#yoi fic

context:

post canon. if barcelona and the gpf happened in december then this is february, a week before the european championship

viktuuri are in saint petersburg

viktor is skating professionally while also coaching yuuri (how viktor is coaching & training at the same time is a subject of the wider fic, not of the snippet)

He's thoroughly confused, and just a little bit miffed.

Hadn't he traveled all this way? Hadn't this been Yuuri's idea in the first place?

He groans, and grapples blindly for his phone through the sheets. His fingers close around it, and he fumbles for the camera app. Not for the first time, he locates the photos of the banquet night. He flicks through them angrily, almost to convince himself that he hadn't imagined it.

Nope, there they are, the same as ever: Yuuri dancing, Yuuri on the pole, Yuuri down to his underpants and up to his eyeballs in champagne.

Viktor pauses. The version of himself in the photo is being dipped backwards by the boy from the banquet, his head tipped back and hair askew. They wear twin gleeful expressions, both caught mid-laugh.

An agonized sound escapes Viktor.

Why had Yuuri shied away from him?

Viktor doesn't usually have any trouble attracting men. Quite the opposite, actually: his seduction techniques work too well. Everyone wants a piece of Viktor Nikiforov.

Viktor is aware of his appeal— he knows he's attractive. And wealthy. And famous. Its a tossup on any given day which of these traits is more appealing.

He's aquatinted himself with the notion that could get any man he wanted, but keeping them was another matter.

And he's certainly been left before, once the novelty of being with Viktor Nikiforov wears off. That's predictable.

But Viktor hadn't predicted his advances being rejected in the first place.

This is his first experience on this side of the deal, and it stings. Bad.

He feels the horrid sensation of tears pricking at his eyes, and groans. How very stupid.

He clicks his phone off and tosses it aside. He grapples clumsily in the sheets for Makkachin. He wraps his arms around the poodle and buries his nose in her fur.

It's fine. He swallows thickly, willing the hurt away.

Viktor knows he can come on very strong. But he's also patient. He can wait until Yuuri is ready.

And yet. The memory of Yuuri's blunt "What are you doing here?" still smarts.

He replays the encounter once again in his head: Viktor had hardly touched Yuuri, and the boy hadn't only not reciprocated: he'd recoiled, as if to put as much distance between them as possible.

And then! Viktor furiously recalls the locked bedroom door. He had knocked gently, his pleas met only with cold silence.

Yuuri had quite literally locked him out.

It doesn't get much more apparent than that. Viktor had been decidedly rejected, and it feels sickening.

If he didn't know any better, he'd guess that Yuuri wasn't into him at all.

Maybe he's is just shy? Viktor thinks desperately. But he recalls the boy from the banquet, and shakes head. Yuuri hadn't been shy at all, that night.

Viktor feels the rotten sensation of tears threatening to fall. He sniffs, and buries his screwed-up face into Makkachin's fur.

Tonight hadn't gone to plan, not even close. But Viktor's a patient man. His ten seasons in elite figure skating have granted him a tolerance for delayed gratification.

One does not become a five-time world champion without a bit of tenacity.

– –

Viktor sees Yuuri naked for the first time in the onsen.

It's rude to stare, so he doesn't. But he silently admires Yuuri nonetheless. Viktor has never seen anyone so lovely, so disarmingly sexy. And so apparently unaware of his own appeal.

He's got an delectable figure: powerful thighs, perfect for big skating jumps. A tantalizing set of pecs— Viktor imagines them resting perfectly in his hands. Smooth skin, currently tinged pink from the heat. It ripples under the musculature of his shoulders and arms. A sweet bit of squish still remains in his belly, new training regimen be damned. Yuuri is frustrated by it, Viktor thinks it's sexy. He wants to touch, badly.

Viktor doesn't stare. Not overtly.

But he does notice.

Yuuri doesn't appear to have any hangups about nudity— either his own or that of others. Viktor is privately grateful. He imagines that living in an onsen desensitizes one to the naked body.

He considers this silently for a moment, staring intently at a trickling fountain to his left. Does that mean…

Viktor blinks. He considers his own physique to be among his best physical features. But Yuuri doesn't seem to react to him in one way or the other.

Viktor's eyebrows knit together. Is Yuuri unfazed with nudity in general…?

Or not into him, specifically?

Viktor's stomach drops into his feet.

Its… entirely possible, he realizes with dull horror.

But how?

Everyone is into him: men, women, skating fans, non-skating fans, random internet people.

Everyone except, it seems, the boy from the banquet.

Frustration like he's never felt boils inside Viktor. The onsen heat may as well be radiating from his body, the steam pouring from his ears. Yuuri leaves him flummoxed, their every interaction maddeningly ambiguous. Viktor can hardly stand not knowing.

