7. Yuri - IV


Yuri places the catatonic child down on the floor of his bathroom. He had intended to save her father for last, but his confession came prematurely, and now Yuri has no idea what to do with her. Unlike before, when in the presence of her father, he doesn't have the will to kill her. It would certainly be easier than keeping her around though.

But the longer he looks down at her dull eyes, the more he can't bring himself to take her life. All of his hatred for the last decade and a half of his life has been toward her father. And while Yuri can see his features linger on her face, he refuses to wring her neck and sever her ties with this world.

Instead, he gathers a couple of towels, placing one onto the toilet seat and spreading the other out across the tile floor. Then he starts a warm bath and unfolds the stained potato sack completely from around Axel's body. He expects her to run, but she doesn't. The blood on her face and in her hair has crusted over, turning dark. She keeps her gaze low, staring into nothing. The amount of emotions swirling around inside her petite body must have broken her mind. Her body stands frozen. The only evidence that she's still living is the subtle rise and fall of her chest.

She's like a porcelain doll. Yuri has an urge to dress her up and put her into his sister's toy dollhouse. But he perishes the thought when he realizes he doesn't have any clothes for her to wear. A few small stains lurk on the collar of her sweater, but it's her face that's the real trouble. As long as he can wash out her hair, he should be safe until he can find her reasonable attire.

Yuri sighs and bends her over the side of the tub so her head hangs beneath the faucet. He pulls her purple hair decorations out and tosses them into the nearby trash bin. Even her sweater is purple. He has to chuckle at the color-coordination she and her sisters had followed so precisely up until recently.

She lets him tousle her hair under the water. Brownish-red swirls around in the tub and down the drain. Yuri makes sure to clean her well, practically drenching her hair. He wants the stench and the visible evidence of his revenge gone from her entirely.

Sacrificing some of his shampoo, he squirts a quarter-sized amount into his palm and lathers it into her scalp. The metallic tang in the air is quickly overshadowed by a fresh strawberry fragrance. Yuri also uses the time to clean his face and arms off. He'll be sure to take an all-body shower once he's done attending to the girl.

Axel never flinches for the entirety of her bathing session, even when it looks like some of the suds have drifted into her eyes. Yuri rinses the shampoo from her hair and face and turns the water off.

"Stand up," he says.

She obeys. Her hair is longer than he thought, reaching the middle part of her back. Her face remains indifferent.

Yuri wants to explain his reasoning to her. Why he had done what he had done. But he realizes it's pointless. Nothing will excuse what's happened, and the child will most likely let whatever he has to say fly over her head. So, Yuri grabs the towel on the toilet seat, stretches it out, and wraps it around her brown hair until it looks like an ice cream swirl on the top of her head.

"Are you hungry?"

No answer.

He leans over to make eye contact and waves a hand in front of her face. Perhaps that was a stupid question to ask. Food is the last thing she's thinking about right now—if she's even thinking.

He guides her back into the living room, but he can't leave her here unattended when the front door is right there for her to escape, and he can't leave her in his room, where his personal belongings rest, nor his sister's room for obvious reasons. Ms. Minako may be conscious by now. Yuri growls, remembering he still has to deal with her. He'll need to take a shower swiftly and form a feasible plan. And, of course, he needs to attend to Victor at some point and clean up the cellar.

So many projects have gathered on his plate. He feels more anxious than when he is about to step onto the ice to perform. But Yuri needs to take everything one step at a time least he lose his mind completely.

He finds an emptied coat closet. His chest twists as he recalls a time when he was a kid and his father shoved him inside, locked the door, and left him there for about an hour. Yuri cried and banged on the door in a helpless attempt to escape his dark and cramped timeout. But his father yelled at him to shut up. So he listened, sat down on the floor, took in the smell of leather around him, and wiped his tears away. Only when he had quieted down did his father unlock the door and let him out.

It should be a sufficient place to keep Axel while he showers. Yuri gently but firmly pushes her into the closet, unwrapping the towel from her head and letting her damp hair hang free. He closes the door and fetches the key to lock it in a nearby nightstand that sits between his sister's room and his room as décor.

After he retrieves it, Yuri presses his ear up to his sister's door and listens for the slightest muffled cry. He can't detect anything and thus assumes Ms. Minako is still stuck in her half-drunk, half-drugged induced sleep. At least that gives him some time to contemplate what to do with her. Maybe the shower can help straighten his thoughts.

He locks the closet and sighs, exhaling some tension. Before returning to the bathroom, Yuri glances at the clock. It's half-past eleven. The entire...situation (for lack of better words) in the cellar only lasted a half hour, and Axel's bathing session lasted just as long.

