CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED
Viktor held the door open as Yuri dragged in the rolling suitcase, and followed in just after, letting the door latch and putting the bolt over for the night. Luggage was put away and winter gear discarded, and the two sat on the edge of the big Queen-sized bed, untying shoelaces from sneakers.
"You want to find something for us to watch?" Viktor wondered idly, hooking his fingers into each pair of shoes as he stood up.
"Sure. Any genre in mind?"
"I challenge you to find something I haven't' seen."
"So...anything that was made in the last 5 or 6 years?" Yuri mused.
"Yeah, probably." The Russian laughed, standing upright again after putting the shoes into the bottom of the closet, "I'm gonna go clean up."
"I was thinking of getting some room service. You want anything?" The younger man wondered, rolling over the bed-top to find the leather-bound menu on the night-stand on its opposite side.
"If they had some of that shochu from the restaurant earlier..."
"I doubt it."
"Then nah."
"M'kay."
"I'll be quick." Viktor finalized, pushing the bathroom door open with a finger.
"Mhm."
The Russian watched for a moment longer, observing how his partner looked through that thick room-service menu like it were the text of some arcane and ancient tome.
...He's already starting to think about things... I'm in for a lecture...
He sighed and moved through the open doorway, putting it to before finding the nozzle to the hot water.
Yuri put the menu away a moment later, unable to see the print for the words, and reached instead for the remote control to the television, surfing through the local channels.
"...Get your new Ford Avalanche, and show Detroit that the weather isn't the only force of nature it should content with...!"
"...where an ATM was broken into and all cash inside stolen. Police are asking for help identifying the man pictured on the ATM's camera..."
"...TONIGHT...WE CELEBRATE...OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY..."
"...There's nothing you could've done, Joel. She just...left."
More clicking, more clicking.
"...things at the Little Caesar's Arena are starting to wind down with the end of the Grand Prix Final's Men's Singles event." Yuri paused there, the remote hanging from his hand lazily, "It's been a really crazy weekend for those guys. Starting off with that accident on Thursday night that cost one of the competitor's his spot in the running, taking the roster down to five athletes, then gaining the 6th man back with a surprising decision from the ISU to allow the 7th place skater to fill that vacancy, only to once again lose their 6th athlete when Russian skater, Viktor Nikiforov, decided at the last second to give up his Gold. With his withdrawal from the line-up, Japanese skater Yuri Nikiforov got upgraded from Silver, Khazakstan's Otabek Altin moved up from Bronze, and Russia's Yuri Plisetsky managed to take a spot on the podium after failing to defend his title from last year."
"I wonder why he gave up the Gold medal like that?"
"Given the doping controversy after the Sochi Olympics a few years ago, maybe he had something to hide?"
Yuri was immediately incensed, "Viktor would never cheat. Why is that the first thing these Americans think of when something like this happens? Is good sportsmanship really such a foreign concept here that no one can offer a gesture without people thinking there's some catch?"
"Viktor is practically a legend. I doubt he ever considered doing something like that...he doesn't need to. But, that Japanese skater doesn't share the same last name as Viktor for no reason. Did you know that they're married?"
"Married...? Heh, well...that's ironic."
"Ironic? How?"
"Two guys, each hailing from some of the world's most conservative nations, finding each other. But I guess that explains why the Russians were focusing their media coverage on their youngest up-and-coming skater, Yuri Plisetsky, who is thus far free from such scandal."
"After this weekend, I guess Viktor's going to have bigger problems than he probably already did with his being married to another man. The Russians are going to be livid that he threw away their Gold medal."
Yuri grumbled a bit, "Their Gold medal...?" He just turned the television off again, having entirely lost interest in finding something else to watch. For a moment, he just sat there in the silence of the room, barely able to hear the sound of the shower through the open bathroom door, staring at the black screen before him. He tapped the remote on a knee before moving to the edge of the bed and getting up, moving over to where he'd put the square box with the Gold away. He opened it and held the metal disc in his hands, seeing his own reflection in it, "...Funny...I don't see the RSF's name on this."
More grumbling, and Yuri took the medal to the bed, flopping onto his stomach where he faced towards the window. Unlike in Barcelona, when he held the disc up in front of himself, there was no dying light from the setting sun to come into the room and bathe the medal in yellow light, giving that old Silver the illusion of being Gold instead. It was just the snowy, foggy night of Detroit, and the black sky that extended far beyond it, giving the Gold something of a white gloss instead, making it look Silver.
