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1 Dedushka
Yuri is turning 13, and he isn’t sure how to feel about it. On one hand, he’s finally officially a teenager. Maybe, if it’s not too fucking much to ask, people will stop treating him like a fucking kid. He’s not, okay? He knows he’s small, fine-featured, angelic (ugh)—but he’s also talented and driven. He knows how to work for what he wants, and what he wants is to be the very best. (Like no one ever was, he thinks, and… plenty of adults like Pokémon, okay? It doesn’t mean anything!)
On the other hand… 13 is a year closer to when the nuclear blast of puberty rips apart and irradiates all his carefully-cultivated coordination and poise, replacing them with too-wide shoulders, too-long limbs, a too-heavy body.
But despite his inner turmoil over the inevitability of aging, he harbors nothing but excitement toward a day of celebrating with his grandpa. They’ll spend all morning in the kitchen making stacks and stacks of blini and smothering them in sour cream, rolling out dough for pirozhki, all while watching the black-and-white American movies his grandpa loves and Yuri loves because his grandpa does, and they’ll judge the imaginary life stories of people on the street and talk about all the places they’re going to travel once Yuri gets filthy rich and…
And all of this happens, and everything is dandy, looming specter of puberty be damned, until they’re clearing away the dishes from dinner—Grandpa washing, Yuri drying. Yuri knows something is up when Grandpa rinses out the same pan three times. Grandpa hates wasting water.
“Yurochka,” he begins, and Yuri’s stomach flops. “You… Well, you know I’m proud of you, yes? You are growing so fast and soon…”
If this were anyone else, Yuri would be swearing and stomping away by now. But this is Grandpa. Yuri concentrates on drying the plate in front of him. He’s going to dry the hell out of this plate.
“Soon you will become a young man.” Grandpa fidgets with the dishrag. Yuri hates it. Grandpa is never worried or uncertain. This isn’t the way things go. Yuri, in wanting to say everything at once, remains silent.
“And your body will change in many ways.”
“I know about puberty, Dedushka,” Yuri says carefully, willing the blush out of his cheeks and biting his lip when he fails. If he can’t even control his expression, then how is he supposed to keep his stupid rebellious body from destroying everything he—
“I know you’ve probably heard… things… but I want to make sure you have all the information, yes? So you can prepare for the battles you will actually need to fight.” Yuri smiles faintly at the familiarity of Grandpa’s military metaphors. “You will grow like a weed. You know this. I know you’re worried about how it will affect your skating.”
Yuri can’t speak, can’t get his thoughts to stop racing, and he hates feeling this vulnerable. Hates that, even though Grandpa would never, ever say it, he has to be worried about Yuri’s skating, too. Grandpa gets a pension, sure, but it won’t cover the expenses that come with skating at Yuri’s level. Yuri has to keep winning, or he can’t skate at all. Sure, Grandpa would find a way to make it work, but his back is getting worse, and…
Grandpa notices Yuri’s expression and turns to him, shutting off the faucet. “Yurochka, I can hear you fretting. Just because your body is becoming a man’s does not mean you have to grow up all at once. You can take it slow…. although I know the gradual approach doesn’t come easily to we Plisetsky men.” Grandpa winks, and Yuri thinks of all the times Grandpa has barged in, all reckless compassion, on Yuri’s behalf. Talking his mother into letting Yuri start skating lessons they really couldn’t afford. Gliding carefully, mindful of his back, alongside his gleefully twirling grandson on long weekends when Yuri stayed with him, back when Yuri was still living with his mother. Standing immovable in the doorway when his son, Yuri’s father, argued that he should at least get to see the brat who ruined his life. Holding Yuri close and whispering to him that he may have done a terrible job with his own son, but he would do everything he could to raise Yuri right. Insisting that Yuri had done nothing wrong, nothing at all, and he would take care of him from now on, okay Yurochka? Now, how does pirozhki sound for dinner?
Then Yuri is crying because it’s all too much, because he’s growing up and he’s a Plisetsky man now, and what if that makes him like his father and not like Grandpa, and what if, and what if…
And Grandpa’s arms are around him, scratchy with the wool of his sweater and strong even in age. Yuri is breathing hard into his broad chest, trying to wrestle the tears back into his body. “I just… Agh, I don’t even fucking know!” Grandpa doesn’t even scold him for swearing. Maybe this is another perk of exchanging Yuri the Child for Yuri the Pubescent Disaster. “I don’t want to be a kid but I’m… I’m not ready! I don’t have time!”
“Oh, Yurochka. You’ve had to grow too fast, and I’m sorry for that. You should be worrying about girls and school and growing a beard, not about your career. I went to work at your age, you know. And I shouldn’t have had to, but my family needed the money, so I went. I wonder sometimes who I would have been if I had stayed a child for a little longer…”
“But I love skating! It’s not… it’s not like I’m working at a steel mill or something… I love it and I’m good at it and I’m going to be the best and Viktor Nikiforov is going to retire in embarrassment when he sees me land a quad axel…” The thought warms him, and his periodic sobs grow slightly less wracking.
