Wow, this became much, much longer than what I intended originally. I hope you have the patience to read it through. Thank you so much for reading Dacha, I hope you like this conclusion to the story.
A poem is mentioned in one of the sections. It's "I still remember that amazing moment", by Russian poet Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin.
This story came to be after seeing natsunosho's fanart on Twitter, of Victor and Yuuri in a winter dacha. Thank you, Natsuno, for giving me the permission to write a story based on your lovely fanart.
Light is what awakens him. Light, sifting through the thin barrier made by his eyelids. It's divine, having that gentle, slightly warm caress waking him instead of a blaring alarm invading his ears. It doesn't take much for Yuuri to realise that this is a different kind of morning, just a few breaths really, before it becomes completely clear that this morning is one without got-to-dos and have-to-dos. One offering a needed change of pace.
Yuuri's whole body latches on to the feeling. He wants to stay in that, the moment of being carefree and nothing but his own. He wants more mornings like this, when he is reluctant of opening his eyes, when every single excuse for staying where he is sounds perfectly reasonable, when all he wants to do is to let his five senses slowly awaken and bring the morning as they sharpen.
But, when Yuuri does open his eyes though, after listening and smelling, after feeling, after letting this new morning embrace him, he realises that he's not home. That the morning really is of a different kind.
That's right, he thinks to himself and remembers the train ride, the bus ride and the walk from yesterday, tries to forget the exasperated sighs, snide remarks and trudging through snow. He's not in St. Petersburg, he's not even close to Moscow. He's in a cabin, one that is hidden in the woods. One that Victor has kept just as secret as the forest around it does, but finally decided to show him.
Oh, that's right.
"Victor?" Yuuri calls out and listens, but receives nothing but silence in return.
He finds his glasses on the floor and his mobile on the windowsill close to the bed, and is quick to return to the haven underneath the thick duvet. When he settles, his head on the pillow and the duvet not only around him but tucked underneath him as well, he shivers slightly as he turns on his mobile.
In all honesty, he expected a message to be there since Victor is nowhere to be found. The contentment he feels when his assumptions prove to be true, when he sees the number inside the coloured circle, only adds to the feeling of this being a perfect morning.
'Good morning, Darling,' the text message starts, time stamped as received more than half an hour ago, 'if you need to use the bathroom, you have to go outside. Look for a green door to the left when you go down the stairs. Wear clothes, it's cold.'
Yuuri smiles at the message, at the suggestion that he would walk outside wearing less than what he's wearing now and how silly that is, and continues to read, 'I'll show you everything today. I promise. I'll be back soon, then we can eat breakfast.'
He definitely wants more mornings like this he concludes with a happy sigh, slithering out of bed again to do what Victor proposed.
After finding the outhouse, Yuuri decides that he won't tell anyone about what it feels like, and does to a man, to sit in an unisolated excuse of a bathroom in minus-how-many-degrees centigrade. Ever. He hurries back in, followed by his huffing exhales turning into smoke behind him, and washes his hands. Because of the dacha's simplicity, he does it by taking water out of a small pail in the kitchen, pouring it over in a makeshift basin made out of a large enamel bowl whilst using a tired-looking bar of soap to lather up his hands with.
Again, he feels that scent from yesterday. The scent of history, of tales untold and memories relived on his hands. Of days not yet experienced, questions unasked and answers unknown. He stays like that for a moment, smelling his hands and marvels over the way this place just takes over. How he now is an, albeit brief, part of its history as well.
The understanding makes Yuuri feel something else inside, something he can't define for himself. It feels somewhat that they, he and Victor, have reached another platform in their life together. That they have reached a new understanding, or at least started to peek through that door, by coming to this place. That they are confident enough to reveal secrets to each other in a way they might not have been before. And to think that it all started with Victor coming close, asking a question and… acting on a whim to bring him here.
Well, Yuuri thinks to himself, maybe some things never change.
Yuuri dries his hands by patting them on his sweatpants before he puts on another sweater, adamant on going outside again, and this time, to look around. He wants to see more of this place, why it has such power over Victor, and continues to dress himself with outerwear he hopes will ward off the cold. The parka, the knitted cap, the scarf, the gloves, his now dry boots, all goes on, on top and around him before he opens the door and steps outside.
The clearing the cabin is nestled into is not as big as he thought of it to be. The forest effectively frames the cabin and the open space around it, giving it a very secluded feel. It seems like nature is waiting, anticipating when she should pounce and reclaim it all when he notices the trees being that close. Yes, nature waits on the perfect opportunity to take back what once was hers.
The cabin, no, the dacha, is a one story affair or at least, it seemed like that on the inside. Standing a few strides away from it with his back to the trees, Yuuri can see that there's a window just underneath the roof-ridge. He makes a mental note, he needs to ask Victor about that upper floor and what's there.
The dacha is, amusingly enough, green with white intricate woodwork accents around the windows and the door. Yuuri wonders if it's a conscious choice, to make the dacha blend in with its surroundings. If it has served as a place for silent contemplation and therefore, looks that understated, or if the people who have visited through time never wanted to be disturbed. He figures that it must be even more difficult to spot it during the warmer seasons, with the green woodwork blending seamlessly together with the looming branches around it.
It's a panelled construction, and a thought comes to Yuuri then, seeing the crooked boards and the flaking and fading paint that covers them. He wonders if it's possible that Victor's grandparents, or maybe great-grandparents built it themselves, and what their motivation was. Maybe, they just wanted a change of pace. Maybe, they wanted a place to call their own, away from everything else. Maybe, they built it for what was to come. Whatever that possibly could be.
Somehow, taking in the look of the dacha doesn't go well together with how Yuuri sees Victor. Victor is everything the small construction isn't. He's colourful and vibrant, the dacha is extremely understated and imperfect, and far from its prime. Victor is fire and flame and the dacha is without heat and running water. It's a discord, trying to see how Victor can enjoy to stay in such a place when Yuuri very well knows that Victor loves comfort and luxury above all.
Maybe, this place is all about nostalgia. Maybe, this place is all about reliving things missed and things even unwanted, and that is something money can't buy.
