banking in perfect rhythm to the music playing in his head.

It wasn’t a perfect routine, no. His footwork was sloppy, and he touched down on a double Salchow—due to nerves, no doubt, considering he landed a triple flip with hardly a waver. But the mistakes didn’t matter, and neither did the impressive jumps. What was most important, more than anything, is that Yakov could not take his eyes off of this boy.

His favorite students were always the ones that commanded the attention of the audience, but this wasn’t the same. This boy wasn’t demanding that you look at him; he was inviting the audience to join in his joy. Every outstretched hand, every toss of his head was a heartfelt request that just edged on desperation.

Watch me. Isn’t this fun? Enjoy what I’m doing, because it’s for you.

Yakov had seen many, many different styles in his years of skating. But he’d never encountered anything like this. And, proud and disruptive as his introduction had been, he’d be an idiot to turn this marvel of a boy away.

The routine drew to a close, and for a moment, the boy held his pose. He trembled, breathing hard as he stared straight up at the ceiling, then let his arm drop as he looked up at Yakov. Sweat matted his fair hair to his forehead, and his face was soft, as if he’d just woken from a dream. It took a moment before the big, bright smile was on his face again, and he skated over to meet Yakov.

“So? How was that?” he asked breathlessly. “Was I good?”

Yakov shook his head, pushing aside his marvel to put his best coaching face on. He crossed his arms as he looked up at the boy, face hard.

“You do love skating.” It wasn’t a question, but the boy nodded all the same.

“Yes. More than anything.”

“How old are you?”

The boy stood up straight, eyes sparkling as if that was a “yes.” “Eleven, but I’ll be twelve in December.”

He nodded. “Good, good. That gives me enough time to polish you up before your Junior debut.” He looked up as the boy sucked in a breath, but before he could blurt out whatever gratitude was going to leave his mouth, Yakov met his gaze dead-on. “But this won’t be easy. I’m not your parent, I’m not your cheerleader. I’m going to work you harder than you’d ever thought possible. If you become my student, nothing will be more important than the ice. You need to understand that skating will be your entire life from this point on.”

The boy blinked, blue eyes wide. After a moment, though, he did the very last thing Yakov expected—he laughed.

“That’s not a problem,” he said breezily. “Skating’s been my entire life since I first stepped onto the ice.” That cool confidence returned as he met Yakov’s eyes, a small smile on his face. “I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

The moment broke, and he sent Yakov another wide grin as he glided over to the entrance. “So I’ll see you on Monday, Coach Yakov! That’s when your new session starts—don’t worry, I’ll remember, I have it written down on my calendar.”

“What?” Well, the boy really had been confident that he’d get this, hadn’t he? Yakov huffed as he walked over to where he was pulling off his skates, then set his hands on his hips as he looked down at him.

“What’s your name, malchik?” he asked as he slipped his shoes back on. “You never introduced yourself through all that.”

The boy looked up, then gave the biggest grin he had yet. “Victor Valentinovich Nikiforov.” He tied his skates together, then tossed them over his shoulder as he lightly got up to his feet. “And that’s the last time you’ll ever need to ask.” Then, with a wave and a bright “da skorova,” he was out the doors and gone.

Yakov lingered for a moment, staring at the door. Victor Nikiforov. In that moment, that name had the potential of belonging to the greatest skater Russia had ever seen or, possibly, the biggest pain in the neck Yakov would ever have to deal with.

But either way, Yakov knew that this charming whirlwind of a boy—this Victor Nikiforov, who already loved the ice more than anything—had staked a claim in his life without so much as an appointment beforehand.

So now, all there was to do was to see just where this whirlwind would lead.

#yuri on ice #yoi #fanfiction #yoi fic #ice speculation zine

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katzuyas · 6 years

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dazzle me with gold

from the start | ao3 | previous part

As the Babichevas' carriage disappears beyond the estate gates, so does Lady Nikiforova. She climbs the stairs without a word of farewell, but Yuuri cannot be upset about it, for once she leaves, life seems to return to Victor's face again as if she was the intangible wind that has snuffed the candle of his joy and now that she retreated, it sparked anew.

"Should we take a walk through the gardens?" Yuuri asks, trying to distract Victor from the dark thoughts. "It's such a beautiful day and I don't think you have shown me all there is to see yet."

The smile Victor gives him is clearly forced, but Yuuri does not comment on it when Victor says: "Of course, my love. Anything you want."

In stilted silence they walk around the manor and take a path that Yuuri does not recognize until they arrive at the different entrance into the beautiful maze of privet. The air is clearer there, less tainted with the poison of the manor, and the deeper into the gardens they get – thus the further away from the great walls of the estate – the more Victor returns to himself.

Yet Yuuri would be lying if he claimed to like that.

"Vitya," he says softly. "You know you can be upset around me, yes? I will not look at you any differently if you give way to your true emotions instead of trying to do what you believe will please me."

"I am not doing that," Victor denies hastily, but when Yuuri says nothing, he turns his gaze to him. "Am I?"

It's a tender smile that Yuuri gives him, one full of his love. "You are. And I appreciate it, but I do want you to feel safe enough around me to be able to show that side of yourself as well."

Victor's sigh is long, but once it passes, he seems far more at ease than before.

"Forgive me, my Yuuri," he says. "I did not mean to do that. It's simply a hard thing to discern the right time to stop, because I do not wish to worry you needlessly."

"If I do worry about you, then it is never needless," Yuuri says, squeezing Victor's hand. "I do not enjoy it, no, but the reason for my worry is because I love you. And I hope you do know that."

Victor brings Yuuri's hand up to his lips and rests a kiss upon it, after which he gives a small smile.

"I do. And I am an incredibly lucky man for it."

Yuuri says nothing to that, but the flush on his cheeks, precious and pink, speaks enough for him.

The silence between them lessens considerably and they walk further in amiable spirits. Victor guides Yuuri by the hand, but once they near what he wishes to show him, he pulls Yuuri close and wraps his arm around his waist.

"Here," he says in Yuuri's ear.

Here is a privet wall that makes Yuuri blink in surprise and turn his confused eyes up at Victor, who only smiles sweetly. He reaches a hand into the bush, fiddles around with something and–

There's a click, loud and clear, and a scrape of hinges, and the privet wall begins to move.

"A hidden door?" Yuuri asks, delighted.

"There's many more secrets to the manor than you know, my love," Victor tells him, pride in his voice.

Yuuri cannot help his grin as the door opens fully and the inside of a tiny alcove appears to them on the other side. Without waiting, he steps inside. There is little room there, but enough to be fitting for the two of them. A bench stands on the far end, yet Yuuri disregards it as he shrugs off his robe and spreads it on the grass. He sits down and only then looks up at Victor.

"Come on," Yuuri calls. He opens his arms in invitation that does not need to be repeated. "This is just what we needed."