And he's still smarting from his rejected advances the day prior.

He reasons he can't be everyone's type, he supposes…

But the dancing! Yuuri had humped him in Sochi, for christsakes. In full public view!

Yuuri Katsuki, master of the mixed message, he thinks sullenly.

Viktor's aware of just how vapid this sounds, even as the words flit silently through his mind. He sinks a little further into the hot water, and it grazes the tip of his chin.

Yuuri chooses this moment to join Viktor in the onsen, wearing nothing but a placid smile. He's a polite, perfect host, and utterly unreadable.

He leaves Viktor simmering.

– –

During their first training session, Viktor tries flirting with Yuuri again.

It may be his least subtle attempt to date.

Viktor assigns Yuuri the Eros program, as he had always intended. Viktor knows he's not winning any points for subtlety.

Yuuri claims to "lack confidence", in his own words. Viktor can scarcely stifle a laugh at that. The boy at the banquet hadn't lacked anything but his clothes.

But Viktor doesn't laugh, demonstrating commendable self-control. Yuuri is absolutely capable of skating Eros, Viktor knows because he's already seen it.

He needs to push just a little further.

He cups Yuuri's face in his palm, running a suggestive thumb over his lips. They're unbelievably soft to the touch, and Viktor could sing. Yuuri doesn't flinch or back away, a small victory.

The boy from the banquet is there, he knows. Viktor just has to coax him out.

He inches further forward, leaving mere centimeters between Yuuri and himself. He runs a thumb delicately over those lips.

"No one in the whole world knows your true eros, Yuuri," he breathes.

So close.

He's the closest he's been since that night in Sochi.

Yuuri, eyes wider than he's ever seen him, looks at Viktor over the rim of his glasses. He's frozen, tense. He listens intently, Viktor's thumb still resting on those lips.

"It may be an alluring side that you yourself are unaware of."

Viktor is being absurdly bold right now.

"Can you show me what it is soon?"

Yuuri remains silent and rooted to the spot, and only now does Viktor think he may have overstepped.

An irate caterwaul from Yurio interrupts Viktor's sultry instruction, and they break apart.

Viktor simmers in silence as Yuuri begins rehearsing the choreography. At face-value, he'd have taken Yuuri's self-assessment with skeptical disbelief.

But lately, Yuuri hasn't demonstrated much confidence. Since his arrival, Viktor has seen a lot more of this shy, timid boy than the seductive one at the banquet.

Yuuri has revealed sides to himself that Viktor hadn't anticipated: he's introverted, he's self-critical, and he's notably flustered at times.

Viktor doesn't know how to reconcile the sweet, sexy, wild boy from the banquet with the withdrawn one he's gotten to know over the past several weeks.

He watches Yuuri dance down the rink through narrowed eyes.

He supposes nobody can be their party selves all the time. And hadn't Viktor made his own career by the compartmentalization of his different parts? Viktor Nikiforov: the teen wunderkind, the ice king, the lonely, solitary man? All synthesized into a single soul.

He's want to admit that it makes sense— Viktor knows he isn't the only skater who meticulously presents only what he wants others to see.

He rests a single finger on his lips as he watches Yuuri rehearse the Eros step sequence. Its rough, but they have time to polish it.

Viktor is coiled like a spring, watching Yuuri execute the Eros steps. He'd really thought they'd have slept together by now, he muses, a little embarrassed with himself.

Yuuri's trust is not easily won, to say little of his affection. For the first time, Viktor wonders uncomfortably if Yuuri's affection is out of his reach.

He grits his teeth imperceptibly.

Viktor Nikiforov is a world champion multiple times over. He doesn't give up easily.

With Yuuri, he'll be as patient at it takes.

– –

Watching Yuuri skate Eros is pure torture.

For the first time since that night in Sochi, Viktor glimpses the boy from the banquet. It's his first, fleeting sight of him since arriving in Hasetsu. Viktor's heart dances in his chest— he's still there. The boy from the banquet is real, Viktor hadn't made him up in his desperation or loneliness.

And he's still in there, somewhere.

Viktor had reached down deep and pulled the boy from the banquet to the surface, and he can now do nothing but marvel at his own stupidity: forced to bear witness to what he cannot have. The boy from the banquet is so close, only just out of reach.

Viktor aches. Its a sweet, sweet pain of his own making.

Yuuri takes the ice, and Viktor can't resist a whistle. Its decidedly unprofessional, especially in his new as his role as Yuuri's coach. Right now, he hardly cares.

The crowd reacts to Yuuri's Eros. They can tell, they see it too— Yuuri is sexy. Viktor observes with a certain satisfaction: he's confirmed, validated, he had known Yuuri's potential all along.