“I know, Yurochka. They will call you the Snow Leopard of Russia and you will win every competition and people will say Plisetsky like they say Nikiforov. And I will be there to deflate your ego so you don’t float away and crash into a blimp.”
“Dedushka!” Yuri half-scolds, half-laughs through tears. “I still think Ice Tiger sounds cooler.”
“But it’s not a real animal! There are no ice tigers!”
“Yet,” Yuri says, smirking. “I’m a new species.”
“That sounds lonely,” Grandpa observes, patting Yuri’s head. Yuri manfully tries not to lean into the touch like a cat, but he fails. Maybe he really should try to take this whole “growing up” thing gradually. “You would find no lady ice tigers. Which reminds me, I never finished telling you about—“
“Dedushka!” Yuri groans. “You just said I don’t have to grow up all at once! I don’t need to hear about… sex and stuff right now. Besides,” and his blush returns, but he powers through it. He’s been meaning to say this for a while now, and Grandpa has given him a perfect opening. “I’m not even sure if I’m… if I even like. Uh. Lady ice tigers.”
“Oh,” says Grandpa, sounding surprised. Yuri desperately searches his face for disgust or anger, heart pounding wildly. He sees neither, but he can’t read his grandpa’s expression. “Well, I suppose I should have considered that. Young people are so open about these things, and… Heh. Well, Yura, why don’t we move this to the living room? And put the pastries in the fridge to chill?”
They settle in, grandpa in the ancient armchair that smells like leather and Yuri sprawled across the couch. It could have been any other evening, except for Grandpa’s pensive expression.
Yuri can’t take it anymore. “So? You’re not angry that I’m… maybe…” he trails off.
“What? No, Yurochka, of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Well, you didn’t say anything! What was I supposed to think?”
“Patience! I’m thinking of what to say!”
Yuri screams a little in frustration, but Grandpa is used to this and ignores it.
Finally, he begins. “When I was… well, a little older than you, I had a friend. Fedye was not interested in lady ice tigers, either.” Grandpa smiled a little. “He ended up marrying one. A human lady, I mean. And he made his peace with it. I think she knew about him, but they made it work somehow. He wasn’t always miserable, but he wasn’t happy, either. We kept in touch, even after he was married. Um.” And… is Grandpa blushing? What the hell.
Yuri has a feeling he knows what’s coming. “Did you and he…”
“No! I mean. I knew he had feelings for me, and I… wondered many times if I might have feelings for him, too. We danced around it for years, but by the time I worked up the nerve to ask if we could try to be together, he’d already moved on. Gotten engaged and everything. I think he got her pregnant before the wedding, but I never asked. So don’t think that just because you might be gay you’re not learning about condoms! But soon after that I met your grandmother, and what I may have felt for Fedye didn’t seem important for so long….”
Yuri tries not to gape. He thought he had known his Grandpa, but it seems there’s a lot more to know. Maybe, he thinks, that’s part of being an adult, too—having parts of yourself that not everyone needs to know about.
“What happened to Fedye?”
“He died,” Grandpa says gruffly. “It was a long time ago. Still talk to his widow, sometimes.”
“Oh,” Yuri says, wanting to say something comforting and slightly horrified at the idea of himself comforting Grandpa, because that is a complete inversion of the natural order. Maybe one day he’ll manage it, but not today.
“So!” says Grandpa brightly, looking mischievous. “We’ll start with an overview of women, because you never know, and then we’ll discuss the particulars of safe sex with men in case you show more initiative than your dedushka, huh? I did my research, you know.”
Yuri wants to scream. He also wants to remove the window from its casing and leap down to the road and escape into the night. He wants to cut off his ears and feed them to his cat. But more than any of this, he wants to be a man like Grandpa, sturdy and indomitable and wise, so he sets his face in a soldier’s visage and listens.
2 Yakov
“YURA!” Yakov roars across the rink. Yuri, mid-spin, pretends not to hear him. He lifts his leg above his head effortlessly, gliding away from Yakov. Can’t he see Yuri is practicing? And, like, okay, he hardly needs to, it’s not like any of the babies in juniors are even fit to polish Yuri’s skates, but if Viktor doesn’t rest on his laurels, neither can Yuri. Especially since he might be able to talk Yakov into letting him have his senior debut next year. He launches himself into a quad toe loop out of pure spite for his lackluster competition. Sure, Viktor said he could win without quads, but the point is that Yuri can do them anyway.
“Yura, I know you’re ignoring me! My office, now!”
Yuri sigh-growls and slides to a stop in the middle of the ice, neatly dodging around a smirking Mila. If that hag knows something he doesn’t…
“UGH! At least let me finish my routine! Are you trying to fucking sabotage me?”
“FINE!” Yakov yells back. “Finish up and cool down! If you injure yourself there will be tears, and they won’t be mine!” Yuri knows that this means ‘I care about your wellbeing and I know you’ll be disappointed if you can’t compete. Also I think you’re a dumbass who can’t keep himself out of trouble, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.’ Yuri appreciates the gesture for what it is.