Victor takes off his own robe and rests it nearby before he sits next to Yuuri. The sun that peeks through the green leaves above their heads plays a wondrous game of colour on Victor's face, one that Yuuri cannot help but admire, because Victor is beautiful like this. A man with so much heart, so much joy, so much life to give to others; he looks like a figure carved of marble: strong and stunning.

Yet Yuuri knows that he is far from just that. He is so much more than meets the eye, and as Yuuri leans in to kiss Victor softly, he feels hot tears gather beneath his eyelids. The full moon closing in may be the cause for it, or it may simply be Yuuri's own nature or the strength of his affection for Victor. Whatever it may be, it fills him to the brim and overflows the moment his lips part on a breath.

"It's been only a month since we've met properly, my Vitya, but I swear to the gods that my heart has never known love like what I feel for you," he whispers against Victor's mouth. "I know it's silly to feel so strongly after so little time, but I– Vitya, I truly–"

He cannot complete the sentence, because the words seem to get stuck in his throat which tightens with emotion so great that Yuuri doubts there even are words to describe it. He swallows and hopes to somehow convey the magnitude of his adoration, but Victor speaks before he can.

"I know," Victor says, sweet and soft. The tender curl of his mouth feels like an admission of love as much as his words do. "I know, because I do feel it, too, my Yuuri. As if the fate itself has tied us and brought us to each other, but it is so much deeper than anyone or anything could have predicted. I love you with my whole heart, my Yuuri, and far more than that, too. And I think, I truly think that I will love you until my dying breath, for no love can ever be greater than what I feel for you."

"Don't say that," Yuuri chides in a voice wet with unshed tears of love so great it cannot be tamed. "Don't speak of dying in the same breath you speak of loving me. If you truly do," Yuuri sets his palm against Victor's cheek and brings his eyes to meet his own tear-filled gaze, "if you truly do love me that much, never think of dying unless we are both old and gray, and have lived our lives to the fullest at each other's side. Promise me that, my Vitya, I beg of you."

"Of course, my love, I do promise," Victor replies as easily as he always confesses his affection and Yuuri's heart swells within his chest in a mirror of that. "I will never wish to die if the prospect is living by your side."

The happiness, pure and radiant, spills onto Yuuri's cheeks along with the tears which he hides in Victor's shoulder as he pulls him into an embrace.

They fall onto their bedding of Yuuri's robe and grass, woven tight together in a way that should be suffocating, but isn't. It's only heartwarming and fulfilling, and so right that when Yuuri whispers another "I love you," against Victor's lips, it's met with the same words falling from Victor's, because their hearts now beat as one and as one they will beat until the very last.

Yuuri is sure of it.

#yuri on ice #victuuri #viktuuri #victuri #vikturi #my fic #dazzle me #boy oh boy #they sure are saps extraordinare #I love my boys sweet sappy and ridiculously in love #(and then I love hurting them ahahaha jk but not really? uwu)

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adrianners · 6 years

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I have just been grinning non-stop for the last three days. A prequel! So, so good. I’d been worried about a post-S1 film skipping Worlds 2017 when so many character arcs directly tie to the back half of the season, not just the main trio but Chris, JJ, even the non-finalists who mention working toward 4CC or Euros. But I’d also been worried that there was no way to cram Worlds 2017 into 90-120 minutes, even skipping the other major competitions.

But a prequel lets them zero in, whether that means the focus is a single competition or a series of vignettes (with or without present day framing). So good, so excited, please give me as many highs and lows for baby Vitya as possible. I want a big gold medal, I want that hinted-at injury, I want to see the moment he decided to choreograph for himself, and I want some good good Yakov “What are you talking about? This kid is a nightmare, not at all my pride and joy whom I will protect with my dying breath” Feltsman content. Any or all of the above, plus a million other things.

And I would be tickled pink if, in the middle of all the shit he’s had to deal with in his life, the haircut is literally just a case of “I timed how long it took me to wash, dry, brush, and style my hair today, and that is 90 minutes I could have spent petting my dog.”

Btw, if anybody’s looking for interesting ways to tie Yuuri in here, either for speculation or fic purposes, the Junior GPF has been held concurrent with the senior event since 2008. Just putting that out there.

#then nats through worlds in season 2 plz

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rcmclachlan · 7 years

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dark rc would you please consider writing about how victor (and the rest of the Russian skate team) had a feud with the Russian hockey team bc of their constant flirting and attentions towards yuuri (who was completely oblivious at the war waging for his heart)??

This has been sitting in my inbox for over a month and I apologize for that, nonny! I wanted to try my hand at breaking through this writer’s block and this prompt was ripe for the taking. It’s not my best work by any stretch, but it’s something at least! I hope you enjoy.

There are few things that give Yuri pleasure—the taste of accomplishment like cinnamon sugar on the back of his tongue after landing a quad; having a comeback so cutting that he practically draws blood; that soft murrf a cat makes when it decides it trusts him; the little green screenshot arrow appearing next to Otabek’s name in Snapchat—but they all pale in comparison to whenever the Russian hockey team visits the rink.

Skating is something Yuri has put his blood, sweat, tears, and time into perfecting, and letting a bunch of human trees with the reading comprehension of a two-year old onto his domain is a goddamn perversion of the ice. Where figure skaters bend wind and water and gravity to their will, hockey players are sheer power, made entirely of blood thirst, built like they’re going to war. Otabek says that Yuri has the eyes of a soldier, but he wouldn’t last a second against the warriors of Russia, armed and primed for battle. He doesn’t appreciate the reminder.

But, like all instruments of war, the hockey players have their uses. After all, it’s not the drop of the puck and the clash of bodies that sends frissons of joy up and down Yuri’s spine when they practically crash through the boards to get into the rink.

On the ice, #27 presses against Katsudon from behind, caging him within arms as thick as industrial pipes, huge hands curled over the pig’s as he demonstrates how to make a perfect slapshot. When their arms go up with the hockey stick #31 had pressed into Katsudon’s hands with a shy grin, their bodies arc as one. #8, who looks like he ate three whole bison for breakfast this morning, calls out in heavily-accented English that the pig is “looking too good for ice.” #14 is taking photos of Katsudon’s junk and not even bothering to try and hide it.

Katsudon gently disengages #27 to practice the swing on his own, and the entire team perks up at the sight of his ass like a pride of lions witnessing a wounded gazelle limping by.

And from his perch on the sidelines, Victor watches it all with a capital-S Smile.

“Vitya, if the skating thing doesn’t work out, I could try my hand at hockey!” Katsudon carols, demonstrating his new slapshot technique. Without the sweating hulk of living brick shit house snugged up against him, the pig turns the swoop of his arms and the twist of his back into something beautiful, a math equation rendered in human flesh. If he doesn’t work that into his next routine, Yuri’s stealing it for himself.

The players watch, rapt. Any second now, they’re going to drag him down to the ice and devour him.

Victor’s jaw is clenched so hard around his Smile that if Yuri listens closely he can probably hear teeth breaking. “That’s wonderful!”