Yuuri looks around, acquaints himself with the immediate surroundings. There's a well just where the clearing becomes a forest again, on the opposite side of the outhouse. It looks like a well pictured in any children's book he's ever read, one where secrets were kept safe and wishes were made. One built by hand by digging deep and stacking stones, with a lid over the opening. Also, there's a shed next to the main building, with a tattered, moss-green tarp hanging on its only open side. There's quite a lot of firewood in it, Yuuri notices upon inspection, and an axe hangs directly to the left of the opening.
His stomach murmurs a bit, there's something about the smell of the firewood that awakens associations. Warm meals, hot drinks, frosty eyelashes and steamy breaths. It's a jumble of memories of Japan and Russia, some of Spain during Christmas time too, all brought forth due to the delicate and sweet smell of sap and chopped trees.
Without a second thought, Yuuri picks up his mobile and tries to ignore his stomach's protests. He removes his right glove, and starts to type a text message to Victor. It takes a few tries, not that it's difficult or that his hand is cold. No, he doesn't want to hurry Victor and finding the right words to convey that is difficult. He wants him to take his time, in the exact same way that he himself took his time in the morning, but he still wants to see him. Of that, he's sure.
So, Yuuri decides to erase it after the sixth try or so, and goes off to find Victor instead. Following his footprints in the powdery snow.
Another piece of the puzzle that is Victor is added by following him like this.
Victor's purposeful strides beckons Yuuri to head in opposite direction of where they came out of the woods, the evening before. To Yuuri, whilst ducking underneath branches and veering around trees upon trees, it's hard to understand how Victor can possibly find his way. Everything looks the same, every snow-heavy branch and every frosty trunk bears the likeness of the next one over.
Yuuri tries not to focus on it though, the way nature tries to entice and confuse. The way it tries to lead him away, astray. Instead, his eyes are constantly looking out for Victor's footprints. The only guiding light he can follow through the forest and the snow.
After a while, he can almost see what Victor's been up to by studying the footprints alone. How Victor must have been caught by inspiration, stepping into a waltz-like turn with the undefined, wispy footprints as the only proof in the snow. How he had slipped a few steps later, catching his weight with must be his left hand on the ground. How the strides seemed to be a bit irregular after that, until they found their previous pace again, the same elongated strides as before the tumble.
"You're in a good mood," Yuuri laughs to himself, feeling a warmth spread out inside. Whatever it is Victor is heading for, whatever it is that makes him so full of joie de vivre, is something Yuuri feels strangely thankful for. Something he wants to know more about.
It's strange, how he just wants more. To know more, to see more, to understand more, and that is what pulls him deeper. Deeper into his longing after Victor. Deeper into the woods.
Just when Yuuri's thinking that the trees are somehow getting slightly more scarce, his scarf gets caught in a particularly pesky branch. Naturally, the choking sensation makes him divert his eyes from Victor's footprints. He stops, and battles the branch, trying to rip the scarf out of its grasp. Of course it tears some in the process, the hem of it getting frayed and it starts to slowly unravel.
Yuuri feels distraught, seeing the scarf fall apart in his hands, the loose strings getting longer by the second. It is Victor's originally, that scarf. It's the one Victor gave him when he first got to Russia, unprepared for the weather. Victor had worn it, that cashmere scarf with its beige, white and red tartan pattern. Victor had worn it and unwound it without a second thought upon seeing him shiver. Victor had worn it, but he had still offered it to him with nothing but a smile.
Thinking back, Yuuri can still feel the wool being wrapping around his neck, that very first time getting off the plane at Pulkovo. He can still feel Victor's slightly chilled fingers, and how they sent more shivers through him when they made contact with his skin. He can still feel what it was like to have Victor's eyes almost looking at him, although they were mostly concentrated on making sure that the scarf was tied in a stylish way. He can still feel the impact Victor's words made after that, when Victor finally looked at him. The simple 'Welcome home'.
The scarf becomes unimportant after that, when he looks straight ahead. When he notices that the forest has let him go for now, and that it offers him something else in return. What he is offered is a sight that instantly becomes etched into his mind, a memory for him to keep. When he feels something else, something new. Something, just for him.
Past the trees, down a small slope, is Victor.
Yuuri can't do anything else than to try to breathe. Seeing Victor skate does that to him, makes him come undone by the sheer beauty and fierce power that alternates, take turns on taking the lead. Victor's entire body is like a dance, how it creates moment upon moment unforgettable by twists and turns, by speed and suspension, by masculine and feminine, by intimate passion and formal distance. All of this inside him, breaking out in bursts when he moves.
And how he moves.
Yuuri sees how Victor goes into a spin combination, down at the frozen lake. Victor is a kaleidoscope, the way just a slight change of posture, a hand moves differently, muscles tensing in another part of his body creates other patterns, patterns that just continues to expand and retract into an infinity of variations, variables, variegations.
Standing there, Yuuri realises that all of this is new. This Victor is new.
This isn't the Victor that shifts from playful to purposeful when he practises with Yakov. It's not the pushing and pulling Victor when he's coaching either. Nor is it the Victor, full of pride, power and predominance when he competes.
No. It's like this Victor's all that, but still, not quite. And that's when Yuuri realises what he's seeing.
When Victor falls, it's easy to think that the spell would dissipate. That Yuuri would forget his train of thought but in reality, it's quite the opposite. Victor's laugh echoes throughout the glade, his head thrown back before he pushes himself back up on his feet and dusts off his knees and ass, and it only takes a heartbeat before Yuuri feels it inside himself.
This isn't a new Victor. This is Victor.
It's a Victor with flaws, a Victor that plays around, a Victor that skates like noone is watching. A Victor that truly, wholeheartedly enjoys himself. Skates for himself. Feels every range of emotion, every single impulse within himself and just doesn't care what will come out of it. He just acts, without poise and composure, and surfs on it. All of it.
This Victor is far from the showman Yuuri's used to see, far from being frivolous with his time, far from being whimsical. Far from being all of the things he is but isn't at the same time. This is Victor when he truly is nothing but himself.
