Archive of Our Own

The dark oak banister that separates Victor from the water below is hard, biting into his palms in a way that Victor would swear allows him to feel every whorl, every grain of wood. Victor closes his eyes and inhales, relishing in the burn of salt in his lungs. He maps out the pattern of the wood beneath his fingers, imagines that the patterns mean something, like he can discern his future - or, hell, even his present -  in the serendipity of the planks that make up the ship.

When he opens his eyes, the wood is glaringly inconspicuous and nothing at all like the picture he painted in his mind.

With a wry smile, Victor turns his back to the ocean and occupies himself with trying to pick a splinter out from between his thumb and forefinger using only his fingernails. It’s not very deep, but the sting of it distracts him enough that he doesn’t notice when the captain approaches until he brings a hand down on Victor’s shoulder.

“Bored, your highness?” Christophe asks, tone teasing, like he wouldn’t mind suggesting what exactly Victor could do to entertain himself - and Victor is sure the suggestion would scandalize most, if not all, of his court.

Victor smiles, a small, genuine quirk of his lips that’s a far cry from the deceptively bright one he uses to sway foreign diplomats and his parents advisors. “How could I be when you’re here?”

Chris laughs and pulls Victor close, tucking him against his side. “That’s true,” he says, his voice light, which automatically makes Victor’s hackles raise. Chris only uses that tone when - “Are you excited to meet your betrothed?”

When he wants to ask about  that .

Victor has a diplomatic answer for that question. One that he gives to his parents, his advisors, and his parent’s advisors, all with a dazzling smile and flippant laugh. But Victor hasn’t pretended for Chris in a long time and he is not about to start now, so he tenses and Chris’s arm tightens around his shoulders, trapping him. “I don’t want to talk about her.” Victor knows he sounds like a petulant teenager, but he figures he’s allowed to at the moment.

Victor doesn’t look at Chris, instead he focuses his eyes on a member of the crew that’s scaling the rigging on the center mast. He can feel Chris’s concerned look burning into his skull.

“You have to at some point,” Chris says gently.

“Says who?” Victor sniffs, his nose in the air, looking every bit like the spoiled royal that he is.

Chris releases him and Victor breathes out in relief, only for his breath to stutter in his throat when Chris forcibly turns him so he can meet his eyes.

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up like this, Victor,” Chris says. Victor can hear the edge of desperation in his voice, but he can’t bring himself to actually open his mouth and tell Chris how he feels.

What would he even say? That he doesn’t want this? That he wasn’t even given a choice, his parents signed him away the moment he was born and he’s resented them for it since he found out? Words like that don’t help anyone, and he’s not willing to burden the only person he can consider a friend with that sort of weight.

Instead, “It is my duty,” he says. Because nothing else can even begin to match that argument. His father has made that very clear over the years.

Chris deflates, a pitying look on his face, “I’m not saying you need to run away and become a pirate-” Victor scoffs at the very idea, “-but talking about it might help.”

Victor pulls aways, keeping his face carefully neutral. “There is nothing to talk about,” he says, a clear dismissal. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Victor sees Chris open his mouth, ready to argue, but a shout from the crow’s nest draws both of their attention. The words are entirely indecipherable to Victor, the sound of waves lapping against the ship just below him much too loud to allow for things like auditory processing. Clearly though, whatever the sailor yelled is important, as Chris draws up to his full, commanding height. He claps his hand on Victor’s shoulder, and then he’s off, barking orders that are inaudible to Victor, but everyone else seems to hear them just fine.

The crew works with a determination that Victor had yet to see, even though they had been sailing for a week now. Sailors race past him, sans their usual demeaning comments, not even sparing him a glance as they rush to do their duties. One of them walks up to him, the captain’s right hand.

“We need to get you below deck,” the man - Georgi, if Victor remembers correctly - says to Victor, not even waiting for a reply before he grabs Victor’s bicep and heads for the stairs, weaving expertly between a cabin boy and a gunman making a determined line towards Christophe.

“What’s happening?” Victor asks, stumbling along as best he can with as little warning as Georgi gave him.

“Pirates,” Georgi says, a grave look descending on his features.

The word causes Victor to pause. He whips his head around, and manages to catch sight of the ship, barely an inch tall on the horizon. A spike of fear and, if Victor’s being honest, excitement, hits his stomach.

Victor rushes below deck with Georgi, no longer needing to be pulled along as his legs catch up with his brain, adrenaline surging through him. They reach the crew’s shared quarters in no time, an area that Victor had not set foot in until now. Georgi starts flitting through the room, pulling clothes from cots, seemingly at random, and throwing them at Victor.

“Put those on,” Georgi says, without looking at Victor.

Victor does as he’s told, shamelessly stripping out of his own clothes right there, and slipping into the much dirtier and cheaper garments that were given to him.

Victor is  thrilled . He’s never worn fabric this rough before, never worn anything so poorly structured. It feels strangely freeing, like his responsibilities were stripped from him the same as his clothes. He cheerfully kicks his shirt and trousers under the cot closest to him. Someone else will appreciate them more.

Georgi returns to him, a strip of fabric in one hand and a hat in the other. “It’s too bad we don’t have time to cut your hair,” he says, staring balefully at Victor’s braid. Victor grasps the plait and turns away slightly, as if to protect it from Georgi’s non-existent scissors.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost of a smile flickers across Georgi’s face, “like I said, there’s no time. Can you pin it up?”

Victor nods. He piles his braid on top of his head, securing it precariously with the hair pins he keeps on his person at all times. Georgi watches the process, but he’s clearly distracted, glancing too often at the door to the quarters. He relaxes a little when Victor let’s his arms fall to his sides and smiles in a ‘there, see? No need to worry,’ kind of way.

Georgi steps forward, trying the cloth around Victor’s hair in attempt to conceal it, and once he’s satisfied with that, he plops the hat on Victor’s head with a decisive nod.

“That will have to do,” he says just as the door crashes open.

Four pirates - who are not as buff and scary looking as Victor expected to be honest - swarm around them. One of them says something, but it’s not in any of the, quite a few, languages that Victor knows. Victor looks at him blankly and the pirate rolls his eyes and without warning picks Victor up and slings him over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Victor and Georgi say in unison, but they’re both ignored, and Victor hears a few thuds as Georgi struggles against the other pirates.

Victor lets himself hang so he can grasp at his hat. It’s a miracle he didn’t lose it already, but he’s not going to question it. He tries not to let himself panic, they probably just want the entire crew on deck. They probably don’t want to kill all of them, right?

He, admittedly, does not know very much about pirates.

The sunlight above deck is almost blinding compared to the darkness below, and Victor shuts his eyes against it. This is probably why he doesn’t realize he’s being dropped until he’s already falling.