Yuri opens his text app and types, im about to witness a fucking murder

The ‘whoosh’ it makes as it flies on gilded wings to Otabek, who’d better be either working on his quad loop or mixing something mind-blowingly awesome for Yuri’s free skate program if he knows what’s good for him, is a heavenly chorus to Yuri’s ears. He glances to the space just underneath the text bubble to make sure it delivered before tucking his phone away to watch the rest of the show.

#18 hulks up next to Katsudon and slings a friendly arm around his waist, like he’s alternate universe ex-Marine version of Phichit Chulanont in a hockey helmet. He says something that makes the dipshit practically sparkle with laughter and then turns the smuggest fucking smirk that’s ever graced a human head on Victor with laser beam precision.

“Aww, look how happy the piglet looks rolling around with the other hogs,” Yuri coos. He bats his eyelashes to really sell it.

Victor Smiles at him. “Hey, Yurio, I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s Otabek? Still not your boyfriend?”

The temperature in the rink drops thirty degrees. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

“You know, Yuuri and I think he should come for a visit. We’d make ourselves scarce, of course, so long as you use the opportunity to—”

This is like a waking nightmare. “You’ve talked about this? Get fucked, old man!”

“Twice this morning, as a matter of fact,” Victor smarms. “Unlike some people I could name.”

“I’m going to kill you with your own skates and make it look like an accident.”

Victor throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. Hard. “My favorite virgin murderer.”

Yuri doesn’t have a good comeback for that one except to scream at the top of his lungs right into Victor’s ear, and if it were anyone else he’d be worried about rattling their brains but with Victor he’s basically shouting into an empty house. He scratches at Victor’s arm until he’s free, then stages a retreat to plot his next attack. Out on the ice, Katsudon waves at them. #14 and #8 wave too.

“Can’t you kill them and make it look like an accident?” Victor mutters, rubbing his ear.

If anyone knows when when the rivalry between Victor and the hockey team started, it’s certainly not Yuri, because no one fucking tells him anything. As far as he knows, it’s been a years-long thing, two houses alike in dignity and all that bullshit. He saw it his first day at the rink: ducking under his grandpa’s arm to rush up to the entrance to the ice just in time to hear a giant in a red-and-white jersey snarl something about ‘prima donna fags in spandex.’

He’d been so ready to be part of something bigger than himself, to find connections and make the kind of friends that he read about in stories—steadfast loyalty and inside jokes, a bond forged from hard work and genuine love—that he hadn’t been prepared for the reality to disappoint. To see the person he’d looked up to for so long be disrespected by someone who was part of the ‘rink family’ was all it took for the slow simmer of anger that had always been in Yuri’s gut to boil over and turn to sludge, sticking to the inside of his ribs. By the end of the week, Yuri had reduced that player to tears twice in front of the rest of the hockey team. By the end of the second week, the guy quit.

But even as Yuri adopted the unwitting role of rabid attack dog, Victor never rose to the bait, just wore that ‘who me? I’m just a brainless ditz’ mask and met each barb and pointed remark with throwaway comments whose cruelty couldn’t be measured or even proven. No one could tell if he was genuine or genuinely mean with the shit that he would say, and so no one could call him on it. Victor had it down to an art form. The hockey team hated him. Victor hated them right back.

And so it went, back and forth, until Yuuri Katsuki came on the scene and screwed the whole dynamic up.

There’s sudden movement out of the corner of Yuri’s eye and he jumps almost out of his skin, but it’s just Mila, beaming as she slumps next to him, curls bouncing merrily to distract from the glint in her eyes when she turns to Victor.

“Sorry, Victor. I didn’t think Sasha would bring the whole team, but when they heard that Yuuri was going to be here…” Mila doesn’t sound apologetic in the least, because Mila’s a cutthroat asshole who lives for this kind of thing. If starting drama in other people’s lives were an Olympic sport, she’d be the undefeated world champion. It’s one of the few things he appreciates about her.

“No, no,” Victor says. “It’s fine.”

On the ice, Katsudon shrieks with laughter as #14 lumbers behind him like a bull, shoving his head between the pig’s legs and standing up so that he’s sitting on the guy’s shoulders. The other players cheer as #14 carts the dipshit around like a king on a throne.

“Absolutely fine.”

It’s absolutely apparent how very not fine this is. Mila shoots Yuri a viciously amused glance, her smile sharper than the very blades they’ve staked their careers on.

Yuri’s living his best life.

There’s a buzz at his hip—Otabek’s reply winging in just as #54 lifts a hand and shouts, “Too chickenshit to skate with us, Nikiforov?”

“Is that what you call it? You know, I heard the captain of the Canadiens on TV the other day saying that you move like a brain dead hippo seconds before it drowns! Surely he doesn’t have the right of it! You do just fine, I promise,” Victor calls back sunnily, like he even knows or cares who the captain of the Canadiens is.

“Why don’t you come over here and sink a goal. If your noodle arms can even hold my stick, that is.”

“Vasiliev, if I have to handle anyone’s stick, it’s sure as hell isn’t gonna be yours.”

Yuri takes his phone out to read Otabek’s text, but mostly to get Snapchat open and ready for when a brawl breaks out. With any luck, Victor will take off a skate and cut #14 with it.

The green bubble of Otabek’s reply seems vaguely accusing. If Victor murders one of them and you do nothing, you will be charged as an accessory. You won’t look good in orange.

U RAT BASTARD I LOOK GOOD IN EVERY COLOR!!! And If he has to go to prison in order to prove that point, well, he would do a lot worse for a lot less. u would go to prison w/ me right?

No?? Why would I do that?

They’ve been doing a pretty good job of ignoring Yuri’s world-rattling feelings for Otabek for the last few years, which means he’s gotta come up with a better answer than Because I’m way too pretty to go to jail. You’d have to stake your claim and let everyone know that the only person who gets to touch me is you. Losing his best friend wasn’t on the docket for today.

He’ll get back to Otabek in a minute. #20’s doing some weird mating display that involves dabbing and something that looks like the foxtrot, and it’s fucking hilarious. Even Victor looks like he wants to drop the angry pug face and laugh, but it goes on long enough that Yuri almost feels sorry for the guy, so he opens his phone to tell Otabek when his eyes catch on the last message in the chat window. The one in his colors.

bc im way too pretty to go to jail? u would have to stake ur claim and let everyone know that the only person who gets to touch me is u

When he was younger, Yuri almost choked to death on a too-big piece of blini and he’ll go to his grave remembering the way the world narrowed and became crushingly dark, pressing in on him from all sides, while his lungs spasmed and fought back against the inevitability of what came next, but the feeling of imminent death in that moment was nothing compared to what he’s feeling now, because oh god, he actually sent that.

There’s only one thing to do.

“Hey, crypt keeper,” Yuri snaps his fingers at Victor. “How do I get to the roof?”

