yuri_plisetsky: (on ice [Troika])
Yuri Plisetsky ([personal profile] yuri_plisetsky) wrote2017-05-23 02:39 pm

Moscow: Rostelecom Cup, GPF Qualifer Short Program (1.08)

The Rostelecom Cup is the last event of the 2014 ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating series. In the men's figure skating division, two competitors -- Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan and Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland -- have secured their places in the Grand Prix Final. The remaining four slots will be determined by the final standings of the six skaters competing in Moscow, based on their scores in previous ISU Grand Prix events:

- Michele Crispino (Italy): 3rd Place, NHK Trophy
- Yuuri Katsuki (Japan): 2nd Place, Cup of China
- Seung-gil Lee (Republic of Korea): 2nd Place, NHK Trophy
- Jean-Jacques Leroy (Canada): 1st Place, Skate Canada
- Emil Nekola (Czech Republic): 3rd Place, Skate Canada
- Yuri Plisetsky (Russian Federation): 2nd Place, Skate Canada

As the competitors arrive in Moscow, two particular skaters are the focus of much press and fan speculation. Fifteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky is making his senior debut in his first major competitive event in his home country, after a strong showing at Skate Canada in Kelowna, British Columbia. At the same time, Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki has arrived in Moscow with his coach, the long-reigning world champion Viktor Nikiforov, and based on his remarkable performance at the Cup of China in Shanghai...

...but all of this is only to be expected from the official press coverage.

On the ground, the reality is a little more complicated than that.
theglassheart: By Laura (Don't waste time)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-10 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Sleep doesn't come fast or easy, and why would it. Even without the rigorous schedule and work they've been doing the last four days, it's been exactly four days since he was on the ice for the China Cup exhibition. It's nothing like a pause to catch a breath even without what they've been doing, grinding at his bones and the grit in his eyes in this last night between.

The one small blessing and it seems almost hardly one in the midnight dark, during coming awake too many times: he doesn't actually have to be concerned with a too early start really. Even if he has plans, routines, requirements for the morning, starting before the dawn, if dawn even shows up under all the Moscow winter gray, they won't skate until mid-evening. They won't even have their longround of on-ice warm-ups until just before midday, and even then Ladies, and Pairs, and the secondary, on-ice, Opening will come before they perform, still.

Hypothetically, he could even be elsewhere for those, until it really was their time. He could be here.
In the hotel. In his bed. Again. Like Victor had drug him last time. Not that he'd likely sleep more, or better.
But Victor had said he spent all his pre-skate time sleeping, and that left it tucked somewhere in his head. An option.

It's still dark when Yuri gets up, and does his first round of stretching and exercises for the day. Keeping all of it gentle, but pushed to where he can feel all of his sore muscles ache and shiver back under the strain he makes them hold. He'll go harder in the greater time after breakfast, and he might have Victor work on his hip. But, after breakfast. Which Yuri agrees should be downstairs. Whatever's available and recognizable he'll take, and the rest at least will be filled with familiar things for Victor to eat, instead of having to limit himself to some ordering menu.

The downstairs is crowded, but it's the normal cacophony. Bunches of people here and there. Some in the same colors for countries and some in clumps he can tell are mixed, because they some have their country jackets with them, and they don't match. There's another pang, looking at this sea of tables and heads, the noises of them rolling at him, that makes him feel even more adrift again for the same reason as last night. He doesn't know anyone here like last time. He hadn't thought it mattered so much then, and yet suddenly it stood out.

Yuri breakfast plate ends up having more on it than he could ever eat, but it's not entirely like he'll admit it was easier to go on stacking things than quite knowing what to do more than half-stutter at the people who were likewise spooning and placing things on their plates, but, also, wishing him a friendly good morning and asking how he thought the day would go. On the other hand, as he watched the room, while shoveling bites in, maybe he would finish it.

He wouldn't eat another meal in the next ten or eleven hours, in case his nervous took a truly disastrous turn.
fivetimechamp: by me (my glorious debut)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-12 03:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Breakfast on the morning of a competition tends to skew one of two ways: tense and silent, or boisterous and excited. Not all skaters have Yurio's combative fire or Yuri's silent anxiety: for many, this is a chance to see friends who have been training on the other side of the world, exchange tips and gossip, take photos for social media accounts. Take Emil and Mickey, over there, with Sala smiling between them as they quibble over pancakes.

