I hate you, now fuck me
How Until My Feet Bleed by @kazliin Should Have Ended
Part of him still couldn’t believe that Yuuri was finally here with him, that this was real and not just another dream….
Digging one of his hands into the skin of Viktor’s back… slowly taking him apart, Yuuri looked at him, face flushed and staring at Viktor with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
“I hate you.” Yuuri breathed and his eyes held none of the warmth or joy that Viktor had been feeling just seconds before. “Now fuck me.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut and Viktor felt his fingers still in shock, the words so unexpected and unexpectedly painful that every muscle in his body froze and locked in place….
Victor snapped back, the rush hitting him like he was slamming back down on the ice again. To hear those words spoken outloud was a slap to the face and a plunge off a cliff, straight down the sheer rock face of confusion. Because the last time he was in a hotel room with Yuuri, he had been hearing softly muttered confessions imitating affection, and the sharp twist of reality was too much to ignore.
The chill in Yuuri’s eyes melted at Victor’s outburst, honey brown widening in betrayal of his shock. Whatever haze of lust and alcohol fleeted from them in stark reaction, and Yuuri seemed as frozen as Victor, except for his fingers trembling, curled into the bedsheets.
One breath take in an attempt to calm the mix of emotions threatening to spill forth, and Victor permitted it all burst forward despite himself. “Why are you even here then?”
Just like that, Victor saw all the confidence drain from Yuuri’s face, leaving him pale and then scrambling for shoved aside bedding to cover himself. Victor didn’t bother.
“Yuuri, I don’t-…” Years of questions leapt through every part of his mind, brawling to be the first to fall from his tongue just so he could finally hope to grasp at a single note of understanding. The most and least simple being, “why?”
If emotions and confusion, insistent need to understand were at battle inside himself, it looked like a war was raging through Yuuri. His gaze locked with Victor’s and yet he still looked torn between wanting to cling to it and to flee, clutching at the bedsheets which he brought up to cover himself, suddenly modest. “Why what?”
The tremor in his voice was all that Victor needed. “Why do you… I don’t get you, Yuuri! What the hell did I do to merit you dancing with me one moment and telling me you hate me as you try to sleep with me the next?”
A heartbeat passed. Then two.
Yuuri opened his mouth, no words coming forth, and then shut it. His eyebrows arched high into bangs messed from the heated lead up, and then his expression fell. And hardened. His red, swollen lips pursed into a thin line, and those gorgeous eyes narrowed. It almost startled Victor, to recognize in that moment the contempt he had often seen directed at him when on the podium.
“This! Exactly this!” Yuuri snapped, dropping the bedsheet as he leaned forward, closing the distance Victor placed between them. “The fact that you don’t even care enough to remember!”
“Remember what?!” Every memory of his interaction with Yuuri flashed by, but none of them could account for hate, at least not in Victor’s mind. “What I said to you in the bathroom that one time? That was–”
“No! Before that! You were my idol, Victor, and you broke my heart!”
Before that… Desperately, Victor searched every shred of memory, every hint of an interaction with Yuuri that he had treasured no matter how tense or distant, but there was nothing. “What, Yuuri, I would never–”
“You did!” Yuuri’s words cut in and Victor let him, watching the flush of arousal on Yuuri’s skin turn to one of anger and irritation instead. “I worshipped you and you insulted me. You belittled me. I was just a kid…” Yuuri inhaled a shaky breath and the dam broke. “I went to see you, when you skated your last Junior season. I got tickets as a birthday present, because I wanted nothing more than to see you skate. And after you won, I… I waited outside for you, to get your autograph. And I met you.”
It wasn’t ice in Yuuri’s eyes anymore. It wasn’t fire. It was what Victor had felt so close to, so many times himself, could recognize instantly. Defeat.
“You… you broke my heart, Victor, when I met you…”
Broken did not seem to be enough. Victor shattered, cascading into shards that littered the cold floor beside them. “I… I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t. I was just one fan. And you have so many. Why should you?”
He should have. Why didn’t he. “But Yuuri, it’s you. How could I not remember you?” Why would he though. Yuuri was right. He would have just been another face in the crowd. Yet Victor felt like he should. Of all the faces, of people, he should have remembered Yuuri. What had he even said.
“You didn’t. You… I just-… how many other hearts did you break, Victor? How many other dreams did you step on? Or did you forget all of those too?”
The shards fragmented. Stepped on and crushed by each syllable being confessed. He had met Yuuri, broken his heart, and couldn’t even recall how. Couldn’t even begin to guess. “Yuuri, I’m sorry-”
“Whatever,” Yuuri sighed, then shoved off the bed, but Victor reached over and grabbed his hand before Yuuri could grab his clothes off the floor, grateful for when Yuuri stopped and did not jerk away.
“Yuuri, don’t please…” He needed to understand. He would not be content to leave it at that. “You… at the Olympics, you got drunk… you told me that you liked me. Or that you liked my hair, and my eyes. So I know you can’t hate me. Not completely. And Yuuri, I don’t hate you. Please, I just need to understand, so that if I need to spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, I can mean it. So please tell me. Help me remember. Or at least, help me understand.”
Conflict writ itself in bold across Yuuri’s face, but the tension in his shoulders softened and the pull of his wrist in Victor’s hand ebbed away. The digital clock display on the hotel bedstand switched minutes, and Yuuri pulled at his lower lip with his teeth, then nodded. “Okay but… let me put something on first?”
There was a blush tinting Yuuri’s cheeks, softening him into a vision Victor had only seen in Phichit’s photos before, of a delicate Yuuri that Victor had never been permitted to see in the flesh before now. His chest felt too small for his heart as it swelled with the affection Victor had already been so bad at containing.
Without the briefest moment of hesitation, Victor rushed to the corner of the room, grabbing one of his shirts from closet since he had now regrettably torn Yuuri’s. He draped it across Yuuri’s shoulders with a gentleness that Yuuri did not seem to believe.
“I think we probably have a lot to talk about.” Victor tried to smile and felt it bloom into a real one when Yuuri scoffed, a thread of amusement and understatement so clearly wrapped around it.
“Yeah… I think… we really do.”
(The moral of the story: communication can happen, if you behave like a good person and put your dick away for just a hot second)