Yuuri sniffs then, his eyes tearing up a little as the pieces fall into place. Forgotten is the frayed scarf, the walk in the snow, the seemingly stupid decisions and the building annoyance. They're all forgotten, for Yuuri feels nothing but thankful. Thankful for Victor choosing him, for allowing him to see this, to experience this. And just as Yuuri thinks that his emotions are going to overflow, that tremble inside starting to feel like a bubbly pressure, he jolts when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.
Nonplussed, he takes it out, his breath not going in nor out when he sees who it's from, and reads, 'I can see you, you know. Get over here!'.
He almost falls, his legs unsteady and his mind racing, as he careers down the slope through the deep snow. Through the blur, he sees Victor coming closer. Waving with one arm raised above his head, until he's waiting at the edge of the frozen lake.
It's silly really, how Victor makes a show of it. How he, upon impact, spins them around like they are lovers in any cookie-cutter of a romantic movie ever made. But… that's Victor too. Victor is a kaleidoscope, an elusive morning mist, a thrashing gale, a sturdy foundation on which Yuuri feels nothing but comfortable standing on.
"Hey, you," Yuuri hears Victor whisper into his ear, still spinning, "good morning. Sneaking up on me, huh?"
Yuuri digs his head further into Victor's chest. He shakes it, or tries to, feeling their impact still causing movement.
"Stand on my feet," Victor says then, with one hand on the back of his head, gently pulling him in, and the other firmly around his lower back, begging him to stay close.
And so, they just glide together for a while, in a continuous embrace.
It's Victor who ends that moment. That moment of mutual realisation, of understanding that the both of them have experienced something new. Something shared in another light.
It's always Victor who ends moments like this, and he does so respectfully.
With a kiss followed by foreheads pressed together, and a warm exhale on Yuuri's cheek shortly thereafter, Victor asks something simple. He tends to do that, ask something almost mundane, especially after sharing something that has impact on them both.
Yuuri doesn't really know why, but he loves when Victor does that. It is as if Victor makes a point, like he knows that the moment, memory, whatever, is recorded inside the both of them and that they need something simple to pull them back. Like he knows that things need a beginning, a buildup and an end, and that his simple question is yet another beginning to an intermission until the next moment, memory, whatever, takes place. And the next one. And the next.
"Are you hungry?" is what Victor asks this time, his forehead pressed against Yuuri's and his breath bringing a transient warmth.
"Mhm," Yuuri hums in reply, wholeheartedly accepting what Victor is doing. Worshipping it, even. "We can cook together."
"I'd love that."
Yuuri sighs a little as he steps off Victor's feet, the definite punctuation to the moment they just shared, wondering if this is a good time to start with the questions he's been storing inside. He decides to test the waters as they head towards the edge of the lake, to where Victor's boots are placed.
"Victor," he begins, "why didn't you tell me to bring skates? We could have skated together."
He steps onto solid ground and offers his arm as support to Victor, who starts to undo his skates with his free hand.
"I could've asked you, yes," Victor says as he's pulling off the first skate, "but," he continues while unlacing the other, "then I wouldn't have been able to make up my mind."
"Sorry?"
"Two seconds." Victor removes his other skate and puts his foot in his boot, adjusting the legs of his trousers some before he straightens up.
Yuuri feels a flutter of worry then, in that other kind of Victor-made pause. He worries still, when he feels Victor's arm around his shoulders, coaxing him to move. He worries, when he hears Victor inhale, ready to speak.
"You see, Yuuri, this place… To me, it's sacred."
Instinctively, Yuuri wants to apologise. For feeling lonely that morning, for following Victor's footsteps. For finding him, for watching him. Oh, and the scarf too, he really needs toㅡ
"Love," Victor interrupts, his hand tightening around Yuuri's shoulder, "I've always come here, when I felt like decisions needed to be made. When I needed to think. When I just needed to… oh, how to say it…"
"B-be yourself for a while?" Yuuri breathes.
Yuuri can feel it, that fraction of a second where Victor hangs in space. Immovable before he finds himself again.
"That's it," Victor replies, a slight tone of astonishment in his voice before he finds his bearings. "I've… I've always come here, love. Ever since I was a child. To remember things, to find things, to decide on things. You skating with me would be a distraction. A wonderful one, but still a distraction."
"Oh," Yuuri says, afraid to say much else because he senses it. He senses that Victor is going to tell him something, something he really needs to pay attention to.
"So," Victor continues, "that's why I didn't ask you. But we skated together just now, wouldn't you say?"
Yuuri leans in a little, allows the side of his head touch Victor's shoulder before he nods.
"Anyway… last time I came here was after Worlds, two years ago."
This time, it's Yuuri's turn to get suspended in time and space. And he does actually stop. Stops and stares at Victor, into those blue eyes as he connects the dots.
"Wh… what did you decide?" Yuuri asks, breathless. Swept away by Victor's revelation.
Maybe it's a good an answer as any, that smile that spreads out on Victor's face, the open mouthed kiss that follows, but Yuuri really wants to hear it. He wants to hear Victor say it, because if it is what he's expecting to hear then it would meanㅡ
"That I would go for you, should you reach out to me. And you did."
ㅡthat he is a part of the history of this place, too.
"I love you," Yuuri blurts out against Victor's lips, high on the understanding what this place really is, high on the confidence that's been given him, high on the deepened trust between him and Victor.
"I love you too," Victor says, pauses for a while and then, continues. "So, tell me. How has your morning been?"
Wonderful, Yuuri thinks to himself, as he allows Victor to create yet another intermission, leading to something else he just can't wait to experience.
Walking back to the dacha feels different, this time around. They partake in smalltalk, walking side by side, hand in hand, and it's a calm that settles around them. A calm based on the two of them settling in something they're both comfortable with.
Somehow, the walk back feels shorter this time around. Like they've taken another way and not the same one they did earlier that morning, even though they're following their own footprints back through the woods. Yuuri wonders why that is, why time is picking up speed around them. If this is how it's going to be now, with moments upon moments interchanging, leaving him out of breath. He wants to keep the moments, the memories, but the breakneck speed in which they're coming at him is both daunting and discouraging. How to savor them all, how to fully appreciate them, how to keep them inside himself for just a while longer?
Not before long, they come through the the last line of trees and enter the clearing, the dacha acting as a reminder of all the things left unsaid and undisclosed.