He cools down (as if he wasn’t already going to! Ugh, he’s not stupid!) and drags himself into Yakov’s office, purposely taking his time. With any luck, he can ratchet Yakov’s blood pressure up so high that he’ll have to cut this conversation short to go pace through the halls listening to electronica on Viktor’s old Walkman while he regains his composure. It’s worked before.
However, instead of a Yakov seething with rage, he finds a serious and determined Yakov. This is not good. Yuri briefly considers fleeing, but he’s already cooled down and now his legs are whimpering at the thought of standing up again. He stays seated, scowling. He’s not going to make the first move here, but he thinks he might know what this is about.
He is right. Sometimes he really hates being so much smarter than everyone around him. It takes all the surprise out of life.
“Mila has that hockey player girlfriend of hers now,” begins Yakov, looking like he’d rather be doing literally anything else, up to and including having knives driven under his fingernails, but displaying a grim determination to continue anyway. Sometimes Yuri remembers that he and Yakov are… sort of…. way too alike. Not that he’s actually anything like Yakov! Just that they have… similar tendencies. That’s all.
Because they are too similar, Yuri digs his nails into the arms of the chair and stares right back. “They’re fucking gross. Making out all over everything while people are trying to train.” For a second, Yakov looks almost fond, but he quickly regains his impassive expression.
“Young love is like that, Yura. It can cause you to do stupid things. And don’t try to pretend this doesn’t apply to you, like you didn’t canoodle under the bleachers with Sergei at training camp.”
Yuri freezes. Yakov knows about that? Oh god. In hindsight, Yuri wishes he didn’t know about that messy, awkward makeout. Sergei was too eager—completely lacking composure. It showed in his skating, too. Yuri had called it a moment of weakness to himself and shoved Sergei at one of the other skaters just so he would leave Yuri alone. As far as he knows, the two are still dating, so that’s something. Ugh.
Also, who uses the world canoodle?
“That was a one-time thing! I’ve learned my lesson. Never kiss anyone who can’t land a clean triple. They have no idea what to do with their arms.”
Yakov barks out a laugh in spite of himself. “I see how it is, Yura. I guess you know what you’re about. I’m assuming someone has already told you about… how these things go?”
Yuri nods, remembering the deeply uncomfortable but informative series of conversations with Grandpa that had followed the first one on his 13th birthday. “Of course! I probably know a lot more than Mila. You should let me give her this talk next.”
“At least she can’t get anyone pregnant,” Yakov mumbles.
“Like I’m gonna get anyone pregnant either! It’s like you’ve never heard of gay people before!”
“There are men who can get pregnant,” Yakov says calmly, with the air of someone who has only recently learned this information but is determined to make use of it. And also… what? Yuri apparently has some googling to do.
“I know about condoms! And diseases! And consent, and, like, ovulating, and all that stuff! Can I go now? My cat misses me.” His cat always misses him. She’s a good cat. She’s never once tried to warn him about the disasters that can potentially arise from his dick.
“No! I’m not finished! I know if I tell you not to fool around you’ll ignore me, just like Vitya and Mila and… well, Gosha actually listened for a while, until… anyway! You will always keep your head on your shoulders. You will not hook up during competitions. You will not get involved in skater drama, because you’re better than that. And you will not let your hormones interfere with your skating. Understood?”
“Of course,” says Yuri smoothly, embarrassment giving way to indignation. “Like I would ever put anything before skating.” Yakov looks at him a little sadly, and nods.
“I know, Yura. I know.”
3 Mila
Mila has him in a headlock, which is the only reason Yuri doesn’t evacuate the moment she starts gushing about Alaina’s eyes and smile and delts and tongue…
“UGH! DISGUSTING! I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR GROSS—“
“Now now Yura, it’s perfectly natural and beautiful and you’re just jealous that I’m getting—“
Yuri does his best pterodactyl impression. Mila waits for him to finish, then continues, unperturbed. “—showered in affection and love by a gorgeous studmuffin who can bench three of me.” Yuri blinks. Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad. Yuri wouldn’t hate that, himself. Not from Alaina, obviously, but…
Mila sighs, and Yuri knows that whatever comes out of her mouth next is going to make him want to punch the whole universe. “Too bad you’re so shouty. I bet you’d have a cute boyfriend by now if they weren’t all afraid of you.”
Yuri begins to bristle, then shrugs philosophically. He’s not walking into that trap. Also, his bristling range is impeded by the prison of Mila’s scary-strong arms. “Unlike some people, I actually have standards. Anyone who’s too scared to talk to me is too pathetic for me, anyway.”
“Yura, you’ll never find a man with that attitude! Let me help you, as your older, wiser, and non-single mentor. When I first met Alaina—“
Yuri groans, loudly enough that it’s probably audible from the other end of the rink, where Viktor is skating in slow, precise circles, looking distracted. Viktor doesn’t appear to notice. He’s been mopey for a while now, for some stupid reason Yuri doesn’t want to know about. Yuri ignores him.
“You’re not going to teach me how to flirt, hag! It probably only works because people know you’re easy.” And… okay, woah, Mila actually looks hurt. Mila is not supposed to care about Yuri’s insults. She releases him from the headlock and glides back a few feet.
