A!A is back after various RL commitments have been seen through. I hope you enjoy.
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Chris has been looking forward to the competition for weeks for more than the usual reasons. He hasn't seen Victor since Worlds, and now they've had the luck to get assigned to one of the same Grand Prix qualifiers. So far they had only chatted briefly in a hallway at the hotel the night before and exchanged greetings before practice today, but Chris is sure that Victor was glad to see him, too. Victor had smiled at him, wound one hand in his hair, lowered his eyelashes; the effect had set Chris's heart beating hard.
And now, after practice, he doesn't seem to be anywhere to be found.
Chris glances around once more, wondering if he's just missed him somehow, but no – he can see Victor's coach, standing next to one of Victor's rinkmates and scowling more than usual, rubbing his forehead like he's got a headache. Perhaps he stares just a moment too long, as Victor's coach mutters something to the boy next to him and starts heading towards Chris, but it's just to ask if he's seen Victor, which of course he hasn't.
He glances around again as Yakov returns to his other skater, wondering where Victor might have gone off to. He wasn't still in the showers when Chris left, and unless he snuck out some other way, that leaves –
Chris heads to the bathroom. He can't help the slight heat that creeps into his cheeks when he sees the sinks and remembers what happened last time the two of them were together in a place like this. It looks empty, though. He turns and walks slowly down the rest of the tiles, past the stalls, feeling like a bit of a creep, but this part looks empty, too – wait.
The stall at the end is closed, though no feet are visible under the door. He swallows, tries not to feel too weird or foolish: "Victor?"
There's a quiet gasp, and scrambling, the sound of a rusty lock being turned, before the door opens and Victor's face appears. "Hi," he says, looking more subdued than earlier, and instead of coming out, he takes a step back. Confused, Chris follows him in and locks the door again as Victor curls up on the toilet, knees pulled up to his chest.
"Your coach is looking for you."
"I know," Victor sighs.
"You're in trouble?"
Victor winces and pushes a stray hair from his face. "I said something very stupid to a reporter earlier, and I know he'll scold me about it."
"Then shouldn't you get it over with now, rather than waiting until he's even more upset?"
"Chris, you've never been scolded by Yakov." Victor sighs again. "Especially when he just lectured you last night about saying the right things in interviews instead of saying whatever you please and...."
Could whatever he said really be that bad, that Victor would really rather sit here? Maybe – Chris suspects probably not – but now that they are alone and close like this, he isn't exactly eager to drag Victor out again.
He reaches forward and slips his hand over Victor's hair, slides out the elastic to free his hair from its ponytail and pulls it over his wrist instead. Victor makes a pleased sound as Chris does so and shakes his head slightly, then pushes his face into Chris's stomach as Chris starts to stroke one hand through the fine strands. The other he settles over Victor's shoulder, letting his hand rest against his warm back.
This is just as pleasant as he remembers – not just because of the texture under his fingers, smooth and soft, but because of the way Victor leans further into him, his shoulders relaxing as he hums slightly. It feels comfortable, like they could sit here all day and do this, even given their surroundings.
He remembers, too, how Victor liked it when he – Chris just scratches his scalp on the next pass and watches Victor shiver and make a different kind of sound. "Do it again," Victor demands, voice muffled against Chris's jacket.
He does, harder. He likes how Victor shudders again and presses harder against him. He wants to see his face, though, wants to kiss him and push their bodies together like last time, except without the time limit of the stupid interviews hanging over them. (Well, Yakov might come looking eventually, but if Victor isn't going to care about that, then Chris sure as hell isn't.)
Chris thinks, as he runs his nails down Victor's scalp again, that it would be nice to twine his fingers in Victor's hair and yank. Not enough to hurt too much, but enough to pull Victor's face away from his front. He pauses his hand on top of his head long enough for Victor to make an impatient nudge, wondering – would Victor be into that? It seems like he would, but what if it just hurt him? Should he ask first? Is this the sort of thing where you ask first? It would kind of kill the mood.
"Chris," Victor whines, unwrapping one of his arms to firmly push Chris's hand down along his head.