Normally, that would be a giant sign nailed to a tree declaring it open season to ask why Yuri needs to even go there, who he’s talking to, is he okay, why does he look so angry when Yuuri Katsuki exists in the world, but Victor doesn’t even deign to look his way. “Unmarked door by the ladies’ room.”

“Great. Make sure my tombstone says ‘Gold Medalist, Beloved Grandson, and Better Than Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I think the fuck not!” Victor wakes up at that, whirling on him in utter horror. “No one’s better than Yuuri.”

Mila presses close. “The roof, huh. Gonna take a flying leap?”

“Shut up,” Yuri mutters, clutching his phone to his chest to hide the text messages, but it’s too late. Damage done. Mila zones in on it with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.

She could probably stand to find a little less enjoyment in his despair. Not that she would. “Awww, did you open your big, fat mouth and finally tell the good Hero of Kazakhstan how you feel? Good job, Yurochka, get that dick.”

“Mind your own business, hag!”

He can just picture it: Otabek in his room, surrounded by his stupidly expensive recording equipment with a dumbfounded expression on his stupidly handsome face, most likely regretting ever rescuing Yuri from those fans in Barcelona if it meant being saddled with such a clingy little emo barnacle like him. Yuri’s fingers shake as they type out haha jk but I *am* too pretty for prison.

There. It won’t change the fact that he basically coughed his feelings into Otabek’s eyes, but it ought to bring things back to some semblance of normalcy. At least enough so they can pretend this never happened.

“Hey there, kitty.” It’s a new player, #19—a sandy-haired beast with unfairly good skin and perfect teeth, but his good looks are marred with the ugly look of someone spoiling for a fight. Or, more accurately, searching for one to impress his new rinkmates. The guy’s mouth tilts up in a grin and he gently knocks his hockey stick against Yuri’s arm. “Bet you’d love it if I—”

The adrenaline dump from the accidental text must’ve been a big one, because Yuri yanks the stick right out of his hands before the little douche can finish whatever Shakespearean sonnet’s about to come out of his mouth, and the mean look on his face is taken behind the proverbial shed and murdered by shock.

“Touch me again with that fucking thing and I’ll give you a colonoscopy with it!” Yuri roars and, arm rearing back, throws the stick like a javelin back onto the ice. It lands about fifteen feet away.

“I—you can't—”

With a snarl, Yuri hoists himself onto the top of the boards and perches there, blades biting into the polished wood, and tightens his spine in case he needs to tackle the fucker to the ice. “Who even are you?! The next time you show your disgusting face anywhere near me I’ll rip your fucking tongue out through your teeth! Got it?”

#19 lets out a terrified yip and practically cuts off his own feet with his skates in his haste to get away while the rest of the players positively howl with laughter on the other side of the rink. Through the noise, Yuri hears snatches of things like ‘now you know not to mess with that one, dumb ass’ and ‘so beautiful when angry,’ which, ugh, hard pass.

Mila knuckles away tears as she crows, “Sasha, tell your boys that this is what happens when they rattle a tiger’s cage!”

Sasha, who’s patting the douche on the back like a good captain, shouts back, “They have to learn for themselves or they will never learn at all!”

Of all the boyfriends she’s had, Sasha’s the least awful.

“Yurio, why are you like this!” Victor barely manages to get the words out through his laughter, holding his sides like he’s in actual pain. Which he will be in a minute. “You certainly don’t get it from my side of the family!”

“FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU ARE NOT MY DAD!” Yuri lifts a fist to punch him right in the kidney, but his phone buzzes before he can let it fly.

It’s Otabek.

Holy shit, he was so focused on ripping #19’s guts out with his teeth that he forgot to hit send on his fix-it text.

Swallowing past the piece of lava rock that seems to be stuck in his throat, he shows his phone’s lock screen to flash the message preview, and—

Yura, I would kill anyone who tried.

He unlocks his phone to see the actual text, just to make sure it’s real, and spends an eternity embossing every word into his brain when there’s a sudden yelp of surprise that makes both him and Victor jump. The only difference is that Victor grips the edge of the boards, ready to spring into action like a fucking hunting dog scenting blood on the air.

Yuri looks up to see Katsudon skating toward them, shame-faced and curled in on himself, tears pooling in his eyes. He attempts a smile, but it trembles to pieces in seconds. “H-Hey.”

Victor’s on him like shit on velcro, wrapping him in his arms and pressing Katsudon’s face into his neck, shushing him with the most gentle smile Yuri’s ever seen on his dumb face. Almost immediately, Katsudon melts into him, every part of his body liquefying to fill all Victor’s spaces, and Yuri has to squint to see lines of daylight that demarcate where one ends and the other begins. This is the embrace of a lover. Different than when his grandpa hugs him. Different than when Victor or the pig try to pull that shit on him. Seeing them hold each other like this isn’t a new sight by any means, since they do it whenever they fucking can, but seeing it now makes his chest hurt with an angry, black envy.

“The fuck happened?” Yuri demands before he can stop himself, his fingernails digging into his palms so hard that he can feel the skin threaten to split beneath them. “What did they—”

“It’s nothing,” Katsudon whispers. He closes his eyes and a single tear slips down his cheek. “I suppose I was asking for it.”

Victor goes very, very still. “Who was it?”

There’s a pause, followed by a sad little sniff, and then, “N-Number 14.”

“I suddenly feel the need to practice my sit spins,” Victor says brightly. He presses a sweet kiss to the pig’s mouth, then pulls away with a Smile. Death lurks in his eyes. “Be back in a minute.”

Katsudon climbs out of the rink and settles between Yuri and Mila, who hands him his glasses. Before he puts them on, he dispassionately wipes his eyes and settles in to watch the show with a sly smile.

Oh my god. “You fucking liar.”

The smile widens. “Me? Nah.”

“Victor’s going to actually cut that kid’s dick off.” On the ice, Victor launches into a triple toe loop, then kicks out a leg to stabilize the landing, and the blade on his skate comes thisclose to #14, who lets out a shriek. “Why would you let him think—”

“Well, he was taking pictures of my—” Katsudon lowers his voice. “My you know.”

“Don’t you act all high and mighty. You know you’re doing this to get His Majesty revved up.” At Yuri’s confused grunt, Mila clarifies, “Jealousy can be a mighty motivator.”

“Jealousy,” Yuri echoes.

Her face is fighting with itself, trying to hold back her laughter and school her expression at the same time, and the result is a terrifying seizure of emotion. She looks like something out of a horror movie. Yuri isn’t sure whether this is an actual medical emergency or if he should try to burn the demon out of her. “Whenever Sasha gets jealous, he’ll spend the day winding himself up the rest of the way and then will be a little more… attentive than usual later on that night.”

Realization crashes over him like a wave and he turns to look at Katsudon in abject horror. “You pull this shit with the hockey team every time so Victor will—”

The pig’s smile goes lazy and hot, and he very pointedly has nothing to add.

Oh god.

“I need to take a bath. In bleach. And fire. And cement. I hate the both of you, but especially you, pig. You’re dead to me,” Yuri snarls. Time to ditch this freak show, since apparently no one’s getting ice time worth anything.

