Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yuri is aware what kind of person he is. Scratch that; Yuri is aware how he is perceived by other people: fellow trainees, his coach and the small spring bud of his fan club. Well, he can’t be blamed that he is seen as aloof and cold and dramatic, can he: he can’t use ice to speak yet, can’t armor his voice with the gentle and rapid slide of blade to ice, so he allows the wind to amplify his passion into acute determination.

Yuri can’t speak yet, his lips are too dry and his eyes are burning, so he looks furious when he storms out of the arena after the results. Though he’s tiny, his shoulders are slender and his fists are lilies, his departure attracts attention like he’s honey. Maybe he will get on the news, the media spinning sugar lies about his motivations and, as his face is covered under a hood, he would receive a new face as well.

As Yuri walks briskly to the men’s restroom, he wonders whether Yuuri, one of the today’s finalists, a true skater, will receive the attention he deserves or whether his performance becomes a few lines at the end of an article. He broke at the seams today, shining gold at the cracks as if his body could not contain him. Or maybe not, Yuri looks at him, but does not know him, does not know the machinery behind his body and his skating. Yuri sees that he is upset, though, looks at him and tastes despair. Yuuri ran away with his neck empty and hands shaking. The trail Yuri right now follows is warm and marked by Yuuri: he left parts of himself like colorful glass.

Yuri’s wide and angry eyes hide his concern deep in his pupil. As he opens the door to the restroom and hears sobbing coming from deep within as well as poor attempts to speak, Yuri’s lips contort into a grimace that shows too many teeth and makes his face look melted.

The bathroom is quiet for a moment. Yuri feels his heartbeat at the tips of his fingers when he reaches out to the cubicle. Yuuri can’t contain his cries a few feet from him, separated by a flimsy door. Yuuri suffers, he deserves to suffer as his bones and flesh refuse to help him believe in himself.

Yuri kicks the door open and the guy inside looks pathetic. He’s crying, he face is so red and puffed it almost looks bruised. Yuuri is holding a phone in his hand but he is too terrified and vulnerable to speak.

He should say something. Are you okay or i’m sorry or i care, anything. Yuuri carries a lot on his shoulders, he does not need a kid with angry eyes and lips staring at him in the bathroom.

“Hang up if you are that upset,” Yuri states instead. The fluorescents above them bite Yuuri in his eyes and maybe that’s why he squints at the Yuri’s shadow like he hopes to drink it, “I mean,” Yuri continues, his lips moving in their own, “calm down first. You did what you could over there, so it’s pointless to cry now.”

What is he saying, Yuri briefly wonders. If he wore his skates, he might be more grounded and his words slicker, shining beautifully. But his little speech is, somehow, enough. Yuuri is still wet from fear but he murmurs an apology into his phone before hanging up. He hiccups softly and breathes. Only later Yuri realized that he was matching his breaths to his own.

Yuuri found the thorns beneath his lily body comforting.

“You’re r-right. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” Yuri interrupts him rudely. I always looked up to you, he wants to say, i respect your art and your art inspires me.

Yuuri smiles gently and Yuri may want to kiss him.

“I should… work more. Next time,” Yuuri leaves the cubicle, “I mean,” he giggles, a few tears escaping. He walks to the sinks, oblivious to Yuri’s slightly raised arm. What he would do anyway? Help him cross those few meters?

“Soon you will compete with us. What a strong rival,” together with tears, Yuuri drips with honesty. Their eyes meet in the mirror, warmly,“Thank you for coming after me,” Yuuri’s cheeks are red with fatigue and blush. He looks splotchy, his puffy eyes magnified under his glasses and he’s open. He does not really know Yuri; he must think the latter is rude and aloof, what an ice sugar princess.

He does not think so, Yuri realizes, feeling his shoulders relax. There’s comfortable atmosphere between them, like a small plant sleepily stretching from under soft earth which looks like cocoa.

He’s going to make Yuri blush too. Yuri becomes unattractive when he really blushes, when he does not play coy because it makes the public remember him.

And yet, Yuuri smiles at him like all those times they accidentally met in the corridors as if Yuri can become as red as a beet, an ugly blush spreading down his neck, and still be worth asking how are you?.

