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Prologue: No one sleeps
“That night at the banquet… I fell in love with you that night, Yuuri.”
The shōji wall was a blur in the darkness. His burning heart kept Yuuri wide awake. Moonlight spilled from the engawa, pooling onto the pillow next to him where it turned the hair of the man by his side into liquid silver. Reaching out, Yuuri brushed Viktor’s fringe aside and beheld his angelic face.
I stole you from the world and you stayed to be mine forever.
A thrill rippled through him. He could not wait for it. Them being rivals on the ice and husbands off the ice.
A soft warmth filled his core.
We could have been rivals from the start. If I had been more confident in Sochi. I was ready to beat Viktor and take the gold for myself. And it wouldn’t have ended there. I would have aimed for his world title next. And he would have worshipped me for it.
Would that have been as exhilarating as in Yuuri’s wildest fantasies?
Yuuri’s eros stirred, stoking the heat inside him, spreading it into his body. Why did it have to do that when he wanted to sleep?
With the softest rustle of sheets Yuuri got up and dressed in his yukata. Their traditional kimonos hung from the wardrobe, waiting for them to be donned come next morning. On the foot of the bed, Makkachin lifted his weary head as Yuuri slipped out of the room.
The mild April night hugged Yuuri like a soft towel after an onsen bath as he walked downtown, sakura petals tumbling through the air like pink snowflakes, heralding the new chapter in his life.
That late, Hasetsu Shrine was vacant. Yuuri lit incense and knelt.
Dear Gods, I ask you for a long and happy marriage for Viktor and me. Please protect us from envy when we become rivals next season.
Yuuri watched the smoke rise as if it would carry his plea right to the heavens, pouring all his love into his prayer, eros and agape entwined. Long-sought fatigue wrapped his body, soothing his senses.
Tomorrow, his greatest dream would finally come true.
Act 1: All hope dies at dawn
The alarm ripped Yuuri out of uneasy dreams. Groaning, he opened his eyes and paused. The hotel room he was in was familiar and alien at once.
Are Viktor and I still at Worlds? Did I dream that today is our wedding day?
The place next to him was cold and empty. Confused, Yuuri put on his glasses.
This is not the hotel we stayed in at Worlds. This looks like Hotel Delta Sirius. Foreboding clasped cold fingers around his heart. He gazed down at his hand.
His ring was gone.
Panicking, he groped around for his phone.
To return, be back in your room tomorrow when the clock strikes midnight.
Use the time given to you wisely.
He had barely read the lines when the characters dissolved like a computer virus erasing his data. Fear ripped through Yuuri. He shook his phone only for the lockscreen to appear—and the freezing blood inside him shattered the foundations of his mind.
9 a.m., Saturday, December 13th, 2014—the day I bombed the Grand Prix Final.
The day Vicchan had died.
Or rather not yet. Yuuri had received the message after practice. Or rather would receive.
He rubbed his eyes. Was this another weird dream? It would not be the first time he relived the Grand Prix Final and something went even worse than at the real event.
Last night, Viktor and I talked about what would have been if I hadn’t bombed the Grand Prix Final. I went to the shrine to pray for a happy marriage. Yuuri’s heart stopped.
I don’t remember returning home.
A forceful rapping startled him. “Yuuri, are you up?” a deep voice came muffled through the door. “Public practice starts in thirty minutes. Get ready!”
Celestino. Yuuri’s heart lurched into his throat. Of course, his former coach took part in yet another nightmare of Yuuri’s biggest failure.
But if I go to practice, I will see Viktor.
He flung back his blanket. “Give me five minutes, Coach Celestino!”
He had 39 hours left.
Yuuri was warming up behind the gate, waiting for the ice to freeze after the resurfacing between his and the ice dancers’ practice. A nervous flutter spread from his stomach, numbing him.
I haven’t skated this programme in one year and a half. I will bomb it again.
“Don’t show off your full strength in practice already, JJ,” Mrs. Leroy admonished her son. “They won’t expect you to surpass them tonight.”
Jean-Jacques flashed bleached-white teeth at her. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s JJ style!”
The door opened again. The mostly female audience that had gathered in the stands squealed, piercing Yuuri’s ear drums. Yuuri spun and his breath caught in his throat.
Viktor strode into the practice rink, wearing his Olympic uniform with the stylised cock-and-peacock forming the letters R+U on his chest. Yakov walked next to him in a red puffer parka. Wherever he goes, he owns the stage.