Yuri has a tendency towards silence when he's preparing for a performance, so Victor does the talking for both of them, chatting lightly about the various options available for breakfast, the stretches he wants Yuri to focus on when they get back to the room, what the morning's practice should look like –– along with commentary on the hotel itself, the weather, what Moscow was like the last time he was here, and where they should try to go sight-seeing if they have a chance after the short programs. His preference before competitions was always just to go back to the hotel room and sleep until Yakov called him, but Yuri, with his tendency to get lost in his own head and spiral into panic and uncertainty, usually prefers structured activity.

Even with a day this long ahead of them, that's doable. It only means they don't have to rush from one thing to the next, and Victor can appreciate that: a long breakfast, followed by a return to the room for Yuri to stretch and for Victor to work out knots in his shoulder and the small of his back and help manipulate that hip until movement is easy and fluid. Yuri's nerves don't seem as bad this time around as they had been in Shanghai –– his success there might have improved his confidence –– but Victor won't leave anything to chance, if he can help it.

No more breakdowns in garages because he misread the situation or didn't know what to do.

( just believe in me ! )

He can do that. Yuri has nothing to prove to him: he's known this was possible all along.

But it feels good to get to the rink, breathe the cold air, and watch Yuri trace his familiar patterns across the ice.
theglassheart: By Existentially (And judgement taught us)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-13 08:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Yuri couldn't explain if he tried how much it helps that Victor is there. That there isn't a reason to be elsewhere quickly for other any people, because Victor has no one else to see to except him. It's been that way for all of this time, and there are still days it catches up like it's new all over again.

Victor has the long list of what he wants Yuri to work on, and they do that, but at the sametime he prattles about other things, too, and Yuri doesn't know that he could explain how much that helps. It's, maybe, not even the words. Victor talking about Russia, all of which and whom will want Victor, today today today especially. Reminding him of every gasp of his name, and the sign on the building, and being told, so close to his ear it was singed in with shock, it was a sin to keep Victor to himself.

Even when everything, it circles, settling, making his heart speed up too often, he waits for it to start tripping him up, to bite in and start shaking him in place, shattering his thoughts to shredded startling jumps -- and it doesn't, which only makes him quieter, more sure that it's about to start every next minute, next second, jumpy at the shadows of shadows that haven't fallen on him yet. Because it is yet. It's always yet.

Which doesn't stop Victor's voice, whether it's instructions or commentary, and somehow that helps. Moors him against falling away, drags him into focus every other step from what drags him right out of it. They play a teeter-totter game, and maybe Yuri has short sentence answers less often than nods, or agreements to do whatever he's supposed to next. But it still helps. In ways, he has no words for.

As does finally getting to go to the rink. As much as he doesn't want to start this day, he wants to start it, too. It's a nauseous restlessness knotting in his stomach, wanting to run both forward and backward, even when it's not yet an insane spiral. (Yet.) Not even when he's in the building (yet), in his clothes (yet), and handing Victor his guards (yet), listening to Victor tell him, again, what he thinks Yuri should work on (yet) and what he should avoid overdoing (yet).

Outside the ice, the crowds are already filling more than half the stands. The warm-up itself feels too short, and too long. Looping circles and easier moves that won't be complicated by the close skate of four others while on the outer circuit. He waits his turn through the three people in the order before him -- watching more than he should, he knows, it's not about comparing, it's about showing, but he still watches them all, marks what they work on, where it fit into the things they'd done before, and what's new -- before taking his turn in the center.

Five minutes that feels more like one, but he practices his combination. He considers hard at it but doesn't do the flip. Even if there's a temptation in it, and he swears he catches more than one or two people watching him closely. Something to throw to the wolves in his bones. Yuri throws himself into his closing spins and drops. His other quads. There are turns and long switches, giving himself into the speed he can't take with others right by him. His axel is a given, and he does it even when he knows it won't falter.

He does it because it gives it to himself. Last. Like breathing.

Before gliding out at back to the edge when he should.
It's only ten minutes more and those go just quickly.

Ten minutes, before the bell is ringing, and the bite under Yuri's skin isn't about performing, isn't about eyes, it's a banging need telling him to do more, push harder, now, now, now, not to stop. Even though he does. Stop. Or at least follow the group of those closer, when the bell had sounded, back to the gate between the ice and the walk around the arena. Where Victor is waiting, and he takes a tissue first to blow his nose and fold over twice, then rub at the sweat on his cheeks and forehead.