“Oh, Yurio, I meant to ask.”

Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t fall for it—

When he spins on his heel, Katsudon breaks in, eyes wide and innocent, and Yuri wants to punch him in his lying face. “How’s Otabek?”

Yura, I would kill anyone who tried.

He’s still got his phone in his hand, the buttons on the edges biting into the skin of his palm, and somewhere in the tangle of wires and metal is the promise to spill blood on his behalf, and if that isn’t a rock solid promise that he’ll be having incredible jealousy sex someday soon then he’ll eat Victor’s golden skates.

Speaking of.

“Oh look, your dumb-as-shit husband is gonna get his ass kicked.” He gestures to the rink where Victor is flying across the ice and laughing, four hockey players on his tail, all screaming some sort of battle cry.

Katsudon sighs, heading back onto the ice. “Oh, Vitya, really.”

“Sasha, if one dipshit in Lululemon is enough to rile up your buffalo herd then you’ll deserve it when the Canadians annihilate you in the Olympics!” Mila rolls up her sleeves and follows the pig. Which is Yuri’s cue to get the hell out before the cops need to be called.

He’s halfway to the parking lot when his phone buzzes again, this time with a call. Yuri picks up on the second ring.

“Are we going to spend another three years not talking about this?” Otabek sounds genuinely curious.

Yuri presses a hand to his face to hide the grin that wants to rip his head in two. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it when we’re in jail.”

“So, we are going to prison, then. All right. I’ve done stupider things for someone I love. I can’t think of any off the top of my head, but I’m sure they happened,” Otabek sighs, and Yuri wants to reach through the phone, drag his arm through miles and miles of airspace, just to press his hand to Otabek’s chest to feel the cadence of that long-suffering amusement.

“You rolled up like the Terminator to rescue me from my fans,” Yuri points out. “That was pretty stupid. How jealous were you?”

“Not at all? I barely knew you—”

He makes a face. “Wrong. Try again.”

There’s a long pause, then a halting, “… I was blind with jealousy and have been ever since. Wait, this is what does it for you?”

Yuri unlocks his grandpa’s car and starts it up, hooking his phone into the little mount on the dashboard so he can put the call on speaker. “Shut your trap and keep talking.”

“Jealousy isn’t healthy, Yura.”

“‘I’d kill anyone who tried, Yura’,” Yuri sing-songs, turning on the car. “I’m holding you to that, prison or no. I want you primed and ready to bite someone’s head off for even daring to speak to me at a moment’s notice.”

“I’m always primed and ready when it comes to you.”

Yuri’s face is on fire. “Beka…”

Otabek hums. “Put your dashcam on and don’t use the phone while you’re driving. Get home in one piece so we can talk more about my hypothetical fits of jealousy. Where the hell did this even come from, anyway?”

“Beka, I’ve come to the conclusion that Victor’s a fucking whipped idiot and Katsudon is evil and can’t be trusted.”

“Is it Thursday already?”

Yuri viciously stabs End Call. Then he presses his face to the steering wheel and laughs and laughs. He doesn’t put the car into drive until his heart stops feeling like it’s about to lead a herd of hockey players on a merry chase.

It takes a while.

#otayuri #yuri x otabek #victuuri #victor x yuuri #yuri on ice #long post for ts #remember when i used to write half decent fic instead of this soulless garbage?#yeah me too good times #rc's yoi ficlets

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 7 years

Note

character meme: Viktor Nikiforov and Hakuryuu.

Send me characters and I’ll tell you:

Viktor Nikiforov

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life | PURE AND WONDERFUL ICE DADhotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang | it’s mostly in the hair, he has lovely hairhogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: His enthusiasm and kind heart.worst quality: Not the greatest at communication.ship them with: YUURI YUURI YUURI YUURIbrotp them with: I actually really like his friendship with Chris. needs to stay away from: His loneliness and depression. Beat them back with a broom, Vitya.misc. thoughts: ADOPT ME Viktor is a joy to watch onscreen, seems like he’d be a very good hugger, and must be cherished and protected at all costs.

Ren Hakuryuu

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life | (pulls out a megaphone) MY SON, LOOK AT MY SON, PRIDE IS NOT THE WORD I’M LOOKING FOR, THERE IS SO MUCH MORE INSIDE ME NOWhotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang | he has been blessed with the Ren family beauty, would 100% fluffle his hair and give him a hughogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: EVERYTHING His absolutely amazing inner strength; it takes a will of solid steel to survive the life that he’s lived.worst quality: TREAT YOUR POOR SISTER RIGHT, YOU LITTLE DUMBASS His need to do everything on his own and refusal to open up to anyone else, but it looks like he’s developed out of that.ship them with: Judal, Judal, Judal, and of course, Judal. brotp them with: I really wish we’d get to see more of his positive relationship with Hakuei and Seishun, because the omakes with them were cute.needs to stay away from: ARBA. THE POWER OF SOLOMON COMPELS YOU, DEMON. BACK.misc. thoughts: I. LOVE. THIS. BOY. SO. DAMN. MUCH. Second favorite character ever. Great voice and design, one of the best character arcs in the manga, more interesting than the actual protagonists, god damn, Alibaba and Aladdin, step it up, so much fun to watch and to write, and has character development that physically warms my heart, I’m so proud of him. 10/10 would hug and cuddle forever.

#thanks for asking!#kaen answers #seeingteacupsindragons

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droewyn · 7 years

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Intervention, Part 1

April, 2021

“Two days,” Yuuri grumbled as he kicked off his snow-covered boots. “Two more days, and I’m never getting out of the onsen again.” April in St. Petersburg was a vast improvement over January but it was still nowhere near the sunny warmth of Hasetsu at this time of year, even without the current cold snap and accompanying blizzard. Knowing that this was their last Russian winter – very last snowstorm, even – didn’t help, it just made Yuuri want to be sitting under the sakura blossoms eating mochi now.

The renovations to Ice Castle were in the final stages of completion. Yuuko’s family’s pride and joy had received much more than a facelift thanks to the two champion skaters, and when it reopened sometime in mid-May it would be as a state-of-the-art facility on par with any in the world. The perfect place to begin their post-competitive lives.

Victor chuckled, pulling off his own boots and dumping them next to Yuuri’s. “That’ll make coaching somewhat difficult, don’t you think?” He started peeling out of his layers.

Yuuri shrugged out of his overcoat, hanging it on the coat rack before accepting a pair of house slippers from his husband and stepping into them. “Yakov works from behind the boards; I can Skype in.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“No, it’ll be great. You’ll be onsite for demonstrations and jump spotting, and I can soak while I bestow upon our students the proper combination of backhanded compliments and innuendo… sorry, instruction.” He beamed up at Victor, a picture of innocent enthusiasm. Waiting.

And there it was. The instant of sheerest surprise blanking those beautiful features. Even after five years together, Yuuri lived for that look.