His eyes fly open in alarm and he lets out a yelp, which he desperately hopes got lost in the wind or the waves or some other noise that’s bound to be louder than his shrill voice, and he hits the ground heavily. Luckily, the pirate had enough sense not to drop him on his head, so his backside caught most of the impact. Victor tries not to be too obvious about rubbing it as he sits up.

The crew is scattered around him, some on the ground and out of breath, others standing tall and glaring at the pirates who have corralled them to the aft of the ship. Victor tries to surreptitiously scoot back and blend in, but his movements draw the eye of one of the pirates.

He’s standing a bit to the side of the other pirates, watching over their captives with a satisfied glint in his eyes. He’s wearing a pristine, dark blue coat, the price of which probably rivals the price of Victor’s own discarded outfit. He has a sword at his hip, but it gleams brightly, almost as though it’s more for decoration than anything else, but the easy way the man carries himself tells Victor that he knows how to use it. The hat he’s wearing would look ridiculous on anyone with less confidence, but this man makes it work. He meets Victor’s eyes and smirks.

He’s gorgeous.

Victor flushes at the thought and looks away, but the excitement from earlier settles in his chest, right between his heart and his ribcage, telling him the heat in his face is not entirely from embarrassment.

The man says something to the pirate who carried Victor up there, but it's in the same language as earlier. The pirate scrambles to attention and replies in a high pitched voice with a bow. It dawns on Victor that this must be the captain. He tries to pretend that the thought doesn’t thrill him.

A moment later Georgi is dragged over to them. He’s slumped between two of the pirates, a bright purple bruise on his cheek. The captain echanges a few words with the pirates before they dump Georgi next to Victor.

The captain steps forward and a hush falls over the deck. “Good morning!” he calls out in accented English. Even his voice is attractive, which is entirely unfair if you ask Victor. “We’re not here to harm anyone,” these words cause a few of the more visibly injured sailors to grumble, and the captain smiles, wide and beautiful and dangerous, “Permanently.” He adds with a wink in Victor’s direction.

Victor wonders how embarrassing it would be to swoon like one of the countesses his father associates with right then and there. It’s probably not worth the inevitable mocking if they make it out of this intact.

“I do apologize if a few of my people got a little too rowdy,” the captain’s smile fades as he starts pacing a line along the width of the deck, looking over his captives like a king his subjects. “We only want your valuables. Your blood is meaningless to us, and we don’t want to have to take any more of it from you.” He comes to a stop and lets the words hang, lets the threat soak into their very bones, until the entire deck is frozen with it.

“I hope that’s understood.” The words leave no room for argument, and many of the sailors jump at the chance to agree.

“Great!” the captain grins, “Now turn out your pockets.”

Christophe’s crew obliges immediately, digging out their coin or their watches, and the pirates descend upon them like crows, picking anything shiny out of their hands gleefully.

Victor stays as he is, anything he had of value was stored in his quarters, or in the clothes he abandoned below-deck. He has nothing to offer, so he tries to shrink into the background, scooting so that Georgi’s body obscures him from view in the controlled chaos.

Victor leans against the mast and fixes his eyes on his knees, trying to look as poor as everyone around him. Things start calming down, and Victor relaxes a bit, thinking he’s escaped their attention, then a shadow falls over him.

The captain stands over him, a thoughtful look on his face. Victor stares up at him, and, god, he must have done something terrible in a past life, because the captain is somehow even more attractive up close.

The captain kneels, so that he’s more or less face to face with Victor. He reaches out, brushing his fingers against Victor’s cheekbone, like he’s tucking a clump of hair behind Victor’s ear.

And, here’s the thing, Victor  knows  how dramatic he tends to be. It’s an adjective he learned at a very young age, when he kept insisting he was dying every time he was minorly inconvenienced. Their servants learned to ignore him anytime he so much as shed a tear, warning away any newer staff members who dared to comfort him. And, yeah, his father wouldn’t stand for that behavior once Victor hit a certain age, but he still has a certain flair for embellishment, for theatrics and exaggeration.

Despite knowing this, he would swear with absolute certainty that his heart stops when this beautiful pirate captain’s eyes meet his own.

They stay like that for a moment, the captain’s hand on Victor’s face, staring into each other’s eyes. Victor wants to move, to simultaneously lean into the hand and press up and close the distance between their faces. But every moment ends, and this one ends with a vicious, triumphant twist of the captains beautiful lips as they quirk into a smirk.

The captain pulls his hand back sharply, the movement tugs at Victor’s hair, causing him to gasp and grasp at the side of his head, where the captain’s hand crept up to when Victor wasn’t paying attention.

The captain says something in that foreign language, holding aloft one of Victor’s golden hair pins. Victor’s eyes fly wide as realization hits him, and a painful sensation, not unlike hurt, curls at the base of his throat.

The captain leans in once more, reaching for Victor’s hat. As he yanks it off his head, Victor turns away, nose in the air.

His oldest, and truest defense mechanism has always been this. Playing the part of the silly, prideful prince. That’s not to say he isn’t silly or prideful, but he likes to imagine he’s not as bad as people perceive him. He’s certainly more nuanced than that.

He buries his shame under his pride and keeps his chin high as the captain unwinds the scarf from his head next, revealing Victor’s unmistakeable silver hair.

Victor is famous for many things; his royal upbringing for one, but also for his negotiating skills, his wild youth (Chris is truly a terrible influence), and his skills on the dancefloor. But perhaps the most widely known trait of Victor’s is his long, gleaming hair, which he inherited from his mother. Much of the servant’s gossip in the castle is centered on whether or not their hair is even real, a mainstay of conversation despite the actual scandals that originate within the walls of Victor’s home.

“Well,” A sparkling grin splits the captain’s face, “I did not realize we were in the presence of royalty.” He drops the scarf, letting it flutter to the ground as he reaches out and starts picking the pins out of Victor’s hasty updo.

“Don’t touch him!” Chris calls out, lurching forward, but a pirate’s arm immediately springs out to hold him back.

“Be quiet,” the dark-skinned pirate says. He steps closer to Chris, obscuring his view of the situation.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” The captain coos at Victor, completely ignoring the other men. “Are you too prideful to speak to a pirate?”

Victor bristles. The taunt is not a new one, he’s certainly heard a fair share of variations of it since he was a child, but that makes the sting that much deeper. He allows himself to fix a glare on the captain, who lights up as soon as their eyes meet again.

“Or… Oh!” The captain stands straighter, affixing Victor with a disarmingly charming smile. “Perhaps we simply haven’t shown you the proper respect that is warranted to a crown prince,” the captain says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The captain glances around, making eye contact with a few of his crew members, then he settles his gaze on Victor once more. He smirks and bends at his waist, dipping into a deep, facetious bow. “Your Highness.” The sound of rustling clothes echoes across the deck as the rest of the pirate crew scramble to copy their captain.

“Don’t do that,” Victor can’t stop himself from snapping out. The taunts dig deeper than perhaps even the captain meant them, because Victor would swear that his face twists with regret before he pastes another confident smile on.

