Chapter Text
Canada, in Yuri's mind, is a cold country. It doesn't matter how many summers he's been here. It still comes as a shock to find out how hot, humid and generally disgusting this place can be.
“Fuck,” Yuri groans without opening his eyes, as the mattress dips beside him. “Tell me again why you don't have any fucking air conditioning?”
“My dad doesn't think we need it at the cottage.”
“Has he been here lately?”
“Did you want me to invite him along, babe?” There's a smile in J.J.'s voice. Yuri cracks an eye open. Like Yuri, J.J. is naked. His sculpted chest and tacky tattoos are on plain view, as is the thick, dark chest hair that trails down to a neatly trimmed bush around J.J.'s long, flaccid cock. It would be inspiring sight, usually, but right now, Yuri's too sweaty to feel anything but cranky. He closes his eyes again.
“I'm a guest. You'd think he would want me to be comfortable.”
Without warning, J.J. flops on top of him. Normally, Yuri would revel in the sensation of J.J.'s solid body pressing him down, but right now, it just makes him hotter, and not in a good way. He shoves J.J. off. “You stopped being a guest about, oh, five and a half years ago, babe.” J.J. moves to the end of the bed, then stands. “Anyway, get your sweet ass up. My birthday breakfast is ready.”
“What? It's your birthday?”
“All that, and he's a comedian, too.” J.J. tickles the soles of Yuri's feet. Yuri flinches away, cursing. “Come on,” J.J. repeats. “The coffee's getting cold.”
“How?” Yuri asks, but he pulls himself out of the sticky, sweaty bed.
The cabin, which J.J. insists on referring to as “the cottage”, has apparently been in J.J.'s family for generations. There's running water and plumbing, thank God—Yuri does not do outdoor toilets—but otherwise, it's fairly rustic. Apart from the two bedrooms and the bathroom, the cabin is one large space, with a stuffed moose head on the wall, a creaky old ceiling fan that does nothing but circulate hot air, and sliding glass doors with a stunning view of the lake. When Yuri emerges from the bedroom, J.J. has pulled on a pair of shorts and is sitting at the table, a plate of pastries in front of him.
“Chocolatines,” he explains. “I picked them up in town yesterday. They've been in the fridge, but you might want to eat them fast, before they start to melt.” J.J. takes a bite out of one. “Mm,” he murmurs approvingly. “Delicious.”
Yuri puts a pastry on his plate. Even now, over a year after retiring from competitive skating, he finds himself mentally calculating the calories. J.J., who's been retired for slightly longer, doesn't seem to care, but he's still very active. They both tour with Stars on Ice, but that only takes up a few months of the year. The rest of the time, J.J. studies engineering at Simon Fraser University, and has a part-time job coaching juniors at the former Olympic rink in Vancouver. Yuri joins them, sometimes, but coaching isn't his thing. What, exactly, his “thing” is, he has yet to find out.
“These are good,” Yuri concedes, as he takes a bite of the flaky, chocolate filled pastry.
J.J. nods in agreement. He licks a crumb from his upper lip, then smirks at Yuri. “You know, I haven't had a birthday kiss yet, babe.”
“Keep calling me that, and you'll get a birthday knee to the dick,” Yuri replies, lightly. But he sets the chocolatine on his plate and stands up. J.J. pushes his chair back, as if he's expecting Yuri to sit on his lap, but instead Yuri bends over. His hair is sweaty, lank and generally gross, but he lets it brush against J.J.'s face as he leans in. Yuri presses his tongue against J.J.'s lips and J.J. opens them eagerly, grabbing Yuri's waist and yanking him close as Yuri kisses him, long and slow. When Yuri finally pulls away, they're both out of breath. Yuri takes that as a victory.
“Wow,” J.J. gasps, grinning. After nearly six years together, he still sounds sincerely awed. “If that's a taste of my presents, sweetheart, I can't wait to get the rest.”
Yuri returns to his place at the table. “Who says I got you anything else?” He did, of course. One of the gifts, a guitar signed by someone named Gord Downie, a Canadian icon Yuri's never heard of, is at J.J.'s parents' place in Ottawa. It's a two hour drive from the cottage, and they'll head there tomorrow for a quick visit before they fly back to Vancouver. The other presents, a red satin thong for Yuri and a new vibrating dildo for J.J., who can never decide whether he wants to be on the top or the bottom, are hidden in Yuri's backpack, for later.
“Even if you didn't,” J.J. replies, easily, “I've got something for you.”
“What?” Yuri frowns. “Why?”
“Because I felt like it.”
“What is it?”
“Wait and see.” It sounds a little ominous to Yuri, but J.J. just winks and takes another croissant.