"That wasn't too bad." He'd definitely had worse warmups. At least he hadn't fallen down this time.
fivetimechamp: by me (on the sidelines)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-14 01:01 am (UTC)(link)
Yuri looked good, out on the ice: not over-thinking things, staying loose and relaxed, and Victor waits as he blows his nose before holding out a gloved hand for the used tissue. "You look almost at home, here."

That's a pleasing thought. Of course, Yuri should be comfortable in any rink he has to skate in, but Victor would have to be blind and deaf as well as unobservant to think that Moscow might hold a greater challenge for Yuri than Shanghai had, and not only because the line-up here is likely to be more difficult to beat. He hasn't forgotten Yuri's tear-soaked confession in the garage ––

( I've been secretly wondering if you want to leave! )

–– and though Yuri hasn't brought it up, he wouldn't be surprised if there are some worries about his own ties to this city and this country that he'll have to dispel.

It doesn't look like it yet, though. If anything, Yuri seems more relaxed than Victor's seen him yet before any competition, so maybe things really are improving. It's a pleasing thought, as he hands over the water bottle for Yuri to take a sip. "Does anything feel tight? How are your blades and boots feeling?"

Everything should be fine, exactly as they left it the night before, exactly how it should be. They've both done this dozens of times; Yuri knows what to expect, even if Victor has to constantly remind himself of what he should be looking for and remembering as a coach.

In many ways, this is the most important competition so far for him, too, a constant reminder as he's pushing the gate open and handing Yuri his skate guards, one after another.
theglassheart: (pic#11492595)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-14 03:49 am (UTC)(link)
Yuri isn't sure how he feels at Victor's words about him looking at home here, but it's something disquieted, something that crawls up his throat with a denial so flash bright certain that can't be right it's amazing it keeps itself behind his teeth, in head and his chest. He doesn't belong here, and here isn't home, and nothing about this place will claim him, or want to claim him, not when he's taken the best thing they ever had, right?

Aside from Victor throwing out words like that, like somehow it's as simple as that, and Yuri knows he's thinking too fast. Maybe even breathing too fast. That it's conveniently spiked at the end of half an hour of warming up, on the day when everything is a hundred ratchets tighter and higher. But. Still. He works as sipping his water slower to try and make his heart find its way back to beating at anything like a normal speed. Victor goes on, not seeming to even care -- or register? -- what he said, and at least it does give Yuri something else to respond to.

Shaking his head as he finally lowers the water bottle. Caps it, so that he can tuck it under his arm, up near his armpit, where he can use the most muscle to hold it and still move enough of his arms, to use his fingers to take one skategaurd at time in one hand, using the other to slide the snow off his blades, before hooking his guard over his blade. Answering as he reached for the second, "Nothing feels loose."

He would have been able to tell out there, because of the speed, the movement required by his turns, or the inability to take his weight in landing his triples and quads, especially, but nothing had felt off. (Nothing more than himself. Occasionally, and that was normal, too.) His boots were well worn in. His blades were still sharp enough for deep edges, so long as he took the time, even if it was only one second, all in, to do them right. Didn't get caught up in his head.

Didn't try to race too fast to correct mistakes.
Didn't make too many mistakes to not be able to come back from.

(Didn't lose Victor entirely when, or if, he lost this last round of the entire Qualifier to the Prix.)
fivetimechamp: by me (I have a plan!)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-15 03:33 am (UTC)(link)

He steps back to let Yuri through and falls into step next to him. "Your jumps looked nice and clean. I want you to stay loose so that hip doesn't tense up and give you trouble later."

There are hours still to go, but there are ways to fill them all: walk around the Small Sports Arena, watch the other skaters and discuss the programs (or gossip about their various personal lives), get a snack, stretch out. Anything to keep Yuri happy and relaxed until it's time for him to change into his competition costume, slick his hair back, start readying in earnest.

Victor doesn't suggest taking a nap again. It hadn't worked last week, and Yuri doesn't seem to need it today, anyway. He looks a little pale, but his jumps were strong and he's focused in a way he wasn't before the free skate in Shanghai. No: weariness isn't something Victor's concerned about today. He knows Yuri is ready, has every faith that this will be an even better performance than the one offered only a bare week ago. There's no quad flip in Eros, so he doesn't have to worry about Yuri attempting a jump he hasn't yet fully mastered. The choreography and jumping passes are so well known now Yuri could almost certainly win at least silver with them in his sleep.

