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yuri the aggressive wingman

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If there’s one thing that Yuri knows, it’s that Victor is a goddamn player and he is disturbingly good at it.


It’s a very badly kept secret in the figure skating community in Russia that Victor is gayer than a rainbow-striped unicorn waving a pride flag, which, to be honest, is to be expected. Like, the dude doesn’t tone it down. At all.


Yuri’s 99.99% sure Victor’s gonna get beaten up one day because of it, if he hasn’t been already, and Yuri will reluctantly go find the dudes and fuck them up; because he may be an obnoxious and a too fucking loud person who listens to shitty music, but he’s a decent figure skater, and he’s actually kind of nice, so yeah. He doesn’t have to explain himself.


Fuck that. And fuck Victor, too, for being too good at this shitty sport that likes to make him wear sparkly outfits. Where are the leopard prints?


So yeah.


Yuri’s been there for the good, the times when Victor came to practice suspiciously joyful, for seven in the fucking morning ( Jesus Christ ), a bounce in his step, wincing a bit when he has to jump too much (and hadn’t that information been a revelation for his twelve year old self) and he’s been there for the bad; when Victor skipped his diet, and liked to pretend he was fine when another fucking stupid homophobic law was passed, and not crying in the toilets like all figure skaters gotta do sometimes.  


But he’s never actually seen Victor in love .



Victor looks like a kicked puppy, biting his lower lip and skating around in pitiful circles, without even jumping. Natasha and the rest of the senior skaters are side eyeing him carefully, because while he isn’t prone to moods (unlike some other skaters Yuri could name) he gets all emo and shit when he’s depressed, which is fucking ridiculous. Like, can’t he just chill ?


“Yuri,” Natasha says to him, slowly sliding to a stop next to him, her red hair tied up, a few strands of hair falling and covering her face, “You should go and talk to Victor.”


He makes a face, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing indignantly, “Why me? He ’s supposed to be the emotional supportive mentor, not me.”


She arches a perfectly trimmed eyebrow (how? Witchcraft. Fucking hell) and stares him down, because she’s taller than him. Literally everyone is taller than him. Yuri’s pretty sure Levi Ackerman and a fucking bacteria are taller than him.


He sighs, “It’s cause I’m less likely to let him recite shitty English poetry, isn’t it.”


Natasha nods, a small amused smile on her face.

Yuri rubs the tip of his nose slightly, cold and kind of tired. He’s been skating for about two hours now, and he hasn’t eaten much. Maybe he can use ‘helping Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s star’ as an excuse for a break. That could work.


“Yuri,” Victor drawls, when he speeds up to skate beside him, “What a surprise.”


“You’re being a drama queen,” Yuri informs him, because first things first, he’s the realest, “And the others are worried you’ll become an evil supervillain skater.”


Victor doesn’t laugh, like Yuri expects him too. He just smiles, a little, not reaching his eyes, and looks down at the rink, his movements slow. He threads his fingers together as he moves around, and doesn’t meet Yuri’s eyes.


And holy shit. This is actually serious.


Fuck. Abort. Yuri doesn’t do serious.


“Uh,” he panics a bit, “Victor...are you okay?”


“I think I’m losing my touch, Yuri,” the older skater answers, ignoring his question, “I’m just a boring colorful show, right now, aren’t I?”


Fuck .


“That’s not true, Victor,” he tries, wracking his brain for something to say. “You’re still number one in the world. You’ve won four Grand Prix!”


Yeah, that’s okay.


Victor sighs, turning and looking back at the seats next to the entrance to the rink, “But that’s it. No matter what I do, people are expecting the best. How can I surprise them, Yuri? I can’t…” he bites his lip. “Don’t worry about it, Plisetsky,” Victor smiles at him, ruffling his hair a little as he comes to a stop, “I’ll win this next Grand Prix and get inspiration soon enough. I’m not letting you take my title anytime soon.”


Yuri nods, a little lost, and watches him get off the ice.


“How did it go?” Natasha asks, brow furrowed, but still perfect.


“I think something’s actually fucking wrong,” he tells her, because fuck if he knows what to do about it.



Yuuri Katsuki is sobbing in a toilet cubicle, and it makes Yuri want to beat him up.