Eight years ago, seven years ago, even six and a half years ago, the idea of being with J.J. would have caused Yuri to laugh, punch a wall, and then throw up. J.J. was an infuriating asshole, the bane of Yuri's life. Sportsmanlike or not, Yuri silently cheered his defeats, cursed his wins, and laughed out loud when he heard J.J.'s beloved fiancée had left him for a professional tennis player named Sophie. Then came the 2021 Trophée de France.
More specifically, then came the open practice session before the short program at the Trophée de France . Yuri's season so far had been dire, and he had to place no lower than second at this competition if he wanted to qualify for the Grand Prix Final. Failing to qualify just a year after taking his fourth gold medal was a humiliation Yuri was not prepared to endure. With that on his mind, he lined up a triple Axel without properly checking the area around him, and jumped into J.J.
It was Yuri's fault. He walked away with a few bruises; J.J. ended up with a fractured ankle, a concussion and a blade to the arm. Not even that wiped the stupid smirk off his face.
“You know, babe,” he said, even as he grew pale and dripped blood onto the ice, “if you wanted my attention, you only had to ask.”
Yuri isn't the kind of guy who tends to be consumed by guilt, but standing on the podium three days later, while J.J. sat in a wheelchair on the sidelines, stirred up some very uncomfortable feelings. He went up to J.J. afterward, when the media had cleared out, with a view to apologizing. J.J. didn't even let him speak.
“Take me for coffee,” he said.
“What?” Yuri scowled at him.
“You want to apologize, right? So take me for coffee.”
“Listen, I don't...” Yuri trailed off. He didn't want this to turn weird, and he wasn't planning on being beholden to J.J. for life over one little mistake. “This doesn't mean we're going to be friends.”
“No,” J.J. agreed. “But I think you owe me a coffee. Don't you?”
Yuri guessed so. And he was on his way to the Grand Prix Final. He could afford to swallow his pride for once. “I have thirty minutes, tops.”
“Sure thing, babe,” J.J. agreed, smiling. That didn't make Yuri feel any better about it.
Yuri expected the date to be the most painful thirty minutes of his life. It wasn't. They went to a little café on a quiet side street. J.J. turned out to be extremely funny in an unexpectedly bitchy way, with comments about and impressions of the other skaters that had Yuri clutching his sides with laughter. J.J. was also generous, insisting on paying despite the fact this was meant to be Yuri's apology to him, and kind. He showered Yuri with specific compliments about his performance that actually meant something, as opposed to the general “that was great!” Yuri got from people who didn't know what they were talking about. Before Yuri knew it, two hours had passed, and J.J. was looking out the window with a frown.
“My mom's here to get me,” he said.
Yuri was shocked to find he felt disappointed about it. “Give me your phone,” he ordered. Before he could change his mind, he added his number in J.J.'s contacts list. “Text me sometime. I mean, if you, like, feel like it or whatever. No big deal.” He ended on a mumble. His face felt hot. He hoped J.J. wouldn't notice.
J.J. nodded. “You bet, ba...” He stopped himself. “Yuri,” he said, instead. He put out a hand. Yuri took it, but instead of shaking it, J.J. just sat there, holding it. For a brief, horrific moment, Yuri thought he might kiss it. Instead, J.J. squeezed. “See you next time,” he said, and rolled away.
Yuri didn't honestly expect to hear from J.J. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. But when he got off the plane in St. Petersburg, Yuri found a message waiting for him, asking if he'd arrived home all right. Yuri replied he had, which led to another lengthy conversation, this time as Yuri stood by the baggage carousel and Yakov yelled at him to get a move on, already.
Three months and countless text, Instagram, Snapchat and Skype conversations later, Yuri and J.J. were once again in the same country. This time, it was Japan. It seemed natural that they meet up for a meal. Afterward, when J.J. leaned down and kissed him in a doorway in the rain like they were in some cheesy old movie, that seemed natural, too. And when they fell into a hotel bed together, J.J. sliding his hand up Yuri's bare thigh as Yuri sucked a love bite onto the tattoo on J.J.'s upper arm...well, natural didn't begin to describe it.
That was the beginning of the end for Yuri. The relationship has of course been bumpy at times—they aren't Victor and Yuuri, the perfect couple—but Yuri hasn't been with anyone else since then. He hasn't wanted to, and neither, as far as Yuri knows, has J.J. Yuri's still shocked by that, when he remembers to think about it.
***
The best part about J.J.'s cottage is the solitude. Yuri never thought of himself as the kind of person who liked peace and quiet but here, where the only sounds are the birds and the only sights the trees and the pure, pristine lake, he finds he's very much that type of person.
After breakfast, when J.J. goes into the shower, Yuri walks down to the dock and sits on the edge, dipping his feet into the blissfully cool water. The cottage may not have air conditioning, but it has Wi-Fi, and Yuri pulls out his phone. He snaps a couple of pictures of the sun glinting off the lake, making sure there are no identifying landmarks in them—even now, he and J.J. both have fans dedicated, and crazy, enough to try and track them down—and posts them on his newest social media accounts. Victor likes them immediately, quickly followed by Yuuri K. Yuri's mentally composing a teasingly harsh response for them when he's suddenly propelled toward the water.