It's just that there are people everywhere. Reporters and representatives that he's sure he never had to deal with to this extent before, because Yakov always herded them away somewhere, coaxing with tidbits of information or threatening to blacklist them if they bothered his skaters right before a performance. They don't bother him, but Yuri gets easily flustered, so Victor is grateful that the lion's share of the attention won't come until after the performance itself.

It's getting closer.
theglassheart: [ Fanart ] : { Google Images } (Default)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-16 02:29 am (UTC)(link)

Time isn't his friend. In one minute, time isn't moving at all, and he's never going to make it to tonight, because tonight is never going to get here, and in the very next, half an hour or an hour has passed, and he's going to hyperventilate because if he blinks too many times it's going to be his turn to go back on the ice right now.

It's unnerving, and it flips back and forth in his head, as the first group of the ladies takes the ice, and then the second. As the first group of the pairs skaters take the ice, and then the second. He watches some of the earliest ones, when they end up anywhere near a prompter or a tv. Even though Victor seems dedicated enough to not keeping him incredibly close to them, or at least watching him when he's watching them.

It isn't long after that the first three of their group head for the curtain, none of them returning, and Yuri checks his earplugs even though he's been switching between them and his headphones for hours. But it's silence right now. It's just the sound of the wheels in his head spinning, around and around and around, while he gets up from having been at using a roller on the lower muscles of his thigh below his hip.

It's too close really to just stay focused. He ends up back up, walking, but even walking isn't what he wants, and he ends up standing still, hands balling into the fabric of his jacket, so they won't shake, thinking through the circuit of his routine. How many beats. The lineup. What could use more focus. Losing himself in a series of deep breaths, that even if he wants them to go incredibly slow, are still a little too fast on the tail end. But that's right when he notices the flapping, clapping hands in his vision of Jean-Jacques Leroy.

Who is staring directly at him. Mouth moving through silent words. Expression expectant and triumphant.
Startling Yuri into a surprised sound as he reached for his ear plugs, apologizing. "Oh, sorry. I didn't catch that."

fivetimechamp: by me (Default)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-16 07:52 pm (UTC)(link)

It's Emil Nekola now, and then Michele Crispino next. Skaters he isn't worried about, and barely thinks about as anything other than dominos to be knocked down before Yuri's performance.

(At any other time, he would enjoy socializing with them, even if he forgot everything they said or did fifteen afterwards, but that's social. This is competition.

No matter what side of the rink wall he's on, there's nothing he cares about more for the next hour.)

Yuri is listening to music next to him, while Victor leans on the wall, arms crossed, going over everything they'll need in a continual checklist: tissues. Tissue box cover. Water bottle. Skate guards. Jacket. Gloves. Yuri's jacket. Idly flipping through what he should say to Yuri at the gate to inspire him, to motivate him. The things he needs to check: Yuri's costume. His boots. Laces. Whether he needs water or lip balm. All the last-second adjustments Yuri trusts him to make, and to make sure are set and ready.

All of which is infinitely more important than the Canadian skater –– what's his name, again? –– sauntering over with that wide, white, sharktooth grin, asking about quadruple loops. It's difficult to tell who he's trying to talk to: the words seem directed at Yuri, but the skater –– JJ? Jack, something? –– pushes right past him to beam directly into Victor's face. "Victor did the same jump at last year's exhibition."

Which is true, but it's annoying to have one of Yuri's competitor's bring it up, as if it might shatter Yuri's carefully controlled nerves. Victor has never liked this fellow much to begin with –– he's one of the few skaters he's never bothered to get to know, even though he is apparently climbing the ranks rapidly in Victor's absence –– and he likes it even less when the man –– George? Jason? –– continues. "I want to see that again!"

It would be annoying at the best of times. This is Yuri's competition, not his, and just like he'd told the reporters last night, he wants everyone to focus on Yuri, and Yuri's performance, and Yuri's progress. The never-ending digs at whether or not he'll be returning –– or even if he could return –– are growing increasingly wearying, and it's only been a week since Yuri confessed he'd been worried that Victor wanted to leave.