He sighed and dropped his face down to the sheets, the medal coming down where he extended his arms out in front of himself.
...Viktor...Silver was good enough... You won the Gold fair and square...
A rustle came behind him, and the bed shifted a bit, but before the surprised skater could react, he felt a warm, albeit damp body pressing down against him from above. He was able to pick himself up onto his elbows, but that only made room for a pair of hands to come up between them and curl under his chest, fingers clasping over his collar-bones as a face came down next to the side of his head.
"V-Viktor..."
"Either you didn't look, or there was nothing to watch." The Russian surmised, "I can guess which it was."
"...Technically both." Yuri answered reluctantly, "I caught the end of a news segment about the Final, but I've been thinking about it since the interviews we did."
Viktor stayed quiet.
Here it comes...
"...There's no way the RSF is going to let you get away with what you did." The younger man went on, turning his head a bit to nuzzle a cheek where he could feel one, "And it's true, they were avoiding interviews with us because of me."
"That's their loss, then." The silver legend said easily, "At the end of the day, I go home with you, not them. You'd think they'd be used to this arrangement by now."
Yuri had no answer to that.
"Are you mad at me for what I did...?"
Again, Yuri stayed silent, but only because of all the things he wanted to say rattling around in his head. For better he worse, he shook his head, and pulled his right hand back to find the fingers pressed in front of his left shoulder, "No. I think what you did took a lot of courage."
"Courage?" Viktor huffed the echo of those words, "All I did was follow through with what I told you when I first showed up. I made you win the Grand Prix Final."
"...You won the Grand Prix Final."
"I won a competition that I shouldn't have even been competing in." The Russian corrected, "You asked me to come back, but I never wanted to steal the Gold from you in the process." Viktor said, reaching his own right hand forward to find the medal where it had been forgotten in the sheets, "This belongs to you."
Yuri looked at it, his reflection glinting back at him in the smooth yellow surface. Like before, a thousand different things ricocheted in his mind, things he wanted to say, excuses he wanted to make...but he didn't speak a word of them.
Nothing I say will undo his decision, and reinstate him as the Final's winner. By this point, it would probably break his heart if I tried anyway.
Instead, he reached for the medal, and felt his spouse slide off his back in the process, lying on his side next to him instead. One leg was still bent over the back of his thighs though, and he felt a hand slowly stroking at his lower back...just like the previous year. However, when he turned his head to look at the man, and leaned in closer to brush the edge of a shoulder against Viktor's chest...he didn't hesitate again.
Viktor Nikiforov... My hero, my idol...my best friend...my coach...my rival...and my simple, beautiful, air-headed husband...
What was once a naïve, embarrassed wish for a kiss...became a kiss...and he held there for a moment before pulling back again to nose the man's lips, "...Thank you."
The silver Russian leaned in for another kiss, "It was my pleasure."
The duo fell to silence after that, neither sure what else to say, if anything. Yuri turned his eyes back out towards the window, and the snow that was falling even faster and harder than before, "Guess it's a good thing we decided to come back here instead of staying out there. Trying to skate at Campus Martius in that would be-..."
Viktor extended his arms like a cat, but then curled them back up lazily over his head, peering through his platinum bangs with one half-lidded eye...being super non-discreet.
"...What are you doing?" Yuri wondered, more as a statement than a question, as though skeptical of the man's intentions.
The Russian rolled onto his back and wiggled a bit closer, curving his frame until he could look up at his partner from the blankets, "Trying to look cute for you."
"Why?" More skepticism.
The silver Russian bent his knees up and tilted both legs against his partner's frame, extending his left arm up above his head as the right snaked its way closer to touch fingers to Yuri's chin, "To distract you."
"...Viktor..." Yuri's tone was like that of a parent who was upset, but didn't want to be.
The older figure tried to lift his head up a bit, aiming for another kiss, though finding it returned with obligation rather than affection, and he flopped back down again, looking anxious, "...So you'll stop worrying so much about what I did and worry more about what we should do!"
Hazel eyes watched quietly, seeing the desperate look on that man's face, but Yuri just sagged against where his elbows still held him up, "Just...promise me you don't do this again. You can't just walk into competitions, win the Gold, and then give it up."
"...So you don't like that you won it..."
