yuri could hardly believe that he had slept in victor nikiforov - the victor nikiforov's bed. he squinted against the bright daylight pouring in through the open window and stretched, wincing as the damage on his arms woke up.
"good morning," he heard a soft russian accent, rough with sleep, say from the bathroom. yuri looked away from the open window and the car lined up along the streets beyond to see victor nikiforov standing in the white-tiled room connected to his bedroom, blood staining his creased white shirt. he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and gave him the smile that yuri had seen more than once in the front cover of some glossy magazine.
"y-you're bleeding," yuri got out, pointing up at the gash above victor eyebrow that was seeping blood. victor nodded, and looked down at the ground.
"yeah. it fucking hurts," he said with a short laugh. he caught yuri wincing as he peeled off victor's jacket, and gestured to the painkillers sitting beside the bed.
"they help," he said with a nod towards the container. "really, they do."
yuri spilt two into his palm, the effects of the last drug he subjected his body to having left him with an aching body and subdued mind.
"the b-blood," he said, nodding at victor's wound. "l-let me..."
yuri gingerly got to his feet and reached the bathroom, before he ran gauze under the running water from the tap and pressed it against the bleeding cut above his eye. victor winced, and yuri hesitated.
"no, no," victor smiled slightly. "it's ok."
he touched yuri's hand, and yuri shivered at the feel of his soft skin. he focused on the smell of soap lingering on the white bathroom tiles to distract himself from being only inches away from the man who he had reached out to touch only the night before.
"you have antiseptic?" yuri asked, and victor reached into the cupboard behind him. yuri tipped a little of the liquid onto cotton wool, and victor winced again when he pressed it down.
"leave it for a little while," yuri told victor, throwing the blood-stained cotton wool away and leaning back against the sink. "you don't have any of those plaster strips, do you?"
victor shook his head, and ran a hand through his tousled silver hair.
"you seem to know an awful lot about first aid, huh, yuri?"
yuri nodded, and looked down at the shining white tiles beneath his feet.
"my friend yuuko had to clean me up more than once when i used to train. she skated with me, she did."
"ah," victor said with a smile, and with the light of day in place of the night's translucent curtain, yuri could see the damage that celestino cialdini had done to his victor in that dimly lit living room of that ground-floor apartment yuri knew all too well.
"christ," victor muttered under his breath, blue eyes dark as he looked over yuri's exposed, damaged torso under the bathroom lights. "i wish you'd let me kick the shit out of him, yuri."
yuri could see the gleaming of a mirror coming from the bedroom, and wincing at the pain moving caused, he walked over to stand before victor nikiforov's full length mirror and survey the bruises on his skin that had made victor's eyes widen.
"yuri," he heard a soft russian accent murmur from his side, and felt soft, slightly chapped lips press against the tender skin of his neck, working their way up and down. the scent of lemon, vanilla and aftershave acted as a balm and pain that was laced throughout his body, and yuri watched victor nikiforov suck at the skin on his neck until it made him moan, as he had done with the warmth of the kitchen and the scent of pancakes around the both of them only the week before.
"victor," yuri breathed, but victor didn't reply, his lips warm on yuri's neck and refusing to part. and as yuri had longed to touch him the night before, only inches away from him on the very bed he could see behind them in the mirror, he longed to lean up to feel his own lips against those of victor nikiforov.
but then came his conscience, pushing aside the piles of tapes and taking a seat and clearing its throat.
he doesn't love you.
he only did this for you because he wants your body.
why do you think he's different, yuri?
yuri felt his chest tighten, and longed to savour the feel of victor's lips, and not know that they were kisses of lust and not love.
celestino is right.
you're only value is sex.
victor nikiforov does not love you.
"v-victor," yuri forced out, slipping another tape into its box and breaking away from the warmth of victor's soft, slightly chapped lips.
the emptiness that the soft skin of yuri's neck felt without him was like the heroin leaving his bloodstream and leaving him with the comedown.
victor blushed and looked away, scratched at the back of his neck and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"i-i'm sorry," yuri started, but victor held up his hand.
"don't be. i'm sorry. i shouldn't have. it's my fault, yuri, not yours."
the silence that filled the bedroom was ear-splitting. yuri rubbed at his cold, bruised arms and away from the blue, blue eyes of his fantasies that he longed to see.
he doesn't love you.
just remember that, yuri.
"you want to eat something?" victor asked, and yuri shook his head, heavy with the knowledge that the new tape - rolling footage of victor nikiforov kissing his neck before a full-length mirror; the tape sat beside that of yuri's fingers tracing over victor nikiforov's and the longing subsiding - would play at its own command late at night, against yuri's will.
"n-no, i'm ok..." yuri trailed off, swallowing down his longing and tears.
get over him, yuri.
get over yourself, yuri.
he doesn't love you.
he never responded when you asked him.
remember?
and don't forget that, yuri.
don't try and believe that your fantasies are reality.
that's dangerous.
"h-hey yuri?" a soft russian accent rang out, and yuri looked up into those blue, blue eyes he had longed to see after chris's party, lying on his bed and trying not to listen to phichit cry as celestino punished him.
"you said...something..." victor started off uneasily, and by victor's tended jaw muscle, yuri could see that he was angry.
"said what?"
"i...i..." victor unclenched the fist that lay by his side, and looked up from the ground to face yuri, who could see that his lips were still pink from the traces they had left on his bare neck.
"did he touch you, yuri?" victor demanded, taking yuri aback.
"what do you - "
"did he rape you?"
yuri thought back to that night; the unzipping of trousers, carpet rough against his bruised, bloodied cheek and celestino's hand pressing down on his back, before the pounding against the door of the ground-floor apartment yuri knew all too well and the voice shouting that he knew all too well.
and yuri remembered the words he had shouted aloud as he kicked celestino cialdini once more time - the feel of his body crumpling under his feet, curled on the living room floor, and how those words had made those bruised blue eyes yuri knew all too well widen in shock.
"fucking hurt me, then. try and fuck me, then."
yuri swallowed hard, and ran a hand through his soft, matted hair. victor looked down at the floor, shaking his head.
"fuck," he muttered, "i should never have touched you. fuck."
"victor," yuri managed to say, "that's not why i didn't want you to...why i didn't let you..."
"don't make excuses for that motherfucker, " victor shouted, and kicked hard at the nightstand in anger.
yuri jumped and winced, as if heavy boots had kicked at his damaged torso once more whilst the man above him in a boss suit he knew all too well spat at him that he was a slut.
victor ran both hands through his hair, breathing heavily.
"he didn't do that to me," yuri whispered, rubbing his arms. "that's not why i didn't let you kiss me..."
"what is it then?" victor asked in a low voice, looking down at the ground once more. yuri felt a lump growing in his throat, unable to turn down the volume of his conscience.
"i wanted you to," he murmured in reply. "but i can't let you."
"why?"
because you'll throw me away.
once you've had me again.
and i'll see that my fantasy is exactly that.
a fantasy.
"because you don't love me like i love you," yuri replied brokenly, and victor raised his blue, blue eyes from the carpet to meet his own.
"what the fuck did you just say?"