New ship, new work. I'm not going to lie, as soon as i finished Yuri! On Ice (the first time), i knew, in my heart of hearts, that my thirst would not be filled until i wrote some ridiculous fan fiction in its honor. *Ahem* dirty fan fiction. These two are just... so pure. It hurts. Be advised, in the later chapters, heavy smut will follow. Rated M for a reason, my loves. If you aren't into it, this is your personal warning from me. If you are, well... stay tuned. Good news is, I already have the chapters written. Bad news is, they are in need of heavy editing. Since I am a anxiety riddled control freak, I attempt my own editing. Please, bear with me.
With that in mind, please enjoy the read. Over and out.
*Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Yuri
Obsessed. That would be the only way to describe it. This feeling was completely foreign at first, the beginning symptoms appearing as a harmless flutter in the heart and innocent burning in the cheeks.
I assumed it was the start of a cold.
Most days, I wish it would have been. Unfortunately, a week on bed rest and over the counter medicine wasn't going to fix me.
"Yuri, watch your-"
Too late. I'm flying, and falling all at once. This is an all too familiar scene, the ice rushing at my face as I brace for impact. My palms slap against the frozen slab that echoes around the empty rink, the dull thud of my body sounding a second later.
"Speed."
"Ugh." I grunt, rubbing my skull where it met the ice. Did I mention I hit my head? I can't remember. I am also having trouble counting the number of times this has happened today.
"That's enough for today, don't you think?" Victor calls from the edge of the rink, my mind immediately trying to pick out the disappointment in his tone. There is none.
"I almost had that last one." I mutter, resting my cheek against the slick surface. Truth is, Victor didn't have to be disappointed in me. I was taking care of that for him.
He's right though. My skating has been flawed all day, my body as sore as if this was my first time on the ice. If I could just stop thinking and turn my mind off. Extract these attention consuming thoughts of colors. His colors, an awing display of aqua, ivory, silver and pinks in every hue. In comparison, there are my embarrassing reactions to said colors, mostly in reds, mostly on my face. I am the scarlet letter, except in all the letters, scrawled across my cheeks, forehead and lips.
These are the things I think, no; obsess, about when I'm supposed to be focused on nailing my jumps.
I sigh.
"Yuri, Yuri. Why are you sighing?" Victor's voice is suddenly above me, his warm fingers sifting through my hair. I try to contain the shiver that follows, the likes of which have nothing to do with the cold.
Feeling brave, I reach for his hand and flip onto my back, electric tingles shooting up my fingers on contact. Victor is leaning over me, pearly hair falling forward and crystalline eyes peering into me. There is just the slightest divot between his brows, an expression I've noticed he wears in times of concentration or worry. It has and always will, charm me.
The tell-tale signs of fiery mortification begin to creep in and I recognize how it will destroy this moment. Acting quickly, I fumble our hands between us and interlace them, my heart immediately evaporating at his soft expression. I am mesmerized by the way his smooth lips tilt slightly at the corners, the ease of the gesture wonderment in itself to watch.
Reality hits and I am all too aware of my thundering heart and riotous stomach. I would rather break my own arm than eye contact at this moment, but heat floods my face and having him witness my one man humiliation show is unbearable. He, Victor, Russia's perfect, devastatingly beautiful, figure skating legend only look at guys like me from the highest podium. I am but a speck. An ant.
I jerk my hand out of his and turn my head, squeezing my eyes shut, but not before I see the flash of pain in his. My chest hallows. The connection is broken, the magic faded as if it were never there to begin with. Maybe I simply imagined it, like many of the other instances I mistook his kind heart and over excited reactions as something more.
Without Victor's eyes to lose myself in, the ice beneath me sinks into my bones. My shivers are a whole lot more than uncontrolled emotion now.
I pick myself up and stammer out an apology, avoiding any and all eye contact, pointedly staring at my beaten skates.