Yuuri is quick to remember Victor's promise, that he will tell him everything, and wants to find his courage from before when it felt easy to ask him questions. It seems like every question opens up a new reality with its answer, before it is taken over by yet another one. He wants to breathe, rest in the fact that there's just them and that time, eventually, will slow down but it's difficult to believe that it'll happen. Not now, once the wheels have started to turn.
But still, knowing is what Yuuri wants and asking is the only way. So, as they walk up the few steps to the porch, Yuuri decides that he dares. That he can take another answer and its consequences.
"So, is there a top floor here as well?" he asks, as Victor opens the door.
"Top floor? No," Victor begins, heading straight for the fireplace to light another fire, "but there's an attic. Why?"
"I'm just curious. Is… is there anything up there?"
"You know, I'm not sure," Victor replies from his place in front of the fireplace, as he's stacking firewood. "Do you want to find out?"
"Is that okay? I don't want toㅡ"
"Of course it's okay, but don't you want to eat first?" Victor laughs, turning to face him as the fire starts its own feast.
Yuuri hums a little in agreement as he hangs up his coat after closing the door behind him. After all, no discoveries are made on an empty stomach.
So they join each other in the kitchen, Victor feeding the stove with firewood and Yuuri checking what groceries are available and together, they cook. It takes a little getting used to, using old utensils, pots and pans over a stove that either is cold or scorching, but they somehow manage to not burn the kasha, overcook the eggs and vaporise the water for their instant coffee.
When they sit down, shoulder to shoulder and heads leaning in close on that hard wooden sofa close to the fire, Yuuri decides to ask through a mouthful of porridge.
"The photos in here, who are they of?"
"Relatives, distant ones mostly," Victor answers, taking a sip of coffee shortly after. "People on my father's side."
"I couldn't see any of you? Or your parents?"
"There's one of my father, but he's very young there," Victor says, putting his coffee cup on the floor. He stands up and walks towards the bookcase, studying a few of the framed photos before he says, "Here. Yuuri, come."
Yuuri doesn't have to be told twice. He's quick to join Victor's side, almost holding his breath in anticipation.
The photograph is in black and white, slightly blurred as older photographs tend to be. It seems to have been taken outside the dacha, during the summertime considering how the people are dressed. There are a few, rather rotund ladies with aprons and headsquares sitting in front and three men with impressive facial hair and caps shadowing their brows behind them. A little to the side, a boy who cannot be more than eight, maybe ten years old looks into the camera. Resembling a deer caught in headlights.
Yuuri would never have thought that this boy, this almost white eyed boy with hair that seems to be darker than Victor's, is Victor's father. Not by first glance, anyway. There's something to him that doesn't feel like Victor either. After spending a few seconds thinking, trying to figure out what it could possibly be, Yuuri settles with it might be an insecurity, perhaps?
Yuuri points and makes a small sound, and recieves a nod from Victor.
"You don't really look alike," Yuuri says after a while, feeling caught by the boy's wide-eyed stare. "Were you? I mean… alike, in any way?"
Victor huffs a little, that sound he usually makes when he's amused or surprised, and taps his lips.
"You know… I guess we were?"
Yuuri catches a glance from Victor before they both face the bookcase and the photograph again.
"Sure, I got the colour of his eyes and I thought for the longest time it was all we had in common. But in truth, I've come to realise that we were actually a bit alike. We were both seekers, father and I. We both searched for something else, something that could make us settle. Father, he… ah, he never found it, that's all. Not in the way he sought, anyway. And I guess, that's where our similarities end."
"Vitya, I'm sorㅡ"
"Don't be. It's okay."
Yuuri can sense the shift in energy between them and instantly puts his arm around Victor's waist. Like his arm can act as a bandaid on something as ethereal as emotional hurt.
"Do you… what's your happiest memory of him?"
"Oh, hard question… Hm… Well, I actually think it was when we were here in the summer once. I must have been, say, six or something. I can remember it still, how it rained. What it smelled like, dirt and grass and trees. I came back, soaking wet after running down to the lake, and father sat outside on the steps."
"Were you afraid?"
"Maybe." Victor shrugs. "But that's not important."
"This doesn't sound like a happy memory, Victor."
"Oh, but it is. When I got back, he gripped my arm and told me to sit. Which I did, despite I wanted to go inside." Victor grows silent for a while, his eyes seeing something Yuuri cannot. They go back and forth, before they still. Before Victor speaks anew. "Oh, I really wanted to go inside... I… I can't exactly remember what he said, but it was something like 'There will come a time when you don't know what to do, boy. First, you think long and hard. Then, you surprise them.' Something like that."
It feels like Victor's words, no, his father's words, are hanging over them. Filling them up with an understanding that transcends beyond themselves.
Yuuri hugs Victor then, pulls him as close as he possibly can, because he doesn't know and that won't change, no matter how many questions he'll ask Victor. He doesn't know what it feels inside to have lived a life like Victor's, but he reacts to it nevertheless. Imagines what it would do to himself, what it has done to Victor. Wonders if it's a strength or a weakness and settles in thinking it's probably a bit of both, whilst feeling something that resembles a sadness take him over.
"Don't," Yuuri hears Victor whisper into his hair. "Nothing of that matters, I'm happy now. I'm happy here, with you."
"Are you sure?" Yuuri whispers back, his lips straying to find skin to be pressed against.
"Positive. So, are you finished eating?"
"Just about."
"Take your time. I'll try to find something to stand on. We have an attic to explore."
Sadly, the attic proved to house nothing more than a few boxes, making Yuuri feel more than a little disappointed. He thought he would step into a Nikiforovian treasure trove, filled with mementos and keepsakes. Things that would make him feel that more blanks were suddenly filled. Instead, the boxes are filled with curtains, some hand-weaved carpets and rusty tools. Oh, and an old chamber pot, one that Victor asks if they should take down. That way, they won't have to go outside, Victor jests, but Yuuri is certain that he would rather sit out in the cold than inside. Especially if he has to relieve himself in front of someone else. It doesn't matter that it's Victor.
After the uneventful attic adventure, they undress before they end up in bed. Their clothes smell of dust and dirt, and since the bedclothes are their own, they decide that it's better to keep decades worth of dust contained.
