Chapter Text
Yuuri
55F 12 C
I still feel like I was run over a car, but I can’t stand it anymore. I’m itching to get out, something stretching and pushing under my skin, my bones aching for the open sky instead of a low ceiling.
Viktor follows me to the rink. It’s the first time he’s followed me-- before, we were too scared it would change him. Scared that someone would recognize him. However, hair tucked into one of my beanies he keeps his human skin, and he hovers over me when I fumble with the combination lock on my locker. He sits next to me on the bench when I lace my skates. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look away either.
I get to do one lap around the rink before Viktor reappears, stepping onto the ice in a rented pair. The ice is empty, only because it is actually the time we use for practice, but Emily overtrained, and with me sick, Celestino forced us all to take a break.
I keep my hands folded behind my back as I skate compulsory figures. It hides the shaking, and it's easier to squeeze my hands when they’re clasped behind me.
Viktor keeps his distance at first, mirroring my movements on the other half of the rink. He’s sorely out of practice-- years of it, but it comes back to him as naturally as breathing. He manages to work up from a single jump to a double toe loop before we both realize that I’m just staring.
There’s the only soft “shhhh” of blades in the ice and the muffled pop radio drifting in from the lobby, a background to my hammering heart.
“Show me the skating you like best?” He holds out his hands, and I automatically reach out and rest my fingers on top of his.
This is awkward, but it’s been my plan for the past three years. I would have never been brave enough to skate Viktor’s last complete choreography on the same ice as him, or in competition where it would be compared to the real thing.
Until last winter, it had been a tribute, to a long lost hero. It is the skating I like the best. Viktor just doesn’t know that I didn’t fall in love with him this summer.
I’ve loved him for years.
I skate backward, though I close my eyes so I don’t have to meet his gaze anyway. Celestino used to select all my programs, but this season I chose my own. It’s all muscle memory-- I’ve been skating it for years, and I’ve been doing it in practice for the past five months. I don’t need the music, I can hear it in my head as I sweep myself into the starting position.
Viktor doesn’t need the music either. I can hear him gasp when I get ready to move into the first jump. It’s the last thing I hear though, until I twist into the final position, my lungs screaming for air and sweat dripping down my face.
I nearly fall flat on my face when Viktor collides into me, his arms squeezing any breath I manage to suck in.
“Stammi Vicino… Yuuri...I…” Viktor just squeezes me tighter, and my face burns hot.
“Sorry-- I---” He cuts me off my pressing his mouth against mine. It’s clumsy and awkward and he knocks his teeth into mine, but I don’t mind the bruise I can feel start to bloom under my skin.
“Never apologize for something like that,” he breathes. His thumbs work at my cheeks, wiping away the tears I don’t realize that are falling.
“I popped the--”
“Shhh,” He interrupts me, kissing me right in the middle of my forehead. “Stop talking. I’m trying very hard not to ravish you right here on the ice.”
I laugh, still trying to catch my breath. “What?” I pant, “Radish?”
His hands wander to the front of my sweatpants, and I immediately jerk away with a humiliating squeak.
“O-oh.” I lick my lips, and I can taste sweat and Viktor on them.
“Yuuri, I’m sorry, do you not--” Viktor tucks his hands behind his back, and my stomach twists.
“No---Yes!--- N-no?” I stutter. My head is swimming, and I feel like I should die right there. I look around-- the rink is still empty, thank god.
“I--I don’t know what to do. How. Um. You’re… my first. First...everything.” I can't even tell if I’m blushing anymore--- everything is too warm, warm enough that my body has started tuning it out. It’s a constant fever for me now, every nerve in my body is tired of it.
Viktor softens, and he closes the distance between us. He cups my face in his hands. I get distracted by his ridiculously thick eyelashes. They’re silver, even though most magazines photoshop them darker. I’ve stared at them in print for ages, but photos aren’t the same as the real thing.
“Then I want to do it right,” He breathes, his gaze so tender that my knees and my insides melt into a useless molten goo all at once. “When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready!” I bark out, and I can’t bear to look at him, so my eyes shoot to find his hands in my peripheral vision. He laughs, probably smiles, before kissing me on the corner of my mouth.
“If I only had my own place. With some privacy,” His voice is low and warm, and I almost hate him, like he’s doing this to me on purpose.
“I--I can get Phichit an AirBnB,” I stutter, opening my eyes to look to the corner of the rink where my phone is sitting. “I-I mean, that’s what we did when he was d-d-dating.” I have to add on, or Viktor will think Phichit and I have a whole plan set aside for this. Which we don’t--- not really. But my brain immediately supplies it. Because, while I love Phichit, I really don’t want to see his reaction if he walks in on…. That.
“Yuuri, there’s no rush. We have forever now.” Viktor smiles, kissing my cheek again, one of his hands sliding back to play with my hair. It’s one of his favorite things to do, even though his hair is way softer and prettier. He does it all the time-- even when it’s sweaty and in desperate need for a wash. But he looks happy, and I don’t want to ruin it.
“Oh,” I breath, and I can’t hold back the shiver that runs up my spine and jerks my entire body when his fingernails scrape my scalp. “Tomorrow?” I ask, because now that he’s brought it up, I can’t get it out of my mind.
“I don’t know if I can wait that long with you looking at me like this,” Viktor purrs into my ear. I’m incredibly turned on-- and pissed off.
“You just said to wait! There’s no rush!” I growl in frustration, kicking my toe pick into the ice. I immediately regret it, and not because of the spray of ice clinging to Viktor’s pants.
It’s his face.
He looks terrified.
“Viktor?” My shoulders hunch, and I subconsciously drift backwards. “I-I’m sorry?” I don’t know what killed the mood so instantly, but the adrenaline of panic is already pushing out from my heart and making my hands shake and my veins run cold.
“You growled,” His expression doesn’t change.
“I was… frustrated.” Shame mixes in with the panic, my hands fluttering by my sides before I twist them behind me. Viktor lifts his arms, folding them and tapping his bottom lip, deep in thought.
Before he can open his mouth, I turn and fly to the other side of the rink. I ignore my hard-guards and go straight into the locker room. Celestino can lecture me about caring for the rink and my blades later.
I have to go.