And only then does Viktor realize what he's done: drawn out this erotic performance, selected the perfect costume, the perfect music arrangement, dreamt up the perfect choreography. He's invested such time and effort in drawing out a side of Yuuri that nobody had seen. Nobody except Viktor, that night in Sochi.

Now everyone wants a piece of Yuuri Katsuki.

Everyone, including Viktor.

Now, as Yuuri makes Eros sizzle, Viktor can do nothing but stand helplessly aside and watch.

He marvels at his creation— this perfect creature he can't touch.

He can't have Yuuri, and he hates it.

The Eros music swells, and concludes with a violin flourish. Yuuri strikes the final pose to mad fanfare and applause.

Viktor could simply perish with overwhelming want. He could grab Yuuri by the shoulders and kiss him sloppily right there at the boards.

But he's a man of poise and class and self restraint, whistle notwithstanding.

Yuuri seems almost surprised with the approval washing over him. He's breathing heavily, and half-smiling at the applause of an adoring crowd. He deserves every bit of it.

Yuuri catches Viktor's gaze almost apologetically, as if seeking validation for a job well done. Viktor smiles in response.

He is trapped in a crucible of his own design.

– –

Viktor's hopes flutter to life when Yuuri knocks on his bedroom door in the wee hours.

He blinks, groggy, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He hadn't been expecting this, especially since Yuuri had soundly rejected his advances. But he's delighted, and even forgets to fret about Yuuri seeing him with disheveled hair.

Yuuri stands in the doorway, laptop in hand. He's donned casual shorts and an old t-shirt. As he advances into the room, he accidentally treads on Makkachin's tail, eliciting a yelp from the dog.

"Sorry!" he apologizes to the poodle as he climbs onto the bed, and Viktor could sing songs of delight, confusion, and thrill.

Finally.

Then Yuuri places a pair of wired headphones over his ears.

Oh.

This is about skating, Viktor realizes, and slumps.

Yuuri first competition is in a matter of months, and they still have a free program to choreograph and practice and prefect. There are still music selections and costume choices to be made, all requiring Viktor's seal of approval.

Even in the dead of night, he still has to be a coach.

At least Yuuri needs him for something.

Yuuri fumbles momentarily with the laptop, and a gentle piano melody fills Viktor's ears. It's unfamiliar, but it's gentle, sweeping, lilting. It calls to mind the shy, sensitive Yuuri more than the boy from the banquet. Frustration aside, Viktor knows immediately that its a good choice. It contrasts beautifully with the Eros, Viktor thinks.

In the two contrasting pieces, Viktor sees the two versions of Yuuri he knows: the boy from the banquet, and the shy boy from Hasetsu.

Viktor can't suppress a smile. Even half-asleep, he can knows: this is Yuuri's free program music. He's already imagining bits of choreography in his head. He could have a rough cut of the chorography and jump layout by tomorrow evening.

Viktor's face smiles, but his heart wails. Even with Yuuri on his bed in the middle of the night, he's still strictly professional.

Viktor feels optimistic about Yuuri's free skate. He's less optimistic about his diminishing chances with Yuuri.

– –

At the ocean, Yuuri finally opens up.

Viktor has long harbored suspicions that Yuuri has not interest in him, either romantic or sexual.

The dancing in Sochi had been only that: just a single fun night, quickly forgotten. Viktor's insides curdle with bitter disappointment, settling into the familiar sorrow of his solitary existence.

But no one can claim he hasn't got integrity. For Yuuri's sake, he's willing to put his disappointment aside.

He resolves to be what Yuuri needs most: a good coach.

A romantic relationship with Yuuri is out of his reach, he knows, yet a tiny spot of hope still glimmers when he lays eyes on the boy. He can't abandon it completely.

He's still holding out the smallest hope as he gazes at Yuuri with fondness and devastation.

Yuuri may never return his romantic feelings. But they clearly have something between them, otherwise Yuuri wouldn't have joined him here.

No, Yuuri still wants him around, even if only as a coach. Maybe as a friend?

Viktor can not longer tolerate the maddening ambiguity. He abandons all subtlety and asks Yuuri outright:

"Yuuri, what do you want me to be to you?"

Viktor's got no issue being blunt, he's Russian.

Yuuri demurs, silently gaze cast out into the bay.

"A coach, a friend?" Viktor prompts.

Its a fair assumption, they already are.

"A father figure?"

It's a wild stab in the dark. And from Yuuri's small flinch, a bit weird. Viktor pivots:

"A lover?"

Viktor simply can't help himself.

"Yourself," Yuuri says sincerely.