Yuuri feels tired, his eyes getting heavier by the seconds that pass while he's resting with his head on Victor's chest. Victor's breaths, his expanding ribcage, the way his heart slowly thumps… they lull him, pull him closer and closer to the fine border between being asleep and awake.
Victor, on the other hand, is reading. He picked out a book from the bookcase, one that seems to have been read frequently due to its loose bindings and folded dog ears just about everywhere.
"You've read this before?" Yuuri yawns, his fingers picking a little at Victor's skin.
"Many times," Victor responds in a distant way, not taking his eyes off the page.
"What kind of book is it?"
"It's poetry. Pushkin."
The name doesn't mean anything to Yuuri, other than he knows for a fact that Victor's got one or a couple of books by that poet at home. That's another thing Yuuri finds astounding with Victor. How he reads, how he mulls things over, how he's a great observer. A true master of small details and bigger pictures. Those things are not the what comes to mind when Victor's name is mentioned during discussions.
In fact, Yuuri never thought Victor had such a side to him, never knew it either. But, moving to St. Petersburg forced him to reassess his fiancé and coach within the first couple of weeks. Victor reads, and does it whenever the opportunity comes his way. He not only reads, he feels the words. Almost in the same way he feels music inside when he skates.
"What's so good about Pushkin?" Yuuri asks, his hand flush against Victor's stomach.
Victor stops reading then, folds the book closed with his index finger in between the pages and puts it down on the bed.
"What's so good about Pushkin? Well," Victor coos, and strokes Yuuri's back with his free hand, "for one, he writes about a lot of things, but what he says about love is amazing."
"Read to me, then," Yuuri says, trying to find Victor's eyes with his own and gets just the briefest flash of blue. "It doesn't matter if it's in Russian, just read a little."
Victor shifts a little underneath him as he makes himself comfortable, trying to open the book with one hand without dropping it. He turns quite a few pages, before he stops with a solemn look on his face. "I can translate it if you like, love," he says, getting his other hand free to hold the book steady.
"Please," Yuuri says, stifling yet another yawn.
"Just a moment," Victor says. He grows silent after that, reading a little to himself and probably making some kind of head start with the translation. And then, he reads out aloud.
"I still remember that amazing moment
When you appeared before my sight
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light
Locked in the depression's hopeless captive,
In haste of clamorous processions,
I heard your voice, soft and attractive
And dreamt of your beloved expressions
Time passed. In gusts, rebellious and active,
A tempest scattered my affections
And I forgot your voice attractive,
Your sacred and divine expressions
Detained in darkness, isolation,
My days would slowly drag in strife
With lack of faith and inspiration,
With lack of tears, and love and life
My soul attained its waking moment:
You re-appeared before my sight,
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light
And now, my heart, in fascination
Beats rapidly and finds alive:
Devout faith and inspiration,
And gentle tears and love and life."
Yuuri lies still, suddenly wide awake. Feeling the words Victor's just read course through him. He can't understand why the thing they share, what lives and grows in between the two of them, suddenly feels so vast. So difficult to comprehend. Even more impossible to describe. But in some way, some almost uncanny way, hearing Victor read Pushkin has made him feel like there is a way to convey all of that in words. It feels comforting, knowing that.
He gets lost, lost in thinking that he has found yet another piece to that puzzle of his. The one with a seemingly infinite amount of pieces, the one with a picture he still doesn't know the pieces will show. And that's when he feels it, underneath himself.
It starts small, like Victor's heart is beating with an irregular rhythm. Like it speeds up only to slow down before it picks up again. It continues, with Victor putting the book down, closing it before it ends up on the floor. It builds, with Victor's hands digging into him, craving him or at least, needing the feel of him. It culminates, with Victor putting his face into his hair whilst curling up, whilst vibrating. Whilst shaking, whilst quaking, whilst coming undone.
Then, Yuuri knows that even though he finds a myriad of pieces to the puzzle he considers to be Victor while being in this place, Victor just found one himself. One that Yuuri is more than happy to give, only to be offered in return.
When they wake, it's early afternoon. They wake, with limbs entangled, without the possibility to know where they begin and end. They wake, without a word but with eyes that speak through the silence.
Victor's eyes are blue. So unfathomably blue. Like all possible variations of the colour are forced into such a tiny space, fighting for dominion. Yuuri knows the patterns by now, the variations in Victor's irises. How his left has a small dash of gray and his right is blue without compare. How they look like lunar landscapes up close.
But now, Victor veils them, his lashes shadowing those neverending blue.
"I'm sorry," Victor says, his voice slightly raspy, "I didn't mean to."
Yuuri says nothing. To him, it's unbelievable that Victor feels like he has to excuse himself for showing a side he rarely displays. It's unbelievable that Victor asks for forgiveness for being human, when in fact Yuuri feels honored to be a part of that. For moving Victor as much as Victor moves him. For knowing that Victor too feels overwhelmed too by what they share, what they feel.
Instead of talking, Yuuri frees a hand and it finds Victor's cheek. Just resting there, finding a pride in being allowed to.
When Victor finally opens his eyes, when he finally lets Yuuri have access to them and what's going on behind them, Yuuri speaks.
"I understand now, Victor," he says, his thumb going back and forth across Victor's cheek without hardly any pressure at all, "why you wanted to make sure. Why you had doubts about if you were ready or not."
Victor sighs a little then, a vibrating kind of exhale. Yuuri can't help but wonder if Victor feels relieved, if he understands that they both have been giving and receiving just as much by coming here, by staying in the dacha.
"Are you okay," he asks, kissing Victor's nose, listening to their combined exhales. The way his own is slightly shallow, the way Victor's more deep.
Victor hums his response and pilfers a kiss off of Yuuri's lips, with the tiniest hint of playfulness in his eyes.
"But," Yuuri says after tasting what Victor's tongue left on his lips, continuing his thought from before, "what I don't understand is what you needed to be sure of. I mean, I can understand the doubt. This is a special place for you, but… you have shown me this place now andㅡ"
"Love, I don't want you to misunderstand me. Okay?"
"Mhm?"
"I've been meaning to show you the dacha for a very long time, that's the truth. But, when I come here, it's always been to sort things out. You know?"
"Right."
