That night, he sleeps alone.

Walking back to his room, he starts to make up excuses. Why it happened. Why he stayed. Why he looked. Why he felt the way he did when he sighed his name as he fell. All of the excuses boil down to one thing, and one thing only.

Victor was drunk.

The realisation becomes a blow, one that makes him fold over. One that makes him claw at the wall for support in order to stand. Of course it's like that. It could never be any different. He is like the moon, his light spreading everywhere and bathes anyone that comes across him. He's not exclusive, not made for him.

That night, he sleeps alone. But in his thoughts, he's not. He feels him close, flush against his back. Feels the warmth of him seep into him, taking over him. That's the only reason he reaches for himself. Striving to make the same music as he did, when he was watching.

It's easier now, imagining him. Pretending that he's the one doing this. Moving with a rhythm, with a purpose. That he's the one bringing him higher, higher. Higher, before he's going to fall. As he feels the tension in his belly, knowing that he's close, closer than ever, he sees him. How his head is leaning back, baring a glistening throat. How the silver hair moves out of his eyes. How those fine lashes shadow the pools of blue that have demanded his attention. How his fingers look wet with the result of his efforts.

As he trembles, feeling a million muscles responding to what he sees before his inner eye, he doesn't sigh. He calls. And not his own name.

The morning after is a disappointment. One that doesn't come as a surprise, but still hurts nonetheless. They don't speak about what happened. They don't even touch the subject, making the reasons to why it even happened a hurtful truth. Instead, they talk about skating. Because that's the reason why they're there. That's the reason for everything. The reason for last night too. As he understands that, he feels a calm inside. Holding on to it, making it his truth.

It starts as he warms up. The thoughts flap around at first before they start to settle. And when they do one by one, he understands what he wants. He wants him. Like nothing else. Also, he wants that recognition. That he's the one who has taken him. Claimed him, without anyone else getting the chance to bask in his light anymore. He wants the hate, the leers, the envy. And he's going to make it happen. If skating can make heated dreams like yesterday come true, there's nothing holding him back.

They start to converse, barely using words. The energy between them is what does the talking. He senses this when he feels his hand on top of his own, the few sentences he utters merely acting as amplifiers.

"The time to seduce me by thinking of katsudon and women during your skate is over." His blue eyes are calm, his voice reassuring. "You can fight with your own personal charm."

It becomes hard for him to think. To breathe. His whole body reacts to him. It feels like he's talking about something else and not skating.

"You can envision it just fine, can't you?"

Yesterday. He's talking about yesterday. It all falls into place for him. That exact moment in time is something he'll remember forever. When it became his truth. No, their truth. The slight touch of his finger on top of the back of his hand only enforces his words.

He knows that he's ready now. He can envision it just fine because it has already happened. He won him over. In an effort to make him understand that he knows, he locks eyes with him. Entwines his fingers with his, almost pulling him closer. And he, in the spur of the moment, puts his forehead against his, relishing the sensation. Relishing the moment. Doing the things he didn't dare, the night before.

"Don't ever take your eyes off me." Exactly like yesterday.

As he hears his name being called, he takes off, feeling a heat in the pit of his stomach. It was spreading. Taking over. Ravaging him like a wildfire that noone could ever control. Oh, he was going to show him. He could envision it just fine.

As soon as the music starts, he licks his lips. Intent on capturing him, ensnaring him. Enticing him. He wanted to make him see that he understood. That he knew where they were with each other. That they spoke the same language. If that would prove unsuccessful, the look he would give him would render him defenseless. This was a new first for him. Making acquaintance with love. Sexual love.

They can laugh at me all they want.

He felt as if he was aflame, moving to the music. Fueled by everything that had happened between them and everything he selfishly sought in the future. What others thought ceased to matter as soon as he had stepped out on the ice. Having his blue eyes on him.

They can think it's not like me.

But it was. Of everything, every little part, that came together and made him who he was, this new feeling, realisation was… everything. It was him. This previously unknown side, the one he'd been dressing up as, trying to find within was… Integrated. He felt it now. Fully. Wholeheartedly.

But everyone wants to know the new me, don't they?

Not that he cared. He only needed the validation from one single person. And he was looking. Exactly like he'd been doing the night before.

A triple axel. A quad salchow. Yes, it all came through. His words, his deepest feelings and intentions, out there for the world to see.

I'm the only one who can satisfy Victor.

He knew this. He had proof. Flashes of his bared throat, his name being sighed through parted lips appeared before him.

I'm the only one in the whole world who knows Victor's love.

A lunge. Extended to his maximum capacity. He wanted to be sprawled out like that, he wanted to make sure that their bodies would meet.

I'll prove that now.

Quad toe, triple toe. Perfect. If there was any doubt at all. But he was sure. He had delivered it all to him, with the use of his body. Hoping that he would make it true somehow, at some point off the ice.

