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Episode 3. The Great Ball at Satan's (OST Master and Margarita)
Pairing: celebrity!Sylus x figure skater!MC
Synopsis: A viral edit inspires the pair's most daring routine yet, and they are both more then ready to set the rink on fire. But because of one playful bet their fiery dynamic reaches a boiling point.
CW: figure skating!au, complex relationship dynamics, teasing, questionable humour, mild risk (jumps and high lifts)
Notes: this is the third episode of caleb's plotline in the figure skating!au. the previous ones, along with other plotlines, can be found here. sylus is a founder and a CEO of a renowned IT company. dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more
I suppose it would be utterly dishonest to claim full authorship of such a brilliant idea. I think I really ought to share the laurels with the creator of that edit that caught my eye while I was sitting with Sylus in the coffee shop, lazily scrolling through TikTok while he was distracted by some business. Our tradition of having coffee together between practices had established itself naturally and was just that — a tradition, not some sign of inevitable closeness, no matter how hard the fans of our pair tried to dissect our every interaction, attempting to frame our story as a classic Cinderella-and-the-millionaire tale. The edit that grabbed my attention was also a shipper one — and only my well-honed immunity to that sort of content kept me from cringing outright — but Sylus looked so organically perfect in that montage set to infernal music that the idea for the new routine practically suggested itself.
"Hey, wolf of Wall Street," I said, poking him unceremoniously in the shoulder. "Look what I found. The TikTok algorithms are inscrutable, but..."
He gently took the phone from my hands, already smirking in advance, as if anything I could possibly share with him was a priori laughable — but he watched the thirty-second edit just as thoughtfully as he would some analytics report. I found myself studying his sharp, predatory features again, and with every second the thought that Sylus and this music were made for each other grew more and more persistent. Add some gothic makeup, scarlet lighting, maybe some prop horns...
"Sir, will you and your girlfriend be paying together?" The voice of the waitress, obviously new and inexperienced, snapped us both out of our thoughts, and I immediately started babbling on autopilot, not even processing what I was saying:
"No, no, we'll pay separately, of course! I'm not his girlfriend, God forbid. We're just acquaintances, possibly friends to some degree, uh... colleagues..."
"Comrades in misfortune, brethren in mind, and members of the same biological species — though the latter is not certain," Sylus continued the logical chain, cunningly using my moment of hesitation as an extra excuse to tease me. "You've called me a devil so often at practice that I've started doubting whether I do actually belong to the genus Homo. So, yes, separate checks, please," he smiled at the waitress with that very smile which usually made me want to say something nasty, and she fluttered away, desperately blushing.
"And how do you propose I not call you a devil? Look, another poor victim has already fallen prey to your diabolical magnetism," I remarked, of course, hinting at absolutely nothing, and especially not hinting at the edit still playing on a loop on my phone screen, which Sylus still hadn't let go of.
"You know, your jokes sometimes sound like you're trying to insult me, but at the same time, you're paying me a compliment," he winked, the bastard, and handed the phone back, deliberately brushing his fingers against mine. "Right now, for example, you're clearly exaggerating my abilities. There's a certain girl sitting right next to me who seems totally unfazed by any magnetism of mine."
"I just have strong immunity," I put the phone on the table and downed my cooled coffee in one gulp. "So, what do you think of the idea? Should we try to put something like this together?"
He laughed his rumbling laugh, which sounded like the sputtering engine of an old riverboat that might have even witnessed the Battle of Trafalgar or something.
"Well, I think this is a hell of an idea," he answered, smiling. "You know, I love unhinged concepts. So, since you've gotten it into your head to raise hell on ice, you can count on me."
