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Viktor was a strange creature. Never what people imagined and yet everything that they expected, he played the crowd like a master, smiles and subtle looks and everything else a man needed to build a persona with none of the evidence. A playboy without ever touching anyone. It always intrigued Christophe as a spectacle: a good performer was a good performer after all.
Christophe fell for it once, in the early years when he was newly grown into his body and Viktor had yet to make an island of himself. It was their first time sharing the podium, Christophe’s silver to the first gold of Viktor’s five year consecutive run. Not that he knew that at the time: he was still coveting the top spot like a legend hadn’t come to live there, like outdoing Viktor Nikiforov was a possibility, not a pipedream.
Free flowing champagne at the banquet simplified things, gave him the courage to match his bravado at nineteen. The silver around his neck was his pass to measure himself against the man he admired, the one he couldn’t help watching and wondering over as Viktor stood at the centre and the whole party turned around him. Well-wishers, competitors, officials from more than one camp, even the few fans important enough to have won entry, all of them wanted to speak with him, and he welcomed them all with that photo ready smile.
“We could talk to him too,” Orscheli whispered in his ear. “Or better yet, no talking. See if he plays as hot as he skates.”
It wasn’t as easy as all that though. Even with the confidence that came with champagne, approaching Viktor wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even his prowess, his incredible success even this early in his career, the ease with which he seemed to carry himself within the pressurised environment of meets and parties. It was the empty space on his shoulder, at his side, the very palpable absence of something that no one Christophe had ever met had been without. Viktor was a strange creature, and he was entirely alone.
Viktor congratulated him on his silver, smiling the way he did for everyone. They made idle conversation that Chris could scarcely remember from the moment it left his lips, except for Viktor’s comments on his triple combo that he shrugged off while privately filing them away for later. In turn, he made a suggestion for greater height on the quad jumps, and was gratified to find Viktor actually taking his advice seriously.
When it came to it, Chris stumbled on his offer, damned English, and nearly abandoned ship altogether when Viktor had to ask him to repeat himself. It was worth it though for that smile, not as bright as before but heated in a way it hadn’t been previously. Viktor took Chris’s hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles and led the way out.
They were well matched, and Viktor was no slouch. His talent extended to his hands, enough to have Christophe gasping before they were even out of their clothes. He meant to take the lead, but at some stage in the process Viktor pressed him down on his back and Christophe just went. Conceding defeat never felt quite so much like victory.
It was strange sleeping with someone without their daemon present. There was a detachment in the way Orscheli sat to one side and luxuriated in the feedback without reciprocating. If Viktor found it odd, he gave no sign, only doubled his efforts when he found Chris’s attention wandering, until Chris could think of nothing but the sweetness off pressure and heat, the hard press of mouths, and the headlong rush into orgasm.
Viktor didn’t stay. Dishevelled but still far too composed, he smiled- the same smile, always the same damn smile- and pulled the blanket over Chris as Orscheli crept in beside him. There was something in Viktor’s face as he looked at the little weasel that made Chris wish in hindsight that he’d been aware enough to pull him back. But he didn’t, only watched as Viktor let himself out quietly without so much as an excuse made.
“Not hot at all,” Orscheli muttered as the door clicked shut. “More like ice.”
Chris didn’t reply, only curled a hand around her and pulled her close.
“Next time,” Orscheli whispered, because she knew his hurt without him saying. “Next time we’ll make him stay. Next time he’ll want to.”
They saw each other after that, of course they did, it would be impossible not to with the way their lives were built around the season. After the Grand Prix came the European Championships, and another gold for Viktor. They spoke at the banquets and other events and it was easy to pretend Chris hadn't let a man whose soul was so distant take him apart.
There was something like regret in Viktor's face when he approached Chris at Worlds, his smile faltering as he offered the same praise as before, the same comments. But he did not apologise, and Chris was glad. He didn't want the man regretful, he wanted him warm, desirous, craving Chris the way Chris had craved him.
Nothing happened. The season came to an end with Viktor alone at the top, and Christophe below with everyone else, fighting for second at best.