"I didn't win it, Viktor! That's the thing! I appreciate the gesture...it was really sweet, and I love you for it." He reached an arm across his husband's chest and pulled himself partially over the man, trying to look small even while looking down from above, hiding behind the knuckles of his balled-up hands, "I know it meant a lot to you to be able to do that for me...but... This is our livelihood, too. At least for the time being."
Viktor looked away, feeling even more guilty than before.
"...I know it's no skin off your nose to give up a medal...you probably don't care what the RSF or anyone else thinks about what you did...and I'll wear it proudly. But please don't do this again..." Yuri pleaded quietly, "I don't want your legacy to go down in flames because your incredibly selfless and beautiful gesture rubbed the wrong people the wrong way. I mean, we may joke about being each other's coaches...and it may be true to some level...but we aren't entirely unaccountable. We still have some people to answer to."
"You think I might as well have turned in my resignation."
"Of course not. Remember that time I said we'd still be out on the ice even if we had to carry ourselves on walkers?"
Viktor hesitated, but nodded, "You said you'd still do quads by turning around 4 times with yours."
Yuri huffed a laugh, hopeful that the tone of the conversation would finally turn, "Yeah." He said quietly, looking on as his partner pulled that still-upturned left arm down to prop his silver-haired head up on it like a pillow. The right came back around, one knuckle gently brushing against his cheek as those blue eyes looked up at him curiously. The knuckle pulled away, replaced by a palm, and Yuri leaned his cheek into it, drawing in a sharp breath of relief, "...I just...want you to be more careful."
"Yes, Mr. Responsible One." The Russian said stiffly, suddenly reaching down with both hands to hook under his husband's arms and quite literally hoist him further up, setting the man down again only when they were nose-to-nose, "Now...can we proceed with tonight's main event, or is it cancelled due to inclement weather, too?"
The younger man fidgeted a little where he lay, but wiggled to put himself more evenly in place, squaring his hips towards his partner rather than away like they had been, and brought one leg over the Russian's, hooking to upper part of one ankle over the curve of one thigh, "Does this count towards post-conflict urges or just regular urges?"
"Yes."
"That's not really an ans-"
Viktor wouldn't let him finish, right hand quickly up behind the man's head, pulling him closer, while the left traveled down Yuri's side, groping firmly at that round of flesh before continuing down to pull that leg higher across himself. Strands of black hair came loose from their moorings where the younger man still had it slicked back from the event, tracing gentle lines across the Russian's skin. The hand behind his partner's head slid down and away, following the upward curve of neck and upper back, between shoulder blades, and further towards the curve of lower back. Fingers moved under fabric there, teasing the first feeling of skin hidden beneath it. The younger man's twitch against the sensation of cold fingers brought a smile to the Russian's face, and both hands went into the man's clothing after that, roaming all across Yuri's back and sides as far as the pull of fabric would allow.
Yuri's arms remained somewhat pegged to his sides, hands cupped gently over the curve of his partner's chest. When he felt his sweater and undershirt being pushed up though, he moved his arms out of the way, and quickly found the two garments being pulled right over his head. Gelled hair was in utter disarray when the two shirts came off. He could feel a breath of relief against his chest when his arms came down, his partner having craved skin all day, but denied it through some garment or another. Viktor was quick to hug him and tilt them both to the side though, giving him little time to worry about how silly his hair looked. He felt the pillow pile against his back, and the kisses returned, trailing from lips to neck, and hands moved between them to unbutton and unzip those figure-hugging black jeans. They came loose around his hips, but Viktor didn't immediately push them away, simply wedging one knee between his own to part his legs some, and moved his fingers down the loosened upper rim of the thick garment.
Not wanting to go too quickly, the Russian savored every inch of newly gained territory, edging his fingers into the space between fabric and skin a little bit further with each stroking pass. Sensing his partner already feeling overwhelmed by need, Viktor slipped the entirety of one hand into those jeans and under the elastic black material underneath that clung to his partner's bare frame. Yuri's figure went limp to his touch, clinging to him urgently but moving just slightly to open himself up and fully experience every new touch. Fingers slid further down and behind, over the ample curve of flesh, until they curved inward and between those hard athletic legs, teasing at certain skin but unable to go further. His hand came back again then, sliding gratefully the way it came, and going down again, but this time in the front. The Russian smirked to himself as his husband gasped, hips jerking back against the pillows as he felt himself taken hold of.