Yuri licks his lips as he peels off his dirty clothing and rolls them up. Such a shame he has to waste a good sweater, jeans, and socks. But, for his own protection, it's necessary to get rid of them. He finds a plastic bag in the kitchen and shoves all of the evidence into it. He ties the loops together and disposes the bag into the garbage. Seeing those clothes disappear beneath plastic and feeling the cold air on his naked skin sends a thrilling chill down his spine. He reenters the bathroom, leaving the door open just in case of an emergency. He turns the nozzle so the shower starts.

Yuri wedges his thumbs in between the elastic part of his boxers. The one benefit of jeans is that his boxers have no visible stains. He doesn't have to get rid of them. Good. He's always liked them. They have cute, little pig faces. The innocence reminds him of childhood.

He drops them on the toilet seat and enters the tub. The hot water sends goosebumps across his skin, and Yuri breathes a long sigh of relief as instant gratification hits him. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, running the water over his face and hair. He combs his fingers through any tangles, feeling the blood wash away and dissolve into nothing more than a disturbed memory.

He squirts a quarter-sized amount of shampoo into his hand and lathers it into his skull, feeling the liquid substance transform into bubbly, white suds between his fingers, erasing the evidence further.

No more Takeshi. No more repressed memories. No more need to hide inside himself like a caged bird. For the first time in a long time, he feels so free.

Hotness grows around his face, and Yuri knows it's not because of the warm water. His face scrunches up, and he leans against the shower wall while his hands keep him steady. Another crying session follows, but it's one of necessity not of weakness. It's been boiling up inside him since as long as he can remember. And when the tears flow out, they release all the pain he has kept hidden away beneath his exterior. His father and sister's deaths were the beginning—the vanguard of what Yuri's capabilities are. But he had been saving his real animosity for Takeshi for the last decade and a half of his life. And now that the man who ruined him and kept their secret in the dark is gone, Yuri can finally start thinking about the future for once.

It seems surreal.

The future.

Victor…

Together…

Some days he still wonders if he's dreaming. But every time he opens the basement and looks into Victor's room, he knows those crystal orbs staring back at him are genuine.

Yuri feels the heat in his face drift downward. He leans off the wall and assess the erection growing between his thighs. He can't recall the last time he's gotten so hard so quickly—the mere thought of a future with his silver-haired prince has turned him to this.

He first waits to see if it'll go away on it's own. When it doesn't, Yuri coils his fingers around his shaft and slowly begins rubbing it in a back and forth motion. His thumb slides over the head, making his heart stutter. Yuri gasps as he circles his thumb around the sensitive, pink skin. The blood pumps harder inside his loins. The mixture of pre-cum and running water moistens his fingers. Tightness builds in his belly as his strokes grow in speed and strength.

He closes his eyes again and imagines his hand is Victor's. His thumb is the prince's tongue, teasing Yuri's erection and mind. He's looking up at the younger man with a mischievous expression. God, he is so beautiful and sexy and perfect all wrapped into one.

He takes a break in between to ask, "Do you want me?"

Yes. Oh, yes.

Victor snickers and opens his mouth, taking all that Yuri is into him, and Yuri feels him hit the back of his prince's throat. It's hot inside his mouth. The heat encompasses his cock, sending bolts of euphoria up and down his spine. He bites his lip, drawing blood, and jerks his head back to stifle a moan. But the more powerful Victor's imaginary tongue becomes, the weaker Yuri's resolve is. Nothing in the world has ever made him this way.

He can feel his fingers comb through his prince's silver mane, clenching a fistful and thrusting against Victor's movements until he builds up a sufficient rhythm. Yuri's pleasure spikes. He's near the edge. He knows he's close. Closer...

"Oh, God. Victooor!"

He releases all that he has within a series of violent bursts, making his mind hazy and his knees buckle. Yuri catches himself on the shower curtain before he can fall over. His hand has been cloaked in a thick layer of sticky, white come. Out of curiosity, he brings it to his nose and smells. This is what the mere thought of Victor has done to him. Just thinking about what would happen if Victor had really given him service sends Yuri's mind into frenzy.

It has been a long time since he's felt this way. His nights spent masturbating to Victor's image gave him brief satisfaction, but not enough. This release is different. It's helped him think—emptied his mind of all the unwanted thoughts that try to blur his rationality. The seed of bitterness has withered and died inside him. A new seed supplants it and a sapling forms, granting him newfound clarity.

He decides that he's going to stop killing.

Yuri washes both his hand and his stomach off underneath the shower, scrubs himself clean with a loofa, and finally turns the water off. Drawing the curtain, he grabs the towel and pats himself dry. The steam from the hot water has fogged the bathroom mirror.

Yuri.

Yuri's heart stutters, but he tries to ignore the voice.

Yuri.

He shakes his head. Why can he still hear the voice so clearly? Had he not caused enough bloodshed today? He thought once Takeshi had been taken care of this side of him would be satisfied and quietly dissolve into nothing. But it seems not even killing the worst man in Yuri's life will suffice the voice's hungry call.