“Viktor!” Yuuri called.
Viktor lifted his hand, smiling. The giddy flip of Yuuri’s heart froze in mid-air. Viktor’s hand was ringless, too. He opened his mouth, but the words on his lips twisted into a croaking noise as Viktor strode past him to start a conversation with Chris—without sparing him as much as a glance. His ignorance clutched cold fingers around Yuuri’s heart.
“Yuuri,” Celestino murmured beside him. “Focus on practice. You can swoon over Viktor during his run-through.”
“Yes, Coach Celestino,” Yuuri said, his cheeks burning.
This isn’t my Viktor. He doesn’t yet know me. This is Viktor Nikiforov, the Russian Hero.
The gate opened. He handed Celestino his skate guards and hurried after his competitors to get warm.
I’ve finished the short programme in second place. I’m no longer the same me who bombed my first Grand Prix Final. I’ve beaten Viktor’s world record. I can beat him again.
He jumped a quad toe. His heart kept soaring long after his blade had struck the ice again. Elated, he sped to the next free patch of ice and pulled his left leg to his running edge as he dared the jump that would break his neck in twelve hours.
Perfect quad Salchow!
Yuuri’s heat leapt. I still know everything Viktor has taught me. Tonight, that will be the ace up my sleeve.
The curve of his edge brought him past Viktor. “Hi, Viktor!” Yuuri called.
Viktor Nikiforov blinked. His head swivelled about. “Oh, hi.”
His voice was the same warm samite that hugged Yuuri like a warm embrace, but laced with confusion. He clenched his fists. When this was over, Viktor would never forget him again.
As Viktor’s run-through was announced, all the skaters retreated towards the barrier. Yuuri clutched the boards and watched Viktor lifting his arm to the ceiling in a silent plea to the stars.
This—this was the raw Stammi Vicino. The Stammi Vicino to which Yuuri had yet to deliver his answer. Now, countless memories of skating this programme together at their home rink, in galas, and on that lake near St. Petersburg superimposed Viktor’s regal elegance—surreal like an M. C. Esher painting.
With the last note, all the performance’s grandeur vanished with the stars. A flicker crossed Viktor’s face that sent a chill through Yuuri. The next moment, the familiar smirk was back.
I don’t remember Viktor looking so sad. Was I too awestruck to notice? Or have I gotten too used to how Viktor is when we are together?
“I’ve never seen you skate better in the final practice,” Celestino said at the end of the hour. “The stakes of the Grand Prix Final seem to bring out the best in you.”
“Um, thank you, Coach Celestino,” Yuuri said awkwardly. He was mostly surprised to still know this accursed free programme by heart.
His phone buzzed with a new message. Yuuri ignored it. To have a chance at avoiding the free programme from becoming a nightmare, he had to ignore it.
Act 2: Hot like a flame
This was not a nightmare.
Vicchan was dead. Viktor did not know Yuuri. Yuuri had checked the messages and photos on his phone. He had browsed his socials. He had read Wikipedia articles and checked news outlets. He had verified his enrolment in Kii Gakuin University and the University of Michigan. His graduation was next March.
Everything was exactly the same as at the Grand Prix Final Yuuri remembered.
Except for the memories and experiences of a future he had yet to live.
The gods had sent him back in time. And he had twenty-six hours left to find out if he could bring his fantasies to life.
Yuuri’s palms were slick as Chris glided to the exit gate under standing ovations. The ice was soaking wet after his sensual Carmen free programme. But the terror the sight had once inspired in Yuuri, remained dormant.
My free programme might not be hot by any capacity. But it doesn’t need to be. The gods sent me back for a reason. Tonight, I will show everyone that I’m capable of surpassing Viktor.
“Skate like this morning in practice and a medal will be yours,” Celestino sent him off. “Don’t lose your nerve.”
Yuuri clutched the rail. His heart was thundering. Chris’s new season’s best was announced, putting him into first place, in front of JJ and the Chinese skater. He took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, Celestino. I will skate even better.”
Not waiting for a reply, he dashed away. Once, he had come here to take the gold. He would not waste this second chance.
Vicchan, this is for you. You wouldn’t have wanted me to melt down on the ice over the news of your passing. I owe you another try.
He took his starting pose, one arm stretched, the other bent next to his head as if aiming at something on the ground. Dead calm cooled his nerves.