“He speaks!” The shout comes from someone among the crew, a young man with light brown, shoulder length hair. Victor shifts his glare to him.

“You know…” The captain drawls, reaching out and cupping Victor’s face, forcing his attention back on him. “You are easily the most valuable thing in the entirety of the Baltic.” The captain’s voice is quiet, almost a purr. Victor feels more than sees the rest of the deck leaning in to try to discern his words.  “And I did say we would be taking this ship’s valuables.”

The captain’s face is now so close to Victor’s that he can feel the heat of his breath on his flushed face. Victor’s stomach swoops, a deliriously delightful sensation that makes Victor want to throw himself into the pirate’s arms.

“Hmm. It’s a shame that I’m not in the business of kidnapping.” The captain says, and Victor doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. “You would make a fine treasure, Victor.”

Victor’s entire body combusts -  or at least it feels like it does. The warmth spreads from his gut to his finger and toes and the tips of his hair until it feels like the heat of his body might set the deck below him on fire.

There’s just something about how the pirate phrased it. How he said that  Victor  is a treasure, and not just something to be ransomed off for something that’s actually valuable. Like he wants Victor and not the gold that he’s supposedly worth.

Sitting on the deck of the ship, Victor feels flayed open and vulnerable. It’s the first time he’s ever felt like he might be more than just a prince, a pawn for his family to push around as they see fit. Unexpectedly, it hurts, because, as the captain turns away, Victor realizes he will never feel this again. He will never get to know who Victor the person is.

“Are the lower decks clear?” The captain barks at one of his crew members who emerges from below deck. The large man is carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms and Victor is distantly aware that they’re the ones he discarded earlier.

“Yes, captain!”

“Great!” The captain claps, a sharp sound that bites into Victor’s bones. The pirates scatter back towards their own ship, their arms full of anything of interest they were able to find.

The captain ignores the crowded gangplanks, instead he grabs a rope that someone from his ship tosses to him. He turns back and grins before saying, “If you give chase, I will sink this boat before you even have a chance to feel regret.” And with a tip of his hat, he launches off the bannisters, swinging across the gap between their ships.

No one moves for several minutes, not until the pirates’ ship is well on its way to wherever it’s heading next. But eventually Christophe stands and starts directing his shaken crew as best as he can.

Victor pulls himself to his feet as the sailors shuffle around deck, trying to get the ship back into sailing condition. The pirates’ ship is still in sight, and Victor presses up against the railing closest to the shrinking silhouette to watch it get farther and farther away.  

When Victor has to squint to even see the tiniest dot on the horizon, Chris sidles up to him. Victor pretends he doesn’t notice him, not wanting to deal with whatever Chris has to say to him.

Moments later, Chris sighs and asks a simple, “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Victor lies and lies and lies. But these words are second nature, and Victor barely even tastes the bitterness of the falsity anymore. “I’m fine.”

---

Anette is a lovely woman, really. She’s pretty enough, kind, charming, and, best of all, just as disinterested in Victor and he is in her. He wonders vaguely whether that is something they could bond over, but he doesn’t get a chance to broach the subject as their individual gravitational pulls keep them drifting further and further apart.

It takes several minutes for the Finnish King to even set up a toast, as several servants have to fetch Victor and Anette just to ensure they’re standing at least near each other when the king raises his glass.

As far as his expectations for his engagement party are concerned, this is pretty much a best case scenario.

It really is a lovely party though. The King and Queen certainly spared no expense to welcome him into their home for the forthcoming week he’s scheduled to stay there. There are tables upon tables of food, a six-piece band, a crowded dance floor, and just the right amount of simpering nobles - enough that Victor can easily find someone to speak with, but not too many that he can’t take a moment to himself on the outskirts of the crowd.

Victor finds himself there increasingly often as the night wears on, casting sideways looks towards the dance floor. Anette is nowhere in sight, which is fine, but Victor, surrounded by foreign people who know only his name and heritage, is starting to feel lonely.

“You seem like the kind of man who likes to dance.” The words come from Victor’s right hand side, the opposite direction of the dancing, and Victor is caught off guard.

“Maybe I am.” Victor turns, and his smile falters when he sees who spoke.

It’s the pirate from a few days ago. Though, he certainly looks… different. He’s wearing a long, black, form-fitting dress that flares out at his hips, red fabric folded into the black. There’s make-up on his face, his lips a bright rouge, eyelids darkened with smokey powder. And his hair is down, falling in soft, elegant waves down his back.

To anyone else he would appear to be just another noblewoman, dressed a bit more scandalously than the older women, but Victor recognizes his face from his daydreams.

“I’m Yuuri,” the pirate says with a soft, secretive smile, holding out his hand.

Electricity twirls down Victor’s spine, and he jumps to take Yuuri’s hand. He bows, dusts a kiss across his knuckles, and glances at Yuuri through his lashes. “Victor,” he replies unnecessarily, but he thrills at the way Yuuri’s face lights up.

“So, Victor,” Yuuri says, once Victor has released his hand. “Why aren’t you?” Victor blinks and Yuuri must read the confusion in his expression because he clarifies, “Dancing, I mean.”

It would be fascinating, how easily Yuuri manages to crawl under Victor’s skin, if only it weren’t so damned frustrating.

Victor looks at the glass in his hand blankly as he answers. “Anette is not a fan of dancing. She thinks it’s undignified.” He can’t help the way the words twist his lips into a grimace. He’s thankful that his current company is no one but a pirate.

(Victor ignores the part of him that’s screaming that Yuuri could never be nothing but a pirate, because he’s not really sure how to handle that while he’s supposed to be celebrating his engagement to another woman. That’s not even to mention that Victor doesn’t even  know  Yuuri.)

“Sounds like your wedding will be an absolute blast then.” Yuuri’s grin is wry, clearly teasing, but that doesn’t make his meaning any less true.

Victor keeps his face carefully neutral as he says, “I suppose not.”

The words hang, and neither of speak for a moment. Victor wonders if his wedding will be the same as this party. If his future wife will even hang around long enough to have a conversation once they exchange their vows.

“Dance with me.” It’s more a command than a question, and the words startle Victor out of his thoughts.

“People will talk,” Victor says because it’s true. He doesn't want to think about how his father will react if word gets out about Victor dancing with someone who isn’t his fiancée at his engagement party.

“They will talk regardless,” Yuuri points out, and Victor tilts his head in concession. He’s sure a million rumors are flying about why Victor and Anette are so far from each other. “We may as well give them some fun gossip.”

Yuuri takes Victor’s hand and smiles. Victor’s will is crumbling and he scrambles for a piece of logic to save him.  

“Anette,” he says, but, judging from the way Yuuri’s face brightens, they both know that the argument holds no water.

