Title: Circus! on Ice
Disclaimer: Yuri! on Ice is Mitsurō Kubo's property
Warnings: cloak and dagger faux-historical AU sets in an imaginary world based mostly, but anachronistically, on the mixture of Edwardian and First World War eras
This fic is the sequel for my other fic called Eventide Enchantment.
Credit: This chapter is beta-read by rasclieboobear & The Kindly One
1
The New Troupe Member
Yuuri slipped between the canvas tent flaps that made up a four-sided bathroom enclosure, having cleansed himself afresh. Due to his new employment with the Circus! on Ice troupe, he had to shower outdoors regardless of the encroaching winter. The hand-pumped shower was connected by two water reservoirs via separate pipes—one for the cold water from the nearest river and the other for boiled water that needed to be refilled every morning. The troupe members took turns for cooking duty on a daily basis. Such was one of the downsides to living nomadically, he noted.
Still, this was a small discomfort in preference to the leering eyes of the soldiers in the barrack where he had lived until the day before. While he could enjoy the warm water from electric heaters in the military base, his privacy was negated in the communal showers. Once, a beefy soldier had even slapped him on the ass. The soldier's friends had laughed aloud. After all, Yuuri used to be a mere factotum at the high-ranking officers' disposal. Who knew what would have happened back then if a colonel had not stridden in their direction?
Water could wash away dirt from one's body, but not troubles from one's mind. Yuuri forcibly dismissed the events preceding his awakening that morning. The guilt constantly encumbering him would not dissipate. He'd had everything he could possibly ask for all in one place for a single moment, only to botch it up the next.
Meeting Victor in person was the best thing in Yuuri's life. No, scratch that. Being kissed by Victor was … or maybe both moments were. At any rate, they would have remained so, if only Yuuri had not been so careless as to let himself become inebriated with vodka the previous night, only to wake up partially naked in a bed next to a totally naked Victor.
He shuddered anew at the memory regarding the tipsy dance he had performed amid the generous helping of drinks—before vertigo had gripped him and his surroundings had faded to black. Other than the head-splitting hangover aftermath, Yuuri's body suffered no pain. Didn't this mean he had forcibly taken Victor? Victor showed no sign of bereavement, but that might have just been an act of benevolence. While Victor had conveyed his love for Yuuri through both words and action, there was still a fair chance that he had not consented to copulate with Yuuri just a few hours after their encounter. A sober Yuuri wouldn't have willed that, anyway.
Had virginity slipped away from him without the vaguest memory as to how it had transpired? Just how heinous had he been to treat his lifelong idol as a mere object of lust? Would it have been better if he had never met Victor in person so that the one he treasured most in the whole universe wouldn't need to be subjected to such agony and ignominy?
Yuuri wiped his tear-streaked cheeks with the back of his sleeve. Running away forever won't solve anything. I'd better apologize to Victor and do whatever I can to straighten things out.
He looked at the tear-stained sleeve. Victor's sleeve. The shirt garbing his body and the toiletries he had just used were all from Victor. That man must have predicted that the shirt would be rather tight around Yuuri's waist and its sleeves would have to be rolled, for he had promised to shop together as soon as they arrived at the next destination. Yuuri pulled the shirt's collar and inhaled deeply, trying to scrape any vestige of Victor's scent out of the fabric.
Dearest Victor, I gave you the worst possible first night, but I will make amends to you with everything I have.
A shadow swooshed swiftly past the grass near Yuuri's feet, and Yuuri looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a small black bird. The sight of a jackdaw at that time of the year in that part of the world struck him as quite uncommon, so Yuuri wondered if this particular one missed its flock during migration.
The closer Yuuri ambled in the direction of Victor's tent, the louder the hammering of his heartbeat grew. Unlike at the squadron's barrack, there was no door to knock. Yuuri decided to announce his presence before he lifted the tent flap and ducked inside. "Victor, may I come in?"
"Yuuri!" Having garbed himself to look presentable, Victor emerged from the tent. He beamed more radiantly than any of his portraits in the newspaper could possibly depict, urging Yuuri with an impulsive wish to re-comb his hair and smooth out his shirt. "There's no need to be so formal. We're roommates, after all." Like an old buddy, he slung an arm over Yuuri's shoulder and guided the shorter man inside.
The geniality nearly brought tears to Yuuri's eyes again. What did this man do to deserve defilement? This saint did not deserve a monster like him.