"Yuri, look at me." Victor's voice is soft, like velvet, and I almost cave. The heat in my face burns fiercely. Obstinately, I keep my chin glued to my chest.
"You are the most stubborn man I have ever encountered, which is not to be taken lightly, since I trained with Yurio daily." A small smile breaks the thin press of my lips. Yurio, of course, is probably the most difficult fifteen year old prodigy on the entire planet, but has a certain way of leaving fond impressions. Which is actually mystifying if I think about it?
I raise my head slightly and peek at him through my bangs, muttering "Coming from the most stubborn man I know, I don't take that too seriously."
Victor chuckles and my heart does a fluttery dance. These responses are getting ridiculous. He is my coach. My friend. My inspiration to become better.
My love.
No. God. Stop. No, no, no, no. Yes but no. Yes I love him. As in, an unconditional type of love, the kind that stems from a deep friendship. Yeah. Just that. Only that. No more, no less.
I'm lying to myself and badly at that.
Abruptly, his hand is cupping my cheek and his body is lightly pressed into mine, however, the heat he radiates into me from that sparse contact chases away the cold.
Predictably, I am now all awkward limbs and heavy breathing and wide eyes. Victor tilts my chin up and I am locked in the blue fire staring into me, his lips so close to mine I can feel more then hear the words he speaks next.
"I can see your distraction, Yuri. I can see the cogs turning behind those brown eyes and if I wasn't certain of it before, your reactions now confirm it."
"I-I'll try to focus-" I'm stammering, trying to plead my case for whatever reason.
"I think you should talk to me about it. I am your coach after all. I should know what's weighing so heavily on your mind that it's affecting your skating." He knows. Right? His tone is knowing. As if he has me completely figured out and is now merely humoring me.
He can't know. Victor can't know. If he did, he would be on the first flight back to Russia. I try to let that sink in, maybe let it comfort me a bit. It does the opposite. Panic clenches my throat and my heart pounds in my ears.
"I d-don't think that's a good idea. It's nothing, c-completely, definitely nothing." Words are spewing from my mouth like a fountain, as fast as bullets, "Like, uh, what's for dinner tonight! Yeah, and I was, uh, thinking of heading to bed early! Yeah. Actually, I should start on that. You're right, as always Victor! I think that's enough for today."
I fake a laugh, loud and thin, and pat him on the shoulder. Ugh, a pat on the shoulder. Really. I'm cringing at myself. Victors face is so surprised it's near comical, his eyebrows raised so high they taper into his hairline.
I'm skating off the ice and practically running for the locker room before I even realize it, my movements mechanical and choppy. It takes exactly three minutes and four seconds to pull my skates off, shove my things in my bag and rush out of the room, passing a still stunned Victor standing at the door.
"I'll see you at home!" I call over my shoulder, waving without turning around.
"Yuri!?" He calls, both as a statement and a question, which I pretend not to hear as I push open the exit. The late evening still has the bite of a chill in the air, in which I'm grateful for. I take a deep breath, the fresh oxygen filling my lungs pleasantly, and begin jogging homeward.
I'm still thinking as my shoes slap the pavement. Worrying would be the more accurate word. My shit jumps, unyielding competition, exasperating insecurities and haunting thoughts of Victor all weigh down on my already thin psyche, the likes of which threatening to snap under the pressure.
Not to mention my sudden awareness of how stupidly, impossibly in love I am with Victor.
Lungs burning and glasses bouncing down my nose, somewhere my jogging turned into sprinting. I also notice the wet trails cooling my cheeks, my vision blurring as I think of how pathetic I must look at this very moment.
Only a hopeless boy, racing down the sidewalk, crying over an unrequited love.
I am an endless metaphor, a perfect example of selfish heartbreak.
Angst-y, right? Hopefully so. That's what I was aiming for. The chapters will be written in a Yuri/Victor/Yuri POV format. Figured I would mix it up a bit.
As always, leave me a review and tell me your thoughts. Thank you for reading.
~Pepper