The shock twisted into mischief all too quickly. “Are you questioning my methods, zolotse?” Victor purred. Yuuri found himself being pressed slowly backwards through the living room. “I don’t recall you complaining about them at the time.”

Laughing, he allowed his husband to steer him around a stack of CedEx boxes. “Vitya, I was convinced that I was dreaming until practically July! And anyway, you know I would have put up with any kind of attention from you.”

Victor gasped. “Put up with?” he echoed in mock outrage. With a single smooth motion, he pushed Yuuri down onto the couch and straddled his lap. “I put my entire legendary, record-setting career on hold at the command of a, what was it, a ‘dime-a-dozen Japanese figure skater’, and now I learn that you found my attention merely bearable?”

“Hmm, well, I’ve always been told I’m a very tolerant person.” His tone was bland, but the look that he shot up at Victor through his lashes was pure challenge.

Blue eyes widened, then turned predatory. “Indeed? Then please do your best to tolerate this.” The kiss was searing, and Yuuri happily lost himself in it as the world went away.

Literally.

Part 2 here.

#yuri on ice #timeskip au #part 1 of (probably) 4 #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #phichit chulanont #victuuri #implied phichuuri #poor victor #this is like the third fic i'm working on where he's cockblocked by circumstance #it's not intentional i swear #i have committed fanfiction #original content #yoi time skip au

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bethdiane · 7 years

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Yuri Fanfic preview!!