Oh, whatever. Chris moves his hand back up and fists his hand in Victor's hair, jerks him back a little. It's actually hotter than it looked in his head, with the way Victor gasps, how pink his cheeks are. His eyes are wide for a moment, staring up at him, before they flutter closed. Chris lets go of him and bends over to press their lips together, his other hand scrabbling to find a good support on Victor's shoulder.
It's warm, and soft, and not very long because Chris is trying not to fall over with the awkward angle. As soon as he pulls away, though, Victor's knees fall to one side and he reels Chris back in for another kiss. And another, as soon as Chris finds a good handhold on Victor's calf, and then a deeper one when Victor slips his tongue into his mouth.
He pulls back at some point to get some air, but Victor doesn't let him get far, tugging on his shoulders and pressing a kiss next to his mouth, down to his jaw. Chris leans back in again when Victor throws an arm around his neck, can't help a whimper when Victor's tongue moves against his, can't help but open his mouth wider as Victor clutches him closer, closer. He keeps forgetting that he can breathe through his nose, though Victor doesn't let him go long enough to catch his breath otherwise, always pulling him in if he tries to lean away.
He doesn't even notice that the position is getting kind of painful until Victor finally lets him go for a few moments. They pant against each other, and then Victor makes a face, and then Chris notices that his arm is starting to protest and a few muscles in his back, which were fine before, are really not used to doing this for minutes on end. He swallows a whine as he straightens up and takes a step back. Victor doesn't bother hiding his wince as he unfolds himself, rubbing his calf for a moment before he stands up.
Chris gets distracted for a second digging his fingers into the sorest of the muscles in his back before arms drape around his waist and Victor nuzzles into his neck. He freezes, all thoughts of the pain gone. It takes him a few moments to realize that maybe he should move and figure out where to put his hands.
Victor chuckles against his skin, quiet and breathy. "You're so cute," he says, drawing back enough to look at him. Chris flushes and settles for grabbing onto the back of Victor's jacket. Is he supposed to say something to that? "Thank you," or, "Well, you're the prettiest person I've ever seen"?
One of Victor's hands comes up to brush against his cheek. The backs of his fingers are so cold – are they always this chilly, or is his face just that hot? Chris clasps it against his skin before he can even think about it, turns his head to press his lips to Victor's knuckles. (He's pretty sure it's at least partially Victor being cold. His hands were so cold last time, weren't they.)
Victor kisses his cheek. "Cute," he says once more. He presses another kiss further up, right on his cheekbone, then stares right into Chris's eyes for a moment that goes from 'kind of endearing' to 'uncomfortably large amount of a time'. "Your eyelashes are so long. Is that natural?"
"Yes," Chris says, though his voice squeaks a little and it comes out more like a question. It's nice to have Victor notice – they're one of his best features. "Yours are, too. It's pretty."
"But yours are so much darker," Victor sighs. The thumb of the hand on his cheek swipes near his eye and catches on the lashes. "Mine are so pale that you can't see them without mascara."
He's wearing some right now, in fact, and it looks entirely natural on him despite the fact that it doesn't match his hair. Now that he's mentioned it, though, Chris wants to see him without it. He's sure that they wouldn't be invisible from this close up; they'd catch the light, even in a dim place like here. It'd be something of Victor that the audience, and the other skaters, wouldn't get to see.
"Maybe you can show me next time." He acts on his instincts (and maybe some buried memories of romance films) and turns Victor's hand around to kiss his palm, then slowly down to his wrist. He tries not to stare too hard at Victor as he looks at him, flutters the eyelashes that he apparently likes so much. It earns him a high-pitched moan and Victor's other hand pressing harder on his waist.
Chris pauses when he gets to – maybe not the pulse point, he can't actually feel a heartbeat through his lips, but about where it should be, and lets Victor's now-warm hand slide along his jaw and tilt his head into another kiss. It's softer, now, not as hurried and forceful as before. It takes Chris a couple of minutes to realize that his hand is just hanging in mid-air now that Victor's has moved, and he hastily finds a place for it on Victor's hip.
Victor pushes him into the corner and pushes himself against Chris, a little heavy but pleasantly hot. Chris tries to pull him further in, but when he realizes that there isn't much closer for him to get, he slides his hands up the back of Victor's jacket and shirt instead, enjoying the touch of hot skin under his fingers. Perhaps they can get a bit closer after all, or at least, it sure feels like it as Victor arches into his hands and makes a soft, encouraging sound before moving their lips back together.
