Word Count: 858

I'm awoken by the soft sounds of Victor's ginger approach. He's checking on me like the overprotective fiancé, coach, and friend he sure as hell is. His face brightens when he notices that I've stirred.

"Yuuri," he says softly, "ah, you're awake. Are you feeling better?"

"Stiff," I admit with a yawn, "and cramped and sore, but I do feel better than I did this morning. What time is it?"

"It's only noon, I came up to check on the status of your breakfast," Victor chuckles, seeing it's untouched. "You've gone through the water, at least. I'll get you more."

"Hang on, I'd rather move to the couch downstairs." I roll onto my side and stretch.

With several slow, but steady, movements I rise to my feet.

"I'll feel good as new in no time— after a few more naps," I boast, "I bet you I'll even be back on the ice tomorrow."

"Mm," Victor smirks, arching one eyebrow skeptically as he clears the nightstand. "We'll see how well that goes. Don't push yourself too much, Yuura, I don't want you hurting your body," real concern frays the edge of his voice.

I shake the warning off easily. "I'll be fine, Victor, you dote over me too much."

"Too much," Victor scoffs teasingly, planting a cool kiss on my cheek as he passes. I follow at a slower pace.

Staying in Russia with Victor is nice and all, but the people we share the ice with are generally not— namely, Yuri Plisetsky. Yurio— as my sister has dubbed him, in an effort to differentiate us during conversation— is his own kind of glad to see us today though, and perhaps the presence of his visiting friend, Otabek Altin, has somewhat relaxed him.

"Where were you yesterday?" Yurio mutters, lacing up his skates. "It's unlike either of you to skip your normal practice days."

My cheeks immediately flourish with color. Victor, though, easily swoops to my rescue before I can bumble something about our first time trying anal sex.

"Yuuri wasn't feeling well," Victor explains, tossing a charming wink my way. "Still might not be in fantastic condition, but he insists the ice is its own form of therapy."

"Yeah, well, none of that mushy relationship garbage that you normally do on the ice today," Yurio scoffs, but he casts a wistful sidelong glance toward Otabek as he says it.

"Just out here then?" Victor teases him, moving forward to press a brazen kiss to my cheek.

I feel myself shift between every shade of red under the sun, shyly turning my head away from my shameless lover's public display of affection. Yurio flips Victor a lewd gesture. He glowers to himself angrily, still smarting even while he enters the ice. I can't help but notice how he almost immediately cools down upon the sight of Otabek, though. I turn my face just in time to see Victor noticing the same scene unfold.

"They must be good for each other, no?" He pats the seat beside him as he moves to sit down and watch them practice.

Victor has known Yurio longer than I, and they have a preexisting bond that resembles something like the love between two brothers or perhaps a father and son, what with Yurio being considerably younger than Victor. I assume that Victor must still be hammering out exactly how he feels about passing the care and protection of the young Russian prodigy into the hands of quiet and foreign Otabek.

"I think so," I shrug my agreement, landing heavily on the bench beside Victor. "The two of them don't normally smile, but around each other they could almost pass for cheerful."

"Mm," Victor hums in agreement, his hand passively coming to rest atop mine. "They do seem happier together."

We watch Yurio attempt to help Otabek add a new jump to his inventory. Otabek is not nearly as flexible and lithe as the classically-trained Russian balletic World Grand Prix gold medalist. I know from personal experience just how intense Yurio can be while he teaches, but Otabek is a swift learner and Yurio is patient with him. Victor watches them like a hawk, studying what, I am unsure, but studying something, nonetheless.

Impulsively, or maybe jealously, I am overcome by the temptation to move Victor's hand just slightly closer to my thigh. I pick up his hand and drop it on my knee. Without missing a beat, and without peeling his gaze from the ice, his hand begins to slide up my thigh, lifting goosebumps beneath his wake. A breathy groan tumbles from my lips, suddenly capturing his attention. My hips buck on their own, daring him to move higher.

Just as our lips connect and Victor's arms snake around my torso, an angry accented voice shakes the rink.

"Victor Nikiforov! What did I say to you!?" Yurio is already leaving the ice in a huff with Otabek in tow. "We ought to give them some privacy, Otabek, let's go," Yurio mutters, not yet out of earshot.

"There they go," I smirk.

"Alone at last," mischief glints in Victor's eyes as he says it.