He threw her away, the imaginary woman. He didn't need her and her influence anymore. He was ready. He was ready for him.

"Yuuri, did it feel that great?" The first words he speaks since they parted. Sitting together in the Kiss and Cry.

"Well," he says with his heart beating hard inside, not sure if it's because of his exertion or the fact that he's so close to him again, "I was hoping everyone else felt great watching me." But he knows inside that all that matters is what he thinks, what he feels watching him.

"Yuuri!" He was around him, speaking into his ear. A tone of… admiration. Of something… more, perhaps? "Of course they'd feel great watching a performance like that." His breath comes out in quick huffs into his ear. A telltale sign of excitement.

They eat, they part, they sleep. Alone. That night, nothing happens. Making him doubt himself again. Thoughts of his efforts not being worth it, enter his head. Plagues him the entire night. He realises he longs for his touch, having his hand on the back of his head. Demanding him to look.

It suddenly feels like it must have been a dream. The moment they shared. That they weren't speaking a language they could communicate freely in. If it should prove that it wasn't a dream, that they did understand each other, it's obvious it didn't mean as much to the moon as it did to him. He doesn't sleep much once that thought roots itself.

That morning, when he feels like he's at his weakest, being tired and unsettled by the thoughts that rode him all night, he gets a small reward. One that keeps his hopes up. Of them possibly being able to continue what they might have started.

He's observant, that coach of his. Asking him if he's slept. He answers truthfully. Instead of attending the morning practise under his watchful eyes, he gets ushered back to the hotel with an arm around his shoulders.

His heart races when they enter his room. When he's told to undress. Again, he becomes unable. Unable to feel entirely relaxed. Unable to do what's asked of him. Unable to look at him, as he stands a few paces away, pulling his fingers through his hair.

"You need to sleep." His voice isn't filled with that thickness from before. That muddled desire that caught him off guard. It's lighter. More concerned. That makes it easier.

He starts unzipping his jacket, not giving him as much as a glance. Because it's easier. More safe. He drapes it over the back of a chair. He turns around as he takes his shirt off. The feeling of his eyes being on his back in this way is complicating things. It makes him feel vulnerable. Unsure. The feelings he had on the ice the day before aren't even within reach, as he hesitantly turns around.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't dare to meet the blue eyes watching him. As he sits down on the bed to remove his sneakers, he joins him. Suddenly on his knees. Redirecting his hands away from himself.

"Let me," he breathes as he trails a hand along his calf, removing the shoe as his hand reaches his foot. Putting a couple of fingers down the sock to remove it with hands that feel hot as he touches his ankle. He repeats the procedure with the other foot, daring to hold it in his hands for a while after he's unveiled it. He puts it back on the floor eventually, and stands up in a smooth move.

He tries to meet him, see what's moving behind those blue eyes. He gets the briefest look that makes his stomach clench. It's a look that reminds him of before, a look of appreciation and awe. He's not sure what brought it on, but it makes him feel empowered. Redeemed, in a way.

He removes his sweatpants while sitting down, trying to act bold and unaffected as he does. He isn't looking at him now, though. The silver hair shadows his face as he seems lost in thought. When he crawls into bed, he returns to the room. Being more present.

"Nap until the evening's event starts," he says as he covers him with the duvet, patting him on his hip. He reclines next to him. "It'll be fine," he continues, being propped up on one elbow, "I always slept in until the last minute of competitions, too."

As he puts himself on top of him, with his head against his chest and his light hair tickling his chin, his heart picks up a speed that frightens him. They're only being separated by the duvet and the feeling of his weight pinning him down into the mattress makes him panic. Makes him trivial again, as he ask if he's set an alarm. He wants it to be so much more, but he is hobbled by uncertainty and fear.

He falls asleep eventually, if only for a little while. When he wakes up, it stings when he realises that he's alone.

He gives it his all. Intent of making one last effort. He really wants him to understand, to make him see what he feels about him. That is why he gambles, as he prepares his last jump. Strange how you can have so many thoughts pass through your conscious mind in less than a second. Moments ago, he had been crying. Frustrated by the fact that he'd hurt him, used clumsy words in the same way he'd been clumsily inviting him to that almost solemn moment two nights ago.

He knows that there will always be a risk of him leaving. No one fetters a whimsical soul, one that never had the reason to wait for others. One can only hope to keep its interest and let go if the time comes. He hopes that he's got it in him, to constantly surprise him in order to make him stay.

When he does the quad flip, he stumbles. It's over-rotated, but he has proved his point. That he will do whatever he can in order to keep him. By his side, interested, surprised and in love. He reaches out to him as the music fades.

Little does he know that surprises are best reciprocated. And why should he know, he's never had the opportunity or felt the need to give himself away before. As he calls out to him, verbally seeking his recognition, he's not sure where he is. In what state of mind. But as he feels himself falling backwards, the back of his head cradled by both of his hands as he hits the ice, the pain isn't what leaves him breathless. It's the soft meeting of their lips, the image of his blue eyes slowly closing and the taste of him that makes his heart stop. The only way he knew how to surprise him.