It's too hot for his jacket now. He manages to get the zipper down without breaking the kiss, even if it takes a bit of fumbling to find the pull, and Victor helps push it slowly off his shoulders and starts exploring under his shirt before Chris even gets his arms out of the sleeves. Chris has to break their kiss off then, as it tickles too much not to laugh, and anyway, he doesn't want to just drop the jacket to the floor in here.
"That looks cute," Victor says, still moving his hands lightly over Chris's stomach. "Keep it on."
"Like this? I can barely move my arms." Chris gives him a look, then shoves it the rest of the way off despite the way Victor sighs, and stows it on the hook thing that he spots on the wall.
He does Victor's next and can't help but run his hands down Victor's sides after he finishes taking it off and putting it with his own. Victor's shirt fits him very well, and the neckline shows off most of his collarbone. Chris puts his mouth to it, sucks a little. He must be doing it right, since Victor runs one hand up the back of his head, keeping it there, fingers digging into his curls. (Oh, that feels nice. No wonder Victor likes having him pet and grab at his hair so much.)
He moves gradually up to the base of Victor's neck, trying to figure out what causes him to make those nice noises, to tilt his head further and clutch harder at his hair. "Chris," Victor breathes, tugging at his shoulder until Chris backs away.
Victor's hands slip down to the hem of his shirt, then start to pull it off. He does it so quickly that the shirt gets caught on Chris's arms before he can put them all the way up, and it takes the both of them a minute to get it untangled, and Chris is pretty sure that the shirt is inside-out by the time they do. Victor flings it away somewhere and runs his fingers, and his eyes, down Chris's chest.
The metal he's been pushed into is cold. Despite how heated he feels, he has to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest, though he isn't sure where else to put them. Back on Victor's waist? It seems as good of a place as any. Victor keeps looking, and looking, and Chris can't quite read the expression on his face, but while the attention is flattering, eventually he gets bored of the staring and kisses him.
Victor returns it with vigor and manages to lean him even further into the corner – ow. It's getting a little painful to be squished in there, so he adjusts them a few centimeters to the left so he's only being shoved into the stall's door, even if that's even colder. Not for long, not with Victor pressed so close against him.
When Victor breaks off again, he stares some more. "Do you like what you see?" Chris asks, feeling his cheeks go aflame as he says it. It's probably a huge cliché, but Victor smiles at it anyway.
"I thought you'd be softer," Victor says, spreading his fingers across Chris's stomach and smiling even more as his muscles jump at the ticklish touch.
"Softer?"
"Your cheeks are so round! I thought – it would have been cute."
Chris raises an eyebrow at that. He isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't say anything: he grabs Victor's hair and pulls him back in. Despite his words, Victor doesn't seem that disappointed. He kind of paws at Chris's chest until he finds one nipple and digs his thumb in. It makes him cry out and dig his fingers into Victor's shirt, wanting more. Victor obliges, rubbing at it – the other one, too – and chasing his mouth every time Chris breaks away to gasp and moan. Was there always a leg between his? It's pressed close against him, too, and he thinks his toes curl further each time he rocks against it.
It all feels so good, god, he could do this forever. "Victor," he whines when the hands on his chest move up to his shoulders. "Victor, please." He wants this, too – he can feel how hard Victor is, the way he pants warmly into his neck. Why did he stop?
"Ah – just, a moment."
It's hard to be patient when he's right there, though, when Chris is so hard, when he can't seem to catch his breath no matter how much his lungs work at it. He makes his fingers let go just enough to grab Victor's ass and tug so he can grind forcefully against him. Victor whimpers into his ear, but it almost gets lost under the groan that escapes Chris. He moves again, moan swallowed by Victor's mouth, thoughts gone to mush with how amazing this is –
The bathroom door creaks badly as it opens. Both of them freeze in place. Chris opens his eyes – when had he closed them, he can't remember – and sees how wide Victor's have gotten. Oh, right, his coach was looking for him, Chris thinks distantly. Not again.