There's really no other response than a flat, uncaring expression, arms still crossed. "I don't recall."
theglassheart: [ Fanart ] : { Google Images } (Default)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-17 04:46 am (UTC)(link)

It was Victor's tone, more than anything JJ didn't ever say to him again or said to Victor, that stuck with him. Part of the cycle of his ramping heartbeat as time continued to grow shorter and shorter. The second skater of the first group already being replaced by the third, and Yuri can't entirely stand still, and he can't entirely not watch the tv. The scores. The jumps. The footwork.

(The same way he finds himself unable to not wonder everytime he finds his eyes drawn back to Victor. Victor, here. Victor, in Russia. Whether Victor thinks he's ready. Whether Victor is distracted by everything here. If he's changed his mind now that he has come home again. Whether Yuri, actually, is ready. Victor's all too elusive calm, and the cold, door shutting, rejection in those words he'd said earlier.

The tone Yuri recognizes, if not why, and now is not the time to ask.
Now is not the time when he thinks he would make much sense.)

There's no time to ask, and no way to keep it center and front in his thoughts. The third performer is on and it means their whole group needs to be out to prepare for their warm up. The whole of the 2nd group moving from behind the curtain to the right outside the rink for the end of Crispino's performance and its ending embrace with his sister who skated earlier. Crispino heads off the to Kiss-and-Cry with his coach and sister, and Yuri leans back against the rink, and Yuri has to wonder, before it too is forgotten the next second, what it must have been to do that together, always supported.

But it fades as fast as it forms. The same way the people near him and not near him do.
The same with the knowledge so far the ranked scores are still fifteen below his best in China.

Trying to keep his breaths even when he closes his eyes for a second, against the cheering crowd starting to blur around him. More than when he first stepped out. Score, then their warm-up, then he's on. Score, then their warm up, then he's on. It's about to start. It already had so much longer ago than this minute.

Edited 2017-06-17 12:43 (UTC)
fivetimechamp: by me (allow me to get you right)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-17 06:29 pm (UTC)(link)
The other skaters are still wearing their warm-up jackets, but Yuri has already shed his, leaving it in Victor's care until his performance is over and he needs it before the sweat chilling on his skin catches him a cold. It's back on a chair nearby, where it will soon be joined by the tissue box and water bottle, but first, Victor checks him over with a perfectionist's eye. "You look great."

He's a comma of black ink sloped against the rink wall, one lean line from the top of his head to the bottom of his skates. Victor is only human, but he tries to shove his appreciation for this picture (he wants it painted, he wants it emblazoned on the backs of his eyelids: his normally awkward and uncertain and endearingly mussed Yuri, slicked back into this sinuous creature) to the back, focusing instead on purely critical observation. " –– wait."

One of those laces is coming untied, and he steps quickly forward and sinks to a knee, trenchcoat puddling around him, as his gloved fingers make short work of the loosening laces. It's an unusual thing to do, but only when he stops to think about it –– he'd have taken a hand off if somebody had tried fiddling with his skates right before a competition –– but he knows Yuri.

And Yuri trusts him.

It's there in the bland way he watches Victor fix the laces, fingers tying a quick and solid knot, still leaning against the wall. There in how he meets Victor's eyes, and there's no question or worry, only firm determination, and Victor finds himself smiling back, a sharp, heated expression totally unlike his usual casual warmth.

Eros is a grenade, and Yuri is about to pull the ring out. Only the two of them know what will happen next, and Victor, kneeling here before his skater in front of live cameras and an audience of thousands and the entirety of his home country outside these few walls, is more than ready to let it all explode.
theglassheart: [ Fanart ] : { Google Images } (Default)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-17 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)

Victor studies him, compliments him, and then adds one word, that makes Yuri freeze. A correction of something, that Yuri doesn’t even entirely have the time to question what might have torn or detached and how they have no time, because the next second, even as the images explode in his head, one after another after another, Victor is lowering himself to the ground, to a knee, making Yuri blink confused.

As long, slim pale fingers find his laces and something flutters, more than tightens in his chest. A confused slam of butterflies and new frisson of uncertainty, freezing his stomach, that shoves out the earlier images entirely, wondering if this is even proper, no one has ever, he hasn’t ever seen, even though he doesn’t flinch. As Victor ties his lace again, before looking up at him from there, and Victor’s face is so clear there’s no room for the uncertainty either.

There’s none looking down into Victor’s face as his hands fall back.