The next season was no better. Viktor was unreachable on the ice, and only getting further away off it. There was still no sign of his daemon any time Chris saw him in competition, and it was strange how it bothered him more now than it had before. Orscheli didn’t like it in the least, though it seemed to have less to do with the sheer oddness of a person so visibly alone and more that his daemon seemed so content to be away from him.
“I would never want to be so far away,” she muttered as they watched him take another gold without a single creature there to share the space with him. “Even if I could, why would I? Is she ever with him? Or does she think she’s a separate creature?”
Chris had no answers for her, and Viktor wasn’t telling. He was too remote, and Chris, despite Orscheli’s goading voice in his ear, uncertain how to bring him back.
At the Euros, Chris went in with a game plan, worked out as carefully as his skating programmes, but after two near flawless performances and a bronze for his collection, he was brought up short by an unfamiliar sight at the afterparty.
A little brown bird in the crook of Viktor's neck.
Viktor kept a hand on her at all times, from the brush of fingertips on her feathers to outright holding her against him. She bore it patiently enough, though Orscheli muttered in Chris’s ear that she couldn’t understand how any daemon could stand such clinginess.
“Perhaps because they don’t have each other very often,” Chris replied, which shut her right up. She huddled a little closer than she’d probably admit.
“Christophe, Orscheli,” Viktor greeted them. He was more present that evening, not as animated as he could be, but certainly warmer. “I would like you to meet someone.”
“Nadezhda,” the little bird said. “But to Vitya’s friends I’m Nadya.”
Nadya was quite the traveller and more than happy to share stories of the places she’d been. When they’d been in Beijing, Nadya had been on another continent entirely. No wonder Viktor had been so distant then. The man himself was quiet during his daemon’s stories, smiling softly as she detailed all the adventures she had when he wasn’t there.
Viktor didn't look happy though, not exactly, and when Nadya slipped through his fingers and further out of reach than any daemon Christophe had ever known, he thought he understood why.
They found themselves together again later on. Nadya was out of sight, out of reach, and Viktor was back to the smiling façade that Chris was already getting better at seeing through. Orscheli spat something inaudible but unpleasant as she looked at Viktor.
“She’s gone again isn’t she? Bitch.”
There were no swarming well-wishers, and without them Viktor looked bereft, lost amidst the crowd. He was alone more often than he was ever whole, that had been true as long as Chris had known him, but seeing him there without Nadya was the first time Chris had ever wondered if Viktor was lonely.
He wanted to reach out, to find a way to sooth that for him, but Chris had made no difference to Viktor’s distance last time, and even knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t see what had changed that meant he could reach him. If Viktor was so divided that the two halves of himself misunderstood each other so badly, what could Chris do?
Orscheli, usually so vocal, was silent on his shoulder as he made the same polite conversation they’d had a dozen times before, touching on nothing that could hurt, never mentioning Nadya. She still doesn’t speak when Viktor turned and walked away at the call of his name, and Chris didn’t follow him.
“We should have-” Orscheli finally said in the hotel room later, but never finished the sentence. Chris could not finish it for her either, and it was a long time before he stopped regretting that.
Another country, another competition, another podium place looking up at Viktor in his fixed position at the top. They’re older, maybe wiser, still working to catch up. It was different this time, and yet very familiar.
Viktor was without his gold at the banquet but still wore it like an albatross, the only bird accompanying him this evening. He drifted through the crowd without really talking to anyone, sparing a word here and there, holding the same champagne flute he’s had since the start.
“Go,” Orscheli said, the goading voice in his ear. The devil on his shoulder, not so silent this time. “Bring him back from wherever that bird’s dragged him off to this time.”
Viktor spotted him as he approached, and something in his expression flickered, not quite opening, but revealing a little that his photo ready smile used to hide away. It was still there to an extent, but seamed with cracks, clear enough that Chris can dig his fingers in to tear the damn thing away.
They talk about the competition, on the strength of their competitors and their various performances, but it falls a little flat when Viktor proves to be uninterested in making his usual critique. Even for Chris, there’s little more than vague praise, and he grew bored of that years ago. Viktor’s barely present, a pale reflection of himself even when he tries to wear the mask again. Now that Chris knows the edges, he can see what an ill fit it really is.
“It’s a little late to act like we’re strangers,” Chris told him, and was gratified to hear Viktor’s startled laugh. A little more of the colour bled back into him. (He wondered how far away Nadya was now that Viktor was so distant.)