“I want a formidable rival too. There’s not enough space for two Yuri’s,” no, no, no, that’s not what he meant to say at all. Yuuri laughs-sobs as an answer.

“Ah, don’t say that,” Yuuri comes closer, his fingers playing with a crumpled piece of toilet paper before throwing it in the trash. He’s shivering slightly, nothing to ground him yet, “we’ll have to make place for ourselves then.”

Yuri does not want to leave. Though it’s way too bright here and the spilled soap in the sinks smells like grass, he’s comfortable, leaning against the wall with Yuuri a few feet away, saying the word we.

When Yuuri turns around to leave, Yuri follows a few steps behind and when the former softly strokes along his fingers, Yuri grabs his hand, squeezing it. It may have happened a bit too fast but Yuuri walks slowly to the changing rooms and does not let go.

*

It’s an early summer and it rained recently so the table is strewed with creamy petals from the sakura tree nearby. Hasetsu is quietly buzzing, the warm wind carries the sounds of gravel crunching under the tires of an occasional car and the snippets of talks and giggles.

The scent of a sharp lemon and a thick peach tickles Yuri’s nose, coming from the ice cream dessert in front of him. He pokes a melting vanilla mountain, looking like feathers, and glances up to the beaming Yuuri.

“Thanks for the ice-cream,” Yuri mutters around the full spoon. The treat tickles his throat and he relaxes as Yuuri chuckles.

“Of course. Don’t worry about it,” Yuuri keeps smiling, his eyes crescent moons behind his glasses. He digs into his chocolate and strawberry desert. A bright sun beam slides down his spoon, sticks to a glint in his silver bracelet and disappears under the collar of his blue polo shirt, “I’m glad you agreed to hang out.”

“Of course,” Yuri shrugs and receives a blinding smile. He never stops smiling. A dust of blush plays on his nose.

Yuri likes happy Yuuri the most. It has been months since the unfortunate competition and the media already forgot winning and losing; well, at least Yuri does not care about it anymore. He keeps remembering how Yuuri looks when he is not supported, when he crumples himself like a piece of paper as if there is nothing he wants to say, as if he does not wish to give himself away to anyone who loves him. On that fateful day Yuri bought him a can of ice tea and they spent the rest of the evening together on the stairs, waiting till the paparazzi leave, listening to the muted voices of the commentators. It was a bit awkward, they barely talked and Yuri needed way too much time to ask for Yuuri’s number. Yuuri was exhausted, his cheeks swelling and yet he dutifully nodded to Yuri’s curt remarks about the performances.

He is… beautiful now. Yuuri looks strong and healthy and the things he wishes to achieve color his body in gold. He’s determined to show who he is, what he is; he is determined to strengthen the bond between them.

Yuuri already owns the finger destiny dedicated to close friendships. Yuri groans inwardly: so cheesy. He jumps slightly as a warm hand brushes his locks away from his face. Yuuri’s fingers linger on his forehead, warm, dry and smelling sweet with sincerity. Now with hair out of his face Yuri can see cherry petals playing in the air. Some of them land in Yuuri’s hair. Yuri bites the inside of his cheek: he feels so comfortable he’s completely out of his comfort zone. Yuuri smiles at him.

“On the weekend my family and I went camping. We tried out a new bicycle track near the mountains. It was really nice,” Yuuri enthusiastically gushes, his spoon eagerly mashing up his ice cream, “let’s go together next time!”

Yuri nods and it is enough. Every line and fold of his presence is welcomed and tied up with a silk ribbon. Yuri won’t lie to himself: he dressed up, tried dressing up for the occasion, and the skirt he’s wearing exposes his strong pale shins. A colorful bead bracelet clacks on the table as he leans and steals a berry from Yuuri’s glass. When they met, Yuuri hugged him, wrapped his arms around him and held him.

Yuri… likes his sharpness, his thorns, hid behind silk. He’s beautiful, sure, such a doll with his lip balm with a touch of glitter. He is a flower of golden thread, meticulously sewn on a tapestry, small but unapproachable, biting off glances sent his way. On ice he’s sharp, he spreads his wings and his teeth shine like pearls. Oh, he’s dangerous now, later he will be even more incredible.