Re: Victor Nikiforov/Christophe Giacometti, Hiding From the Lights part 2a
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Chris has been looking forward to the competition for weeks for more than the usual reasons. He hasn't seen Victor since Worlds, and now they've had the luck to get assigned to one of the same Grand Prix qualifiers. So far they had only chatted briefly in a hallway at the hotel the night before and exchanged greetings before practice today, but Chris is sure that Victor was glad to see him, too. Victor had smiled at him, wound one hand in his hair, lowered his eyelashes; the effect had set Chris's heart beating hard.
And now, after practice, he doesn't seem to be anywhere to be found.
Chris glances around once more, wondering if he's just missed him somehow, but no – he can see Victor's coach, standing next to one of Victor's rinkmates and scowling more than usual, rubbing his forehead like he's got a headache. Perhaps he stares just a moment too long, as Victor's coach mutters something to the boy next to him and starts heading towards Chris, but it's just to ask if he's seen Victor, which of course he hasn't.
He glances around again as Yakov returns to his other skater, wondering where Victor might have gone off to. He wasn't still in the showers when Chris left, and unless he snuck out some other way, that leaves –
Chris heads to the bathroom. He can't help the slight heat that creeps into his cheeks when he sees the sinks and remembers what happened last time the two of them were together in a place like this. It looks empty, though. He turns and walks slowly down the rest of the tiles, past the stalls, feeling like a bit of a creep, but this part looks empty, too – wait.
The stall at the end is closed, though no feet are visible under the door. He swallows, tries not to feel too weird or foolish: "Victor?"
There's a quiet gasp, and scrambling, the sound of a rusty lock being turned, before the door opens and Victor's face appears. "Hi," he says, looking more subdued than earlier, and instead of coming out, he takes a step back. Confused, Chris follows him in and locks the door again as Victor curls up on the toilet, knees pulled up to his chest.
"Your coach is looking for you."
"I know," Victor sighs.
"You're in trouble?"
Victor winces and pushes a stray hair from his face. "I said something very stupid to a reporter earlier, and I know he'll scold me about it."
"Then shouldn't you get it over with now, rather than waiting until he's even more upset?"
"Chris, you've never been scolded by Yakov." Victor sighs again. "Especially when he just lectured you last night about saying the right things in interviews instead of saying whatever you please and...."
Could whatever he said really be that bad, that Victor would really rather sit here? Maybe – Chris suspects probably not – but now that they are alone and close like this, he isn't exactly eager to drag Victor out again.
He reaches forward and slips his hand over Victor's hair, slides out the elastic to free his hair from its ponytail and pulls it over his wrist instead. Victor makes a pleased sound as Chris does so and shakes his head slightly, then pushes his face into Chris's stomach as Chris starts to stroke one hand through the fine strands. The other he settles over Victor's shoulder, letting his hand rest against his warm back.
This is just as pleasant as he remembers – not just because of the texture under his fingers, smooth and soft, but because of the way Victor leans further into him, his shoulders relaxing as he hums slightly. It feels comfortable, like they could sit here all day and do this, even given their surroundings.
He remembers, too, how Victor liked it when he – Chris just scratches his scalp on the next pass and watches Victor shiver and make a different kind of sound. "Do it again," Victor demands, voice muffled against Chris's jacket.
He does, harder. He likes how Victor shudders again and presses harder against him. He wants to see his face, though, wants to kiss him and push their bodies together like last time, except without the time limit of the stupid interviews hanging over them. (Well, Yakov might come looking eventually, but if Victor isn't going to care about that, then Chris sure as hell isn't.)
Chris thinks, as he runs his nails down Victor's scalp again, that it would be nice to twine his fingers in Victor's hair and yank. Not enough to hurt too much, but enough to pull Victor's face away from his front. He pauses his hand on top of his head long enough for Victor to make an impatient nudge, wondering – would Victor be into that? It seems like he would, but what if it just hurt him? Should he ask first? Is this the sort of thing where you ask first? It would kind of kill the mood.
"Chris," Victor whines, unwrapping one of his arms to firmly push Chris's hand down along his head.