Viktor, you don’t know who I am. I will give you a hint.
The dramatic tune of violins slammed heavy on the arena. Yuuri straightened and gilded towards the judges, before picking up speed with a series of counters, mohawks, and cross-strokes.
Like every song Celestino had picked for him, Nessun Dorma had never resonated with Yuuri. Why would this stupid prince even want to marry someone who did not love him back?
But tonight, he would rewrite Turandot’s story, own it, and make it his sword to conquer this stage.
His opening quad toe on the beat of the drum was a blast. And so was the quad Salchow to the plaintive violin’s play from where he jumped into a flying camel spin.
Viktor is ten points ahead of me. My free programme has two quads. That won’t be enough to beat him.
He jumped a triple loop. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as he added a triple toe to the planned solo jump. A smirk tugged at Yuuri’s mouth.
The violins swelled, carrying Yuuri through a bittersweet dance of life and love, interspersed with wild hope as he twirled across the ice. Steps and turns no longer demanded the attention that brought him the command of the blade he was known for. He became the music as his future and his past bled together to rewrite history for the duration of an impossible dream.
The curtain parted and a man in a purple jacket with golden tassels stepped into the arena. Yuuri’s resolve hardened to ice.
To beat Viktor, I must attempt the same difficulty as he does. It won’t close the margin, but there’s one thing where I’ve always excelled over him: my presentation mark.
Brushing Viktor with his glare, he stopped with his back towards the judges. And as the tenor began to sing, he turned and projected the reaching out of his hand right at Viktor.
He glided into a spread eagle, sticking out his bum. Electricity ran over his back, familiar like no other feeling when he was watching from rinkside.
Yes, Russian Hero. Tonight, your reign will end.
Yuuri sped up with crossovers and leapt into a triple Axel. The crowd roared as he landed his signature move with grace despite being deep in the second half of the programme. Yuuri jumped another quad toe right as the tenor raised his voice and added a double toe. The crowd gasped. Celestino’s frustration about his student not sticking to the composition droned over the din. Yuuri’s heartbeat quickened. Fire was raging in his lungs. He set up his sequence. That would give the technical panel a headache.
One jump left.
Vanish, o night!
With an unremarkable twist of his hip, Yuuri changed direction. He cut the bend, which brought him on a trajectory past the gate and the judging panel. His heart was hammering in his rib cage. His legs were shaking. He spun in a three-turn, zipped past Viktor, and flipped to his left inside edge. An economic pick of his right toe pick and he shot up into the air.
The crowd turned into feral beasts. Yuuri’s body was alight with sensations he had not yet a name for.
So that’s what it feels like.
One last time he approached the judges, closer now, bent back in a deep cantilever. Viktor stood at the gate, frozen. Yuuri thought he heard him gasp as he dashed past, but maybe it was his imagination.
Later, Yuuri would only remember the ecstatic chants of the crowd, the incredulous look on Viktor’s face, and the heaviness of a gold medal around his neck. He had broken Viktor’s world record in the free programme. No one had ever beaten Viktor when he had skated clean. No one had ever beaten Viktor with his signature move. Not even Chris. Everyone said Yuuri’s quad flip had been more beautiful than the one Viktor had landed at the last Winter Games.
But all that mattered was that Yuuri had ended Viktor’s winning streak by ruining his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final gold medal.
And it felt even more delicious than he had imagined.
Act 3: Like ice that burns
“I came to the Grand Prix Final to beat you, Viktor. I just wasn’t strong enough.”
Viktor’s gasp filled the darkened bedroom.
“I would have been yours that night already.”
Three hours until midnight
The Viktor Yuuri was engaged to had once said that nothing was more worship-worthy than Yuuri skating true to his heart. He had also said that nothing was hotter than Yuuri jumping the quad flip with maximum GOE.
Yuuri adjusted the blue-and-white tie around his neck and entered the banquet room of Hotel Delta Sirius. Back home, his groom was waiting. He wanted to wake up beside him on their wedding day to the memory of a sweet dream of having fucked all the wits out of Viktor after beating him in Sochi.
Let’s hope Viktor was right about himself.
Viktor stood with his—their—rinkmates Mila and Yuri, sipping champagne with a thoughtful expression. In an interview this morning, he had expressed his surprise at being surpassed by an underdog. “Being beaten on a bad day feels deserved. Being beaten out of nowhere and with your own signature move is a gamechanger.”