“She’s on the other side of the room.” Yuuri turns to look at her and Victor’s eyes follow Yuuri’s line of sight until they land on Anette, surrounded by a group of what must be her friends if her relaxed posture is anything to judge.  “She won’t even notice.”

“Alright,” Victor finds himself agreeing before his brain really processes the situation. By the time he thinks to protest further, Yuuri has already led him to the dance floor and it would be impossible to escape without creating quite a scene.

For a moment, Victor flails, unsure of where to put his hands, or his feet, which is ridiculous considering how many dance lessons he’s had.

But. Victor has never danced with another man before, and, disguised though he is, Yuuri is certainly a man. It simultaneously feels as though a wish of his he never knew existed has been fulfilled and like the ground has been pulled out from beneath him, robbing him of any of the grace his instructors used to praise him for.

Yuuri, perhaps sensing Victor’s discomfort, takes his hands and guides one to his waist, keeping the other firmly in his grasp. His newly free hand comes to rest on Victor’s shoulder, his fingers creeping deliriously close to the nape of his neck and Victor forgets how to breathe.

Victor looks into Yuuri’s eyes, almost overcome with the desire to lean in, to make the distance between their bodies disappear, but propriety has been drilled into him since birth, and if there is any trait of his that Victor has absolute confidence in, it’s his ability to default into politeness while his mind runs away from him.

They stand there, stiffness laced through Victor’s bones and Yuuri the picture of lazy confidence, clearly content with waiting for Victor to take the lead, for much too long to be proper. Though, it’s not until another couple dances right into them that Victor realizes.

His fingers twitch, catching on the material of Yuuri’s dress, and he breathes in, long and deep, and when he exhales he starts moving.

Victor enjoys dancing. He always has, even if his interest has waned as his parents have forced him more into the political side of ruling. As a teenager, he particularly delighted in some more complicated dances, ones that had difficult step sequences and flying leaps, and when he mastered those, he created his own. He can’t think of a time he was happier than when he was choreographing pieces and performing them for his instructor.

The dance Victor leads Yuuri in is a waltz, comparatively simple, something he mastered early on, as it is a staple of royal parties. He could dance a waltz in his sleep without missing a step. He should be bored. And yet.

And yet, dancing with Yuuri is fun.

Yuuri sweeps across the dance floor as, if not more, elegantly as Victor himself. His feet are sure in their steps, matching the rhythm Victor has set easily. But, every other turn Yuuri does something… surprising.

At first it’s small, a gentle caress on Victor’s jaw, a mesmerizing shimmy of his hips that certainly looks amazing, but it’s definitely not one of the widely accepted moves that belong in this dance form.

When this doesn’t garner more than an appreciative look from Victor, Yuuri gets bolder. His hand trails down to Victor’s waist and he takes the lead, uncaring of anyone’s eyes on them. He conducts Victor across the dance floor in something closer to a tango, and certainly not something that should be danced in their current company.

Victor lets this happen, too breathless, too infatuated to think about the people around them. He’s never danced like this, never been held like this, like he’s precious and wonderful, and he finds it very difficult to care about anything other than keeping that grin on Yuuri’s face.

The song reaches a crescendo and Yuuri dips him. Victor lets out a delighted laugh, distinctly aware of Yuuri being the only thing to keep him from falling.

(Except he’s already falling, falling… And he’s not sure if he wants anyone to catch him.)

The music changes, easing into something softer, and Yuuri pulls Victor upright to resume some of the more dull steps.

“You’re a natural,” Yuuri says a moment later, his eyes sparkling up at Victor.

“So are you,” Victor responds, his voice softer than he’s ever heard it before.

A pinkish hue dusts Yuuri’s cheekbones, and he looks away. Victor doesn’t blame him. He, too, is embarrassed by the fondness laced in his tone.

Yuuri’s gaze locks onto Anette, who is still entrenched in a group of friends. “It truly would be a shame for some spoiled princess to rob the dance floor of such talented hips,” Yuuri says and Victor feels his own face heat up in response.

“Yeah. Well.” Victor doesn’t know how to respond. He’s not exactly happy about it either.

“You don’t like her.” It’s a statement, an observation more than anything else, and Victor winces.

“What’s not to like?” Victor keeps his voice light, despite the unpleasantness uncoiling in his belly. Anette is lovely, truly.

“Victor,” And, oh, Victor would die a thousand times over if it meant getting to hear his name in Yuuri’s voice everyday. “She doesn’t even dance.”

It’s such a simple statement, and if this were any other person’s engagement party it would sound ridiculous. Surely, love would prevail over such trivial values. Except love has never been a factor in Victor and Anette’s relationship, and though Victor harbors no ill feelings towards Anette, he is finding it increasingly difficult to summon positive ones.

“Dancing is hardly a reason to call off an engagement.” The words sound far away, even though Victor knows he is the one who spoke them. His speech feels rote, likes he’s just repeating something he’s heard from someone else. And though the words do belong to him, he can’t help but hear them echoing in his head, distinctly in his father’s voice.

“And happiness?” Yuuri asks, his voice pulling Victor out of his own head.

“Happiness?” Victor furrows his brow in confusion.

“Your happiness?” Yuuri prompts, finally looking back at Victor, the bridge of his nose scrunched up adorably.  “Is that a reason to call off an engagement?”

“It’s not a factor.” Another rote answer.

“But shouldn’t it be?” Yuuri asks, as though it could ever be that simple for Victor.

The air is punched out of Victor’s lungs, painful and sudden and  too much . It’s widely known amongst those close to him that Victor isn’t happy with this arrangement. He made so secret of it when he first found out at the young age of thirteen. And maybe Victor spends too much time around nobility, around people who care more for status and duty than frivolous things such as happiness, but no one’s ever bothered to imply that Victor’s emotions are important.

Victor opens his mouth, though he’s not sure what he could say to that, because nothing he could ever say could compare to the way Yuuri’s words resonate with him. But -

“Victor?” Anette. She snuck up on them while Victor and Yuuri were distracted, and Victor could curse himself for his obliviousness.

“I’ll see you around,” Yuuri’s hand lingers on Victor’s arm, a brush of fingers that shoot electricity down Victor’s spine, and then he’s gone, winding through the crowd without a glance back.

“Who was that?” Anette asks and Victor reluctantly turns away from the mesmerizing sight of Yuuri walking away to try and control the damage.

---

Christophe’s ship is attacked again while they make their return trip.

Victor wonders idly, while a pirate is tying his hands behind his back, whether it’s him or the ship that seems to attract pirates like flies to honey.

Unfortunately, it’s not Yuuri who captains this crew. Instead, it’s a rather loud man, who struts across the deck like he’s entitled to it. He orders his crew around obnoxiously, seemingly pulling tasks out of the air on a whim, and it’s a wonder that there hasn’t been a mutiny.

The captain’s eyes settle on Victor, and a sickening sense of deja vu rips through him.