In the end, he only throws him around a little and tells him everything that’s on his mind, before getting the hell out of there and finding a storage closet to hide in.


Fuck. Victor looked awful today after he got off the ice. He wasn’t even looking at the medal before they took it away to get his name engraved. He looked like he wasn’t even there. Yuri just wishes Victor would talk to someone (preferably not him) because fuck, he needs him. Victor’s actually a pretty good guy, once you get past the questionable taste in clothes (he forbids animal patterns. Like, really, dude? Such an old man) and, somehow, he’s always managed to inspire Yuri. He’s shown him moves, and scolded him when he stayed too late the rink, along with Yakov, and he’s always commented on all of his performances, just to show he was watching.


And Victor likes watching movies with him, and volunteers to watch his siblings from time to time, when Yuri just needs to get away , for once. Victor buys him cat stickers for his birthday, even though he pretends it’s a kid’s gift and he doesn’t like it, and doesn’t say anything when he puts them on his notebooks.  Victor’s kind of like an older brother, if Yuri wanted one. Which he doesn’t . He really doesn’t.


Fuck anyone who says otherwise.


So it’s not fucking fair that Yuuri Katsuki, with his name ,  who’s a failure and looks like a penguin, waddling instead of skating, is sobbing and telling his family what’s wrong, when Victor, who’s the strongest person he’s ever met, isn’t even telling him .


“It’s just not fair ,” Yuri breathes, hands balled into fists and resting on the closet door, trying not to shake.



[Katsuki Yuuri] Tried To Skate Victor’s FS Program [Stay Close To Me]


Yuri is gonna find this guy, and he’s gonna kill him.


But first, he’s totally posting a comment saying how shitty his balance is.


No one has to know.



“Victor’s gone,” is the first thing Yuri hears when he walks into the rink at seven am the day after that fucking video is released.


He does a double-take, “Say what?”


“He’s gone to Japan,” Yakov sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring at the ice, like it’s some kind of spiritual representation of Victor (which would actually make sense). “To coach that weird Yuuri kid. If you ask me, he’s committing career suicide on a whim.”


Yuri’s still frozen, standing there with his back up slung over his right shoulder, hands stuck inside the pocket in his hoodie, eyes wide, “V-Victor’s gone?”


It can’t be fucking true. Victor’s supposed to coach him! He promised !


“I’m afraid so, kid,” Yakov takes a look at him and frowns, “You okay? He’ll probably come back whenever he’s done sleeping with that guy, mark my words. Nothing good will come out of that.”


“Victor’s gone,” he repeats, and this time he actually feels it sink in.


He turns around and goes home.



There’s not much information to be found about Yuuri Katsuki.


He’s Japanese (which, obvious much?), has won some national competitions as a teenager, was selected for the JSF not too long ago, and he has actually zero media presence, a fact that baffles Yuri so much that he has to take two deep breaths and not pray for his soul.


So he’s not going to find him by stalking him online like a very sneaky...sneaky animal (maybe a fox?). Anyway, that isn’t gonna work, so he’s gonna have to wait until Victor slips up. Because if there’s one thing Yuri knows about the guy, is that he can not resist a selfie. He’s pretty sure zombies could be roaming the Earth and Victor would just grab his poodle, strike a pose, and post it on his Instagram with “#TastiestBrainsInRussia! Follow me on Twitter if you don’t already ;)  Love you!”.


And so Yuri waits, binge-eating crisps and trying not to annoy his parents too much while he lounges around at home, showing up to practice with his phone tucked neatly into his leggins (which has made security try to remove him twice, without results - fuck the police) and makes sure all his notifications are activated.


Finally, after a week, his painful waiting pays off, when Actual Gay Prince of Skating himself posts a selfie. He smirks. Oh, it is on .



If Yuri ever tries to go on a flight to Japan from Russia, he hopes someone kills him. No more .


Yuuri Katsuki looks just as unremarkable and plain as he remembers, lying down on the floor with his tracksuit zipper done up all the way, eyes wide as he stares at Yuri, cheeks red from running all the way there.


You are a tiny, tiny mouse, and I am a big ass cat , Yuri thinks.


What does Victor see in you ? he wonders, as he watches the adult skater brush himself off the floor and stand there awkwardly, hands stuck in his pockets, messy dark hair falling on his eyes, his glasses slightly tilted to one side, breath still coming out in short pants. Why are you so special?