That night, they're not sleeping alone. They retire early, leaving vague reasons as to why and don't care where they'll end up. It's with restraint that they're standing next to each other in a crowded lift. It's with respect that they don't get close until they're alone. It's with ravaging hands they make it official.

It's a mutual endeavour this time, in everything they do. Their fingers trying to set the other free, fumbling even though they take it slow. Trying not to delay, although buttons, layers of fabric and the need to help the other does just that. They don't say much. When they do, it's mostly through laughs and soft interjections.

As they lie down in a bed too narrow for the both of them, it's an array of little things that make them heated, when they're all mouths, hands and exhilaration. Clambering to each other for the first time, hoping never to come down. The novelty fades, eventually. And when it does, it becomes serious instead. More focused and intense.

He shies away, repeatedly removes eager hands from places he never thought of him ever touching. Except for when he's alone, thinking of him. He's placing them where it feels safe instead.

"I'm sorry, I just…" He's intrusive, hot and hard, but he understands. Tries to pace himself as his hands once again gets removed and placed somewhere else. Some strands of silver is stuck to the side of his face as he gasps into his mouth.

"I just… not yet, I…" He wants to reward him for listening, for not pushing too much although his eagerness is making it difficult for him. He would like to follow his lead, but it's too soon. He doesn't know how to, can't feel really at ease.

"Yuuri, can't I? Just let me," he exhales, fingers deep into his back. Slowly acting wayward again.

He tries to allow him but as his hands go low, underneath what's left of his clothes, he stops him again. "Show me. Like you wanted to before." He places his hand underneath his as he swallows, asking him to guide him.

It suddenly becomes quiet. Still. Blue eyes hooked on brown, reading each other. Making sense of the words that were spoken.

"You… you want to?" It's a mix of expressions that acts out. His body shows lust, his eyes disbelief and his mouth a hunger.

"Yes. Yes! Show me how."

Before he gets the chance to finish the sentence, he sits up with his back against the headboard. He follows his lead, gaining strength by being messy against his mouth, having his hands in his hair as he is pushing it back from his face. When he feels ready, he puts his hand back underneath his. Breathing hard against his chest.

He's not as slow and deliberate as before. He's not guiding, he's imploring. He's heavy in his hand as he springs free, as he makes him take hold of him. Grip him. Tighter. The feeling of having his hand close his own makes him heady. And again, he's not sure where to look. As he glances up at him, he's got his eyes fixed on their hands, which is what he decides to do too.

His movements differ from his own. He's not tentative, he knows what he likes and he's not hesitant about letting him know. As he picks up pace, his other hand finds his chin and tilts it upwards.

"Come, come here." There's that thickness he heard before. The one he attributed to other things and not him.

His tongue is intrusive, but he likes it. It makes him moan into his mouth, which in turn makes him hum, a low sound from deep down in his throat.

"I'm gonna let… just… continue," he gasps between their oral impacts as he lets his hand go. Trusting him to bring him where he wants to be, together with him. The hand that has been guiding him finds the back of his head, the other one is still cupping his jaw as he feeds off of him, seemingly insatiable.

He finds it hard to concentrate. Of meeting him up top and take care of him down below. When he loses momentum on either end, he's met with smiles disrupted by heavy breaths and an incredible patience. He would like to do more, but he's not sure how it would be welcomed, so he remains close against him. Hearing his heart rate pick up and slow down depending on how forceful he is. Feeling his lips getting more plump as every kiss starts to linger.

"Hurry, you're killing me," he sighs into his neck.

He wants him to sigh. He wants it to happen just like before, when he said his name. If only he could make him say his name. It would be the greatest proof that this was real.

He doesn't understand where it comes from, it's totally unplanned and a definite spur of the moment kind of thing, but as he does, he understands that he's got a control over him. "Do you like it, Victor?"

When he hears his name being uttered, he moans appreciatively. Shudders slightly, then relaxes. "Again," he demands.

"Victor, do I make you feel good?"

"Yes, yes… again. Again, please, Yuuri…"

He grows bold, intoxicated with the effect he has on him. He feels his cheeks heat up as he stretches his own boundaries, wondering what he can and cannot say. As he decides to say something he never thought he would get the opportunity to do, and especially not to him, he feels himself tapping into the arousal. Feeling that clench in the pit of his stomach.

"I…" He hesitates at first. "I want you. I want you and I want you to come. Can you do that, Victor?" He bites his lower lip as his voice dies down. As he tries to bring him closer. He feels him grabbing his hair, he hears his breathing picking up even more before he tenses up. Stops breathing for a couple of seconds before he relaxes.

He doesn't sigh his name this time. It's more of a cry as he rests his head against his shoulder, scorching it with his breaths that are getting slower. With every shivering exhale.