“Fuck!” Yuri screeches, clutching his phone desperately. A strong arm comes around him and yanks him back just before he hits the surface.
“Fuck, J.J.!” Yuri repeats, whipping around. J.J. laughs like Yuri's affronted face is the funniest thing he's seen for years. Yuri scowls. “You know I can't swim, asshole.” The water just below the dock is shallow enough to stand up in, but the lake bed slopes and Yuri knows it turns deep very quickly. He never gets in it.
“And you know I could teach you, if you'd let me.”
“Fuck off.” J.J.'s been offering for six years, and Yuri will never take him up on it. There's something about unfrozen water that he's never going to trust, no matter who is holding onto him.
J.J. sits down next to Yuri, close enough that their sides press together. He's wearing sunglasses, shorts and a tight red T-shirt that clings to his sculpted body, leaving his bulging, tanned arms on display. As usual, Yuri feels small and pale next to him. Yuri knows he's good-looking, in his own way—J.J. tells him so all the time, and Yuri's dedicated fans still plaster their admiration all over the Internet—but his way is not the typically masculine one, like J.J.'s. The way Yuri admires. “I told you I got you a present,” J.J. says.
“And I told you that's dumb.” It's not like J.J. neglected Yuri's birthday. Back in March, he took Yuri on a surprise trip to see Victor and Yuuri K. in Japan. They stayed for a week, renting a room at Yuuri's parents' onsen. One night, when J.J. and Victor were up on the karaoke stage drunkenly butchering Beyoncé's latest hit, Yuuri K. leaned in to Yuri and said, “J.J.'s a great guy, Yurio. Victor and I are so happy for you.”
“Yeah,” Yuri replied. He was happy for himself, too.
Now, J.J. passes Yuri a little white velvet bag. "What is it?" Yuri asks.
“Open it and find out.” J.J. grins. “And don't sound so suspicious. You'll like it. I hope.”
Yuri reaches into the bag. There's only one thing in it: a small, square box, white like the bag it came in. Yuri's heart starts to hammer and his stomach twists. Irrationally, he's caught between wanting to open the box immediately and throwing it, still closed, as far across the lake as it will go. He can't do that, obviously, so he opens the box.
The ring is beautiful. Yuri can't deny it. If he was going to pick one out for himself, it's exactly what he would have chosen. Yellow gold—none of this white gold or even platinum shit that looks like silver—with nine big, eye-catching diamonds arranged in a square in the middle of the wide band. It's a ring that means business, clearly, but before Yuri can panic about what exactly that business is, J.J. says, “It's just a ring, babe. I saw it and I knew you'd love it. Right?” Yuri nods. “So, it's a present.”
“Hell of a present.” Yuri feels suddenly bad about how comparatively little he spent on J.J., even though the guitar cost a lot of money, and the vibrating dildo wasn't cheap, either.
“Well, if you wanted to take it as a little more than that...” J.J. shrugs, but there's a redness on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the sun. “No pressure, Yuri, babe. I mean it. Wear it on whichever hand you want. I don't mind.”
Yuri holds the ring, turning it over in his fingers. The diamonds catch the sun the same way the lake does, sparkling like jewels. They are jewels, you idiot, Yuri snaps at himself, but he's old enough, and wise enough, now to know that he's not really angry. He's just not sure he wants to face this right now.
Does he want to marry J.J.? Yuri loves him, but as the child of a messy divorce, he's always said he will never take that step unless he's absolutely sure. It could just be a ring, Yuri thinks. That was what J.J. had said. Yuri knows he means it.
In spite of the way he acted as a teenager, these days J.J. is the most laid back person Yuri knows. He struggles with anxiety at times, Yuri tries to support him with that, but when it comes to their relationship, he has never pressured Yuri in any way. When they slept together for the first time, in that hotel in Kyoto, Yuri was practically a virgin. That, and the distance between them, led to their relationship progressing at a pace that, in more recent years, Yuri has begun to realize was glacial. The more experienced J.J. never complained. “I'm just happy to be with you, babe,” J.J. said, whenever Yuri mentioned it. He says the same now. “I'm the luckiest guy in the world.” He really sounds like he believes it, too.
So where does that leave Yuri? He looks at the ring again. It is so beautiful, so perfect for him. J.J. knows him well. And it's not like they've never talked about this before.
“I proposed to Isabella when I was nineteen. I've always wanted to be married,” J.J. said, once, and Yuri heroically restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the mention of J.J.'s ex-fiancée. She and J.J. are still friends, so Yuri has to be civil. Isabella and her now-wife Sophie are always inviting the two of them out when they're all in Ottawa at the same time. Yuri isn't heartbroken that it doesn't happen all that often. “But not,” J.J. had added, “until we're both ready.” Is Yuri ready now?