Still, he tries to fight its lure. Tonight has been a victory for the most part, and Yuri is pleased with his decision to leave this life of recklessness behind him as easily as he had left his skating career behind.

Yuri.

"I'm not listening to you anymore."

But it persists. Yuri.

He drops the towel and claps his hands around his ears, hoping to somehow zone out the voice from invading his purified mindset. "Get out of my head." He hums a tune to overpower its intensity.

I'm still here.

"Get out!"

Why should I? Don't you love me?

Yuri lowers his hands and swipes one across the fogged mirror to see his face in the reflection. Dark circles hover below his eyes. He's forgotten the last time he had slept. His gaze lowers to his trembling hands. Clenching them into fists does nothing to quell them. When he looks back up at himself, he nearly falls over from the sight.

A thick layer of blood covers his face, dripping off his chin and into the sink. Initially, Yuri believes it belongs to Takeshi until he notices it's spilling out from his tear ducts, nostrils, and ears. A satanic grin crawls up his reflection's face, stabbing him with as much intensity as a knife.

Yuri switches on the faucet and vigorously washes his face to eliminate the horror. He raises his head back to his reflection. No blood. He assesses his eyes, nose, and ears for any bleeding but finds none. The image has him reeling. His breathing and heart need a few painful moments to return to their normal speeds. Yuri runs a hand down his face for safe measure. His palm is clean. His face is clean. It's his mind that's been damaged.

No more killing, he thinks. No more.

But it seems the more he tries to convince himself, the stronger the voices in his head attempt to sway him back into their clutches. They push and pull, jostling him like a crowded subway train. Everyone moves with the crowd, and Yuri is stuck as the oddity out trying to push his way through to no avail. He can see the door of sanity, but the sea carries him farther away from it. And as Yuri fights, he feels his resolve weaken.

No, not like this.

Yuri leans off the sink and finishes drying himself. He grabs his boxers and lifts them over his thighs and snaps the elastic around his waist again. Then he hangs up his towel on the rack and exits the bathroom.

He heads across the living room, passing the area where the Nishigori family had their final meal together. He passes the closet where he's locked Axel in and wraps his fingers around the doorknob, checking to make sure it's still locked. It is. Sated, he heads down the hallway to his room, passing his sister's room, which he also checks to satisfy his paranoia. Again, it's locked. He passes the basement door, which he is surprised to see he has left slightly ajar.

Yuri furrows his brow. No, he's sure he closed it as he always has.

He opens it and examines the long, dark stairway. A foul odor hits him—one he hadn't noticed before. His nose scrunches, and he swiftly shuts the door. It's at that moment an incredible force slams across his head, knocking the wind out of him. His back hits the ground, and his entire face feels hot, as if it's been dipped in a steaming pot. A throbbing ache grows rapidly within his crown. Hot blood drizzles down his face. This time, he knows it's real.

Someone looms over him.

Another attack is sure to come, so Yuri rolls and scurries to his feet before more damage can be done. He stumbles for a few steps in a web of disorientation, but catches himself before tripping. The figure before him is around his height, maybe a few inches taller. Eyes like crystals. Hair as thick as a silver stallion's man. A face that could rival an angel's. Yuri wants to believe it's impossible. He's dreaming. He's hallucinating again. But no amount of disbelief can dissolve the features that only belong to Victor Nikiforov.

In his hand sits Yuri's skate—well, Victor's skate—the one Yuri had used to kill Axel's family with. Yuri brushes his fingers across the gash on his head and feels the small flap of skin hanging off. It reminds him of when Takeshi had pushed him and busted his skull open when they were kids. However, this feeling is different. Fear or contempt don't grip him. Regret does. If he hadn't tortured Victor, the man he loves wouldn't be standing across the hallway with a weapon in his hand, intent on striking Yuri as many times as necessary with it.

And yet, the thought of dying at Victor's hands doesn't seem all that disheartening. If anything, it brings him relief. Not only can he halt the voices in his from taking over, but he can also die knowing Victor is the one to silence them for him. A warm smile stretches across his face, and he closes his eyes as Victor advances toward him.

"W-what the hell are you doing?" Victor asks.

"I'm letting you kill me."

"Just like that?"

Yuri reopens his eyes. "You're the only one who can."

The silver-haired prince lowers his weapon. "I don't get it. You killed that family with such cruel intent. And now you're willing to just throw your life away?"

But Yuri shakes his head. "I'm not killing anymore. I'm done listening to these voices in my head. I'm done, Victor. I'm done."

The ire in Victor's eyes simmers. The veins in his wielded arm disappear. "You know you can't go on like this. You're a murderer."

"I know," Yuri says, nodding.

"People will find out."

"I know."