“Okay, fine. I mean. Yeah, maybe you’re right. You can just go on being arrogant and lonely while I’m a happy slut. You clearly know best, oh Ice Prince.” Oh, Mila’s hitting back right where she knows it’s going to hurt. “Ice Prince” was one of Viktor’s old nicknames, and so Yuri hates it when people call him that, like he’s just a discount Nikiforov who might be worth something someday. Maybe once Viktor retires. If he ever does.
Yuri does not like feelings conversations. He does not like being patient or understanding. Why should he change himself for anyone else? If they don’t like him, they can stay away. But… He also doesn’t like the look on Mila’s face, and even he can grudgingly admit she probably doesn’t deserve to be insulted like that.
“Mila,” he begins, possibly with the intent to… maybe… apologize, but he’s out of practice, and nothing else comes out.
“Yura,” she mocks, crossing her arms protectively. Fuck, she’s actually really upset.
“I didn’t mean…”
“What, that I’m a whore? What the fuck else is you’re easy supposed to mean?” She sighs, and some of the fight leaves her. “I guess it’s okay. I mean, people have been saying that about me for years. Must be true then, huh? I shouldn’t be so defensive.”
Yuri is suddenly, irrationally furious at everyone who has ever said that to her--irrational given that he is one of those people. “There’s nothing wrong with being easy! You’re happy, right? Argh, this… I didn’t know you… I thought….”
“You thought I was okay with it,” Mila says, expressionless. Tired.
“Okay, listen, first of all, you can sleep with whoever you want and anyone who says otherwise can die in a hole. Second, I’m single because I don’t have time for gushy shit when I’m trying to win all the medals and beat Vitya so bad he forgets how to skate. And third, punch the next person who calls you a whore in the throat and don’t look back, because you deserve better.”
Mila’s looking at him like she’s examining something new. And maybe she is. This is probably the first she’s seen of a Yuri who takes responsibility for his sharp tongue, and Yuri feels a little guilty for that. Not much, because he’s still mostly convinced the world can suck his dick and he owes nothing to anyone except for his grandpa and maybe his rinkmates, but… a little.
“Thanks, Yura. I think.”
“You’re welcome,” Yuri growls, and turns into the first element of his short program. He feels more than sees Mila’s smile.
4 Viktor
He doesn’t mean to start texting Viktor regularly, but, after the Rostelecom Cup and the resulting handful of messages from Viktor begging for a status report on Katsudon, it just sort of… happens.
Loser Nikiforov: yura im so gay send help
Yuri: lose my number
Loser Nikiforov: aw now dont be like that dont you want to know what my yuuri did
Yuri does want to know, and he hates that he wants to know, and he hates Viktor reminding him that he is maybe a tiny bit in agreement with Viktor over things like Katsudon being kind of not hard on the eyes, and also that Katsudon should never be sad and that anyone who makes him sad should be taken out and shot, except that usually the person making Katsudon sad is Katsudon, so the only thing to be done is to watch in helpless agony and be prepared to sacrifice anything necessary to return the smile to his face. When the person making Katsudon sad is Viktor, however, Yuri will gladly do the honors. He can borrow his grandpa’s pistol and no one will ever need to know.
Yuri: …okay fine what did he do. if it will shut you up
Viktor sends a picture. It’s Yuuri carrying Makkachin swaddled in a blanket like a baby, laughing as the poodle licks his chin. It is adorable. Yuri shrieks quietly in anguish, and Georgi looks at him knowingly. Yuri assigns the second bullet to him.
Loser Nikiforov: HE DOESNT EVEN KNOW WHAT HES DOING TO ME
Loser Nikiforov: I AM DYING YURA
Yuri: Keep it in your pants old man. why the fuck r u telling me this, dont u have friends ur own age. from the nursing home
Loser Nikiforov: …wait nvm he knows exactly what hes doing. I love him so much <3 x5000000
Yuri: BLOCKED
Yuri: tell katsudon congratulations on seducing an idiot whos already in love with him, clearly hes got eros down
Loser Nikiforov: have you ever been in love yura
Yuri: wtf does that have to do with anything
Loser Nikiforov: thats a no then
Yuri: Fuck Off
Loser Nikiforov: I dont think I had either b4 I met him. I thought I had but I was wrong.
Yuri: duh. everyone knew u were just cheating on skating with them. u didn’t have partners, u had mistresses. ofc u didn’t love them
Loser Nikiforov: ….yura sometimes you are the wisest person i know and I dont know how to feel about that
Yuri: IM TELLING U PPL I KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT
Loser Nikiforov: but youve still never been in love. also Yuuri says hi
Yuri: tell the katsudon I said sorry about viktor’s everything and also I dont have time to fall in love, Im too busy BEING THE BEST MEN’S SINGLES SKATER IN THE WORLD
Loser Nikiforov: you don’t think I can relate?
Shit. Yeah, Yuri had left that one wide open.