Yuuri thinks so too. Kind Yuuri who waits after practices for him and when they both are too tired to skate, forgetting their steps and stumbling their jumps, their eyes burning with sweat, they dance together.

Together.

When Yuuri’s happy, he melts.

“Phichit sent me a link of this rock band he recently saw live. I was impressed with how impressed he was. Do you like rock music?” Yuri wiggles his fingers so-so, “yeah. Do you want more strawberries? They have great lemonades here.”

Yuuri’s sneakered foot bumps gently against Yuri’s converses and in a few moments slides up and his warm ankle brushes against Yuuri’s skin. Yuri positively jumps.

Strawberries are not sweet enough.

“Ты такой милый,” Yuri chuckles – a quick and small burst of air –, feeling absolutely helpless.

“Huh?” Yuuri eagerly asks, eyes sparkling like fine champagne.

“I said thanks, no,” Yuri quickly backpedals, restless, needful.

*

Yuuri: Hey
I have some news :)
Im coming to Russia next week for a few days.
Me: yeaaaah :D
that’s great
missed me that much
Yuuri: yes :)
also, there Victor Nikiforov skating, did you forget??
I’m so excited <3
Me: right
him
that’s cool
Yuuri: he’s such an inspiration.
I have been skating his programs
Me: yeah
I have the videos
you land that quad salchow ))
I uploaded it under a hashtag
#suckitvnikiforov
Yuuri: NO
you didnt?!
Юрощка!!!
Me: it’s Юрочка
maybe I didn’t, fine
Yuuri: So…
can I stay with you for those few days?
Until the end of the competition.
pretty plaese?
Me: yes
yeah
sure, you can stary
stay
Yuuri: thanks :)
:*
Me: :**

*
Yuri’s hair is already dry and put into an elegant bun when his doorbell finally rings. He opens the door and squints slightly at the light falling from the window above the stairway. Yuuri’s glasses reflect the sun and only when he steps into the flat Yuri sees his big smile and then they’re hugging. Yuuri’s bags fall on the floor as he wraps his arms round Yuri, gripping his loose cashmere shirt.

“Ah, I really missed you!~” Yuuri plants kisses on his cheek and neck. Yuri hums, holding him just as closely, stroking up and down his back. Yuuri smells of a long travel and excitement. The scent tickles Yuri’s lips.

“You’re almost as tall as me now,” Yuuri continues happily, his forehead pressed against Yuri’s. His glasses are slightly askew, digging into the bridge of Yuri’s nose. Yuri slides his arms up to enfold Yuuri’s neck and he does not move.

“I guess,” Yuri noncommittally answers. Now their heights are perfect to kiss, “you must be tired. Are you hungry?” they let each other go, fingers still lingering on their shoulders and hands.

“I brought a carrot cake you like so much,” Yuuri presents a box for him, “I will wash my hands. I can take the guest bedroom, right?” he picks up his bag.

“You can take my bedroom,” Yuri shrugs and turns around to the kitchen, hiding his smile at Yuuri’s bright burst of laughter.

“Yuri,” Yuuri calls after him. His voice is soft. Yuri waits, “you look beautiful.”

“You too,” their eyes meet and they both chuckle.

Yuri can hear it in his voice. He feels is in the minute space between their bodies right before enveloping one another in a tight, warm hug.

Yuuri can see right into his heart; yes, he can do that. Yuri opens himself up for them both and is received with open arms. His anger transforms itself into whatever Yuri needs when he skates – kindness, seduction, wistfulness, Yuri provides. Off the ice, Yuri’s cold, but prettier than before, his lipstick a shade too pink and his skirts do not always reach his knees, so it can be considered a win. Yuri is a princess, he is a queen on a throne cloaked with roses and Yuuri is right next to him with a golden crown.

Yuri takes out a few plates and cuts the cake into several pieces. It’s soft and moist, brown sugar and carrots a delicious smelling mass combined in a fluffy cream. Yuri catches himself whistling.

Yuuri strolls into the kitchen, looking around with excitement though he has been there who knows how many times. He’s clumsier now than he is on ice. A skating ring is his mirror: he is reflected in his audience’s eyes so when he jumps, Yuri’s heart jumps with him. The air is suspended, everyone holds their breaths. Oh, Yuri wants to scatter Yuuri’s path with gems.