“You're thinking too hard, sweetheart.” J.J. leans over and kisses Yuri on the nose. “Just do what you feel.”
Easier said than done. For years, Yuri made a good living pouring out his feelings on the ice, but that was calculated emotion, practiced over and over again, hundreds upon thousands of times until Yuri knew it was exactly right. Apart from letting J.J. kiss him that first time, following Victor to Hasetsu all those years ago was the only time Yuri's really listened to his own heart.
Yuri holds up the ring. First, he positions it above the fingers of his left hand, but it looks awkward there. Wrong. He slips it onto the fourth finger of his right hand instead, and he knows at once that was the right decision. The ring fits perfectly, and it looks amazing. Like it was always meant to be there.
J.J. kisses Yuri again, lightly on the forehead. “I thought we could go into town for dinner tonight,” he says, like nothing momentous has just happened. Yuri frowns a little. There's laid back, and then there's laid back.
“Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
“You don't have anything else to say?”
J.J. looks at him. Behind the sunglasses his eyes widen, his thick eyebrows all but disappearing into his hairline. “Shit,” he says. Again, not exactly what Yuri expected. “Victor wears his wedding ring on his right hand, doesn't he?”
“Of course. He's Russian.” Realization dawns slowly on Yuri. He grins. If he'd thought of that ahead of time, he'd have definitely used it to tease J.J. Now, all he can say is, “I'm Russian, J.J.” Even if he lives in this strangely hot, muggy country. Even if he's engaged to marry a Canadian.
J.J. throws his arms around him. This time, Yuri does nearly fall into the water. He hangs on, clutching desperately at J.J. “Sorry. Sorry, babe.” J.J. kisses him, sweeping him into a luscious, romantic embrace. When he lets go, Yuri can't resist. He pulls out his phone and holds it at arm's length.
“Smile,” he tells J.J. J.J. does more than that. He pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead and kisses Yuri again, this time on the cheek. Yuri holds up his right hand, showing off the ring, and snaps the picture.
It turns out well. They look happy, in love, but not so over-the-top gushy that Yuri feels embarrassed to share it with the world. Yuri posts it across the board, with the caption, “I said yes,” to eliminate any confusion.
Seconds after the picture posts, Yuri's phone starts buzzing with notifications. They keep coming, over and over, the phone twitching relentlessly in Yuri's hand. Yuri doesn't look at it yet. Instead, he lets J.J. pull him onto his lap and winds his arms around J.J.'s neck.
“I should call my parents,” J.J. says, settling his hands on Yuri's hips. “They're going to be thrilled. You know they love you almost as much as I do.”
“I should call my grandfather, too.” He might not be as enthusiastic. He's met J.J. He likes him well enough, considering Nikolai isn't a guy who likes a lot of people, but Yuri knows he wishes J.J. was a sweet and intelligent Russian girl, in that order. Still, he'll be pleased about this if Yuri is, and Yuri is very pleased. So pleased that he can't help but think how long is this going to last? But he's been thinking that since that first date with J.J., six years ago. At some point, he guesses, he's just going to have to trust that this is it, for both of them. “Then Victor and Yuuri. After that,” Yuri goes on, leaning close. He flicks his tongue against the edge of J.J.'s ear, just to feel him shudder, then murmurs, “I think it's time for your presents, don't you?”
“I could go for that.” J.J. tries to sound cool, but Yuri knows him well enough to hear the hitch in his voice. Yuri grinds down, just enough to feel J.J.'s impressive cock twitch beneath his flimsy shorts. Yuri had never considered the possibility he was a size queen until he saw J.J. for the first time. Then again, there are a lot of things he never considered until he saw J.J., really saw him, for the first time.
J.J. groans. It goes straight to Yuri's dick. If they don't go inside, Yuri thinks, they'll probably end up fucking right here on the dock. It's private enough, but Yuri doesn't think it's that private. He's not willing to bet on it, anyway. “Come on.” Yuri stands up, pulling J.J. with him. J.J. entwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb against the underside of Yuri's new ring.
“It's hot inside the cottage,” J.J. reminds him. Whether it's as a prelude to suggesting al fresco sex, Yuri doesn't know. He looks up at J.J.—despite Yuri's growth spurts, J.J. still stands a good ten centimetres taller than him—and smiles.
“Just wait. It's going to get a lot hotter.” It's a silly line, the kind of thing Victor would say, but J.J. laughs. He lets Yuri steer him across the grassy yard toward the cottage.
The weather might suck, but there's a hell of lot to love about Canada, Yuri decides. And as they pass through to the bedroom, he can almost swear the moose head winks in agreement.