“Oh, you’ll fetch a rather pretty price, won’t you, your Highness?” The captain reaches out and Victor recoils, flinching away from his touch.

The pirate pulls back, eyes like steel, and says, “I’m sure you know who I am, so it’s really in your best interests to cooperate.”

Victor blinks and exchanges a blank look with Georgi. “Who are you?”

“You-” The pirate deflates, like a marionette with its strings cut, “you don’t know who I am?”

“No?” Victor is unable to stop his voice from lilting it into a question. He shudders to think of how his mother would reprimand him for his rudeness.

“Jean-Jacques Leroy? The pirate king of the Atlantic? King JJ?” the pirate gets increasingly more desperate as Victor continues to level him with a blank look, until, finally, he just sighs. “Oh, well. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

---

Leroy leaves Chris and his crew tied together on the deck of their ship. Victor, on the other hand, gets tossed into a room in the brig.

Being kidnapped and held for ransom is shockingly dull. Victor spends most of his days slumped against a wall, the only source of light comes from beyond the bars in the window of his door, so he spends most of his time daydreaming.

Victor is not usually wont to such fanciful things, having learned from a young age not to get his hopes up for things that are the usual subjects of daydreams. Things like freedom, frivolity, love.

When that gets old, perhaps after a few days, it’s hard to tell how much time has passed when he can’t see the sky - and he’s not going to think about who was the star of most of his daydreams - he badgers the person who brings him meals to let him above deck, proving himself to be quite annoying, until someone chains his hands and drags him out of the brig.

The fresh air is nice, but the sunlight is blinding after so much time spent below deck. Victor spends the first few minutes bent over, squinting and blinking rapidly until his eyes adjust.

Being outside doesn’t do much to alleviate his boredom, and he can’t help but wonder how much time will pass until his parents receive word of his abduction. Surely they will send someone after him forthright? Though, he has no clue where Leroy’s ship is heading, and every minute spent here could be putting more and more leagues between them and Russia.

Despite Victor’s aversion to daydreaming, he must admit that he’s thought about running away before. About hopping on the nearest ship and posing as a crew member and just living out his life on a boat. But now, faced with that possibility, he’s terrified.

He’s not cut out to live his own life, to make his own decisions. He was born to follow orders, to be whoever his father wants for the future of their country. He has a duty, and though he loathes to follow it, he has no idea who he is without it. Without his responsibilities, his obligations, he ceases to exist.

By the time he’s escorted back to the brig, Victor is sure that he’s going to waste away to nothing on this boat.

---

The very next day Victor is awoken by the sound of a battle happening above deck. Or, at least he thinks it’s a battle.

The sound is cacophonous, clashing metal, shouting, and gunshots and Victor’s heart leaps into his throat. He’s far enough below deck that he should be safe from the worst of it, but a thread of fear winds its way around his chest, ever so slowly constricting as the battle wages on.

He has no idea whether the challengers are friend or foe, hell, it might be a mutiny, like Victor had predicted some time ago. But it could also be a naval force, and Russia is friends with many countries. If it’s navy, then Victor is almost guaranteed a return home. But, it could be other pirates, ones that are more cruel than Leroy, who might not want to ransom Victor off unharmed.

The unknown is perhaps the most fear-inducing thing that Victor has ever experienced. He’s not used to this sort of spontaneity. His entire life has been planned out since a young age, and while he welcomes surprises, a certain pirate captain being one of them, there are some things that he is not equipped to handle. And right now, his life lies in the hands of whoever wins whatever war is raging above.

Eventually the sounds of fighting fade away, though the shouting remains. Victor can’t recognize any voices, friend or foe, due to the way the wood between them muffles the sound. So he waits, anxiety curling in his stomach, until someone comes down.

He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears light footsteps descending into the brig. His stomach clenches. The normal guard is very heavy on his feet, so this is someone else.

A shadow eclipses the lamp that shines into his cell, and a soft, familiar voice curses as the figure tries to open the open, and Victor’s heart soars.

Eventually, the figure gives up on subterfuge and just kicks the door in. It breaks easily, the top hinge torn from the wall, and the bottom one barely hanging on, but it’s enough for the newcomer to step inside and Victor almost bursts into tears at the sight of Yuuri.

For a brief, wild moment, Victor wonders if he’s still daydreaming. But Yuuri’s careful fingers on his cheek are the best thing he’s felt in weeks, and he can’t bring himself to care whether or not he’s real.

“Yuuri!” Victor smiles, leaning into Yuuri’s touch.

Yuuri kneels so he’s eye level with Victor’s slumped form. “Sorry it took me so long,” he says, and there’s something odd about the way he’s carrying himself, how his hand isn’t so steady against Victor’s face, but Victor’s brain is too addled from days of solitude to place why everything feels wrong.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Victor says, because he honestly wasn't. He can’t think of a reason for Yuuri to be here, and it’s certainly not  for Victor.

“Yes, well,” Yuuri shifts back on his heels, and determinedly looks anywhere but at Victor. “I couldn’t just let JJ take you from me.”

Oh. Oh.

Victor feels like all of the nerve endings in his body have been disconnected and he’s just floating. Yuuri’s mouth moves again, but if he says something, Victor can’t hear it over the rushing in his ears.

A pinched look takes over Yuuri’s expression, and Victor is able to place it. Worry. Yuuri reaches for Victor, his hand landing on his shoulder, and suddenly Victor’s nerves are singing, zeroing in on the gentle pressure of Yuuri’s hand.

“From you?” Victor asks, a stupid smile pulling at his lips.

Yuuri flushes, an attractive, bright pink. “We should - ah!” Yuuri doubles over, clutching at his side as he hisses out in pain. “We should get out of here,” he says through clenched teeth.

“You’re hurt.” Victor reaches out, then thinks better of it, letting his hand hover over Yuuri’s own bloody one. Victor wants to hit himself for not realizing sooner that Yuuri is in pain.

“All the more reason to get moving.” Yuuri makes a good point, and Victor climbs to his feet. Yuuri struggles with the task, so Victor helps steady him.

For a moment, it seems like Yuuri is fine, but then he lists to the side, and it’s only Victor’s quick reflexes that save Yuuri from a concussion. Victors ends up pulling Yuuri’s arm around his shoulder so that he can support Yuuri’s weight as they make their way out of the brig.

It takes them about twice as long as it should to get above deck, Yuuri keeps stumbling, and while Victor’s body is more than fit, he’s not used to carrying, well, anything for any extended period of time.

“You alright, captain?” The dark-skinned pirate that Victor remembers from last time immediately rushes to their side when Victor and Yuuri stumble above deck.

“I will be, thank you, Phichit,” Yuuri says, waving the pirate - Phichit, Victor assumes - off and making an effort to stand straighter, using Victor’s arm as leverage.

“You want me to give Leroy a scar to match?” Phichit asks, a sharp grin on his face.

