CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED TWENTY ONE

Yurio clicked his phone on as they disembarked from their flight, walking down the proverbial hamster-tube to the Arrivals wing of the Fukuoka airport.

9:12am

"Great...we'll get into Hasetsu right as the old man is landing in Moscow." He commented dryly, putting the phone back again.

"It's always weird flying west." Minako replied, rubbing her eyes sleepily, "A 14 hour flight will only seem like six when the time difference catches up with you. I always thought that made the world feel kind of small."

"And then you fly east and it's like the world ate time." The blonde added, "A ten hour flight will feel like 20 by the time you get on the ground."

"Right?" The ballerina sighed dramatically, "Only two more hours to go to get to Hasetsu…" She glanced down at the teen, "Are you staying at Yu-Topia again?"

"Mh." He nodded, "Katsudon said he already warned his family about a bunch of us showing up unexpectedly. I'm gonna jump in the onsen for a bit and then catch a nap, before all Hell breaks loose when the two doofuses show up."

"...The onsen does sound pretty good right now..." Minako said longingly, "I'd probably fall asleep in it though!"

"You going straight home then?"

"Not sure yet… I haven't seen Hiroko or Mari in weeks. I should at least stop in and say hi." She answered, then reaching an arm over the teen's shoulder, "I'll walk you there and then head home for a bit. I'll just stay up until Mikhail calls and then I'll probably take a nap, too. I don't want to miss the party later."

.

The room was disheveled; blankets and pillows and clothing strewn everywhere. Yuri was only half-in the bed, one leg and one arm hanging off the side, the rest of him barely staying where he was but for his husband's usual overnight spooning.

His eyes twitched and he grumbled when his phone started ringing, and he reached careless hands for where he thought his alarm was ringing. The faceplate wasn't what it should've been though.

10:05 AM
[Phichit Chulanont]
[ACCEPT] [DECLINE]

"OH NO." Yuri was up with a start, flipping over where he'd been lying on his stomach, answering the call quickly...only to buckle and collapse, falling against the Russian's side with a sudden unexpected ache, "M-mushi mushi..." He managed in spite of it.

"Yuri?"

"...I don't feel good..." The skater moaned, feeling for his head and the rush of pain heading there as well.

"After everything you drank last night, I'm not surprised." Phichit said, sounding like he was smiling at his friend's expense but trying to hold it in, "I figured I'd call just to make sure you had time to finish packing before check-out. It sounds like you're still in bed."

Yuri looked around with one eye open, seeing the dim light of the room, "...Seems that way... My head is killing me..."

The Thai skater laughed, "Take some aspirin and drink plenty of water! You drank like a fish last night! You're probably super hung-over!"

Again, the older skater groaned.

"Well, anyway, since I know you're awake, we'll just go by the plan like we made before. I'll meet you in the lobby around noon. Try not to hurt yourself getting down here."

"Uhuh..."

The call ended, and Yuri dropped the phone to the blankets, trying to make the dizzy feeling in his head go away by lying still for a moment where he was still draped over his husband. The first ache was becoming something of a stinging throb, and he lifted his head gently to glance down at the sleeping Russian, "...What did we do last night...? Why do I hurt so bad...?" His back was starting to sting as well, and his thighs, and the side of his neck and shoulders...and the anxious figure started to see the extent of the 'damage.' At least, so far as he could see of his legs, which were bruised and scratched-up quite a bit. It only gave credence to the reason for his hurt everywhere else...but that first pain still seemed a marvel.

He's gone rough on me before, and I was sore the next day...but not like this...

Yuri put his hands over his face, trying to rub his temples with his fingers.

I haven't hurt this badly since the first time he went all the way on me...

He started to notice that at least Viktor had some of the same 'battle wounds' that he himself had; scratches and bruises on thighs, back, sides, and neck. He doubted the Russian felt the rest though.