He didn’t have to ask this time. Viktor already knew.
“Lead the way,” Viktor said, taking his hand. His smile, that same damned smile, was edging into desperate, and not the sort of desperate Chris liked to inspire.
They went to Viktor’s room, as he was one of the few not sharing with his coach. It was not such a rush this time, they knew each other better though they’ve only been in this position once before. Viktor’s desperation was still there in the twist of his mouth, but he gentled under Chris’s hands, relaxing by inches when Chris held him, uncovers him piece by piece and laid him out.
“Beautiful,” he said, and noted the way Viktor shuddered. When he looked up again, the mask was trying to creep back in, and Chris wouldn’t have that. Not anymore.
Orscheli was alone again and watches, silent, while Chris tasted the sweat in the dip of Viktor’s collarbone and drank the sighs from his mouth. Even now, even here, with nothing between them but the humid air, Viktor’s eyes were glacial, and his soul was far away. Nothing that Christophe did seemed to warm him.
Eros was something Christophe understood even better than their living legend. Viktor was good at playing it until his audience believed, but his fire was skin deep, and flames reflected in ice were still cold. He took the lead in the passion he portrayed because he didn’t know what to do with himself when someone else’s hands were on him. Viktor knew how to play the chase and be chased, how to wear the heated eyes of his fans like they burned him up, but he didn’t know how to be caught.
“Look at me,” Chris said, and waited until he knew that Viktor was really seeing him. Every breath, every tremble, rippled through them both, so close they were almost synchronous.
There was that desperation again, gleaming out. He was far away but he wanted to be here, in the immediacy of skin and heat, real and warm and present in these shivering moments.
“Where are you?” Chris asked him.
“Here with you,” Viktor said, too quick, automatic.
“Where are you?” Chris asked again, sinking a hand into Viktor’s long hair and pulling tight. The startled groan he got in response proved his instinct was spot on.
Chris knew how to keep him, if Viktor would only allow it.
“Don’t look away,” he said, and seared a claim into Viktor’s skin with mouth and hands. Viktor seemed to surrender, but Chris didn’t let up until he saw Viktor’s eyes close involuntarily as he shuddered. Chris paused then, and it was only a few moments before Viktor remembered his command and looked at him again.
Chris didn’t let him slip away, but he didn’t force the issue either. When Viktor drifted, when he looked away to a distance that Chris could not reach, he pulled back, and every time Viktor returned to him he was rewarded with the press of hands and tongue, until eventually, beautifully, he came apart under Chris’s hands. A beautiful surrender, eyes locked to the very last moment, the last aching sigh that sealed it.
Viktor was gentle in the aftermath, almost sweet, and that was about as close as Christophe got to really seeing him. They cuddled, or something clumsier that amounted to the same, and it felt sincere in the dark. Orscheli climbed in with them, and sent a shudder through both of them when she accidentally brushed against Viktor’s hand on the way through. Neither of them apologised, and Viktor didn’t say a word about it, though he turned his face into Chris’s chest, one hand cupped against his neck, and sighed out so hard it was like he didn’t intend to breathe again.
He was gone when Christoph woke up, no surprise there, even if it was his room.
“You’re not usually so clumsy,” Christoph said as he rose, relishing the pleasant ache in his muscles as he stretched.
Orscheli didn’t even bother to look contrite. “I’m risqué.”
Christophe retrieved his phone from the dresser where he didn’t remember leaving it, and raised an eyebrow at her when he saw the new message.
“You gave him my number?”
“Technically I gave him your password and he gave you his number, because you should have done it years ago.”
She’s right, but even so, they didn’t see each other again until Worlds, and it seemed like nothing had changed. Nadya was there for once, as drab as Viktor was flashy while he smiled the same for the cameras, for the crowd, and for Christophe as they turn his way.
Viktor said nothing as he approached but there was something like a greeting in the way he looked at Christophe, in spite of that bland smile. Nadya was off his shoulder, flitting up to eye height as they passed him by. She brushed Christophe’s face, the briefest feather touch, but it was enough to make him shiver. They were already away beyond him towards the siren call of the ice by the time he turned.
He has to smile. Fair is fair after all.