Loser Nikiforov: ik u dont listen to my skating advice but… yura, if you let people love you, it makes everything better. ive never loved skating as much as I do when im with him. Im happy to wake up not because theres an early day of training and im one step closer to another medal, but because when I wake up I see him. if you have the opportunity to love… you should take it.
Loser Nikiforov: and also get to know ur competitors, not just as rivals, but as friends. or as boyfriends. ;) ))))))))))))
Yuri: fine ill look out for plastered poledancers. ill let you know how it goes. maybe katsudon will come to his senses and realize he settled for you when he could have someone whos not going bald
Yuri expects this to send Viktor into a jealous rage, but he seems to have miscalculated. Badly.
Loser Nikiforov: awwww, does little yura have a crush on my Yuuri???? how adorable. ill pretend not to see when you cry at the wedding
Yuri: WHY DO I EVEN STILL TALK TO YOU
Loser Nikiforov: b/c im the one with the cute Yuuri pics
Yuri throws his phone into his bag. Georgi is openly laughing, and Mila is circling like a shark. He prepares to fight, or possibly to cut his losses and flee for the showers, while Viktor’s words turn over in his chest. If you have the opportunity to love… you should take it. He just might.
5 Yuuri
Katsudon’s stamina is ungodly. That’s the only word for it. Yuri is young, strong, determined… and yet here he is, panting against the boards while Katsudon rushes by, barely even sweating. It’s unnatural and wrong and Katsudon is probably some sort of demonic force of seduction and cardiovascular endurance. He wonders if this stamina extends to… other areas, then mentally slaps himself. No lusting after the Katsudon, he thinks, and he hates so much that it’s not the first time he’s had this thought. Whatever. It won’t come to anything. Katsudon is, somehow, happy with Viktor, who is the Worst, but far be it from Yuri to take that away.
He’s so lost in thought that he almost doesn’t notice Katsudon coming to a stop beside him and leaning lightly on the boards. There’s the slightest flush in his cheeks, so faint and artful it could easily be makeup rather than exertion. Yuri’s treacherous knees threaten to fail him, and not just because they’ve been aching lately in what’s probably preparation for another growth spurt.
He has to look down at Katsudon now. His only consolation is that he’ll soon be able to look down at Viktor… and not just the from top of that podium at Russian Nationals. (Don’t think he’s ever forgetting that sight.)
“How’s the Free coming, Yura?” says Katsudon, in accented by intelligible Russian. It’s about time. He’s only been living here for, like, what. Two years?
“I hate growing.”
Katsudon nods as if that’s a reasonable answer. “I remember that. I didn’t shoot up overnight, but I think my legs hurt the entire time I was 16. Played havoc with my landings. I’m impressed with how well you’re doing, given the circumstances.”
Given the circumstances isn’t good enough, Yuri desperately wants to bite back, but Katsudon is only trying to help. Fucking it up, sure, but he’s trying.
Just like me, thinks Yuri, and then immediately wants to lobotomize himself so he can’t think anything that treacly ever again. Also, that’s no way for the Best Men’s Figure Skater in the World to talk.
He wonders if that title might more reasonably apply to Katsudon, what with all the medals, but then quickly discards the thought. If he doesn’t believe he’s the best, then who the hell else is going to?
“Still, I’m sure you’ll give me a run for my money by Worlds, at least,” says Katsudon, casually. “Vitya had that rough year around your age where he barely even medaled in the GPF, and he was back winning by Worlds. Silver.”
“And because Viktor fucking Nikiforov did it, it can’t go badly for me?” bites Yuri, vaguely aware that he’s not being fair but too upset to care much.
“No,” replies Katsudon. “Because Yuri fucking Plisetsky can overcome anything that Vitya did. Anything in the world.” And he just shrugs and smiles that demure little smile like he hasn’t blown a circuit in Yuri’s brain. Katsudon is not only Vitya’s husband, but also the world’s most loyal Viktor fanboy. For him to believe in Yuri just as much…
Yuri is not crying. It’s just that puberty is making his tear glands go crazy. He really should get that checked out.
“Don’t retire before I can beat you again, old man,” Yuri chokes out, and Katsudon smirks, because he an evil scheming monster and why does Yuri even like this asshole, and says—
“Maybe Otabek will get there first.”
Yuri knows he’s turning interesting colors. He’s not sure what to do about that, so he just keeps holding his breath in lieu of shrieking like a banshee.
Otabek is the elephant in the room. No, he’s literally in the room, being shouted at by Yakov on the other end of the rink. At Yuri’s invitation, no less… okay, at Yuri’s insistence, and pleading, and browbeating, and cajoling, Otabek had packed up from his home rink in Almaty to come train in St. Petersburg until the season begins. Part of this is because Otabek is winning more and more and it makes sense for him to train under the legendary (hah!) Yakov Feltsman, and another part is a clever scheme that allows Yuri to spend more time with the Third Most Important Person in The World (behind Dedushka and his cat. Obviously).
Otabek is his best friend. Probably the best friend, period. Yuri just has the good sense to realize the natural wonder that is Otabek Altin and get that on lock. In a friendship way. Because they’re such good friends.