Viktor was starting to rouse, twisting slightly where he'd unconsciously noted that his usual 'body pillow' had moved out of his reach. His hands swept over the sheets lightly, finding nothing where he pawed. Eventually, he twisted around, forced to silently admit that he couldn't go back to sleep that way, and slowly opened his eyes to look around. For once, the immaculate skater looked just as messed-up as everyone else did in the morning, hair everywhere and looking half-dead. When he finally saw his partner, coming into focus a little at a time, he managed a hazy, hung-over smile, "Morning."

"Hey."

"Everything hurts." Viktor mused, letting himself fall back into the pillows again, "Last night was fun."

"What did we even do…?" Yuri wondered, "I feel like I got hit by a bus..."

"Oh..." The Russian made a face, surprised but not really, "...You don't remember."

"Phichit said I drank like a fish. You let me drink too much."

"I did no such thing!" Viktor insisted, pushing back up to sit as Yuri was busy crossing his legs...with a wince, "We drank too much together!"

"Yeah?" The younger skater wondered skeptically, having to wait a moment before being able to sit somewhat comfortably, "How much did you drink?"

"...A bottle and a half?"

"And how much did you let me drink?"

"...Three?"

Yuri deadpanned him, "….Mhm. And then what?"

Viktor leaned forward and draped himself over his partner with deeply hung-over affection, "We came back here and had sexy-fun-time! I might've gotten impatient though..."

The younger man paused incredulously, "...Eh? ...Impatient…?"

Viktor pointed towards the television, "Well, we fell off the bed over there, but all our stuff was over here..." He pointed at the night-stand to his left, "...And I didn't feel like waiting..."

Yuri gaped, "...Eh?"

"...Sorry!" The Russian shrugged innocently, "You didn't seem to mind after a while..."

"I WAS DRUNK."

"SO WAS I."

"You went in dry, didn't you!?" The younger skater argued, practically sobbing from the disbelief of it all, "DRY Viktor! You have literally become a pain in my ass. YOU DON'T KNOW TRUE SUFFERING."

"I did 8 quads on Saturday!"

"YOU'RE NOT HUMAN."

The silver legend just laughed and cuddled closer, nosing adoringly at his husband's ear, "I love you, Yuri."

"You owe my backside an apology, and you're grounded from it for a week."

"What!? Nooooo! It was already going to be hard enough to stay away from it during the Final when Phichit's with us!"

The younger skater sulked comically, throwing his legs...tenderly….over the edge of the bed so he could head to the shower. He found it somewhat difficult to stand though; if not because of how much he hurt, but because his partner had wrapped both arms around his waist to pull him back down, though not without kissing one cheek first.

"Dear Yuri's butt, I'm very sorry for how I treated you last night." Viktor started, much to Yuri's chagrin, "I offer my deepest apologies and hope that we can be friends again soon."

The younger man scoffed and crossed his arms, "...'Deepest apologies'…? That didn't sound sincere at all."

"My apologies are at least 6 inches deep, so that has to count for something."

"OhmygodViktoryou'resoinappropriate." Yuri protested, trying to push the clingy Russian off his hips to try and stand again. It was impossible though; Viktor had held on even tighter as he was laughing, preventing the hapless skater from being able to get up. Eventually though, the silver genius gave in and let go, moving to stand up as well and help his poor hurt husband to the bathroom. Yuri limped along, eventually getting set back down to sit gently on the edge of the bathtub to watch Viktor turning on the hot water. He saw as the older figure tested the heat, plugged the drain, and poured in some of the hotel's complimentary bubble-bath. The soapy suds started frothing vigorously, and Viktor turned back towards him to help ease him into the warmth.

"You know I feel bad." The Russian purred, kneeling at the edge of the tub on the dry side, getting his fingers wet before reaching up to push black hair from his favorite pair of eyes, "I'll make it up to you."

"You'll let me have the Gold next weekend?"

Viktor piffle-snorted, "Yuri...you'd have better luck asking the sun not to rise." He reached his wet hand forward again and slid it around his partner's head, weaving his fingers through damp raven hair and pulled the man forward, tapping their foreheads lightly together, "But good try."