He had left open if that meant retirement, perhaps to dismiss mid-season speculations. His empty expression now drove an unsharpened blade into Yuuri’s chest, leaving him raw and soft. The blame was not on him, Viktor had worn this smile throughout the entire event—no, longer. The rumours had not come out of nowhere.
Viktor’s eyes flickered to him. Cold like a midwinter sky. His smile warmed and he lifted his glass. The stab that now drove into Yuuri heart was hot and filled him with terror.
I should just talk to him. But… I never learned to flirt. Yuuri’s fingers twitched. I just seduced him by discovering what turns him on. But he doesn’t know me…
He swallowed. He needed a plan. And enough alcohol to loosen up without going off the rails.
The buffet was not yet raided. Yuuri served himself a glass of champagne. He was just stuffing a slice of pizza into his empty stomach, when a deep and warm voice next to him rasped, “If I hadn’t seen Viktor’s face when you jumped his signature move, I would wonder if he secretly taught you, Yuuri.”
Yuuri jumped. “Chris!”
“Congratulations on winning. I hadn’t thought I’d ever seen anyone beat Viktor with his own weapons while he’s still competing.”
Deliberately, Yuuri sipped champagne. “You’d be surprised,” he said with a small smile.
Chris chuckled. “Your quad flip shook Viktor to his core.”
A small satisfaction tugged at Yuuri’s lips. “Chris, do you know what’s the best way to approach him?”
“Just go to him and flirt.”
Exasperated, Yuuri half-emptied his champagne. Weren’t you supposed to have a love affair with Viktor some years ago?
“How?”
“Just be yourself, Yuuri. You already have a foot in the door that not even I ever got in.”
Yuuri glanced at Viktor as he stood there, regal, elegant. He was smiling at something his younger rinkmate had said, but Yuuri saw him for what he was. Not aloof, lonely. His beauty a mask. A chill ran through him. He was preparing himself to retire after this season. I saved him from making the announcement and brought him back.
He downed his champagne and loosened his tie. With a tumbling heart, he crossed the room. Mila’s gaze met his. She nudged Yuri. The two stuck their heads together. Viktor turned. His blue eyes widened.
“Viktor, do me a favour and dance with me,” Yuuri said more forcefully than intended.
The trio stared at him.
“There, Viktor,” Mila cooed. “The guy who beat you demands your presence. You should obey.”
“Yes, you should,” Yuuri said.
More odd looks. The realisation that he had spoken in Russian dawned on Yuuri. His armpits were slick with sweat. What kind of freak will they take me for?
Viktor emptied his glass and put it onto the cocktail table next to him. “Okay. I’d be honoured to dance with the Grand Prix Final gold medallist.”
The DJ was playing Malagueña as they entered the dancefloor. Perfect.
“So, which of us shall lead?” Viktor asked.
“I lead,” Yuuri said.
Viktor’s ice-blue eyes widened. He put his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri took his other hand in his, and set off with the paso doble step pattern. Under his lead, Viktor was soft, malleable. Yuuri knew his next move before he performed it and he knew how to nudge him to do something else.
“So, who taught you the quad flip?” Viktor asked. Objection was playing now.
“You.”
Viktor laughed. It sounded dismissive. “You’re a fan, huh?”
Irritation flashed through Yuuri. He spun Viktor and pulled him back close. “I loved you since I was eleven.”
Another laugh, but it tangled up in Viktor’s throat. He spun away. “You don’t even know me.”
Yuuri circled him with long strides. “I know you better than you think, Viktor.”
“You’ve studied my performances, read all of my interviews, and stalked my socials.” Viktor stifled a yawn. “Tell me something new.”
Yuuri caught him by the waist. “You mess up every food except blinis because your brain hyperfixates on figure skating programmes. You instructed your babushka to serve pelmeni with tomato sauce instead of butter unless you’re sick because that dish is your weakness.” At every word, Viktor’s eyes widened further. Yuuri dipped him and pulled him up. “You whisper your lover’s name like a prayer the moment before you come,” he murmured into Viktor’s ear.
“That’s not true!” Viktor protested weakly. He was trembling against Yuuri’s body.
Wait! What? Yuuri’s cheeks grew hot. “Oh, then I’ll be the first one.”
“Yuuri, are you a spy or something?”
“I’m from the future, Viktor.”