“Oh, trust me, he’ll have plenty.” Yuuri shoots back a matching grin, and Victor wonders at how that makes his heart do gymnastics in his chest.

With Phichit’s help, Victor is able to navigate Yuuri across the gangplank that connects his ship to JJ’s quite quickly. Once they set foot on deck, another pirate relieves Victor of Yuuri, and she and Phichit take Yuuri somewhere else. Victor lets them, the arm he was using to support Yuuri falling limp to his side as he takes in his surroundings.  

Victor, caught up as he was in the excitement, never got a good chance to examine Yuuri’s ship before. Victor has been on many ships in his life, but never one quite like this.

It’s a large enough ship, not the biggest that Victor’s been on, but it has more than enough room for Yuuri’s crew to work with space to spare. The sails are multicolored, reds and oranges and golds, all melting together like the backdrop of a sunset. The hoisted flag is a simple skull and crossbones, but set against a burgundy background instead of the typical black. But, while interesting, none of these features are the reason Victor is staring. No, he’s fixated on the rigging, the metal fastenings, the trim of the masts and banisters. It gleams bright in the setting sun, and Victor is sure he must be mistaken but he swears it looks like-

“The gold?” At some point Phichit has sidled up beside Victor, sans Yuuri. Victor nods numbly in response. “Aside from the trim, most of it is plate, but don’t tell anyone.” Phichit winks.

“Plate?” Victor furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He’s not familiar with the word used in this context, and he doubts Phichit means dinnerware.

“Yeah, solid gold isn’t really strong enough to hold a ship together.” Phichit explains, and though Victor isn’t looking at him, still marveling at the way the sunlight glints off the gold embellishments, he can tell from his voice that he’s smiling. “It’s actually a very soft metal, so we just put a layer of it over some stronger stuff.”

“God.” Victor couldn’t hide the amazement in his voice if he tried and Phichit just beams in response. Victor wasn’t expecting this level of opulence onboard a pirate ship. Or any ship for that matter. Chris’s ship is one of the most luxurious ships Victor has ever been on, but it doesn’t even compare to Yuuri’s ship.

“The Eros is certainly one of a kind,” Phichit’s voice is laced with pride, and his chest puffs out as he says the words.

“The Eros?” Alarm bells are ringing in Victor’s head. Everyone has heard of the Eros. Its rumored to be home to one of the most vicious and capable crews in the world. Victor has heard sailors talk in hushed voices about how the Eros comes out of nowhere, always at twilight, too fast for anyone to get away, and that the pirates will steal everything of value, leaving unsuspecting sailors with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Though, now that Victor thinks about it, that certainly does sound like Yuuri and his crew.

Phichit just claps a hand on Victor’s shoulder in response, probably all too aware of Victor’s thoughts. “I brought the captain to the infirmary,” Phichit says a few moments later, “Do you want to keep gawping at his ship, or would you rather gawp at him?”

“Him,” Victor says, the word falling from his lips without any conscious thought, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. He’s spent too much time with his thoughts this past week to deny himself this.

---

Victor is sure there are many interesting things in the infirmary, and his distantly notes that it’s definitely more furnished than most ships’ sick bays, but the only thing Victor can focus on is Yuuri’s prone, shirtless form.

Shirtless. Bare.

Victor’s staring, he knows it, but even though it’s common knowledge that you can’t exactly spend a lot of time at sea and not be fit, he wasn’t expecting Yuuri to look quite this good. Victor can’t decide whether to look at Yuuri’s chest - toned pecs, pretty pink nipples - or his navel - the dip of his bellybutton, the barely visible trail of hair, the vee of his hips, even if it’s obscured by a stark white bandage and the colorful tattoos that encircle his waist, climbing his ribs and dipping into the skin on his biceps.

Someone clears their throat and Victor startles, quickly wiping at his chin to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

Victor casts around, trying to think of something to say to cut through the silence, and he ends up blurting out, “You cut your hair?” because the only other thing he could think of was about Yuuri’s nipples. And just, no.

“What?” Yuuri is adorable when he’s confused. Victor finds himself getting lost in the way his eyes squint, wrinkling at the corners.  “Oh, no, that was a wig.”

“I liked it,” Victor says, without thinking.

“Oh. Sorry.” Yuuri deflates, and Victor could just smack himself.

“I like this more though,” Victor quickly adds. And it’s the truth. The long hair was nice, androgynous, but the way Yuuri’s hair frames his face right now makes him look softer. Victor wants to drown in Yuuri’s softness.  “It suits you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Yuuri looks quietly pleased, and almost.. Shy? His face is tinted pink and he’s looking at his hands in his lap and Victor is delighted.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone with him?” Phichi asks. He’s looking at Yuuri with something almost like concern in his face.

Victor has no idea why Phichit might be worried about them being alone together. Yuuri has proven that he can handle himself, and Victor has certainly proven that he cannot.

“I’ll be alright.” Yuuri smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Go make sure no one is steering us towards certain death.”

“Aye.” Phichit sends Victor an indecipherable look and then he’s gone.

“Are you?” Victor asks after he’s sure Phichit isn’t lurking outside the door.  “Alright?” he adds when he sees Yuuri’s confusion.

Yuuri shrugs and moves to sit up. “As alright as I can be, considering the circumstances.”

“Oh.” Victor isn’t good in these situations. People around him don’t typically get injured, too ensconced as they are in luxury and politics. He’s at a loss.  “Are you in pain?” Victor asks, because he knows he would be if their positions were reversed. His pain tolerance is terribly low.

“Not overly so.” Yuuri shrugs again.

Victor worries his lip between his teeth. This is a side of Yuuri he’s never seen before, reserved and closed off. Yuuri never seemed so distant and it should make Victor wary, it should make him disinterested or bored, god knows if it were anyone else Victor would have flitted away by now, his attention span much too small to bother with someone who doesn’t seem to care. But with Yuuri?

Victor is desperate to erase that distance.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Victor is hovering, a trait he himself would find annoying, and that realization makes him hesitate. Maybe he should give Yuuri some space?

“Just.” Yuuri sighs, then swallows thickly, like he’s steeling himself. “Stay close to me?” He reaches out and twines his fingers together with Victor’s.

Victor can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to stay like this, his hand in Yuuri’s, standing by his side, forever.

“Sure.” Victor clutches back at Yuuri and kneels beside the bed. He’s not going anywhere.

---

Yuuri is out of bed and running the ship the very next day. According to Phichit, JJ only grazed him, but Victor can’t help but be amazed at Yuuri’s resilience.

The air on the ship that morning  is tenser than what Victor suspects is usual for such a bright and friendly crew, but it all seems to evaporate the moment Yuuri takes the helm from Phichit.

It’s something of a wonder to watch Yuuri in his natural element. He’s still slightly closed-off, at least in comparison to their first few meetings, but his command is unwavering, if perhaps a bit unconventional. He doesn’t so much order people around as he suggests that things get done, and the shock of it all is that they  do.  Half of his crew watches Yuuri with admiration glittering their eyes, while the other half does so with gladly given respect.