"...Does that mean you've decided not to retire this year after all?" The younger skater wondered suddenly, noting oddly that the man's eyes didn't even flinch to hear the question.

The Russian just held there for a second, listening to the sound of the water rushing. He then leaned in quickly and kissed the man before standing up again to leave the room. He was gone for several awkward minutes, returning with an arm-full of clean clothes, setting them on the vanity just as the bubbles in the tub were starting to crest the edge. Viktor leaned over the top of the bath and cut the water off, then silently squeezed his way in behind his partner, settling his back against the porcelain with both arms up against the edges.

Yuri watched him quietly, the froth of the bubble-bath rising up to his eye-level by the time the water stopped bobbing. When the man had finally gotten comfortable, a hand came over the ledge to poke at Yuri's chin, pushing to turn his face away, then came back around, and both hands slid across his back. The young skater was lost in the feeling of the warmth and the back-rubs almost immediately, drooping his head as slick fingers went up against the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back and sides, pressing and kneading delicately.

The scratches from the night before were pink again from the heat of the water, revealing a number more than Viktor had seen originally. He kissed the ones he could get to near the upper part of Yuri's back, wrapped his arms around the man's small frame, and leaned back with him.

"I haven't decided one way or another." He said quietly, "I hate going into the Final bringing up the same question we had last year...but..."

"Well..." Yuri unhooked his hands from where he'd laced his fingers together over his chest, sliding them down where his partner's thighs parted around him, "...Last year, the question implied we'd be going our separate ways, too...this time it doesn't. Whatever you decide...I'll still be with you. Stammi vicino."

"...You won't...be upset with me?" Viktor asked, a bit taken aback by the words.

"You agreed to stay in this with me for one more year." The younger man explained, sliding a bit to the left so he could turn his head to look back, "...While it would've been nice to see you compete for another after that, even just on style points...I've already asked too much of you. What kind of fan would I be if I keep pushing you, to the point where you want to quit rather than just retire? Only you could possibly know when it's time. I have to put my own feelings aside and let you make that choice on your own."

The Russian gaped for a moment, entirely not having expected to hear such sober words from someone who was still so hung-over, "...You really mean that?"

"Sure." Yuri blinked back at him, sitting up slightly and sliding his hand down to the bottom of the tub by the man's side, "...Why wouldn't I?"

Viktor couldn't think of an answer. Part of his mind went back briefly to their fight before their wedding party, but that had been about the number of quads he was planning on doing while winding down into retirement, not that he was retiring. He also couldn't help but think about their minor scuffle in Barcelona, the night they bought and exchanged rings, when Yuri had said they should end things. He shook his head and shrugged, "I guess I just thought you'd be more reluctant to hear me speak of it again."

"Sure I'm reluctant." The younger figure admitted, turning back around again to lean his head against the skater's pale chest, "I just want you to be sure that when you make that choice...it's because that's what you want, not because you were reacting to something and thought it was your only out." He paused a moment, reaching up to rest his arms over where Viktor's were folded over his chest, "...When I fell apart in Sochi, and was getting ready to leave the arena...Morooka asked if I was considering retirement, and then told me not to give up. I hadn't made up my mind yet though, and told him so, because everything was just so raw still that I didn't want to think about it. Then I heard you say my name..."

"...I did?"

"Mh. For a split second, I really thought you were talking to me...but when I saw you go by, and you didn't even look my way, I realized you were actually talking to Yurio." He explained, "In that split second though, watching you walk right past me...it was practically the closest you'd ever been. It was like you knew me, and were trying to get my attention like Morooka had. A thousand things ran through my head all at once in that tiny moment, but the thing that stuck out the most, was thinking that you would ask me not to retire, too... Then the moment passed, and all I could think of was what a failure I'd become. That I'd made it so far, accomplishing my dream, getting to compete against you and even meet you. Not just as some other nameless competitor out of the dozens of others whose names no one remembers...but as one of the Final Six. But it was mired by the fact that my final score was barely better than your Free Skate at the time. I was angry at the weight I'd gained from binge-eating, and miserable because my dog died...and that was the state I was going to be in when I finally got to meet you off the ice? I couldn't stand the shame. So I finished school, said goodbye to Phichit-kun and Celestino, and then went home to Hasetsu to try and figure things out. I knew that I shouldn't make such a big decision about my future when I knew I was really upset about a lot of stuff...because I'd lose my chance to try again. So I got bored of being depressed and sad at what had happened, and focused instead on trying to get back on the ice...trying to figure out what I needed to be inspired again."