It makes him push everything down. Or maybe Victor does it. Just this look on his face. Makes Yuri feel this surge of certainty shoving everything else back. He can do this. He can. Victor believes he can. That he can do this, and he does, never stops talking about how Yuri is only getting better and better every time they step out on the ice together or apart. He can do this. He has to.

It's almost as cathartic, as it a sprint in his chest aiming to be heart attack, to finally step out onto the ice for their six-minute warm up after Crispino’s score goes up. Still no one within fifteen points at the end of Group 1, and he needs to see even that fifteen as something to beat. To blow past. Has to find it. Holds onto with a death grip.

Barely ten minutes and he'll be on. He pushes himself. He needs to use it to his advantage. He's the person closest to the warm up round. Without a pause that will allow any cool down of his muscles or body or mind, before he is performing. He pushes himself hard. Harder. Iced air whipping his face. Ruffling against his cheeks, his ears, the skirt on his costume.

Complex turns. The combination with the toe loop. Speeding into his more complicated footwork.
Even if it's not as fast as he wants, or as broadly expansive as it will be, when not sharing the ice.

It's only seconds, it can't have been more, when the buzzer sounds again. Choking itself in Yuri's throat, as he heads for the gate with Yuri and JJ. Six minutes gone in a blink, and in half that from now he'll already be done and someone else will be on the ice. It's hardly really the pass of a minute to step off, so the everyone is officially off, and then to wait for his name. Not long enough to put his skate guards back on even. Just long enough to stand still so as not to damage his blades, feeling his heart thunder through his whole chest, pounding in his ears.

Before it's time to step back on the ice. Body a stillness that feels a single breath from shaking all over. From needing to escape into a twitching, telling, movement, requiring him to be even more still. Which only makes all of it tumble tighter, harder, faster as he comes to a gliding stop on the ice across the rink wall from Victor. While the cheering from the crowd swells loudly into a repeating chant it takes Yuri a second to place.

Victor’s name.

fivetimechamp: by cherrytini (hello adoring fans!)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-17 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)
He's watching Yuri skate back towards him when it starts: at first, just white noise blocking out the trickle of applause as the other skaters exit the rink. It's low at first, then louder, and when he finally recognizes it, he supposes he should have known it right away. He's heard it enough times, after all: a loud, rhythmic chant that swells until it fills the arena, bouncing off the ice and the walls.

Vik-tor! Vik-tor! Vik-tor! Vik-tor!

It's as familiar to him as his own pulse. A rising tide of sound he once would have directed from the center of the ice, arms raised, waving them on until the entire arena rang with his name, shouted by hundreds (sometimes thousands) of thrilled fans, each believing they could lift him to new heights simply by the power of their love.

It's as impossible for him to ignore it as it would be to ignore the sunrise. His whole life, he's been accustomed to loving his fans back the way they love him, to showing his appreciation for everything they've supported and helped him through. Even now, even without skating, still it rises, and rises, and rises, until he has to half turn and wave to them, laughing, and for just this moment, there's nothing but this. Their love for him, and his love for them.

Even when he isn't skating. They might be disappointed, but they still call his name, clapping, chanting so loudly it's almost impossible to hear anything else. It's a swell he rides up, and up, and still further up, a pleased flush on his cheeks, his gloved hand waving in wide sweeps as a response:

I hear you.

(He can't say he hasn't missed it.)
theglassheart: By Laura (You need a bad boy)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-17 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)
If the name, a creshendo'd shout only getting louder and louder, digs iced claws straight through Yuri's chest, skin and ribs and lungs and all, it's still not the worst part of it. He looks to Victor and Victor is looking somewhere else. Victor, who knows he only has seconds to hear whatever it is Victor is supposed to be telling him. Victor, who knows intimately if he doesn't get to the center before that time end, he'll be penalized before he even starts.

Victor, in front of him, but turned sideways, facing not Yuri, but the audience.

It comes back too sharp. His own words.
They'll wish it was you.

Victor, who'd said, they wouldn't be able to resist him once he started.

Victor, who's busy waving to the crowd shouting for him. Victor, who is laughing, and not even looking at him. Victor. Not even them. (Which he expected, feared, dreaded. Even dared to admit.) Victor. Who. He'd. Hadn't he. Wondered. Said. But. If even. Victor. But something tumbles too hard in that, snapping too sharp, almost violently in denial of proof, and his hand shoots out. Fisting Victor's tie just below the knot and jerking him forward with all the force he can, between the wall under his hand and the ice beneath his feet.