"Thing is, I've been thinking. About you and me."
Yuuri's breathing hitches. It's like turning on a faucet, opening a window in a dark room. It floods him. All his possible fears of not being enough, of not being what Victor wants, of not doing what he's supposed to, crashes into him. It's like he's standing on train tracks, and becomes run over by the train that is his worries and trepidations.
"Yuuri? You're thinking too much," Victor interrupts.
"How can I do anything else when… when you say a thing like that?"
"Listen. Before, I was thinking of selling this place. I couldn't find a need for it anymore, you know?"
"Whㅡ"
"But, I wanted you to see it before I did and coming here, and, well… It made me realise something."
Yuuri tries to look away, afraid of what he's going to hear. Afraid of he can ever be what he suspects Victor wants him to be. If Victor finds satisfaction in being the centre of everywhere he is, more so than being with him.
"I want to keep it. And the reason is… well… it's simple, really."
Victor unbraids himself from Yuuri then, makes a show of reaching over to his side of the bed where he has his bag on the floor.
Yuuri doesn't know where to look, if he should keep his eyes on Victor's wiggling ass up in the air or what he's actually doing, but the former is what occupies him until Victor straightens up.
"Yuuri," Victor says, reaching out to enclose Yuuri's hand in his, "what I wanted to be sure of was simple. I wanted to be sure if this was the place I could ask you to help me make another decision. So far, I've made all the important decisions in my life here, but… on my own. And I really feel like now is the time to make yet another."
Yuuri's mind is blank. He's not even sure if that train he was worried about before actually hit him, or if it's another train in passing. All he can do is to look at Victor in bewilderment, trying to understand the nature of things. How he has ended up where he is, why Victor is holding his hand, why Victor is palming something and doing a bad job of hiding it.
"Yuuri? Will you help me? Help me make the most important decision of my life today?"
Yuuri's awake, even before the alarm goes off. He's awake and has been for a while, looking at his right hand where one ring has been joined by another. It becomes him, he thinks, the way it looks. The way he's been branded. The way he's definitely his.
He intercepts the alarm, turns it off a few minutes before it will shove them back into a reality where there are things to do, places to go. Lives to live. It doesn't feel that bad now, though. Their reality has undoubtedly changed, and if it's on a whim or maybe even meticulously planned, he cannot say. But he's thankful for it. All of it, every single piece of it.
Thoughts are easy to succumb to, and Yuuri does it again. He thinks about the weekend, about Victor, about himself. About them. About what's to come and if this will be forgotten when it does.
No, he thinks to himself, hearing Victor's steady breaths behind himself. I will never forget.
He knows that it's true. He will never forget. Victor has made sure that this weekend, this weekend that started rocky and made him think thoughts he now feels ashamed of revisiting, has now become etched inside him. With all its memories and moments, realisations and reactions, this weekend is the most important one he's experienced together with him.
It's a little bittersweet, knowing that they have to leave in a few hours time, leave all of the magic this place has offered the both of them behind. Yuuri turns around with a sigh and burrows his way closer, until he feels every part of his front being in contact with Victor's warm, sleeping body.
"Vitya," he whispers, kissing Victor's shoulder, his neck, his lips, "we need to get going."
Victor makes a noise then, something that resembles both a sigh and a mewl, and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in.
"No," Yuuri scolds, "up. We need to get up."
"I know. Just let me have this for a second," Victor sighs dreamily, before his eyes fling open. "Shit. Yes. We need to get going."
It becomes a flurry of things after that. Of things being packed, put into place and taken out again. Of clothes being put on, exchanged between each other. Of breakfast made on the go, of lights put out and knobs turned the other way, of dampers being closed as well as doors. Of smiles, of touches, of laughs and hands being held. Of memories created, stored, pulled out and remembered.
But, they manage to get out of the door, lock it and head into the woods despite that, adamant on making it in time.
"We kind of need to hurry," Victor pants as he's trudging through the snow, "there's only one bus on Sundays."
Yuuri can't help but find himself amazed again, hearing Victor's words when they're criss-crossing between the trees. That part of Victor, the one that is all about business and obligations, is easy to forget about. Even though Victor seems to be driven by nothing but impulse and childish whims, he's gotten where he is by knowing where to go. And knowing where to go is something you learn by falling, by getting up again. By constantly trying, by practising. By wanting, wishing, never giving up. By mesmerising. By surprising.
Hard work is something that inspires Victor, Yuuri knows that too. And he has made a vow to himself that he will be all of that Victor wants him to be, he will push himself further to meet him where he is. No matter the cost.
"Yeah," Yuuri smiles to himself, trying to keep up with Victor's pace as they begin to see the snow covered fields, the lonely, gnarly tree close to the road.
"Oh, by the way," Victor exclaims upon turning around, pointing at Yuuri, "what happened to the scarf?"
Instead of feeling embarrassed, although there's a flutter of that passing by initially, Yuuri feels pride inside when he answers.
"You did."
They look at each other, standing two steps apart. Victor being nothing but a stride away from the fields, while Yuuri's still underneath the branches bending because of the weight of the snow.
It's like looking into a mirror, or at least, that's the feeling Yuuri gets when he sees Victor. There's another dignity to him now, to Victor. A relaxation. And in that moment, that split second of looking at the man he loves, Yuuri understands why.
"Victor?"
He understands why, because he's feeling the same way too.
"Let's go back."
Their individual puzzles have just become one, one they will continue to add pieces to for as long as they share a life together. And oh, how he wants to add more to their story, because that's probably what the picture is, once it's finished. A chronicle of them, of what they share and have, and what they will give and receive. Through the days, months and years they intend to spend on each other.
"Yuuri…"
"Let's go back. To the dacha. We don't have to be there for long, just until tomorrow. Please." Yuuri takes the two steps or so to erase the distance between them, his fingers closing around the collar of Victor's parka, his lips touching Victor's when he whispers his wish. "Let's go back."
If there was a flurry before, it becomes a race. Both literally and figuratively. It becomes a race, because they find themselves out of breath, their bodies moving faster through the maze of trees. It becomes a race, because they find themselves needing to push, needing the other to go faster, needing the other to keep up.