"I can call the police."

Yuri nods again. "True. But I can't live my life behind bars. Something's going to give. I've calmed the voices for the moment, but they'll be back. I can feel them, Victor." His emotions start prying through. His head throbs. "They're like parasites crawling under my skin. They burrow into my brain, telling me to do things I know are evil, but I can't deny them." He vigorously wipes the tears away, catching blood on his hands as well. "You're the only one who can save me. One quick swipe of the blade on your skate and everything will be done and over with. You can return home, return to competing. You can forget what's happened here. What I've done to you." He sniffs, but forces the rest out. "You can forget me."

"Yuri," Victor says.

"Please, Victor."

His eyes widen, as if he has found something he's been searching for for an eternity. "Is that you? You, you?"

Yuri blinks.

Victor lets the weapon slip from his fingers. "Do you remember, Yuri?" he asks, taking a few slow steps toward him. "Do you remember that night at the banquet? We danced, we kissed, we…you lit up my world in only a few hours." He reaches for his cheek. His hand's cold, and Yuri tenses but doesn't reject his touch. Their faces come within a few inches of each other. "You made me fall in love with you from the moment I met you."

Yuri's lips part. Victor brushes the tears and blood away, nullifying the throbbing in Yuri's head. Then his thumb traces Yuri's bottom lip, and the silver prince leans forward and kisses him.

It's like electrical sparks through his system. Yuri wounds his arms around the Russian's neck and pulls him deeper into the kiss, breathing in his scent. He wants Victor to himself. No, he wants Victor to trap him in his web. Every part of him is now available to be taken by his silver-haired prince.

His back hits the wall with force. Despite the brief sting of pain, Yuri knows it's a sign of endearment and not of violence. Victor's clearly just as eager as he is to have him. They start prying at each other's clothes, seeing who can undress the other one faster. It's like a game. Yuri smiles in between their locked lips and hears a moan release from Victor's throat as his hand traces the Russian's bulge.

The silver-haired prince wins the stripping contest since all Yuri has on are his boxers. But Yuri manages to pull Victor's shirt off and unzip his pants in that time.

Victor breaks away from the kiss. "I guess you could say I'm victorious."

Yuri stifles a laugh and buries his face into Victor's shoulder, planting soft kisses along his porcelain skin. He traces his fingers across the bandaged wound on his chest. His stomach churns. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Victor lifts his chin so their gazes match. "Don't be."

But Yuri can't let this go. "Does it still hurt?"

"No."

"Liar." He can see the lingering pain in his eyes. "I should…I mean, you should at least do something about it."

Victor taps their foreheads together and shushes him. "I'm fine, Yuri."

Yuri rejects the attempted kiss that Victor initiates. If they're to continue this, they need to be on equal footing. He walks over and picks up the skate from the floor. Then he presents it to his love. "I want to share your pain. Please, strike me anywhere you see fit."

Victor stands there like a statue. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes bulge. He shakes his head. "Yuri. No."

"Yes, Victor," he insists.

Victor reluctantly accepts the weapon and his eyes scan up and down Yuri's naked form, drinking in his body. Yuri feels a slight chill of nervousness. To be completely bare in front of the love of his life funnels every innocent and embarrassing thought into his brain—Does he have baby fat anywhere? Does he smell okay? Does Victor notice the awkward moles down south? Is he too small?

He fights them off and returns to the task, opening his arms. "Do it, Victor. I want you to." His eyes close, and he waits patiently for the sharp pain to hit him again and to feel Victor's revenge across his skin.

Something thuds.

Yuri's eyes fly open. He instantly knows where the sound came from. Victor seems to have heard it, too.

"What was that?" He looks back at the younger man.

Yuri swallows. "That…is another obstacle."

Victor's brow rises, and his grip on the skate tightens. "Axel?"

"No," Yuri says, redressing himself into his boxers and heading to his sister's door. "Not Axel." He unlocks it with the key he has wedged in between the door's hinges and pushes it open.

Ms. Minako struggles on the bed, still in her restraints. Her wet eyes lock onto Yuri. He can hear her muffled cries beneath the tap around her mouth.

Victor looks over his shoulder. "Yuri, what is—?"

"I thought she'd tell someone. I tried to kill her." He nods to the red marks around her neck. "But I couldn't. She's one of the few people I can't kill."

"You need to let her go." Victor weaves around him and starts toward her.

Yuri grabs his wrist. "She'll call the police."

Ms. Minako shakes her head as if to say she won't, but Yuri knows better than to trust her.

"Then what do we do?" Victor asks.

Yuri gives him a meaningful look. A question flows into his mind. It's easily the most invaluable question he's ever conjured in his entire life. "Do you love me, Victor?"

"Of course."

Yuri slides his hand down and squeezes his lover's armed hand. "Then kill her for me."