[ There were a few things that gave Yuri Plisetsky a strange, almost sick sense of pleasure. Watching someone - someone who wasn't part of his own family cluster - touch down on the ice coming out of a jump. The smell of gasoline. Dragging the toepick of his skate over the ice moments after the zamboni rumbles off the surface of the rink. And the echo of the ballet studio when it was empty. Something about hearing the thud of his own feet against the mirror-polished floor, seeing his reflection in the seemingly endless mirrors. It was like standing in the center of the ice, when the crowd had fallen silent in anticipation of watching his program, but less. Less intrusive, less like the world was waiting for him to make a mistake.
Always pleased to be presented with the opportunity to pratice more, to better himself, Yuri dropped his backpack onto the floor and shed his jacket, leaving it in a heap on the floor as any teenager would do. Long, slightly lanky limbs were stretched and joints were rotated as he crossed the shiny floor to the sterio system piled on a spindly legged table in the corner. Upon inspection, he discovered that the usual practice music was missing, and in its place was a CD simply labled 'Мила 3'. One of Mila's mixes, no doubt. Making a sharp sound of annoyance, Yuri shoved the CD tray closed and hit play, moving back toward the middle of the room. He had only taken a few steps when sound screeched from the speakers, practically vibrating Yuri's brain inside his skull. ]
What the hell is this crap?!
[ Not like the music he typically danced to. Not like the music Otabek sent him. Not like anything he knew at all. But there was still something to it. Something that spread a strange little smirk across his face, and caused him to tug the elastic from his hair before launching into some strange hybrid of classical ballet, modern dance, and even some of the disturbing gyrations that he'd seen Yuuri wiggle through at that infamous banquet a year ago.
Kinda fun, actually, even if the music itself sounded like the sounds Potya made when he stepped on her tail. ]
[ His life had become more than skating with Yuuri around. He had life and love and so much happiness without records and gold medals. But. He did still love the ice. The competition. Surprising everyone. Work had to be done, so off to the ice he went. Unsurprisingly, there was already music going. Surely it would be Yurio this early in the morning.
That's when it hit him. He knew that tune. He could have sang that song in his sleep - albiet in very accented English. Who on earth was practicing this early in the morning?! Did his Yuuri somehow beat him here--
Victor stared, nearly dropping his bag at the sight. Stared for a long while, then, a smirk. Would he noticed? Oh, he hoped not. He was getting ready for the ice right the HELL now. Time to show this child how it was done. ]
[ If there's one thing Yuri is good at (though let's be real, there are many many good things that Yuri is good at, and the world knows it!) it's getting out of own head while practising. Competitions were another thing entirely; it was much harder to block out the thunderous sound of his own thoughts and self-depreciation. But when it was just him, and the music, and the repetitive movements? That was when he could block everything else out and just move. Train his body to do what it needed. Apparently, dancing alone mere moments after the sun had come up could do the same, without the repetition part.
He has no idea how long he has been dancing for; someone last night must have set the CD player to repeat the same song on loop, so there's no changing of tracks to indicate that any longer than three and a half minutes have passed. Yuri's eyes are closed because there is nobody here to tell him to watch his footwork, to look at his poor form in the mirror, to berate him into watching his mistakes reflected over and over. He's just dancing, thinking of that night in the club in Barcelona, before he had been kicked literally to the curb. As such, he notices nothing around him. Just the feel of the music vibrating the floorboards beneath him. ]
[ The sound that Yuri makes is positively undignified, something between a squawk and a scream. There's actual fear in his eyes when they snap open, but the vulnerable expression melts away almost immediately, the sheer fury of a thousand volcanoes replacing it. There's practically steam coming from his ears, and if he could physically tower over Victor to scream at him, he would. ]
What the hell are you doing, sneaking around like that?! Who does that?!
[ With an inhuman screech, the stupid song starts again, and Yuri's face flushes immediately. Hunching his shoulders around his ears, he points one finger at Victor accusingly, trying to ignore the high pitched song. ]
And don't you talk to me about being too young. I know what you did when you were my age, so butt out! Just because you're jealous that I can still move without using a cane!
[ Now for him to take his position, starting with an ungodly stretch that he might regret later but fuck it. He's proving a point. Eyes dark, ready to take him on. ]
[ He didn't hesitate to pick up the chorus again. Graceful like ballet, but so absolutely vulgar and tempting that you would have sworn Yuuri Katsuki were in the room to witness it. ]
[ If Yuri's eyes could physically grow to the size of dinner plates, they would. The way Victor is moving makes him think of things that he would rather not think about Victor doing, and the strangled noise he makes indicates just this. ]
Should I be seeing this?!