And Yuri is conflicted, because, yes, Otabek should win every medal in the world, without question, because nobody skates like Beka and everyone should bow before his power and grace on the ice. Except Yuri is going to win all those medals instead, so…
The struggle must show on Yuri’s face, because Katsudon snorts. “Believe me, I know. I always wanted Viten’ka to skate his best, and usually his best was better than me, but I also wasn’t about to lose to him. I’m sure you’ve seen at least one of the ‘what’s it like competing against your husband’ interviews. Vitya got really good at derailing those…” Katsudon sighs happily, looking far away. Ugh. Married people. Also Katsudon is totally better than Vitya.
“But Beka and I aren’t…” He can’t even bring himself to say it, whatever ‘it’ is. Together. Romantic. Gross and married. They’re friends. That’s the way it is. They go on long bike rides and search through musty old record shops and one time Yuri had found one of his grandpa’s favorite black-and-white movies and played it on a whim and Otabek had ended up liking it, like, an unreasonable amount, which was NOT ADORABLE AT ALL, and they put hats on Yuri’s cat and take artsy Instagram photos and curl up on the couch at the end of long days of training and Beka puts that gross ointment stuff on Yuri’s aching joints with the businesslike precision of familiarity and—
Shit.
Katsudon doesn’t smile, exactly, but his eyes do crinkle damningly. “Do you want to be?”
Yuri smothers his immediate sharp response, because he’s taller now so people expect him to sort of act like an adult. Also because… well, Katsudon has always seen right though his fits of adolescent indignation, and he might as well save himself the effort. “I don’t know,” he admits, pitching his voice low and soft. Partly because he can now, and partly to keep Otabek from overhearing. “He’s my best friend. I’m not fucking risking that.”
“Is that the only reason?” Katsudon prods, taking a sip of water and exposing his unfairly attractive throat. And. Shit. Yuri’s not an idiot. He knows he’s attracted to Katsudon… to Katsuki Yuuri… but he also knows it’s nothing more than an infatuation. Eventually he’ll stop looking at Katsudon in his tight, sheer costumes (thank you Viktor and also fuck you Viktor) and immediately feeling like taking three cold showers. But Beka… Okay, so Beka is not a bad looking man, and Yuri frequently wants to climb him like Everest, but it’s more than that. He wants to live with Otabek. He wants to watch him make egg white omelets in the mornings and pick out houseplants and adopt millions of kittens with him. And if he could have all of that, as roommates, as partners… he would truly, honestly, be okay with never sleeping with him. Besides….
“We’re both still skating, and probably will for a good while longer. It’s not like you and Vitya. He’s basically already will-writing age, and you keeping making wistful comments about teaching your children to skate, and you’re fooling absolutely nobody with that “maybe someday” shit. Face it, you’ll be changing diapers in less than five years, or I will cook and eat my skates. But Beka’s just hitting his stride, and… I’m 17, okay? I know what the fuck I’m doing but people will talk, and I can’t…” Yuri takes a deep breath, gathering himself like he’s going in for a quad. “I can’t be the thing that holds him back,” Yuri admits, not meeting Katsudon’s eyes.
“This isn’t happening,” mutters Katsudon, and Yuri scowls.
“What do you mean? Are you fucking with me? Here I am bearing my soul and—“
“No, no!’ Katsudon insists, frantically waving his hand in negation. “It’s just. Yura, I’m pretty sure I thought the exact same thing about Vitya, right before I tried to fire him and he thought I was breaking off our engagement and I didn’t actually know if we were really engaged at that point.” He takes a breath. “The point is, Yura: Talk to him. I know you’ve thought about the consequences, but have you asked him what he thinks at all?”
Yuri’s silence is damning.
“Right. And you know what not talking got me and Vitya? Nothing. Except for some really good make-up syrniki, which is the only thing Vitya can make but he makes them so well…”
“Katsudon!” Yuri barks, trying not to sound desperate and failing.
“Right. I’ll spare you the warnings about getting into things you don’t understand, because I know you’re not the same impulsive child you were when we met.” Yuri is oddly touched, despite the drag on his 15-year-old self. Honestly, 15-year-old him probably deserves it. “It might work out, it might not. But you can’t make that decision for him. You have to trust that the people who love you are willing to wait for you.”
Yuri stares. “…You’ve grown too, Katsudon.”
Katsudon smiles again, and Katsudon should always smile. It’s both terrifying and a reminder that the world isn’t completely full of shit always all the time, and maybe if Yuri has a chance to put that same tiny-but-achingly-true expression on Otabek’s face, he needs to fucking take it.
“I have, haven’t I?” Katsudon muses, then pats Yuri on the shoulder. It’s not a patronizing pat, a ‘you good little Yuri’ pat—but the kind you give you a friend. An equal. “Not as tall as you, Yura. Now, work on your sit spin. It’s sloppy and you can do better. And talk to him.” Katsudon skates off, gliding with a confidence and poise that’s been growing in his bones for years and is finally coming to full flower. It’s a little humbling to watch.