Viktor blinks.

"I want you to stay who you are," Yuuri rises to his feet.

Viktor is silent, gazing up at a Yuuri who now stands over him.

"I've always looked up to you."

Viktor's not surprised, nearly every skater has.

"And I ignored you because I didn't want you so see my shortcomings," Yuuri says. His eyes shift sideways, avoiding Viktor's.

"I'll make it up to you with my skating," he adds, a note of determination in his voice.

V smiles. "I won't let you off easy, then," He says, tone warm. "It's my way of showing my love." He extends a friendly hand.

He smiles in a way he hopes is warm as Yuuri clasps his hand.

Maybe he'll never be anything other than Yuuri's coach. This handshake may be the only time he holds Yuuri's hand in his own.

That night in Sochi had been that— just one night.

But it doesn't mean he has to stop appreciating Yuuri. It won't stop him from admiring him.

Or from loving him.

He'll adore Yuuri silently, from the boards, like the rest of the world.

– –

That backwards hug is a bit of a stupid move.

Viktor does it at the qualifier competition, right before he sends Yuuri out to perform Eros.

Its a small, non-sanctioned competition, one that Yuuri might have felt insulted to make a season debut at.

And this backwards hug is the only way Yuuri will allow Viktor to touch him.

Its not a romantic gesture, exactly, but not necessarily platonic either. Its certainly a little forward for a coach and athlete.

"Seduce me with everything you have," Viktor croons, lips grazing Yuuri's ear. He can't resist. He can never seem to resist. Yuuri is his weakness.

And there is a decent chance he may regret this later.

Viktor reckons its possible that he's reading too deeply into things. Maybe he only sees what he wants to see in Yuuri.

But that dancing in Sochi hadn't meant nothing. That recreated Stammi Vicino program hadn't meant nothing. Of that, Viktor is certain.

Viktor has always been something of an exhibitionist, and this display might as well be an exhibit of all his grandiose feelings.

The public has long been accustomed to seeing Viktor Nikiforov succeed in his professional life. He's not a five-time world champion for nothing. But if he's miscalculated here— if he's wrong about Yuuri Katsuki, the public would have the pleasure of watching Viktor Nikiforov crash and burn in his personal life.

At least he's giving them something to see.

– –

Yuuri conveys more with actions than with words.

His dancing in Sochi.

His recreated Stammi Vicino program.

At the Cup of China, Yuuri speaks to him again: this time through his quad flip.

In that attempted quad flip, Viktor sees all of the traits he's deliberately cultivated in Yuuri: admiration, grit, a willingness to risk it all. They're traits he recognizes in himself.

Yuuri's blade digs into the ice with a satisfying crunch, and utter delight explodes in Viktor's stomach. He resists the urge to punch the air and scream. He's a coach now, and there is always a camera trained on him. He stands at the boards instead: mouth agape, eyes wide, hands drawn to his face. Yuuri has left him in a state of joyous shock, of gleeful disbelief.

They hadn't even addressed it in practice. The quad flip? This late in the program, no less?

Yuuri's stamina is impressive, he knows. But not even Viktor has ever attempted a jump of such difficulty at the conclusion of a free skate.

Yuuri hadn't landed it cleanly, but its no matter to Viktor.

That quad flip had been an homage, in the same way Stammi Vicino had been. An expression of admiration, adoration, of love.

Something clicks into place: Yuuri loves him, and this is his way of showing it.

Viktor cannot tolerate the anticipation any longer.

He feels himself sprinting along the perimeter of the rink, as if his body has been overtaken by some force outside himself. He skids to a halt at the boards, and out of his periphery he sees Yuuri flying towards him.

"I did great right?" Yuuri exclaims, breathless.

The crowd roars, Viktor hears nothing.

He doesn't think. He doesn't question himself, doesn't mull over Yuuri's myriad mixed signals. He sees, at last, the synthesis of the boy from the banquet and the Yuuri Katsuki he's gotten to know over these months: the sweet, sexy dancer. The hardworking, gritty athlete. The melancholic, self-conscious man.

Viktor doesn't spare a thought for the crowd, nor the cameras. For once, he doesn't think about skating at all. He thinks only about the incredible, brave man he'd sent out on the ice. He thinks about the explosion of surprise at his quad flip. He thinks about flying into his arms after a brilliant, brilliant performance. He thinks about the warmth of those arms around him, of those soft lips on his own.

For so long he's wanted, he's needed.

Viktor also speaks through actions. In this shining moment, he can think of only one thing that could surprise him more than Yuuri's quad flip.

He encapsulates Yuuri in his arms, cupping the back of his head with a gloved hand, claiming those soft lips in his own.

They land on the ice as a pair.