AN: This takes place immediately after their duet in the last episode of season one

~~~~~~~

Yuri almost pulled Victor with him backstage, but there was no need, as Victor followed him close behind. Even with skates on he walked so smoothly, gracefully behind the younger man, both of them moving as if a string were attaching them. Neither said a word, both breathing heavy, basking in the feeling of what they’d just done. Yuri walked with determination, yet enjoying the feeling of his partner next to him even still. As if the duet wasn’t over. It would never be over.

As soon as they were alone in the quiet corner, Yuri spun on him, closing the small gap between them. It seemed as if he had something to say, but Victor was not at all surprised when he did not speak out loud. Words were not necessary after what they’d just done. They had never been more in tune with each other.

Victor leaned his head in to touch his forehead to Yuri’s, a small simple smile on his beautiful face. Yuri merely stared up at him, huge brown eyes staring straight into his. Yuri’s hands were on Victor’s hips, his fingers clutching tightly, involuntarily, almost pulling Victor to him as if he was afraid Victor would drift away. Victor’s arms rested on Yuri’s shoulders, his hands clasped behind the younger man’s head.

They just stared at each other, glowing and radiating as if the spotlights were still beaming down on them.

“Vitya…” Viktor’s eyes widened and his smile grew all the way across his face. It was the first time Yuri had ever used the familiar pet name. “You were so beautiful…..” He was breathless still from the program, his voice barely a whisper, full of a kind of unreserved sincerity that was not typical for him.

Viktor’s cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink, that child-like sparkle in his eyes. To hear his precious Yuri, his student, his lover, his everything, say something like that to him… when he was usually so bad with feelings and words…

Suddenly he grew serious again and tilted his head down. “I’m glad you think so Yuri…” came his low, breathy voice as he lifted a hand to stroke it through Yuri’s slick styled hair, tenderly pushing back the few strands of bangs that had fallen on his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “You know it was all for you… right?” he whispered in an equally sincere and oddly innocent voice. His deep green eyes sparkled with that same innocence, the one that Yuri brought out of him so well. Neither of them were holding anything back in this moment.

Yuri only nodded. He knew. He’d understood everything that Viktor was trying to say to him out there, on the ice, moving his body to the music, just for Yuri, for no one else for the first time in his life. Yuri understood every feeling that Viktor felt for him. And for the first time since they’d been together, Viktor had solid confirmation that Yuri felt exactly the same way he did. They could both see it—in the way they moved their bodies with each other, the way they looked at each other… eyelids half closed, basking in the pure passion they felt… for the ice, for each other…

“You’re the only audience I need remember?” With a simple smile, Viktor quoted what Yuri had said to him back at the beginning of their relationship, stroking Yuri’s hot, red cheek with two fingers gently. Yuri’s heart fluttered at the memory.

He had just finished skating his eros performance—it was at the Cup of China, after a perfect performance, breaking a record for the highest short program score in history. As he skated off the ice he was greeted by a beaming Victor, pride and adoration shining in his eyes, which he couldn’t take off his student. When Yuri wrapped his arms around him, Victor did the same, nuzzling his head into Yuri’s neck, skin hot and heartbeat flying. He had just proven to the world just how he loved Victor.

“That was amazing, Yuri! The audience was completely enthralled!” The entire stadium was still on its feet cheering for him as Victor doted, genuine happiness in his voice. Yuri pulled back, and tilted his head at Victor sincerely. Even over the roar of the crowd, he saw only Victor. He had always been far too self-depreciating to understand an audience’s reaction, their respect for him. When Victor asked if it felt good to skate that program, Yuri’s response was, “I just hope people had fun watching me.” It was hard for Victor to understand at first. How Yuri thought. That he way he put all others before himself, always, and always just assumed the worst of himself.

He heard none of the cheers or screams—even the chanting of his own name was drowned out by the gorgeous grey haired Russian in front of him that he’d already fallen hard for. “Victor… you’re the only audience I need,” he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, brown eyes deeply serious. Victor should know this by now, why Yuri did this… Still, the words had just come out—he hadn’t thought about it at all. Victor had that effect on him.

A tear hit Victor’s hand.

At the feeling of Viktor’s touch, always so gentle yet always making him feel electrified and hot, Yuri couldn’t contain the tears if he wanted to—tears of passion for what they’d just done, tears of joy for what he now knew he and Viktor had. They rolled down his cheek one after the other and he didn’t bother hiding them. Not anymore. And instead of backing away or looking away nervously, Viktor leaned his head down to kiss the shorter man’s eyes.

Unable to contain his happiness anymore, the sheer magnitude of his emotions outweighed his ever present anxieties, and he smashed his lips to Viktor’s unapologetically. Viktor’s eyes widened, but only for a mere fraction of a second before he closed them, naturally returning Yuri’s kiss.

As Yuri pulled away, Viktor’s elated expression returned, eyes sparkling, unable to contain his excitement in a very typical Viktor manner. “Yuri!” he exclaimed, flinging his arms around his precious skater, blushing again from Yuri’s boldness. There was Banquet Boy. He knew he’d get Yuri to find him again one day.

Yuri wrapped his arms even tighter around Viktor, his thin fingers gripping Viktor’s silky costume as tightly as they could, his tears leaving a wet spot that Viktor could feel on his chest. “Please don’t ever leave me…” Viktor had to bite his tongue to keep himself from crying now. He was learning how to handle Yuri’s insecurities, just by being strong and being there with him, by telling him over and over what he needed to hear.

He understood now that Yuri did not want Viktor to leave him, just that he wanted Viktor to do what he loved, with Yuri, not as his coach. “I’ll never leave you, Yuri, not just for the rest of my career but my life. I’m going back to Russia—and you’re going with me. And we’re going to skate together, and live together, and start a family together.” He pulled back and Yuri did as well, looking up into Viktor’s eyes as Viktor smiled, “You and me and Makkachin.” His eyes closed in that adorable smile of his as he tilted his head.

“I love you Viktor,” Yuri said quietly, though not shyly. It was confident and calm, but simple—they’d both known it for months now, even if neither had said it.

Viktor opened his eyes to look at his fiancée. “I love you too, my little Yuri,” he responded just as simply, just as if it were nothing, though with more confidence than he’d ever said anything before. Then he put his hand behind Yuri’s head and pulled him in to touch their lips together again. Victor parted his lips slowly but it was Yuri’s tongue that entered Victor’s mouth immediately. He suddenly found himself wanting to know every inch of his idol’s body.

He stepped forward, pushing Victor gently but firmly until Victor’s back was pressed against the wall.

Yuri had never been a particularly sexual being—he had never thought too much about sex, or even been “sexually attracted” to anyone really. The only one he’d ever given so much as a thought like that toward was Yuuko, but he was so young then that it was not the same, and his feelings were never reciprocated.

In fact he often wondered if he was what the internet was calling “asexual,” before he realized that labels were stupid and he didn’t care. He never bothered giving it too much thought, but he really was lacking in the sex drive department, especially for a young man. He masturbated every now and then, only when his body told him he had to, and even then he didn’t think of anything in particular. It’s why he was so upset at the notion of doing a show on “eros”—he didn’t know what it meant because he never felt it himself, as he had pointed out to Takeshi and accidentally lashed out at Victor for.

But now he found himself thinking these… “dirty” thoughts, wanting to do these… things with Victor…

There was nothing wrong with him his whole life. It’s not that he was not capable of sexual thoughts, like every other male—he was finding now that he was actually quite sexual and dirty-minded, when it came to Victor. He had just never had the right material. Apparently he needed… this. He needed Victor. Someone it mattered for.

Victor was right in believing that he would find and awaken the eros in Yuri—he just had no idea how right he was.

As his tongue moved around Victor’s, each of them pushing against the other, Yuri’s hands came up to the thin, silky fabric of Victor’s costume, damp in the front from his own tears, and he grasped it tightly, almost hungrily. Then his hands wandered to the center of Victor’s chest, where the shirt was incredibly low cut and exposed most of his chest, his palms flat on the lean muscles. A quiet happy noise escaped Victor’s mouth at the feeling—the sensation beyond his wildest dreams (and he had definitely dreamed about it). Yuri heard this and it involuntarily pushed him forward even more eagerly; his hands trailed down Victor’s incredibly defined sides. Yuri had never felt him this way and dear god the muscles…….. his mouth opened and a deep throaty breath escaped, his body trembling. Yuri seemed so… hungry… for Victor… and it was unbelievably sexy to him.

Suddenly, without missing a beat, Victor took Yuri’s hands in his own, and lifted them to their shoulders in a smooth motion. He pulled his face away, though only an inch or two, giving Yuri that ever so innocent smile of his. “While I am really appreciating the eros here… Unfortunately I’m not sure if this is the right time,” he stated so calmly, ever in control. He turned his head toward the hallway of the public backstage area at the people walking by. He knew what would happen if they kept going, and even Victor “The Sex God” Nikiforov appreciated social boundaries for displays of um… “affection.”

Yuri’s face slowly morphed from one of determination—lusty eyes narrowed and hungry lips pursed—to one of sheer terror, his eyes wide and his cheeks bright red. His hands came up to cover his open mouth, mortified. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. His head whipped around nervously to see if anyone was around to see.