Oh, whatever. Chris moves his hand back up and fists his hand in Victor's hair, jerks him back a little. It's actually hotter than it looked in his head, with the way Victor gasps, how pink his cheeks are. His eyes are wide for a moment, staring up at him, before they flutter closed. Chris lets go of him and bends over to press their lips together, his other hand scrabbling to find a good support on Victor's shoulder.
It's warm, and soft, and not very long because Chris is trying not to fall over with the awkward angle. As soon as he pulls away, though, Victor's knees fall to one side and he reels Chris back in for another kiss. And another, as soon as Chris finds a good handhold on Victor's calf, and then a deeper one when Victor slips his tongue into his mouth.
He pulls back at some point to get some air, but Victor doesn't let him get far, tugging on his shoulders and pressing a kiss next to his mouth, down to his jaw. Chris leans back in again when Victor throws an arm around his neck, can't help a whimper when Victor's tongue moves against his, can't help but open his mouth wider as Victor clutches him closer, closer. He keeps forgetting that he can breathe through his nose, though Victor doesn't let him go long enough to catch his breath otherwise, always pulling him in if he tries to lean away.
He doesn't even notice that the position is getting kind of painful until Victor finally lets him go for a few moments. They pant against each other, and then Victor makes a face, and then Chris notices that his arm is starting to protest and a few muscles in his back, which were fine before, are really not used to doing this for minutes on end. He swallows a whine as he straightens up and takes a step back. Victor doesn't bother hiding his wince as he unfolds himself, rubbing his calf for a moment before he stands up.
Chris gets distracted for a second digging his fingers into the sorest of the muscles in his back before arms drape around his waist and Victor nuzzles into his neck. He freezes, all thoughts of the pain gone. It takes him a few moments to realize that maybe he should move and figure out where to put his hands.
Victor chuckles against his skin, quiet and breathy. "You're so cute," he says, drawing back enough to look at him. Chris flushes and settles for grabbing onto the back of Victor's jacket. Is he supposed to say something to that? "Thank you," or, "Well, you're the prettiest person I've ever seen"?
One of Victor's hands comes up to brush against his cheek. The backs of his fingers are so cold – are they always this chilly, or is his face just that hot? Chris clasps it against his skin before he can even think about it, turns his head to press his lips to Victor's knuckles. (He's pretty sure it's at least partially Victor being cold. His hands were so cold last time, weren't they.)
Victor kisses his cheek. "Cute," he says once more. He presses another kiss further up, right on his cheekbone, then stares right into Chris's eyes for a moment that goes from 'kind of endearing' to 'uncomfortably large amount of a time'. "Your eyelashes are so long. Is that natural?"
"Yes," Chris says, though his voice squeaks a little and it comes out more like a question. It's nice to have Victor notice – they're one of his best features. "Yours are, too. It's pretty."
"But yours are so much darker," Victor sighs. The thumb of the hand on his cheek swipes near his eye and catches on the lashes. "Mine are so pale that you can't see them without mascara."
He's wearing some right now, in fact, and it looks entirely natural on him despite the fact that it doesn't match his hair. Now that he's mentioned it, though, Chris wants to see him without it. He's sure that they wouldn't be invisible from this close up; they'd catch the light, even in a dim place like here. It'd be something of Victor that the audience, and the other skaters, wouldn't get to see.
"Maybe you can show me next time." He acts on his instincts (and maybe some buried memories of romance films) and turns Victor's hand around to kiss his palm, then slowly down to his wrist. He tries not to stare too hard at Victor as he looks at him, flutters the eyelashes that he apparently likes so much. It earns him a high-pitched moan and Victor's other hand pressing harder on his waist.
Chris pauses when he gets to – maybe not the pulse point, he can't actually feel a heartbeat through his lips, but about where it should be, and lets Victor's now-warm hand slide along his jaw and tilt his head into another kiss. It's softer, now, not as hurried and forceful as before. It takes Chris a couple of minutes to realize that his hand is just hanging in mid-air now that Victor's has moved, and he hastily finds a place for it on Victor's hip.
Victor pushes him into the corner and pushes himself against Chris, a little heavy but pleasantly hot. Chris tries to pull him further in, but when he realizes that there isn't much closer for him to get, he slides his hands up the back of Victor's jacket and shirt instead, enjoying the touch of hot skin under his fingers. Perhaps they can get a bit closer after all, or at least, it sure feels like it as Victor arches into his hands and makes a soft, encouraging sound before moving their lips back together.