“You should just ask him yourself,” Yuuri says, and well. He might actually have a point.


But he doesn’t need to. Because the moment Yuri walks in and calls out Victor’s name, pissed and not giving a shit if the guy gets startled, he sees the way Victor’s looking at Yuuri, and oh .


Ooooh, that makes so much sense. Yakov was right, for once.Victor does want to sleep around. Huh.


He feels a smirk curve his lips. Well, this is just a matter of sticking around until Victor’s fucked him out of his system, and then they can go home, where Victor will coach him. Take that , Japanese copycat.



Except...that doesn’t happen.


Victor doesn’t look any more ready to leave, and he also seems to look happier instead of bored. Yuri and the rest of the skaters back in Russia calculated the ideal mating period for the Nikiforov creature, which lasts approximately 7 days. After a week, Victor gets tired of the guy he’s banging, makes him sign a shiny confidentiality agreement, and smiles his way out of the ‘relationship’.


But it just...Victor isn’t sleeping with Yuuri Katsuki.


Okay, Yuri’s not five , alright? He knows that the fact that they’re in different bedrooms doesn’t mean shit, and he’s seen the way they flirt, how Victor touches him just a bit too much than is necessary for showing him skating positions, has to contain his urges to vomit when Yuuri blushes at every compliment Victor gives him, just a little too close for it to be friendly. Yuri knows the signs, because he knows Victor , and they are all pointing to the fact that Victor wants to stick his dick in this tiny small Japanese fluff ball with a crying problem.


So why isn’t he doing it?!  The sooner they get this shit over with, the sooner Yuri can go back home, where everything isn’t in Japanese, and he doesn’t almost get an aneurysm trying to order a bottle of water, and he can start his training for the next Grand Prix.


“Why aren’t you done fucking Yuuri yet?”


Okay, he’s only human. There’s only a limited amount of time he can wait before he cracks. He can deal with Victor scowling at him for his bluntness, even though he’s like, basically the same.


What he’s not expecting is for Victor to suddenly choke on his Coke, eyes widening and body spasming, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He drops his sandwich, staring at Yuri with a panicked look in his eyes.


“What?” he squeaks, and.


Holy shit.


...Does Victor not know ?


Oh man. This is gonna be amazing.


“I said,” he smirks, “Why haven’t you bent that dude over the table yet? It’s been about two weeks, I’m sure you could do it.”


Victor is still staring at him, blue eyes focused, pupils dilating. “I-I-uh.”


Yuri rolls his eyes, “Victor, if you’re surprised I know about the gay thing -”


“I-I’m not here to f-sleep with Yuuri,” Victor says suddenly, sounding upset, and fuck , “I don’t know what you -”


“Dude, I know you. I’m sure you think he’s a decent skater and all, but your true motivations -”


“Yuuri isn’t a decent skater ,” Victor snaps, looking annoyed, “He’s brilliant.”


Oh. My.  God.


This isn’t happening.


“This isn’t happening.”


“W-What are you even saying , Yuri?”


“Oh my god,” he says, because he can’t believe this, “Do you actually like this guy?”


He’s so calling Natasha. And Yakov, too, fuck propriety and professional relationships, he needs to know.


“Of course I do!” Victor grumbles, looking down at his sandwich, lying sadly on his plate, “I like everyone. I’m a very pleasant person.”


Yuri giggles, “But you like Yuuri more .”


His friend narrows his eyes, pointing at him with his index finger, “Yuri, you’re being a little shit, and I’ve told you many times -”


“Victor and Yuuri, sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G -”


“I will murder you -”


“But then Yuuri won’t love a murderer! C’mon, Victor, think things through first.”


“They won’t find the body, I’ll have it burnt -”


“-can’t wait until  you get matching Grand Prix outfits. For Him & for Him. The gay icons of ice skating -”


“-tell the police, “Why yes, officer, I was at home the whole time!” and they will believe me, because I’m a respected member of this society, and I have millions of fans -”


“But seriously, Victor,” Yuri interrupts, “Do you really like this guy?”


“I -” Victor hesitates, eyes looking down at their table. He’s fidgeting with a keychain in his hands, and he seems like he isn’t really aware he’s doing it. He actually looks fucking unsure.