Victor is content to watch Yuuri’s lazy grace as he simultaneously steers the ship and directs his crew. The deck, though quiet when they first emerged, is now full of sound as crew members get the ship ready for sailing, roaming around like a well-oiled machine.  

Victor sidles up to Yuuri when there’s a lull in activity. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve arranged to rendezvous with Captain Giacometti not too far from St. Petersburg.” Yuuri’s eyes are fixed on the horizon.

“Oh,” Victor says. It’s less of a conscious sound and more something that was punched out of him by Yuuri’s words.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks, his voice is hard, unbending. “I’m sure you’re homesick.”

“I thought-” Thoughts are dangerous. Hopes are useless. Victor knows this by now, has had plenty of time to learn, and yet. “Nevermind.”

And yet, Victor’s chest feels empty and carved into. Disappointment and hurt settle into the void. He doesn’t really know what he was expecting.

“I already told you.” If Victor were looking, he would see the way Yuuri’s knuckles go white where they grip the wheel. “I’m not in the business of kidnapping.”

“Right.” Victor tries to swallow against the pressure in his throat. Yuuri still has not looked at him.

“And certainly not royalty,” Yuuri says. The finality of his words are a nail in the coffin.

“I get it.” The words are wrenched from Victor’s throat. He clenches his fists, and focuses on the sting of his nails in his palms rather than the sharp ache in his chest. He stands there for a moment, waiting to see if Yuuri has anything else to say, but nothing is forthcoming. Victor sniffs, hoping it comes off as haughty instead of broken, and turns away.

He only makes it a few steps before Yuuri speaks.

“You would get tired of me anyway.” It’s said so quietly that Victor isn’t sure he heard it at all. He looks back at Yuuri, but his staring contest with the horizon remains unbroken.

“What?” Victor asks.

“You should rest.” Yuuri’s gaze cuts to him, but there is no warmth. “We have a few days at sea ahead of us.”

“But-”

“I need to find Phichit.” Yuuri waves over a crew member who was hanging from some rigging only a few feet away and hands over the helm.

“Yuuri-” Victor tries to call out, but without a glance, Yuuri sweeps away, leaving Victor alone.

---

The next three days pass by both slowly and quickly. Yuuri is avoiding Victor, and Victor is surprisingly fine with it. He’s too emotionally wrung out to make the effort to try and save whatever Victor thought might have been between them. Especially when there was clearly nothing in the first place.

Perhaps Yuuri is nothing but a playboy, one who enjoys flitting into people’s lives, capturing their hearts with some playful banter and a dance, but leaving as soon as the next song starts. Surely Victor is no one special, but just one in a long line.

Victor turns this thought over repeatedly, trying to engrave it into his skull. This is the push he needed to accept his lot in life at last. Freedom does not suit him.

Though he spent his first night on board the Eros in the infirmary with Yuuri, too strung out to sleep, but keeping Yuuri company while he rested, he spends his remaining nights on a cot towards the back of the crew’s sleeping quarters. He spends much of his days there as well, though he will admit his disappointment that awkwardness is robbing him of the fresh air he’s been deprived of.

When they make landfall on the fourth day at sea, Phichit is the one to retrieve him. Victor ensures that he is as presentable as can be, his clothes dirty and disheveled, but not overly so, and his hair held up in a bun with some of his old pins he found on the small table beside his cot on the second day. He refuses to think about how they got there.

Head held high, chin up, posture straight, Victor follows Phichit. He does not look at or speak to anyone onboard the Eros, because if he did he knows he would search out the one person who doesn’t want to see him.

He doesn’t need to search, as it turns out. Phichit shepherds Victor into a tender. It seems the drop off point has no dock, so they must row to the beach. Victor settles at the fore on the small boat, while Phichit situates himself at an oar. Victor only has the briefest moment to wonder who will man the other when Yuuri steps into view.

Victor tenses immediately, bracing himself for the brunt of Yuuri’s cold stare, but Yuuri just flashes him a somber smile before calling to his crew to lower them to the water.

Though this is not the first time that Victor has had to board a tender, he will never get used to the sensation. There is no graceful way down, the boat knocks against the side of the ship again and again, rattling Victor’s brain, and the transfer from the air to the waves is never pleasant, and every time it feels as though the boat will tip and Victor will just have to swim to shore.

As soon as Yuuri unties the rope that was used to lower them, he and Phichit get to work. Rowing is a difficult enough task in still water, but even the calmest waters on the ocean make the task impossible for someone like Victor.

Yuuri and Phichit, however, make it look easy. They work well together, perfectly in sync even as the water churns below. Victor wonders just how close they are.

“Your highness!” A familiar voice calls from the shore as soon as they’re within hearing distance. Chris is a very welcome sight indeed, even if the skin around his eyes is darkened by the shadows of worry. Victor feels a twinge of guilt knowing he is the cause.

Once the tender has reached shallow enough waters, Victor leaps from the boat, causing Yuuri and Phichit to shout in alarm as it threatens to tip, but Victor doesn’t glance back. Uncaring of dignity, he throws himself into his friend’s arms.

The next few minutes are a blur, Chris exchanges words with Yuuri, but Victor is too happy to feel sand between his toes to listen. He wonders if perhaps he should bid Yuuri farewell, and has just about settled on not doing so when Yuuri makes to leave.

He and Phichit have pushed the tender back into the shallows when Victor asks Christophe to wait. He lunges towards them, splashing his path through the water again.

He slides to a stop before them, his feet burying into the sand underwater. Yuuri looks at him, head tilted in question, eyes warm, and all thought flees Victor’s head.

He scrambles for something to say, wondering how princesses usually thank their rescuers. An idea strikes, and Victor pulls a pin from his hair and presses it into Yuuri’s hand.

“A token of thanks. I am grateful to you, Captain.” Victor closes Yuuri’s fingers around the pin, letting his hand linger before he swallows and pulls away.

Yuuri’s expression is slack. He’s looking at Victor, really looking, for the first time in days. His jaw tightens and he says, “I will treasure it, Your Highness.”

Victor lets himself smile as bright as he can. At least now maybe Yuuri will remember him, not as one in a line, but as Victor.

Yuuri nods at him, then climbs in the tender. Victor stands in waist deep water, watching them board the Eros, then watching the Eros until Chris pulls him away.

Victor swallows past the ache and gets ready to be a prince once more.

—-

Winter hits Russia too fast for Victor’s liking, and with it comes preparations for his wedding in the spring. Victor’s mother seems to be content with most of the planning, only stopping to ask for his opinion on every one out of fifty things, and even then it’s “Do you think Anette will like the lavender or the lilac?” but never anything about what Victor might like.

And Victor’s okay with that. He’s content with his only expectation being to show up and say his vows, which have been pre-written. He is much more concerned about his wedding night than the ceremony itself.