It's not everything on his tongue, but when Victor's hair is nearly brushing his nose, Yuri says it anyway. His voice strangely so much calmer than anything in him suddenly feels. Like he was reprimanding a child, and not his coach. (Not his ... ) "The performance has already begun, Victor."
Edited 2017-06-17 22:00 (UTC)
fivetimechamp: by cherrytini (just wanna move you)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-17 10:16 pm (UTC)(link)
It feels like he got his tie stuck in the door of a moving car: the tug pulls him right around and then jerks him forward, while he windmills his arms to keep his balance, and to keep from toppling directly into Yuri. Yuri. Yuri who has him by the tie, and is still not letting go, hauling him close and tight until Victor is pressed into the rink wall and he can feel the brush of Yuri's lips almost against his cheek.

It's wildly intimate, in a massive public setting, but he can't hear the chant anymore, can't hear anything anymore except a tidal rush of blood slamming his eardrums, and Yuri's voice, low and promising and seductive. Seductive. Yuri.

(He blinks at the sudden flood of golden lights, the flirtatious nip of champagne on his tongue.)

Where it had been the whole of Russia calling for him, now he can't imagine a world containing anyone but the two of them, here, now. Yuri's grip still hard on his tie. Victor doing nothing to pull away, only acquiescing.

(He hasn't done anything like this since –– )

"You're right."

Just as low, just as layered. There's so much more happening here than anything they're saying. (Yuri's mouth is only a breath away.)

It's not the time or the place, but Yuri is making it the time, the place. And the performance –– the seduction ––

Yes. It has already begun.
theglassheart: By Jewelry (Baby there's no other superstar)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-17 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
There’s something about Victor’s voice. He can’t entirely place what it is even. Low. Thick. Even in two words. (Not quite breathless? Not quite a tremble?) But Victor doesn’t jerk back, and Victor doesn’t pull away. Victor stays exactly where Yuri’s pulled him to, only agreeing with him and leaving it there, and — they don’t have time. Yuri doesn’t. Not even to wait for Victor to remember to tell him anything now.

It’s futile, but at the same time there’s a surge of hot, steadying, mollification curling in his gut, too. That he has Victor’s full attention (taken it from them, taken him from them) although Victor has no time to use it. He doesn’t let go of the slick fabfic fisted in his partially gloved fingers, inverting what Victor should have said to him. Taken the time to. Wanted to. Remembered. Comfort. Promise. Advice. Pointers. Inverted outward, when he leans closer, his cheek barely brushing Victor's, in his first next two words. “Don’t worry.”

More of them falling, warm and backward. “I’ll show my love to the whole of Russia.”

Then, he lets go, all at once. All movement, all force, using both of his hands to push off of the wall, and twists to make toward the center of the ice. Not looking at Victor. Not looking back behind him. The audience is still cheering. They never stopped cheering. But now it’s changed, too. There’s screams and claps more than any single word — single name — that can be heard, except for the announcement of his name on the loud speaker.

Everything catching up with him as the space widens and widens. Warmth hitting his cheeks with hot recognition. The slick heat of embarrassment. For the crowd chanting for Victor and not him, and Victor, with them and not him, and what he did because of it. Right here. Out the open. Did. Said. While his stomach tries to suddenly wobble like a loose screw.

Threatens to unspool in a way it hasn’t this whole morning and night. Hadn’t gotten that bad. Even as he waited for it. Suddenly feeling the sickening intimidation of being right. About every person out there watching him. But he can’t. He can’t not now. Not seconds away. He can’t let them intimidate him now. Here. In Russia. Not after he got this far.

He has to do that first.

Keep refusing. Keep demanding. All of them.
fivetimechamp: by cherrytini (*blush*)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-18 02:57 am (UTC)(link)
He's there, and gone, sliding off across the ice, and Victor can't quite tell, but he thinks there's might be a flush of pink staining Yuri's cheeks.

It might just be the lighting.

What is certain is that Yuri looks motivated, focused, ready to go, and when the music begins –– that sultry tangle of strummed strings –– he moves with it like he owns it. (Like he's creating it.)