So when they reach that little cabin, with its crooked boards and fading paint, with its memories made and stored, they begin to descry the finish line.
They come through the door, latched onto each other. They come through the door, their mouths seeking what their hand yet can't reach.
There are no words shared between them, not yet, as Yuuri pushes Victor up against the wall and kicks the door shut. He wants more of him, needs more, yearns for it, when his kisses becomes heated, hungry, messy. Losing poise and refinement with every touch, every flick of his tongue.
"Yuuri, wait," he hears Victor say. It's muted, the sound. Almost in his throat, which makes Yuuri break away.
"Wh-what?"
"Let me light the fucking fire," Victor pants into his mouth.
Yuuri laughs then. He doesn't know if it's genuinely funny or downright bizarre, but Victor really is asking him to slow down. He doesn't want to, not really, but he obliges and lets Victor go with a sigh after their backpacks end up on the floor but before their parkas are hanged up again.
"Why does it take so damn long," Victor scowls on his knees, lighting matches upon matches and trying to make the fire flare up.
"It's fine," Yuuri comforts from where he stands. He says it with an earnest tone in his voice, but it's not fine. The white lie is full of greed, just below the surface. It takes him over, the yearning he has for release. To indulge. To just get lead astray by the Victor he now knows.
After Victor utters a mumbly, colourful tirade in Russian, probably brought on by his frustration caused by the extremely stubborn fire that just won't start, Yuuri's need gets vocal.
It starts with a touch, his hand on Victor's shoulder. Victor doesn't catch on to Yuuri's annoyance, his need being caught between wanting and wanting to light a fire, so Yuuri continues.
It's tentative, the way he gets on his knees and picks at the hem of Victor's shirt. He knows that, but at the same time, he can't be someone he's not. And he knows, and that's probably why he can continue to be timid in situations like this, that Victor knows what his small, seemingly insignificant gesture means.
Immediately, Victor's eyes are on his. They are blown up by the unspoken language shared between them, although just for a moment, before they narrow into a smile.
Victor is quick to toss the match he's holding into the fireplace, quick to get on his feet and pull Yuuri up with him.
Yuuri blushes a little, being pulled up on his feet. When his hands seek out Victor's belt. He looks up at Victor, underneath the rims of his glasses and some black, stray strands. Of course, he's spurred on by Victor's hands around his face, Victor's lips touching his, Victor's tongue not asking for permission.
So, he steels himself. Starts with opening the fly of Victor's trousers, his eyes firmly locked on his own hands when he grabs the belt.
Victor huffs then, that tell-tale sound of him being amused, with his forehead pressed against Yuuri's. "Go on," he says, almost on a dare.
It's strange to Yuuri, how natural it is to Victor. How he's never fazed no matter what setting, no matter what made them heated and heady, no matter what's being done to him. Of course, there are questions to be asked about that too, but now is not the time.
He hates that his hands are fumbly, like they aren't his to control in situations like this. The way they shake, the way they just can't make it seem easy or natural. Despite knowing that he wants to, that Victor wants him to, it still feels like a first time undoing his belt, undoing that button.
The heat rises to Yuuri's ears when Victor's trousers won't slide down by themselves. They're clinging on to Victor, to his hips and his ass, with seemingly no intention of letting go. Yuuri's relieved to feel Victor's hands underneath his sweater, taking away some of the embarrassment brought on by Victor's clothes fighting him, not allowing him the prize he seeks.
"Take off your glasses, love," Victor breathes into his ear, before his sweater gets pulled over his head, off of his arms and, simply, dropped on the floor.
Yuuri's skin reacts to the chill, the still unlit fireplace, the realisation that he now is more undressed than Victor.
"Cold?" Victor teases, exhaling a slow huff of air on his shoulder. Continuing with spreading the heat with a lick and a nip, which makes Yuuri shiver.
"You know I am," Yuuri whispers, feeling his skin tighten as it becomes smothered with a myriad of bumps.
Victor coos, a sound from deep within him, and removes his shirt. Somewhat, at least.
The way he's standing with his arms still in the sleeves and that smile teasing the corners of his lips, albeit just for a few seconds, is enough for Yuuri to feel his body react. This time, it's a scorching heat taking him over, negating the bumpy skin and the shivering muscles. He becomes tense instead, his blood rushing, his mind starting to lose both sense and composure.
"Take them off," he breathes, daring to put his hand on Victor's hip, slightly underneath the waistline of the trousers. "Take them off, now."
And Victor does. He starts with removing his shoes, using his hands. After, he caresses the garment off himself, touching Yuuri's hand with his own as they travel across his hips, down his thighs.
When the trousers pool at Victor's feet, he doesn't step out of them. Instead, he gets down on his knees.
The sight makes Yuuri swallow. His mind is fighting itself, fighting its own double nature. He wants to be at Victor's mercy, but at the same time, he wants to be more. He wants to act on what he's feeling inside, the ever spreading lust that heightens his senses. He wants to show Victor that he can be something else, something just a multifaceted as him.
"Get up," Yuuri says, feeling impressed by his own tone of voice, the way it sounds much more assertive than before.
Yuuri catches a smile on Victor's face. It's just a hint of a smile, really, brief and easy to miss, before their eyes lose the contact when Victor stands up. He wonders what it stands for, that smile, but loses his train of thought as their eyes meet again.
"And now?" Victor says. It's almost inaudible, like he's mouthing the words, but in the quiet of the dacha, they ring loud and clear. Like a warcry on a battlefield.
The loud pop makes them both flinch, makes them look to the side.
A small ember seems to have survived against all possible odds and makes one desperate try, its heat struggling to take over one of the logs in the fireplace. And just like that, may it be a fluke or divine intervention, the fire starts to claw at the firewood, starts to consume it as it builds. As it grows stronger, wanting to scorch all and everything it comes across.
Yuuri's lips are on Victor within the second. On his lips, on his chest, on his stomach. On his hips, on his thighs. His hands travel, looking for places to explore.
As he sinks to his knees, his fingers digging into Victor's hips, he kisses the fabric of Victor's underwear. The moan he is awarded with from above acts as his own personal kindling, his flame feeding on what the sound makes him feel.