[ Past the disgust of seeing Victor Nikiforov gyrating his hips like it's just something to do, Yuri can't help but notice a few things. His dancing isn't as fluid as Yuri's. The extension of his free leg isn't as long as it could be. His turns are graceful, but not nearly as graceful as they were before he took his year off to coach Katsuki.
Interesting.
Crossing one leg in front of the other, Yuri folds his arms over his chest and watches, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He's got this. ]
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no subject
Always pleased to be presented with the opportunity to pratice more, to better himself, Yuri dropped his backpack onto the floor and shed his jacket, leaving it in a heap on the floor as any teenager would do. Long, slightly lanky limbs were stretched and joints were rotated as he crossed the shiny floor to the sterio system piled on a spindly legged table in the corner. Upon inspection, he discovered that the usual practice music was missing, and in its place was a CD simply labled 'Мила 3'. One of Mila's mixes, no doubt. Making a sharp sound of annoyance, Yuri shoved the CD tray closed and hit play, moving back toward the middle of the room. He had only taken a few steps when sound screeched from the speakers, practically vibrating Yuri's brain inside his skull. ]
What the hell is this crap?!
[ Not like the music he typically danced to. Not like the music Otabek sent him. Not like anything he knew at all. But there was still something to it. Something that spread a strange little smirk across his face, and caused him to tug the elastic from his hair before launching into some strange hybrid of classical ballet, modern dance, and even some of the disturbing gyrations that he'd seen Yuuri wiggle through at that infamous banquet a year ago.
Kinda fun, actually, even if the music itself sounded like the sounds Potya made when he stepped on her tail. ]
no subject
Surprising everyone. Work had to be done, so off to the ice he went. Unsurprisingly, there was already music going. Surely it would be Yurio this early in the morning.
That's when it hit him. He knew that tune. He could have sang that song in his sleep - albiet in very accented English. Who on earth was practicing this early in the morning?! Did his Yuuri somehow beat him here--
Victor stared, nearly dropping his bag at the sight. Stared for a long while, then, a smirk. Would he noticed? Oh, he hoped not. He was getting ready for the ice right the HELL now. Time to show this child how it was done. ]
no subject
Apparently, dancing alone mere moments after the sun had come up could do the same, without the repetition part.
He has no idea how long he has been dancing for; someone last night must have set the CD player to repeat the same song on loop, so there's no changing of tracks to indicate that any longer than three and a half minutes have passed. Yuri's eyes are closed because there is nobody here to tell him to watch his footwork, to look at his poor form in the mirror, to berate him into watching his mistakes reflected over and over. He's just dancing, thinking of that night in the club in Barcelona, before he had been kicked literally to the curb. As such, he notices nothing around him. Just the feel of the music vibrating the floorboards beneath him. ]
no subject
Aren't you young to be making moves like that?
[ Which, of course he wasn't. Given a different set of circumstances, he would have probably said the exact opposite. ]
no subject
What the hell are you doing, sneaking around like that?! Who does that?!
[ With an inhuman screech, the stupid song starts again, and Yuri's face flushes immediately. Hunching his shoulders around his ears, he points one finger at Victor accusingly, trying to ignore the high pitched song. ]
And don't you talk to me about being too young. I know what you did when you were my age, so butt out! Just because you're jealous that I can still move without using a cane!
no subject
[ Now for him to take his position, starting with an ungodly stretch that he might regret later but fuck it. He's proving a point. Eyes dark,
ready to take him on. ]
I'm showing you how it's done.
no subject
What the hell is he doing?
Yuri practically dislocates his shoulders from the rapid way he flails his arms at Victor. ]
No no no no! We are not doing this. I am not explaining to the pork cutlet why you broke your hip trying to show off!
[ Why did he keep getting dragged into dance-offs with these oafs?? Was this what his life had become? ]
no subject
His expression? Adorable and Innocent. Totally innocent. ]
Afraid you can't keep up with someone so... experienced?
no subject
Experience has nothing to do with it! I've beaten you before, and I'll do it again!
[ God damn it. ]
no subject
Suit yourself.
[ He didn't hesitate to pick up the chorus again. Graceful like ballet, but so absolutely vulgar and tempting that you would have sworn Yuuri Katsuki were in the room to witness it. ]
no subject
Should I be seeing this?!
[ Past the disgust of seeing Victor Nikiforov gyrating his hips like it's just something to do, Yuri can't help but notice a few things. His dancing isn't as fluid as Yuri's. The extension of his free leg isn't as long as it could be. His turns are graceful, but not nearly as graceful as they were before he took his year off to coach Katsuki.
Interesting.
Crossing one leg in front of the other, Yuri folds his arms over his chest and watches, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He's got this. ]