Yuri rips his eyes away from Katsudon, and his gaze drifts over to Beka, who is stretching his calves out against the boards. Yuri is a man of action. Yuri is not the type to overthink. Yuri is terrified.
But Yuri fucking Plisetsky can overcome anything.
He takes a breath, and moves.
+1 Otabek
Yuri’s out for the season. His entire personality resists that knowledge, but he’s not about to throw his whole career over at the tender age of nineteen by skating on a fucked-up knee just to say he toughed out the last few weeks after the European Championships. Beka takes gold at Four Continents, holding up his medal in the podium photo with an expression that looks severe but that Yuri knows means Otabek is overflowing with joy. Katsuki stands to one side, probably comparing the silver of his medal to the sheen of his husband’s hair and finding it lacking or something. On Beka’s other side, Minami Kenjirou appears seconds away from hyperventilating. He’s trying to look at the camera, but his body is angled unmistakably toward Katsuki. Yuri has spent a lot of time staring at this photo.
At first he kept it pulled up on his phone, but now it’s printed, framed, and hung in the hallway leading to the bedroom. Their bedroom, his and Beka’s—at least, until the end of the season, and Yuri goes back to St. Petersburg to prepare for his comeback. Or maybe not. (Yuri has a plan.)
Because he’s learned his lesson, he brings it up with Otabek as soon and they’ve finished unpacking Yuri’s things, fitting his whole life into Otabek’s little apartment. Well. After he’s called his grandpa and… not gushed, but… enthusiastically reported on the results of his move. Yeah. Grandpa had given him a choked-up ‘congratulations’ and a promise to send his entire recipe notebook as soon as he gets the neighbor kid to teach him how to make PDFs.
“So. Beka,” Yuri says, feigning nonchalance while leaning against a beautiful marble countertop. In addition to making him look cool and languid, it also keeps the weight off his knee so Beka doesn’t fuss at him.
“Yura,” Otabek says, drying dishes and placing them back in the cupboard. The stretch shows off his stomach, and Yuri’s good knee almost gives out, too.
“Yakov is about to retire. So is Katsuki. He hasn’t announced it yet, but he told me he’s decided. He’s done after Worlds.”
Otabek doesn’t answer, but Yuri knows he’s just waiting for Yuri to finish his thought. Otabek is such a good fucking listener.
“And Katsuki said… he offered to coach me. Um. Next year. When my knee… And Viktor would do my choreography. And… he said… neither of them are dead-set on staying in St. Petersburg, and if… if your coach doesn’t mind… If you don’t mind…” Why is Yuri so nervous? It’s just Beka. But, then… there’s nothing just about what he’s really asking. Can I stay here, with you, and never leave?
Otabek frowns thoughtfully. “You’re asking if I mind you living with me?” He manages to point out the empty boxes without moving his hands from the sink. Yuri is impressed. Beka is fucking impressive.
“And train here, too. Like. Until one of us retires. And then… forever, maybe?”
“Yuri…. are you proposing to me? I thought we decided…”
Yuri has to laugh. It’s kind of frantic, a little too loud, but Beka just waits.
“No! I mean… I don’t fucking know the future, okay? I won’t say never. But I know what we decided.”
That had been a long and intense conversation, but much less agonizing than Yuri had expected. They wouldn’t try to label what they were. They didn’t have be platonic or romantic or whatever; they would just stay by each other’s sides and the world’s expectations could suck their collective cock. They loved each other, and they wanted to be around each other, and sure, they didn’t feel the need to throw around words like “boyfriend” or “husband”, but what they had was every bit as real and important. Also there’s no topping the Katsuki-Nikiforov wedding party extravaganza, and Yuri doesn’t particularly want to try. He’ll let them win without a fight. Just this once.
“Okay,” says Beka, slowly. Thoughtfully. “So you want to make us… official?”
“Not… Ugh, ‘official’ sounds so stuffy. Like how are we not already official in every way that actually fucking matters? But, like. Permanent. Permanent roommates. Permanent….”
“Permanently Otabek and Yuri,” Beka finishes, and Yuri gives a relieved sigh.
“Yes! Exactly! You get me, Beka.”
“I should hope so,” Beka teases, but he looks pleased. “Do you want to change what we call each other? Partner, maybe? Or… revisit the possibility of being with… uh, sleeping with… other people?” Otabek looks tense. He’s trying to hide it, but Yuri fucking knows.
“No!” he almost growls, hoping he isn’t misreading. “Unless… you want to? But I don’t want to. I want to stay with you, and only you.”
Otabek relaxes, and Yuri almost cries in relief. “Me too. I don’t want to see anyone else.”
“Good! That’s good. And… yeah, I guess ‘partners’ is good? Kind of sounds like cowboy movies, but.”
“Howdy, pardner,” says Otabek in a surprisingly convincing American accent, and Yuri laughs.
“Oh my god, we are so partners.”
“But who’s the sheriff with a vendetta and who’s the roguish outlaw?”
“We’re both the roguish outlaws. Duh. We don’t have to follow their fucking rules.”
“Whose rules?”
“THEIR RULES, Beka. We’re fucking unstoppable. No gods, no kings, no masters.”