The pose and popped head aren't directed at Victor, this time (Victor, currently trying to swallow hard against the knot of his tie, wondering if it was this tight before). They get tossed with a flirtatious blown kiss at the panel of judges, and Victor almost laughs out loud and claps with sheer delight, because this is what Eros was always supposed to be. The playboy, blowing into town, stealing hearts left and right.

The audience is getting into it too, as the music picks up and Yuri swings into his step sequence, twisting and twirling around the ice like a licking flame. For all he'd been worried about the Russian audience, he seems more confident than ever: maybe he feels more motivated away from home, away from the pressures of performing under the eye of his hometown fans.

Victor's not sure, but either way, he's in his best form yet.
theglassheart: By Laura (Lost your mind in the sound)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-06-18 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
He doesn't look to Victor.

(He knows, somehow, Victor is watching him.)

Yuri can feel it, the way he can feel the music sinking into his skin, with his eyes closed, when his hands raise and then fall, before his eyes and his hands come up. It's a different direction, but this is the performance. Seduction. Like Victor had said last time. Using his own charm, and nothing between it and the performance.

His eyes shoot on the judges table and he blows a kiss, watching all their eyes widen before he slides into faster steps and turns, giving himself to his step sequence next. Fluid and loose, but strong and smooth. It's still there. One daring moment doesn't mean those hooks aren't still in his chest. That the tension isn't a taste crawling up the back of his throat, plucking at each stretched muscle. That his thoughts stop spinning as fast as his feet, or his arms.

The knowledge only sharper and colder out here. If he loses this weekend, the Rostelecom Cup, the last Qualifier for the Prix, this two minutes of his life, right here, right now, slipping seconds as he thinks of them, may be the last time he skates this program with Victor at his side as his coach. That maybe no one in the sports area, or this country, or even the whole world watching right now, that wants him to win. The chill that lances up his spine in a turn. Makes the clap over his head, harder. Defiant.

He's the only one who can change that. He's the only one who can make that happen.

He can't think so much. He can't get caught in his head. He stretches his torso and his leg straight and long as possible through his camel spin, closing his eyes again, counting the turns, fingers locked tight. Flows through all the twists and arm movements before dropping into the flying spin. First combination sit. Again. Fingers curved around his calf, back curved, face parallel to his knee, while momentum kept him turning.

Yuri's hand switching their hold. Long enough to be clear. Then leg position, for his one required shift. One set of fingers catch and curl around his blade, to his side and his back, still crouched, still spinning. Until he pushes up with the last of his rotation and demands more speed on the first step back into the crossover coming out of it. The crowd is loud, but he can't listen to them either.

Just the music. Just the movement. Just every part of his body and training here.

Knowing where he's going. So clear he can see it, could almost reach out and sink his fingers into it, if he wasn't so focused he just blows straight through that thought, too. There's no time, and he doesn't want any. Just enough speed to throw himself into the air for the beginning of the second half of his program. The jumps that always start with his favorite. A burning clarity for a familiarity and fire that give him no doubt there.

The spread eagle that ups the difficulty because of it's required pause for holding, before he throws himself forward over his own shoulder for the triple axel. All of it sending him up and up and up, off his left outward edge, three and half times the world spins, faster than he could count or see them, and then down once more. Clean, without a wobble on his right foot and forward still. No pause for a breath. No need or want for either.
fivetimechamp: by me (Default)

[personal profile] fivetimechamp 2017-06-18 01:21 pm (UTC)(link)

That triple axel is as clean as he's ever seen it, and the crowd cheers, only to explode in appreciative applause at the flawless quad salchow that follows. Victor's own hands hurt from clapping, and he knows Yuri can't hear him, but he can't stop himself from calling it out: "Yuri! Amazing!"

Even better than his performance in Shanghai, and as much as Victor expected it, was certain of it, he feels a certain sense of vindicated pride to see it happening, to hear the response of the crowd. They love it, just like he told Yuri they would, but he can't care too much just yet, is getting too carried away on Yuri's jump sequence. Every element is perfectly clean, gorgeously executed. Eros –– indeed, Yuri –– has never looked this good.

(He's hardly recognizable as the skater who collapsed under the pressure of the Grand Prix Final two years ago. Not only in the difficulty of his program or the cleanliness of his execution, but his confidence. He isn't hesitating for a single second.)

The vibrant strings of Eros seem to lift him up, up, further up, twirling him like a partner, spun out again on the lines left cut by his skates into the ice.

(No matter how many times Victor sees this, he's never found a way to resist it.)

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