...Of course, Sylus did additional research — who would doubt it? Knowing him, he wouldn't miss a single chance to demonstrate the full depth of his intellect to me. It turned out he'd read the literary source material for the old series from which they'd taken this track — a classic of Russian literature, as it happened. Well, fine, I'll be fair — it helped a lot with the choreography and made it clearer what role I would play in all this madness. The main heroine, Margarita, had no romantic storyline with Woland, which pleased me to no end. Though the image of Woland, alas, didn't offer much room for imagination, and the infamous prop horns clearly didn't fit the gentlemanly image from the book...
"Wouldn't want to rudely tear you away from your musings, kitten, but our entrance is coming up soon," a familiar voice rumbles near my ear, and I turn to see Sylus standing before me, practically in his natural state, from which neither the makeup, nor the retro costume, nor the striking Art Deco brooch on his lapel and cufflinks detract. Honestly, it's astonishing: a man dressed as the literal personification of the devil looks like he's on his way to another business conference, though at conference he usually looks like he'd come there to roast sinners in hell.
"All you're missing for authenticity are the horns, of course," I say and, catching his gaze, adjust my semi-transparent dress, trying not to look too embarrassed — the wardrobe department has already done their best to decently work around the fact that Margarita was naked at Satan's ball. My self-consciousness doesn't seem to escape him, but he apparently decides not to focus on it, so as not to throw me off my game before the performance.
"I saw some suitable horns in the props storage when they were looking for my brooch," he remarks instead, and mischievous sparks flicker in his eyes. "Good ones, big and wide, like a moose's."
"And what are you proposing?" I ask curiously. After all, I'm not the only generator of unhinged ideas in our pair, right?
"I propose a bet. If we land the parallel salchow today, I'll get those horns for you, so you can solemnly place them on my head. Crown the victor, so to speak, with a laurel wreath."
I step right up to him, looking him straight in the eye — as much as the overwhelming difference in our heights allows, of course.
"And what's in it for you? Right now, it sounds like you'd be better off botching the jump to avoid such humiliation".
"What's in it for me?" He lightly touches the tip of my nose with his finger and pulls back just in time as I try to bite him back. "Getting to admire your pleased little face while you commit something amusing — that's a reward in itself, sweetie."
I stand on my tiptoes and try to poke his nose in return, but he dodges with a soft chuckle. Whatever. Just you wait, we'll see who has the last laugh!..
...My calculations pay off in spades: Sylus and the infernal red lighting are literally made for each other. The light slides over his sharp cheekbones one moment, then scatters into a scarlet halo around his hair, as if set ablaze by hellfire, and even during a complex, risky lift, spinning and upside down, all I can think about are the crimson flashes before my eyes. Slow in previous programs, here Sylus sets a personal record for speed and quality of skating, and maybe that's why we manage to synchronize on the salchow — at least relatively, even if he, naturally, struggles with landing and exit. The euphoria of success goes to both our heads, and in the final step sequence we surpass ourselves, constantly exchanging glances, playing to the crowd, and it seems like Sylus is glowing — and it's not hellfire.
We leave the ice arm-in-arm, after listening to the judges' compliments on our creativity and progress; and it's only back in the substation area that Sylus suddenly remembers our bet and solemnly presents me with the horned headband — as if I've been granted the honor of crowning the very king of the underworld.
"Just bend down, I can't reach," I say, already preparing for the ceremony; but he just smiles in response.
"I have a better idea," and with those words, he picks me up like a feather, so our faces are now at the same level — and clearly closer than they need to be.
And I swear, I swear on everything dear to me, starting with my own teeth — a very strong oath, by the way, given the cost of dental services — the moment I place the headband on him and adjust it behind his ears, Sylus really looks like he is ready to lean in and kiss me. Maybe I'm seeing things, I don't know, maybe I'm imagining something that isn't there — but the desire in his eyes seems pretty... distinct?..
It's not that I wouldn't have started squealing and flailing like a feral cat if he'd tried. In fact, that's most likely exactly what would have happened. But when, instead, he pulls back and, smiling serenely, sets me back down on the ground — for some reason, I feel completely rickrolled.
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