At least a third of Victor's belongings had been packed into wooden trunks. The rest were still lying haphazardly. The bed sheets with Yuuri's vomit from that morning, mercifully, had been discarded. "Victor, you should rest after…" Yuuri clenched his fists. "…last night. I'll handle the rest of the packing."
"Yuuri, I'm all right. Why do you look so worried?" Victor did the courtesy of looking back at him even though his hands were making room for magic show apparatus in an open trunk.
"Victor, last night, if I—"
"Victor, Yuuri, Yakov wants everyone at the big tent," a feminine voice Yuuri presumed to be Mila Babicheva's called for them outside the tent.
"Coming," Victor replied in a sing-song and laid down what seemed to be a doll-house inside the trunk. He rose to his feet and stepped outside.
Eyes downcast, Yuuri followed. The glorious morning with its fresh smell of dew on grass and gentle caress of sunlight did nothing to dispel the clouds of grief in his troubled mind. The camp ground hummed with the pleasant greetings of "good morning" exchanged by the rest of the troupe members.
When Yuuri's feet had brought him in front of the largest marquee, the presence of an additional pair of shoes next to the tent flap seized his attention. His gaze traveled upwards and met that of a beaming Victor, holding the flap open for Yuuri to pass. How could that gentleman treat him so kindly still?
"Victor, you shouldn't have."
Something in Victor's stiff shoulders told Yuuri that perhaps his voice sounded more rebuking than he had meant to be. What if Victor thought he disliked the gesture because it made him feel like a disabled person incapable of even opening the entrance himself?
"I mean, thank you. Sorry. I was surprised. No one ever opened a door for me before," Yuuri whispered, not desirous to draw attention in the quiet marquee.
Victor's tense shoulders noticeably relaxed. He was about to reply, but Yakov started to speak, so he settled with a smile, before turning his attention to his old coach on the stage. The ice from the previous night's show had melted, so Yakov needn't wear skates to stand there. The other troupe members were standing on the outer ring of the stage, some still with bed hair and dressing gowns, others donned in pristine shirts and smelling like soap.
Despite his guilt, Yuuri couldn't help but appreciate how breathtaking Victor's beauty was. It took him a while ere he could digest Yakov's words properly. If his ears had not played tricks on him, the last few sentences from the ringleader's mouth mentioned a messenger and a change of plan—not that it made any difference to Yuuri, who knew next to nothing of what the initial plan had been.
Yakov held out a letter. "And as such, we shall be heading for Briechyndt Town in Mheadaure. We are to retrieve the information acquired by a secret agent in jeopardy. Should circumstances deem it possible, we shall also rescue said agent, who has disguised himself as a footman in Viscount Evrawg's mansion. Now, go break down the tents. We'll depart after the morning meal."
Murmurs broke among the troupe members.
"Georgi, heat the sealing wax for this reply, and then tie it to the messenger's leg." As the crowd dispersed, Yuuri questioningly watched the old man entrust his most obedient disciple with a tubular object reminiscent of a cigar's size. The color, however, appeared to be too dark to be one.
Tying a tube to a person's leg? Talk about unconventionality, Yuuri commented in his head.
"And here I thought we could get a warm winter this year…," Yuuri heard Leo sigh as the latter exited the marquee. "But this means we can build snowmen!" Guang Hong—one of his best friends—replied with overt excitement. "And ride the sled, too!" his other best friend, Phichit, added with equal zeal.
Now that the marquee was almost empty, Yuuri started to notice a jackdaw near the edge of the proscenium. The bird was pecking a handful of grains—scattered on purpose by a staff member, it seemed. Could it be the same creature as the one whose shadow had flown past him earlier?
"Have you been to Mheadaure before, Yuuri?" Victor jovially asked while they sauntered behind the throng of staff members.
Yuuri shook his head, pushing away any thought of how Victor's lips would taste.
"It's definitely colder than this country, but it's a nice place." Victor offered his hand, and Yuuri perceived with both dreadful and dreamy realization that Victor willed them to hold hands on their way back to his tent.
Yuuri looked around. None of the troupe members held hands. The practice for two grown men to hold hands without a reason must be just as outlandish here as everywhere else. How to turn Victor down without turning his hopeful expression into a dejected one, however, was the real issue.
"Victor," Yuuri took a deep breath, "I—"
"Yuuri, come here."
At Yakov's commanding voice, Yuri Plisetsky turned back at once, while Yuuri hesitated.