It's too hot for his jacket now. He manages to get the zipper down without breaking the kiss, even if it takes a bit of fumbling to find the pull, and Victor helps push it slowly off his shoulders and starts exploring under his shirt before Chris even gets his arms out of the sleeves. Chris has to break their kiss off then, as it tickles too much not to laugh, and anyway, he doesn't want to just drop the jacket to the floor in here.
"That looks cute," Victor says, still moving his hands lightly over Chris's stomach. "Keep it on."
"Like this? I can barely move my arms." Chris gives him a look, then shoves it the rest of the way off despite the way Victor sighs, and stows it on the hook thing that he spots on the wall.
He does Victor's next and can't help but run his hands down Victor's sides after he finishes taking it off and putting it with his own. Victor's shirt fits him very well, and the neckline shows off most of his collarbone. Chris puts his mouth to it, sucks a little. He must be doing it right, since Victor runs one hand up the back of his head, keeping it there, fingers digging into his curls. (Oh, that feels nice. No wonder Victor likes having him pet and grab at his hair so much.)
He moves gradually up to the base of Victor's neck, trying to figure out what causes him to make those nice noises, to tilt his head further and clutch harder at his hair. "Chris," Victor breathes, tugging at his shoulder until Chris backs away.
Victor's hands slip down to the hem of his shirt, then start to pull it off. He does it so quickly that the shirt gets caught on Chris's arms before he can put them all the way up, and it takes the both of them a minute to get it untangled, and Chris is pretty sure that the shirt is inside-out by the time they do. Victor flings it away somewhere and runs his fingers, and his eyes, down Chris's chest.
The metal he's been pushed into is cold. Despite how heated he feels, he has to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest, though he isn't sure where else to put them. Back on Victor's waist? It seems as good of a place as any. Victor keeps looking, and looking, and Chris can't quite read the expression on his face, but while the attention is flattering, eventually he gets bored of the staring and kisses him.
Victor returns it with vigor and manages to lean him even further into the corner – ow. It's getting a little painful to be squished in there, so he adjusts them a few centimeters to the left so he's only being shoved into the stall's door, even if that's even colder. Not for long, not with Victor pressed so close against him.
When Victor breaks off again, he stares some more. "Do you like what you see?" Chris asks, feeling his cheeks go aflame as he says it. It's probably a huge cliché, but Victor smiles at it anyway.
"I thought you'd be softer," Victor says, spreading his fingers across Chris's stomach and smiling even more as his muscles jump at the ticklish touch.
"Softer?"
"Your cheeks are so round! I thought – it would have been cute."
Chris raises an eyebrow at that. He isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't say anything: he grabs Victor's hair and pulls him back in. Despite his words, Victor doesn't seem that disappointed. He kind of paws at Chris's chest until he finds one nipple and digs his thumb in. It makes him cry out and dig his fingers into Victor's shirt, wanting more. Victor obliges, rubbing at it – the other one, too – and chasing his mouth every time Chris breaks away to gasp and moan. Was there always a leg between his? It's pressed close against him, too, and he thinks his toes curl further each time he rocks against it.
It all feels so good, god, he could do this forever. "Victor," he whines when the hands on his chest move up to his shoulders. "Victor, please." He wants this, too – he can feel how hard Victor is, the way he pants warmly into his neck. Why did he stop?
"Ah – just, a moment."
It's hard to be patient when he's right there, though, when Chris is so hard, when he can't seem to catch his breath no matter how much his lungs work at it. He makes his fingers let go just enough to grab Victor's ass and tug so he can grind forcefully against him. Victor whimpers into his ear, but it almost gets lost under the groan that escapes Chris. He moves again, moan swallowed by Victor's mouth, thoughts gone to mush with how amazing this is –
The bathroom door creaks badly as it opens. Both of them freeze in place. Chris opens his eyes – when had he closed them, he can't remember – and sees how wide Victor's have gotten. Oh, right, his coach was looking for him, Chris thinks distantly. Not again.