Knees bent a bit more and ankles crossed behind himself, and Yuri pressed his forehead to his partner's bare chest, fingers clawing for grip on the silver legend's shoulders. The hand that massaged and teased between his legs was drawing up a desperation that Yuri hadn't entirely been keen to before that moment...but the more the Russian kneaded, the more obvious it became. His up-turned knee slid further up his spouse's leg, and he found himself starting to roll his hips with each squish of fingers against his hardening flesh. It quickly became unbearable, and when he felt how slick his husband's hand became where it stroked him, he pushed up. First onto an elbow, then high enough to force his partner onto his back, and he himself quickly went to sitting on the man's hips. With the changing position, the angle of the Russian's hand and arm changed as well, and he found himself fully withdrawn from his clothing, fingers curled entirely around him where before they merely pressed against one side.
Viktor quickly rose up onto one hand as well, knees bending up behind his spouse as he leaned in closer to tease his nose against the pale neck before him, occupied-hand still offering that needed attention, "For a minute there, I was worried you wouldn't want to partake at all...but it seems you were more eager than I gave you credit for." He spoke quietly, teasing the words against that soft skin.
The younger man could hardly focus, his vocabulary reduced to needy whines and gasps, as well as the occasionally urgent but quiet moan. Still, Yuri had enough sense about him to know where things should go next, and even as he gently rocked his hips through his husband's grasp, he reached his own hand back down between the man's legs to find his own target. Unfortunately...and as a sobering surprise...there wasn't much to find.
"...What..." Yuri managed to utter, his attention still half-dominated by the squeezes and strokes before him, but through one clenched-shut eye, he looked at the silver legend before him, "...Y-you were the one...who started this... But why can't...I excite you...?"
"...Hah?"
Yuri reluctantly allowed a pause so he could rise up a bit on his knees, giving the Russian a good look at how not-aroused he was. The younger man sat back down again, but unhappily started sliding to the side, eventually putting his back to the pillow-pile even as his left leg stayed perched over his husband's waist, "...Y-you're worried about the medal thing, and the RSF... I kn-know you are..."
"Maybe a little bit, but-"
The leg was pulled back, and Yuri grew more frustrated, bending both knees upward and pinching his legs together as though forming a wall between him and everything else. He saw fingers curl over the top of one though, and Viktor twisted where he sat to look at him.
"It's fine...you can just take me again like you did this morning..."
"I c-can't..." The younger man answered, face still red and flushed, center still throbbing despite having been abandoned, "If you're not...into it... I can't..." His voice was laced with the whine of desperation, reminding Viktor of the urgent drunken slur from the Banquet in Bordeaux, and their flight to find some kind of privacy to address it, "...Plus...I w-wanted you to...to do it this time..."
"Well, then at least let me finish what I started...?" The Russian hoped, "I won't leave you like this."
He hesitated, but Yuri nodded, and tried to relax his legs as he felt his husband starting to pull at the ankle-hems of his jeans. They were gone a few seconds later, along with his socks and undershorts, and Viktor went to pushing the blankets away after that. Watching quietly, Yuri waited half-impatiently for the Russian to settle down again, legs going under the blankets and hands eventually reaching out to pull him closer again. Blankets came up over his own legs then, and Viktor settled him against his chest, left leg curled around him as the right was propped up against his side. Arms came around him quickly thereafter, palms flat against his chest as lips returned to the side of his neck.
The silver legend could still feel the tension in his partner's frame, every muscle tight from the anxiety of the realization, but he did his best to ease it away. Left hand stayed on Yuri's chest, gently stroking and rubbing across him as the right started moving down again. Not wanting to immediately grab the man though, Viktor eased his way back into the pace, his palm and fingers gently teasing around center, and stroking at the inside of the younger skater's upturned right thigh where it leaned against his own. Tension slowly started to ease off, and the younger man became like putty in his hands, pliable to every touch.
Slowly sliding down, Yuri slid off his partner's chest and down into the pillows, feeling his husband come up against his side instead, still reaching precariously with that right hand even as the left had to move off to hold the man up. But that just made it easier for the kisses to start again, and Yuri accepted those gladly, his own hands roaming to cup around his spouse's cheek and neck. He felt the warmth of a tongue against his lips, and whimpered quietly as he let it in, feeling that hand finally reach for center again. It grabbed and massaged at everything, getting slick again on that clear fluid he found himself sometimes making, and then went lower. Fingers pressed gently, then harder, against that wide nubbin of skin on the way to the final goal. Yuri was helpless against it, his own fingers clamping down harder where they curled around his husband's shoulder.