“There’s orange juice on the windowsill,” Yuri puts the full plates on the tray, together with a box of mint cookies.

“Got that,” Yuuri immediately goes to the cupboard, taking two glasses. He’s feeling like he’s at home; he fits here.

They make themselves comfortable in Yuri’s room. It’s the smallest room in the apartment but it is also the lightest, the windows looking out to a cozy balcony which opens up to a peaceful park; there is a young maple tree growing, Yuri can almost touch the leaves.

There are a few framed pictures on the walls which made Yuuri laugh with delight the first time he saw them. Yuri flourishes like blooming roses among his fans so a few times he created drawing challenges on his social media account for who can capture the pinkness in his cheeks when he skates or the falling of his hair or the flexibility of his wrists. He also not-so-secretly asked for Yuuri’s fan arts, asked their fans to try and capture the thick line of his shoulders or his laugh with colorful chalk sticks. Yuri received images that made him smile, then giggle and then smile again. Their drawings are lined up on his wall, enclosed in the glass frames to catch the light of the setting sun and burn during the night. There are rough sketches with golden paint speckled upon, comic strips where they wear kitty ears, there are abstract pictures telling stories in ornate voices, there are life like portraits of them both. Yuuri laughed and his eyes were wet. Yuri laughed with him.

“How is your family doing?” Yuri asks around the cake in his mouth. They are sitting on the bed, their backs against the headboards and their knees occasionally bumping against each other. The lights rains from above and the orange juice in their glasses blooms wetly.

“They’re doing well, thanks,” Yuuri smiles affectionately. He takes a bite of a cookie and Yuri can smell the mint in his breath. He shifts closer.

“Did they buy you a plane ticket so they wouldn’t have to listen to you fanboying over Nikiforov?”

“So mean,” Yuuri leans closer and playfully pokes Yuri in his stomach.

“You still have the posters of him in your room,” Yuri states. Yuuri’s cheeks are prettily red and the little smile he has on his face reminds of the one he gives himself as a gift after a successful skating routine. White sheets sparkle around them like ice.

“I also have your figurine,” Yuuri grins cheekily. There are cookie crumbs in the corner of his lips. Yuri looks at him gently and leans closer to give him a kiss. It is awkward at first as Yuuri smiles too widely but then they fit together rather nicely, a press of lips soft yet insistent. Yuri moves closer, his warm hands cupping Yuuri’s face and angling it to deepen the kiss. Yuuri hums pleasantly.

They stay like that, exhaling into each other’s warmth, the slide of their lips lazy and only slightly wet. Yuuri’s arms wind themselves around Yuri’s waist, brushing over his hipbones through his blouse. Yuri entangles their legs together. Their bodies are warm, the fabric of their clothes smooth and with the first swipe of Yuri’s tongue against the seam of his lips Yuuri shivers. He opens his mouth, something like muffled giggle going up his throat, and the tips of their tongues meet for a second before Yuri slides his own fully in between Yuuri’s lips. The kiss feels thick.

Yuri sighs and enfolds Yuuri’s hands into his own, stroking his fingers as he presses them under his clothes. Skin to skin contact makes them shift closer, slowly, yet eagerly. Yuuri sucks on Yuri’s tongue a bit sloppily, the wet noise loud. His palms move upwards, fingertips tender with a hint of tickling. Yuri brings his hands up, entangling them in dark soft hair. Maybe he pulls a bit too.

Yuri rarely brings his fingers or lips down Yuuri’s strong body as the latter does not seem to particularly enjoy it. They both like the press of thighs to thighs and shoulders to shoulders; they also both enjoy when they softly nip on each other’s lips maybe a bit too insistently. Yuri soothes the bite with his tongue as Yuuri rubs his torso soothingly. All the areas where they connect tingle like melting ice. Yuri imagines colorful droplets, shiny, small, tasty and he’s shivering. Yuuri’s arms sneak around his back and bring their bodies together, Yuri’s knees digging into the mattress as he hovers over Yuuri. The kiss breaks for a second and then their tongues touch again. Yuuri sighs, content.

It is like they are both asleep, a thin sheet of ice above them, reflecting sunlight.