Viktor listened quietly, leaning his head back against the tile wall, rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth against his husband's skin.

"And then you showed up..." Yuri huffed a laugh, "And now we're married and sitting in a bathtub together, on the cusp of another Grand Prix Final, and both of us are going into it having won gold at each of our events, just like everyone wanted." He turned his head and rubbed his cheek against that pale, damp skin, "...I guess, what I'm trying to say is...I don't blame you for being run down by how the last few weeks have gone. I'm tired, too. I'm exhausted. All I want to do is get back home, crawl under a big downy blanket with you, and hibernate for the rest of the winter. But the thing is...that's competition...and the season will eventually end. Wait to decide what you want to do until you've had time to decompress from all the things that've stressed you out for the last month and a half. Making a big choice like retiring should be done with a clear head. You'll regret it later if you jump the gun."

.

.

.

It took three bellhop carts to get everything down from the 27th floor to the lobby, and eventually two shuttles to ferry it all back to the airport, but the hotel room was clear and the keycards had been turned in. All that was left was finding Phichit, saying goodbye to Celestino, getting breakfast (or lunch, depending on what buffet was still set out,) and getting back to New Chitose Airport.

Yuri glanced around nervously at every person who passed him by, thinking they could tell he was walking funny even if he wasn't. Still though, he was tender enough to feel that his gait looked like the exaggerated bow-legged steps of cartoon cowboys.

He heard whistles from across the lobby though, and a small group of competitors were clapping as he and Viktor came fully into view. People in the restaurant seating area were glancing up, and many of them were other skaters, too, giving him winks or grins or knowing smiles.

The young figure blinked, getting nervous flutters in his stomach, and held a little tighter to his partner's hand as they walked and looked around, "...Why are people acting like this...?"

Viktor glanced around, seeing a small cluster of Czech skaters loitering just around the elevator hall. They smirked and giggled to themselves, and the Russian just raised his hand and smiled back, "Hiii~!"

Someone further away whistled louder than all the others, and a man raised his hand, "GO YURI!"

The skater blanched, nearly hiding behind his partner's jacket, "W-What!? Go me!?" He looked up at Viktor in a slight panic, "What are they talking about!?"

"Yuri!" A familiar voice finally called. Phichit came running for the pair from the exit doors, "You wouldn't believe how much attention your show last night is getting online right now! People love it!"

"My show?" He repeated skeptically, "No, that was Viktor's show...I just came in at the end. I was barely on the ice for a minute and a half."

"What? No, I'm talking about your match of 'Strip Snap' last night against Viktor!"

"...'Strip...Snap'...?"

Viktor chortled behind his free hand, trying not to laugh too hard.

The cogs were turning in Yuri's head, and he frantically pulled out his phone, "WHAT DID YOU LET ME DO, VIKTOR?" He pulled up Instagram and glanced at the feed, probably for the first time in days. He got an eye-full of several rather explicit photos, but none caused his heart to stop quite as quickly as a close-up of Viktor's hand going down the back of his underpants to grab his backside while they were in the middle of a rather intense kiss. Yuri's face went bright red, and his hand shook where he held his phone, "...O-Oh...oh..."

"Yuri...?" Phichit asked.

His voice was far away though, like the hapless skater had been thrown under water. He could feel the blood draining from his head...and the peripheries of his vision started to darken.

"Viktor, I think he's about to-"

"...Goodnight..."