Viktor massaged there for a little while, but his husband had told him he wanted to be taken, and he wasn't going to disappoint him anymore than he already had. One last wet, deep kiss, and he started trailing his lips down the younger man's neck and chest. His whole frame twisted over as he moved lower, until he was lying sideways with his left arm draped over the man's abdomen to hold himself up, the whole of his upper body blocking Yuri from seeing anything else he did. He felt hands against the back of his shoulders, and looked back briefly to see his husband's face, expressive and relishing in his attention. He turned back then, finger still pressing that sensitive spot in rhythmic nudges, but then moved to tease a little bit further down from there. With fingers adequately slick, the Russian started applying that specific pressure, and drew the man into his mouth just as he pressed his middle finger inside. The younger man cried out at the unexpected prod, but the surprise quickly gave way to pleasure, and he dropped back down to the pillow he'd half-attempted to jump up from.
Each suck was accompanied by the come-hither motion of that finger, and even that was soon joined by the assistance of one thumb pressing from outside as well. Yuri quickly found himself squirming under the intensity of his husband's attention, and just as he thought he was about to be pushed over the edge...found the finger coming out again, then the thumb, and the hot, wet warmth of that mouth as well. A short-lived internal panic was replaced by the loud gasp of a man who suddenly found himself penetrated by something more substantial than a single digit, and after finding his entire frame tensing up from the surprise, went entirely limp again with a vocal exhale.
Viktor just huffed a nervous laugh, coming up against his husband's back, arms wrapping around his waist, "Sorry... I guess I just needed to listen to you for a little while longer. I hope you don't mind."
Yuri had no words for him though. He just clasped his hands together and clenched his eyes shut, muttering something along the lines of thankyougod in a voice he could barely hear. Still, the Russian wasn't all the way in though, and Yuri hadn't expressed enough of that home-made lube to go around, so he reached for the night-stand just ahead of himself and rummaged for their bottle of the store-bought stuff. He quickly squeezed a dollop into his hand and reached back behind himself to put it everywhere it needed to go. Once settled back into place though, he found Viktor hugging him even tighter, and he turned his small frame in the man's arms to look back at him over a shoulder. Wordlessly, he pressed the side of his forehead against his lover's cheek as he felt the length of that thick flesh sliding the rest of the way inside him. It was as tight a fit as ever, and Yuri was loudly voicing his approval of it.
The outward slide was as gentle and slow as the inward, but with each pass, things picked up speed, until the only thing keeping the younger man from being pushed right off the edge of the bed was the tight embrace from the man thrusting him forward.
Wanting to make-up for the scare of his earlier underwhelming response to their romp, Viktor put all of his energy into his new efforts. From the position they were in, he eventually rolled a bit further, putting his husband belly-down on the sheets, and move in to straddle over the back of his thighs. He thrust in a few times while holding himself up with a hand on either side of his lover's waist, but was soon pressed against the man's back again, hands clinging to Yuri's ribs as he rolled his hips; Yuri himself had his hands clenched in a vice around one of the pillows. The position changed again, and Viktor slid his hands down from ribs to waist, and pulled the younger man up onto his knees, wedging his own between them from behind to part those legs. Yuri could barely hold himself up, supporting himself on his hands as long as he could before the strength in his arms gave out and he descended in the front again. One arm held him up around the waist, and he could feel the occasional kiss against his back between thrusts. Position change again, and Yuri found himself on his back. The Russian came in hot and heavy with kisses, pushing in as deeply as he could go. Legs swayed on either side of that larger pale frame, sweat beading on both of them.
Yuri could hardly hold on anymore, the added friction of his husband's hand pumping against center in the midst of everything else was putting him fast towards the edge. He nearly found himself actually trying to pull out and away, but collapsed from his elbows into the pillows again, crying out with each new push until he finally felt release.
The silver Russian slowed down immediately, the forceful thrusts reduced to easy glides, hand still working at center until the last of that white fluid had dripped out, and he'd effectively reduced his spouse to trembling fits and gasps for breath. He lowered himself down though and kissed at the younger man's chest, finding him too weak to even raise his arms up in response, and quietly huffed a laugh as he leaned in closer, "Was it okay...?" He wondered between his own breaths, having found release as well just moments later.
"Was...was it okay' he asks..." Yuri echoed, heaving for breaths between words.