"Not you. Him." This time Yakov pointed at Yuuri with his index finger. "Argh, having two members with the same name is confusing!"
Victor suggested, "In that case, shall we call the younger Yuri 'junior' henceforward?"
"AS IF I COULD EVER BE THIS SORRY-ASS' SON!"
"What about 'Yurio' then?" Mila, who crouched nearby to tie her shoe lace, touted.
Yakov closed his eyes as if contemplating the nickname. A few seconds passed before he gave a slight nod of the head. "Yurio it is."
"What?! That's not even my name, you addle-brained hag!" Yuri yelled with both hands on his hips.
Now standing on her feet, Mila teased him further, "Then do you prefer us all to start calling you 'Yuratchka' from now on?"
"That's so damn unfair! I was here first. If you plan to make a fool of anyone by changing their name, it should be his!"
Yakov intervened, authority in his voice, "Didn't Nikolai teach you to respect those older than you?"
Yuri eyed the old man with a venomous glare before storming off from the marquee. "Leave my grandpa out of this!"
Yakov's gaze trailed across the tent to find Yuuri, who was rooted to the spot where he had been standing during the entire argument.
"Now that you've become a part of our big family, I'd rather explain things to you myself than leaving it to…" He glanced at Victor "…other dubious sources."
"I can fill him in properly." Victor pouted, no trace of real offense in his face and voice.
"About the meals and cleaning duty, maybe. Not about the true essence of this troupe. Besides, your magic show props must be waiting to be packed."
Nothing could calm Yuuri's racing heart when Victor left him and the ringleader alone in the marquee. Yakov's piercing look scrutinized him, drawing beads of cold sweat out of his forehead. Was the elderly coach displeased because the attire clinging to his body belonged to Victor?
"You have raw talents and devotion." The old man finally broke the silence. "I can see why he is so smitten with you. But know this, brat, if you ever betray Victor one day, it is I who will pay you back in spades. Even if he forgives you, I will never rest—return from my grave, if necessary—until I find you and tear you bone from bone with my bare hands. Do we understand each other?"
Yuuri's chest tightened. Did ravishing Victor in his bibulous state count as treachery? Would he be good enough for Victor? "Y-yes, sir."
"Now, tell me, how do you think this troupe defray its food, costume, stage props, salaries, advertisements, vehicles, and all other necessities?"
"Uh, from the admission ticket sales, sir?"
"That covers half of our expenses at best."
Yuuri called to mind the brand of drinks and sport equipment suppliers, among some other merchandise, embroidered onto the marquee. "Then … sponsorship?"
"Exactly. But not all sponsors are satisfied with us merely displaying their brands. Depending on how much they contribute, they may require certain services from us at opportune times. And we are on our honor not to confide the favors we do for them to outsiders."
"Does going to Mheadaure count as one of those services?"
"You catch on rather fast." Yakov's mouth was poised to articulate more words, but he paused, eyes darting alertly at the far end of the marquee. The flap opened to reveal Georgi bearing a tube sealed with red wax. On silent feet he strode toward the jackdaw at the corner and secured the tube onto the bird's leg.
That's the messenger? Yuuri observed amusedly. If so, it made sense that the tube containing the letter was designed in a similar color to that of the jackdaw's legs and feathers for a better camouflage.
Ostensibly deeming Georgi's arrival to be non-intrusive, Yakov continued, "Victor chose you for your skating ability and magician's potential. I don't expect a greenhorn such as you to be deeply involved in our upcoming cloak and dagger operation, but you must at least not get in the other members' way. Watch them and learn; one day, you will be able to perform tasks just as complex."
Yuuri nodded. Georgi let the bird perch on his forearm as he carried it outside. Yakov spoke to Yuuri, "If you have no further questions, you may help Victor with packing."
"Coach." Yuuri performed a respectful saikeirei bow, fists clenched with resolution. "Please hone me into a man worthy of Victor Nikiforov."
The pause that followed made Yuuri hazard a guess that perhaps Yakov was taken aback. Then the silence was broken by the old man's calm voice, though not without scrutiny. "Remember you're the one who asked for this."
Slowly, Yuuri straightened his bent torso as Yakov declared, "You will be trained even more rigorously than any of my other students who have started at an earlier age. Your timetable will be so full of skating, ballet, ballroom dance, and magic stunt practices that it'll hardly leave you extra room to breathe. Are you sure that's what you desire?"
Victor deserves only the best. Yuuri answered with deference, "Yes, sir."