Laughing, Viktor pulled away. “Oh, so that’s your playbook!” He circled Yuuri, taunting him. “What’s your endgame, future-boy who stole my signature move?”
His mocking tone flipped a switch. “Isn’t that obvious, Viktor? I’m seducing you.”
“Then this is the most awkward seduction I’ve ever seen.”
Yuuri dashed past Viktor, grabbed him, and whirled him around. “Where I come from, you love my awkward, Viktor. Now, shut up and dance.”
And dance they did. If words could not get his intention across, only deeds could. As the DJ kept playing song after song, the fire glittering under the ice in Viktor’s irises mellowed from a challenge to compliance, and to the affection of the man Yuuri was engaged to. His body turned from reluctance to malleable softness as it obeyed Yuuri’s every command and Yuuri basked in the sensation.
“I’ve danced with many men, but you’re the first who makes me feel like we’ve been dancing together for a long time,” Viktor murmured. The DJ was playing a slower song now I knew I loved you before I met you—a song Viktor had never mentioned in his tales about this infamous banquet that would bring them together.
Yuuri pulled Viktor closer, not wasting one inch between them. “Because we will dance together every day.”
Viktor stopped. “Huh? Yuuri, who are you really?”
Yuuri pulled him flush to his body and continued with the steps. “I’m your future husband who will bring down your legacy, Viktor.” His heart stopped, then raced. Yuuri felt the tremor running through Viktor’s body as if it was his own. Heat throbbed softly in his core.
He brought his mouth to Viktor’s ear. “Surpassing you has been all I wanted since I first saw you skate. And you will worship me for it because deep in your heart you crave for a prince who dominates you on and off the ice.”
A gasp welled out of Viktor, soft in its surrender. His body melted into Yuuri. His hardness pressed against Yuuri’s abdomen.
Yuuri chuckled. “Viktor, you’ve always been so predictable,” he said softly. He brought his hand from the small of Viktor’s back to right above his bum.
“It’s strange. I should be worried because you know so much about me, but not even a spy could fake this level of familiarity. How long have we been together?”
“One year. But we started dating about one year after Sochi.”
“I see. How does this time-travel-thing work, future-boy?”
“Um, I don’t know. I just woke up here yesterday.”
Viktor laughed. “You’re funny, cute, and hot. But I need to inform you that your tie is absolutely hideous.”
Yuuri yanked up Viktor’s leg and ran his hand along his side. “Oh, but you love being tied up with it.”
A ragged breath. Yuuri kept dancing, giving Viktor time to mull his words over. Sometimes silence was a more efficient seduction than words. The music changed to Annie Lennox’s I Put a Spell on You. Viktor’s closeness and his reaction to Yuuri’s violent eros, demanded of him to drop the familiar steps and figures and grind his body against Viktor’s in ways that were inappropriate for this stage.
“So, future-boy.” Viktor’s voice was the same breathless urge that Yuuri knew from his timeline. “Where you come from, what do we do when you beat me in competition?”
“I…” Heat shot into Yuuri’s cheeks. “I make you kiss my gold medal. And then… I tell you to go down on me. On, um, your knees.”
“Wow! And if I win?”
“I tie you up. You…,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “winning no longer holds a thrill for you and you like it when I punish you for it. Of course, I give you relief. But I make sure it’s humbling.”
Viktor exhaled. “This is so hot!” His voice hitched. “I like your suggestions, future-boy.”
Yuuri shoved his leg deeper between Viktor’s and cupped his bum. Who cared about playing fair when this night would become a dream tomorrow? A quiet moan escaped Viktor. Suddenly, their bodies were grinding in desperate, glorious desire. Something primal blended into the delicious fragrance of sweat and Viktor’s aftershave. Yuuri brought his mouth to Viktor’s throat, and licked.
“You know, Viktor. The first time we’ve met at this banquet, I put a spell on you. Because you’re mine.”
Viktor stilled. “Yuuri, let’s get out of here.”
Yuuri opened his mouth, but the buzzing of his phone cut through his horniness: 23:55.
“I must go!”
He pushed Viktor off him and bolted to the door, shoving protesting athletes out of his path.
“Wait! Yuuri!”
Yuuri stormed to the lobby. One lift just opened and two people walked out. Yuuri slammed the button for his floor. He checked his phone. 23:56.
He slumped against the cabin wall.
I guess that’s the closest I will get to what might have been.