“No normative relationship parameters.”
“God, Beka, why don’t you have like eight degrees yet? Katsuki has one already and I’ve never heard him use phrases like “normative relationship parameters”.
“That’s because he and Nikiforov are the definition of Traditional Romance. They exchanged rings.”
Yuri knows Otabek has Opinions about wedding rings, which is another one of the things Yuri loves about him. Personally, Yuri doesn’t mind the glint of gold on his finger, but he can get that from the metallic polish Beka methodically applies to his nails. And, of course, his many, many international gold medals.
“They’re horrifying,” Yuri agrees, hoisting himself up onto the counter and wincing as his knee pinches in its brace. Beka sees his expression and sets the dish he’s holding back in the sink.
“Did you see them at that photoshoot? Vitya was basically groping Katsuki the whole time. They’re always like one layer of fabric away from public indecency charges. Like, wait ‘till you get home to fuck each other senseless!”
Beka doesn’t respond, but this time it’s not his ‘listening and digesting’ silence, but his ‘I have something to say but I don’t know how’ silence. When he speaks, it’s clearly not what he wants to say. “Do you need to stretch your knee out?”
Yuri examines Beka. He’s fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, and Beka fidgeting is the equivalent of sweating and turning green for normal human mortals. “Beka?”
“Yura. Your knee.”
“Fuck my knee. What’s wrong?”
“How do you feel about… physical intimacy?”
Yuri knows instinctively that Beka doesn’t mean ‘cuddling and brushing each other’s hair’. For one thing, they’ve already discussed, approved, and implemented that kind of intimacy, to great success. They share a bed, for god’s sake.
“You mean sex?” They’d briefly mentioned the possibility during The Conversation but quickly shelved the topic when Beka looked a little frantic and Yuri suddenly remembered that the most he’d ever done was furtive hand jobs in various shower rooms with other keyed-up young hormonal messes of athletes. Also he’d been seventeen at the time, and he could already see the fucking headlines if that shit got out. But he’d be lying so hard if he said he hadn’t considered it. At length. Several times. “I’m not opposed. Not at all. Beka?” Yuri frowns. Beka still isn’t meeting his eyes.
“I’m… That’s good… But I don’t… Uh…”
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I mean it when I said I’d be fine without it.” Yuri can see Katsuki nodding approvingly in his mind. Talk to him, Yuri. Tell him how you feel. You have to trust that the people who love you are willing to wait. Yuri abruptly wishes Beka had a Katsuki to tell him shit like that. Everyone should have a Katsuki. And… he thinks back…a Vitya, and a Mila, and a Yakov, and a Dedushka, and…. Suddenly, all the advice he’s received, wanted and unwanted, clicks into place, harmonizing. This is fucking important. Otabek’s safety and comfort and long-term wellbeing blazes in the center of his mind, the most precious thing Yuri’s ever been given to hold. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Beka.”
Yuri’s tone, both firmer and gentler than he’s probably ever said anything in his life, drags Beka’s eyes up to meet his. And because Otabek never stays down for long (another beloved thing), he finds his voice. “I’ve never had sex with anyone. I’ve been kissed once. Hell, I never even thought I’d want to do that kind of thing until…”
“Until… me?”
“Until you,” Otabek confirms. “Just recently, too. I thought I had myself figured out. I was ready to live my life a certain way. I thought I knew I was never going to have to figure out anything beyond ‘this won’t be part of my life, so why worry’. But then one day I looked at you…”
“When was it,” Yuri says, almost giddily. “Ooh, was it the quad axel? Or maybe the burlesque exhibition… or, ooh, the shopping trip in Geneva…”
“It was when you hurt your knee,” says Beka, and Yuri reels.
“Huh? What—“
“I was so worried, Yura. I realized I’d do anything to make sure you were okay. And I knew I’d be by your side for the recovery, one way or another. And I thought about… uh… massaging out the muscles… and…. Uh….”
Yuri doesn’t think his smile can physically go any wider. “Beka. Oh my god. Beka. Do you have a caretaking kink? Beka you are the best. Best person. My favorite. Beka, you can absolutely do that.”
“Not a caretaking kink,” mumbles Otabek.
“What’s that?”
“Not a caretaking kink. Not a kink. A… a Yuri kink? Yuri, I’m telling you I’ve only ever been attracted to one person. How is that a kink?”
“I dunno, who cares, but Beka, listen to me. We can figure this shit out together, because we are the best partners in the whole wild fucking west and we can go as slow or as fast as we need to and oh my god this is going to be the most epic partnership.” Yuri grabs Beka by the silky hair curled at the crown of his head and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. He remembers when he couldn’t have reached Beka’s forehead without rising up on pointe, and a delighted laugh builds in his chest. “I’ll wait as long as you need, okay?”
Otabek goes red. “Can you… wait until the dishes are done?”
“I dunno, Beka, my knee is in so much pain right now…”
Beka smacks him on the shoulder, but it’s so light it’s really more of a caress. “You’ll manage.”
Yuri scowls without heat, then sighs. “I guess I will.”
He does. They both do.