Feeling his breath pick up, he puts his fingers underneath the waistband of Victor's underwear and slowly reveals him, savors every bit of skin being exposed.
"I love you," he breathes, as the fabric travels across Victor's hips, down his thighs.
He feels Victor's hand on his head, his fingers digging into his hair.
"I want you," he continues, as Victor stands bare before him, asking him to step out of his underwear with a small touch to his ankles. "On the bed."
Victor fists his hand into his hair, and holds on, just for a heartbeat. Like he's deciding on something, or trying not to act on something. But, he lets go and backs up towards the bed, pushing himself towards the middle once he's seated.
Yuuri takes a step closer to the bed, looking down whilst undoing the button of his jeans with steady hands.
When he looks up, he freezes. Not because his jeans are quick to do what Victor's trouser's didn't, not because of his arousal straining against his underwear. No, he freezes, because he sees Victor. Victor, bare before him with a radiating, unparallelled confidence. Victor, lavishly painted in gold with the reflections from the fireplace playing across his skin. Victor, touching himself whilst looking at him, without so much as blinking.
"Stop that," Yuuri says, not as commanding this time. He finds his voice different now, almost taken by what he sees.
Victor answers with nothing but a smile and lets himself go with an almost defiant gesture, almost like a flourish. Continuing on looking Yuuri straight into his eyes, he makes a little noise. It's defiant too, a 'tsk-tsk'-kind of sound, and props himself up with his hands, shifting his weight onto them as he leans back. Then, he watches, with his lips slightly parted and his chest heaving. Asking Yuuri to continue with his whole being.
Yuuri answers to Victor's call. He takes yet another step closer to the bed, feeling his pulse pick up. There's something about seeing Victor like this that makes him dare, that makes him bend his own boundaries a bit. That's why he commands Victor, with a look and a purposeful imploration, to watch him.
"Look at me," he says, his hands reaching down to the waistband of his underwear.
"I am," Victor replies, his voice thick and needy. "I am looking at you."
In that moment, Yuuri doesn't feel anything other than possessing an immense power. The fact that he entices Victor, makes him anticipatory and unable to lie still, that he wields such influence over him by just standing in front of him… it makes him bold, daring.
Gone is the need to cover his lust when he becomes bare. Gone is the role he usually submits to, that of the submissive. Gone is any possible doubt that he's not enough. For he has seen what he does to Victor; the fingers clawing into the sheets, the muscles rippling underneath his skin, the way Victor wants, wants, wants but stays where he's told.
It's Yuuri's knee that touches the bed first. Then a hand. Then another knee. It's like he's on the prowl, ready to strike on a prey that knows what will happen. A prey that is anticipating what's to come.
Yuuri feels Victor touch his elbow as he runs his fingers through Victor's hair. It's soft, silky to the touch, when it glides through his fingers.
Victor's knee rubs against him, between his legs, but he disregards the cheap trick. Both of his hands are in Victor's hair now, close to being contracted into fists, close to taking hold of his hair and pull his head back. But he doesn't grab, hold or pull, not when his mouth is starving for contact with Victor's lips.
Yuuri looks down at Victor then, looks down into his eyes that are narrow, almost obscured by the now golden lashes. Victor's head tilts back on its own accord, his mouth slightly open.
"Take care of me, love," Victor whispers. "Please."
"Yes," Yuuri replies, just as low, before they kiss.
It builds quickly from there, with hands all over, mouths insatiable, bodies pressing into each other, bodies finding positions and placements. It turns into motion and friction, purpose and ambition, when Yuuri presses his thighs tightly around Victor's firmness, as Victor is moving, revving, pausing, repeating.
"I-I want you to come too," Victor pants from behind, his fingers digging into Yuuri's hips. "I can suck you, love."
Yuuri makes a noise of frustration. It's not what he wants. He doesn't want Victor to ask, he doesn't want Victor to think of him. Not now, not here. Not when Victor has shown all of him and he, on the other hand, has a lot more to prove.
He almost wants to pry Victor's hand off him, the one that has ventured between his legs. He wants to be the giver, be the unselfish one and stand proud knowing that he has offered everything he could possibly give. But instead, he puts his hand on Victor's and dictates the pace, the rhythm, the pressure, and takes pride in that.
When Yuuri feels Victor's forehead pressed in between his shoulder blades, when Victor's hips are starting to move slower, make more shallow motions against him, he lets go. He lets go of Victor's hand around himself and puts his onto the mattress. Ready to carry the weight of them combined.
Realising that Victor has told the truth all along, for there suddenly is no need of a fire heating him up.
Victor is quick to fall asleep, taken by the bliss that follows release. Yuuri watches him, tucked in underneath the duvet. Watches the snow fall outside the window.
A sting of guilt hits him then, and he reaches for his phone.
Yakov answers immediately.
"Feltsman."
"Hi, Yakov. It's Yuuri."
"Hrmph. Yes?"
"I'm sorry for this weekend. Truly."
There's a pause. One which makes Yuuri count the seconds, for the pause is seemingly never ending. He reaches sixteen.
"Yes. Thank you. I'm not mad with you, though, Yuuri."
"Oh. Ah… I'm calling to, um, let you know that we won't be coming in tomorrow. We… we missed the bus back. I'm… I'm sorry. "
Yakov sighs. It's a long sigh.
"So, um…"
"I honestly don't understand what's wrong with him! He calls me to cancel his meetings and now he makes you call me too? He's unbelievable."
"Iㅡ"
"That idiot. That idiot. Yuuri, can I be honest with you?"
"Well, yㅡ"
"Don't let him take charge like that, you hear? Victor, he's a selfish child. Gifted, but selfish. If you give him your finger, he'll take your arm and drag you places without you having a say! He'll make you do the things he wants to do. Don't let his bad judgement spill over onto you. You hear?"
Yuuri can't stop the smile that takes over, that makes him put a hand to his chest to contain the warmth, the love, that radiates from within. Victor does keep secrets. But... not from him.
"You will never understand him. I've spent more than twenty years trying to. It's impossible, you'll never figure him out."
Yuuri inhales, ready to stand up for Victor. The Victor he now knows. But, he decides against it with a laugh, when the only reasonable answer comes to him.
"Yakov? I don't mind."
-the end-