The lift doors opened. Yuuri stumbled into the corridor. The pull was getting stronger with every beat of his thundering heart. Back to his Viktor. Back home.
“Yuuri!”
Viktor stood in the opening of the fire exit, panting, his neat starlight hair tousled. His eyes were an eternal ice desert. He was holding the tie like a lost shoe. A shudder ran through Yuuri.
“Stay. Don’t go.”
Yuuri shook his head. He had a lump in his throat.
“I’m not for casual hook-ups, either. I’ve known you for two hours, but it already feels like forever. Like every cell of my body is obeying your call. Yuuri, you’re the prince I’ve been wishing for.”
Tears blurred Yuuri’s sight.
“If I stay for tonight, I will stay for good.”
“Would that be so bad? I need to know if there is more to what I’m feeling. You know things I never told anyone. You dance like you’re attuned to my every move. Your hands touch me like they know how to hold me. Will your kiss feel familiar, too?”
If I go, Viktor will be miserable again. Like he was for I don’t know how long. And it will get worse before it will get better.
But if I stay…
Yuuri’s heart clenched. He took his tie from Viktor, hung it around his neck and pulled him close. “What do you think, Russian Hero?” he murmured and pressed his lips to Viktor’s.
Viktor went very still. But as Yuuri ran his tongue along his petrified lips, they parted and welcomed him, and Yuuri kissed Viktor like when he made love to him.
“Let’s go to your room,” he said and took Viktor’s hand.
Epilogue: Love
Yuuri woke to the feeling of warm skin against his. Viktor, he thought and wrapped his arm around the body in front of him. Blinking away the drowsiness, he opened his eyes.
The room looked exactly like his room in Hotel Delta Sirius. But mirrored.
He blinked again. His dreams had been strange. He had won the Grand Prix Final and seduced Viktor. Which was weird because sex had been the last thing on his agenda when he had come here. In another dream, Viktor had been his coach after Yuuri had bombed the Grand Prix Final, they had fallen in love, and decided to get married in Hasetsu.
He groped for his phone. Monday, December 15th, 2014.
Strange. For one moment, I thought today was our wedding.
Slivers of the last night flashed through his brain. Of how making love to Viktor had felt like a familiar ritual that was worship and dominion at once. Of the pleasure of humbling the Russian Hero on the ice and in bed running through his veins. As if he had done the exact same thing dozens, hundreds of times.
He had a message from his sister.
Yuuri!!! 😡 Why didn’t you answer your phone? Don’t you care that we’ve saved your dog?
Yuuri blinked, not understanding. Vicchan is alive?
The sheets rustled. “Yuuri?”
Viktor was smiling at him, the sparkle in his eyes lighting Yuuri’s heart. Yuuri caressed his cheek. “I must catch my plane to Detroit.”
Viktor took his fingers and kissed them. “Will I see you at Worlds?”
Yuuri nodded. He swallowed. “After Worlds, come stay with me and my family. My parents run a hot spring resort. Let’s use the off-season to find out if we can make this work.” An image flashed through his mind. A city with bridges and canals, he and Viktor walking hand in hand through the snow. Like a life lived. “But I wouldn’t mind training together in St. Petersburg.”
“I’d love that.”
Yuuri rose and dressed. “Make no mistake, Viktor. I intend to beat you again at Worlds. And if I win, you will be at my service for the entire night.”
The sheets rustled. Viktor flung his arms around Yuuri’s waist. His voice hitched. “I will make it as hard for you as possible!”
Yuuri’s belly flipped over. “I can’t wait for it.”
Hasetsu, one year later…
“… and that’s how my Yuuri and I got together,” Viktor told Yuuri’s conservative relatives who smiled along like they had done throughout his speech, the black sleeves of his kimono flapping as he underpinned his words with flourishes of his hands. “Because nothing is hotter than being defeated with your own weapons.”
Mari pursed her lips. Yuuri’s parents covered their second-hand embarrassment with a smile. Next to them, Makkachin and Vicchan were sleeping curled up.
“Yuuri, why did you stop interpreting?”
“Because…” His cheeks hot, Yuuri faced his family. “My quad flip impressed Viktor so much that he fell in love with me in the moment I jumped it.” He waved his hands. “That’s all! Thanks for coming to our wedding!”
Viktor pouted. “Yuuri, I think you mistranslated my words.”
“I… um… told them something they can understand. Now, let’s cut the cake, I’m starving!”