“I think I really do,” he whispers, after a few minutes of Yuri staring at him, jaw dropping to the floor. His voice is so low that he can barely hear him, and Victor swallows, looking away quickly, “I think he’s special, Yuri.”


Holy fucking shit.


He’s totally calling Nat -


“Don’t tell Natasha,” Victor adds, sounding a little more like himself, more knowing, which is a fucking relief, “Don’t tell anyone, Yuri, or I will have you skinned.”


Yuri scowls and settles back in his chair, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest, “Fine. Whatever. She’s gonna kill me the minute we get home, but sure . At least she’ll be nice about it.” He pauses, “Have you even told the guy, Victor?”


The older skater very pointedly doesn’t say anything.


Yuri could never see this coming. He’s actually the most mature out of the three of them. That’s...probably a fucking first, actually.


Dude ,” Yuri’s eyes widen, “Are you like, nervous or some shit? Because let me tell you: you aren’t subtle. If Japanese Beauty hasn’t realized that you’re extremely gay for him, then he’s blind and those glasses aren’t working. You radiate rainbow, Victor. I’m pretty sure radiation specialists are looking for the source of homosexuality in your fucking emissions.”


Victor raises an eyebrow, “Okay, Yuri. I can see you have very strong opinions on this.”


“And I’m telling you; Yuuri is just as lost on you as you are. Victor, he has a framed photo of you by his bed .”


To his absolute fucking astonishment, Victor giggles at that, hiding his mouth behind his hand, a light blush covering his cheeks as he looks down at his lap and holy shit. He’s actually pretty fond of this dude. He looks like Yuuri could kill someone and Victor would just be like “oh, you know, it’s just one of his things ”.


“The photo is rather suggestive,” Victor admits, a sly smile on his lips. But it disappears as soon as it came, tightening into a thin white line, “But you might have guessed I don’t have a great record, relationships.”


Yuri gives him a look that he hopes conveys: I noticed .


“I don’t want to er, how do you like to put it? ‘Fuck it up’.” Victor fidgets with the keychain again, fingers running over it again and again, “And I don’t want to make Yuuri anxious for his performances. He’s doing so well , Yuri.”


“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Yuri starts, picking up a chip from his plastic bag and bringing it to his mouth, “Yuuri isn’t a wimp, even though he fucking seems like it. He’s an adult, Victor, and I’m pretty sure he gets a say in what goes on between the two of you. And if he’s doing so well now, imagine the shit he could do if he was getting laid regularly.”


Victor flushes again, his ears going red, and he coughs lightly, staring at his  sandwich, “Um. You are a bit too young for this conversation, Yuri.”


Yuri just shrugs, “I’m just saying, the sooner you date this kid and marry him, the sooner you can take him with us when you come back to Russia.”


Victor is quiet, for a few seconds, and the asks, very timidly, “Are you...are you sure he, er, appreciates me too?”


“You’re a twelve year old, Victor Nikiforov, but yes, he does , in fact, like you back,” Yuri rolls his eyes. Honestly, this is ridiculous.


But Victor’s smiling brighter than before, touching his lips absently and staring at nothing, and Yuri’s gonna puke.



The next morning, he walks into Ice Castle to see Yuuri and Victor kissing.


They’re both standing next to the rink, completely clueless to the fact that he just opened the door. Yuuri’s on his tiptoes, wearing his training outfit (all black, ever since Yuri decided he wasn’t gonna skate with someone whose idea of color-coding was a crime to all of humanity and enforced his authority), and tilting his head up, hands tentatively resting on Victor’s waist, who’s bringing his lips down to meet Yuuri’s eyes closed, touching Yuuri’s cheek almost reverently.


Yuri lets out a squeak and closes the door.


“Yeah,” Yuko, the girl who skates pretty damn well and has three evil triplets, says, looking sympathetic, “They’ve been doing just kissing for the past ten minutes.”


He closes his eyes, “I did this. I literally made this happen. This is my fault.”


“If it helps, I think it’s quite adorable,” she says kindly.



Yuri clicks on the icon and waits for the familiar sound of the line being connected.


“Hey, Natasha,” he says, swallowing hard, because fuck Victor, “I’ve got some shit to tell you, you don’t even know.”