Victor giggled at him and then leaned forward again, taking Yuri’s chin in his hand to lift his head up, placing his lips next to Yuri’s ear, “Your lack of self-control is quite enticing,” with that word, he stroked Yuri’s cheek with the other hand, “We will have to… explore that later,” the ever smoothness hid how turned on he truly was under the huskiness of his deep Russian voice. Yuri blushed even deeper now, lips trembling anxiously, his eyes still staring at the ground though Victor had lifted his head, still deeply ashamed.

Victor pulled Yuri’s head to his chest with a smile and a small chuckle under his breath. He loved his socially inept and awkward Yuri just as much as his sexy one. “It’s okay, moya lyubov,” he assured Yuri, “No one’s looking…” he stroked Yuri’s slick hair as he comforted him, Yuri almost in tears again from the horror of his actions. He had no idea what he was doing, his passion in total control, and it was terrifying to him.

And at the same time, it was so refreshing. Deep down he could still feel the rush, unlike anything he’d ever felt… all for his Victor… It was just another way he knew that Victor would continue to surprise him. Like Victor did best.

#im actually quite proud of this one #yoi #yuri #fanfic #fanfiction #yuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #victuri #vikturi #more to come

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slusheeduck · 7 years

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Actual Human Disasters Chris and Vitya

Or, “The Real Reason Why Viktor Nikiforov cut his hair”

A sort-of companion to this story.

Once upon a time, after an eventful post-GPF bender...

"Just...let me give it one more try..."

"OW! Дерьмо́!" Viktor hissed, then glared up at Chris. "Be gentle!"

"J'essaie, Vitya! Just..."

Another tug and another Russian expletive. Finally, Viktor shook his head before letting it fall back against the doorframe.

"Chris...it's over. Just..." He shut his eyes, tears already beginning to tremble at the edge of his lashes. "Just leave me to die." He looked up at Chris with wet eyes, gripping his hands tightly. "до свидания, mon ami."

"No. I'll save you. I promise." Chris' own eyes filled with tears as he met Viktor's gaze fiercely. He pulled his hands away to push his hair back as he glared at the bathroom door. Somehow, Viktor's beautiful, waist-length hair—his pride and joy—had gotten caught in the door. They had been here for nearly an hour now, trying to tug it out, but to no avail. Viktor was held prisoner by this terrible, awful, impenetrable door. They were out of options.

Well...there was one...

"No!" Viktor shrieked the moment Chris mentioned it. "Chris, you can't! You can't! I'll die!"

"You're not Raiponce, Vitya." Chris blinked. "Is that how it happened? She dies when her hair's cut, right?"

"Nooonononono. Non. Нет нет нет." The tears were out full-force now, dripping down Viktor's cheeks as he gasped for air. "рыбка, non. If you love me, you won't do this to me."

"Shhhh. Chut chut." Chris cupped Viktor's face, tilting it to meet his eyes. "Listen to me. Listen. We need to free you. I won't let you die here." He swallowed. "It'll hurt but we need to do it, Vitya. There's no other way."

A full sob ripped from Viktor's throat. "B-but...But Chris. I won't..." He hiccoughed and wiped his nose; goddamn, even when he was ugly crying he was beautiful. "I won't b-be pretty anymore!"

Chris gasped, and his grip on Viktor's face tightened. "You listen to me, Viktor Nikiforov. You don't need your hair to be pretty. You..." Oh, now he was crying too. "Y-you are the prettiest skater in the world."

Another wave of tears erupted. "N-no! That's you, Chris. You...you don't need pretty hair to be pretty!" Now he was gripping Chris' face as well. "Yo-you look like an angel! With your big зеленые глаза and the lashes and your perfect li-lips..." Viktor's hands wandered, squishing Chris' cheeks and lips. "I just have my hair!"

"Viktor Nikiforov. I promise. You will be just as beau with short hair as long hair. You have to believe me. Ouais?"

Viktor stared at him for a long moment, tears still leaking from his eyes. Finally, he swallowed. "Ou-ouais."

Chris nodded. "I'm gonna...I've got scissors in my bag. Stay here." He turned, then grabbed a nearby half-full bottle of vodka and handed it to Viktor. "Take a few drinks of this. It'll calm you down. It's just like...just like a bandage, d'accord?"

Viktor sniffled and nodded as he uncorked the bottle. As he gulped down a few drinks, Chris dug in his bag.

Oh, merde. All he had were eyebrow scissors. Ben, il se rendrait. Viktor's life depended on it, and he wasn't going to let a shitty pair of scissors stop him from saving his best friend.

Viktor whimpered as Chris came back, shaking his head pathetically.

"Shhhh, Vitya. It'll be over soon," Chris assured, kissing the top of his head. Viktor swallowed and held out a hand.

"Please, рыбка. I need you to hold my hand through this. S'il te plait."

"I can't cut your hair if I'm holding your hand." When Viktor whimpered again, Chris stuck out his leg. "Here, hold that."

Viktor's hand wrapped tightly around his calf in reply.

"Okay, Vitya. Be brave. It'll be over soon."

Viktor sucked in a deep breath and squeezed Chris' calf. Then, carefully, Chris began to snip away.

The scissors really were terrible, but luckily Viktor's hair was terrifically fine. So it didn't take too terribly long for Chris to hack through it. And, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Viktor was finally able to pull his head away from the door. He collapsed against Chris with an exhausted sob, and not two minutes later was passed out against him.

Chris let out a sigh and fell back on the floor, hugging Viktor to him. They truly were heroes in this moment, going through hell and coming out alive. He stroked Viktor's mangled hair for a moment, then felt the sweet embrace of a well-deserved sleep.

Chris' head pounded. His back hurt from sleeping on the floor, and his limbs were tangled around a mostly-naked Viktor Nikiforov. Typically, that meant they'd had a really, really good night.

Ah, but now it was time for the second half of their annual bender—where they huddled under the covers and sipped on Bloody Marys and tea until their coaches yelled at them to get to the damn airport before they missed the plane.

Deciding to see what the damage was from the night before, Chris hesitantly peeked an eye open. Viktor's face, of course, was the first thing he saw—his nose was red and his eyes were puffy (though through whatever black magic coursed through Viktor Nikiforov, he still looked breathtaking); they must have caught a particularly romantic movie last night. He pulled his head up to look over themselves for any new tattoos or piercings.

He couldn't stop the yelp as he saw the mess on top of Viktor's head.

"Mm, shhh." Viktor's hand waved toward Chris to quiet him. Chris, meanwhile, sat in quiet horror, hand pressed to his mouth. Viktor's hair—his beautiful, beautiful hair, his pride and joy—was a horrid, choppy mess. Some chunks grazed his cheekbones, other pieces nearly reached his shoulder. What had happened? What monster would do this to his precious, sweet Vitya?

Chris's eyes drifted over to a pair of eyebrow scissors beside him. His eyebrow scissors.

But...but he wouldn't! He would never do that to Viktor! Unless...some jealous rage had taken over last night? But what could he be jealous of? Yes, Viktor was a beautiful elven prince from a fairy tale and yes, he'd won gold at the GPF the night before...

That was it. He must have been so jealous of Viktor's hundredth win that he'd cut Viktor's hair.

Drunk Chris was a monster.

Viktor stirred beside him, groaning. "Mm...Я чувствую себя говно..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He pushed himself up and looked around. "Wow, three vodkas, one cognac...how much wine do you think we had? What a night."

Chris stayed frozen in place. Maybe Viktor wouldn't notice. He turned to Chris and smiled.

"Just the two of us in the room, though, so I guess we didn't get into too much trouble." He pushed his hands through his hair to comb through it.

Chris felt his soul fly right out of his body as he watched Viktor freeze. He pulled his hands away from the mess and stared up at Chris with wide, blue eyes.

"What...happened to my hair?"

The dam broke. "I don't know! I can't remember! But Vitya, I am so, so sorry. I mean, I don't know qui a came out but you know I can be a completement different person when I drink and I never, ever thought I would..."

"You did this?" Viktor's voice was a whisper.

Chris' heart shattered, and he swallowed as he gestured to the eyebrow scissors. "Please, Viktor. I don't...Je ne me souviens rien. Прости меня, Пожалуйста!"

With this last exclamation, Chris threw himself at Viktor. After a too-long moment, Viktor tightly wrapped his arms around him.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispered. "I...I don't know why you did this. But...but it's not you, Chris. I know you better than that."

Chris let out a shuddering breath, tucking his head against Viktor's neck. Viktor's shoulders shook. Was he crying? He peeked up.

Oh, no, he was about to throw up.

Chris abruptly pulled away, and Viktor stumbled up to his feet, lunging forward to open the bathroom door.

The whole world stopped, for a moment, as two feet of beautiful silver hair easily fell from between the door and the doorframe.

Oh. So that's what happened.

As Viktor puked in the bathroom—from a combination of stress and downing at least half of his body weight in alcohol the night before—Chris pulled out his phone to make an emergency call to a stylist he knew in the area. No, the appointment wasn't for him, funny story actually...

The story that Viktor gave everyone—Yuuri included—was that he was trying to shed his old image. The haircut was a change of pace. It surprised the audience, and of course everyone knew that Viktor lived to surprise the audience. Yes, he missed his long hair. But he'd always been taught to never look back on the past.

Chris was the only one who knew the truth. And, excellent friend that he was, he would take it straight to the grave.

Translations:

Дерьмо́ - Shit!

J’essaie - I’m trying

“до свидания, mon ami - Goodbye, my friend

Raiponce - Rapunzel

рыбка - little fish

Chut - Shush

зеленые глаза - green eyes

Ouais - yeah

D’accord - okay

Ben, il se rendrait - Well, he’d manage.

S’il te plait - Please

Я чувствую себя говно - I feel like shit

qui a - who had

completement - completely

Je ne me souviens rien. - I don’t remember anything

Прости меня, Пожалуйста! - Please forgive me!

#christophe giacometti #victor nikiforov #yuri on ice #idiot bffs being idiots #fanfiction

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