However much he tries to avoid dwelling on it, it is an impossible thought to ignore when every time he turns a corner he hears new gossip about himself or sees the tailor or the florist or the band or, or, or. There’s no escaping it and Victor resigns himself to months of anxiety.

Victor has taken to retiring to his room earlier and earlier, not that anyone can blame him as the sun rarely seems to show its face anymore. Most days he has trouble leaving bed in the first place. Luckily, there are many people whose job it is to ensure that he does.

He is laying in his bed in the early evening, wondering if it’s too soon to sleep, when there’s a noise outside on his balcony.

Victor carefully slips out of bed. There’s a dagger underneath it, tucked between the matress and the wooden slats of the bedframe, and he quickly retrieves it before going to investigate.

The doors leading to Victor’s balcony are always locked tight during the winter. They spent a fair fortune ensuring they’re insulated against the cold winds so Victor doesn’t freeze to death, and therefore, they are almost impenetrable. Aside from the fact that they’re almost entirely made of thick glass that, while difficult to break, it’s not impossible if one is determined.

There is a dark form standing near the railing of the balcony, its back is turned to Victor, and it seems more concerned with brushing the snow and ice off of its clothes than breaking and entering.

The figure turns slightly, and from the light filtering through the window, Victor is able to make out a familiar face.

Victor drops the knife and kicks it out of the way. He scrambles to the doors, hurrying to undo the series of locks with shaking, fumbling hands.

He flings open the doors at last, uncaring of the miniature blizzard he just welcomed into his room. He reaches for Yuuri and yanks him inside, kicking the doors shut once more.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed bright red from the chill. Victor pulls him over to the fireplace, relieved to see that despite the wind, it’s still burning strong.

“Yuuri…” Victor says breathily, “What are you-” Victor swallows, his throat tightening with an unnamable emotion. “What are you doing here? This is the fifth floor!”

Yuuri just gazes back at him, dazed. He reaches out and twirls a section of Victor’s fringe between his fingers. “Your hair,” he says.

“What?” Victor’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“You cut it.” Yuuri gives his fringe a gentle tug that sends a shiver up Victor’s spine.

“Oh, yes.” Victor looks away as he explains, “Father insisted.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” Victor wants to regret his curt tone, but as relieved as he is to see Yuuri, he’s still sore from the last time they saw each other.

“I... I guess not,” Yuuri says. There’s something different about him. He’s not acting as confident and suave as he had during their first two meetings, but the distance that was between them on the Eros has all but disappeared. Despite himself, Victor can feel hope fluttering in his chest. “It suits you. Though, I’m certain that any hairstyle would suit you.” Yuuri smiles, soft and wonderful and beautiful and Victor forgets how to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” Victor asks when he is able to find his voice.

“I-” Yuuri ducks his head, “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Victor asks, trying to keep his voice carefully blank.

“Yes.” Yuuri takes a deep breath before meeting Victor’s eyes in a steady gaze. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you onboard my ship. And, if you are willing to listen, I would like to explain myself.”

Oh, how novel. Occasionally, people have felt the need to apologize to Victor for some slight or another, even though said slights rarely ever bother him. People like to talk, he is not one to begrudge them that. However, their apologies often lacked sincerity or explanation. They were mere courtesy in order to save face rather than actual guilt.

“Then explain.” Victor is desperately trying to remain aloof. Both for Yuuri’s sake and for his own. He doesn’t want to admit just how much he wants.

Yuuri’s quiet for a moment, picking over the words in his head, and when he finally does speak they come out in a rush, “I am not the person you think I am. The captain of the Eros?” Yuuri’s voice goes high-pitched and hysterical. “He’s just an act, a persona I adopt to appear more confident, to make other crews respect me.”

Victor blinks, trying to process the barrage of words. His brain catches on the last part, so he asks, “Respect you?”

Yuuri laughs, but it’s a raw sound that lacks any real mirth. “I’m not exactly the most threatening looking pirate in the seven seas, Victor. In reality, I’m actually very weak.”

“Weak?” Victor’s brows furrow. Yuuri could probably bench press Victor a thousand times without breaking a sweat.

“Mentally, I mean.” Yuuri sighs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I get anxious, to the point of irrationality in some cases. I didn’t think that you would want to be around me when you discovered that the real me is not some suave pirate captain.” At this, Yuuri looks away again, embarrassment climbing high and red up his neck.

And just like that, Victor gets it. He himself is familiar with insecurities, though, more often than not it’s necessary for him to ignore them to ensure he can do his job as the prince. It’s clear that Victor has more control over his self-doubt than Yuuri, but he understands the way it can consume you. How it can lead a person to push people away and make terrible decisions.

“It’s kind of hard for me to be around you if you’re pushing me away anyway,” Victor pouts, but judging by the way the tight line of Yuuri’s mouth softens, he’s not fooling either of them.

“I am sorry for that.” Yuuri’s flush rises to his face, “I panicked. After weeks of thinking of little else but you, imagining what it would be like to have you realize that you didn’t like the real me was too much. Everything was just too real.”

“What’s wrong with real?” Victor asks.

Silence stretches thick across the room, long enough that Victor wonders if Yuuri might just ignore him in favor of staring at the fire. But, eventually he opens his mouth, “I would rather have you like a fake me, than have you hate a real me. I don’t think I could live knowing you hate me.”

Victor’s heart stops, his breath catches, and the world stops spinning as the words sink into him. Then, all at once, everything rushes back into motion. His heart beats hard against his ribcage, a gust of air is punched out of him, the movement of the earth is suddenly dizzying.

Of course - of course, Yuuri shouldn’t have cut him off like that without his input, but the evidence that he cares enough to do that. Victor is overwhelmed.

Victor doesn’t think about his actions, he just steps forward, squarely in Yuuri’s personal space, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

Yuuri lets out a startled noise, and struggles a little. Victor, unwilling to let go yet, only pulls him closer, one hand on the small of his back, the other in his hair, pushing his head into Victor’s chest. Victor can feel Yuuri’s warm breath through his nightshirt and he waits until it steadies, stroking the back of Yuuri’s neck until he’s calm, before pulling away.

He doesn’t go far though, he presses his forehead to Yuuri’s. And it’s not exactly what he wants right now - Yuuri’s mouth is right there, parted and beautiful and probably life-changing - but it’s enough. More than enough.

“Victor.” Yuuri breathes out, whispering so as not to crush the moment. “You’re engaged.”

And the moment shatters.

“Oh.” Victor pulls away, fully this time, putting a whole foot and a half of space between them, and a frown twists at his mouth. “I suppose, yes, I am.” He doesn’t feel guilty, not about his actions or his thoughts. But a sick feeling rises in his stomach at the lack of it. Guilt because he doesn’t feel guilt. Ironic.

Awkwardness settles in the air as Victor wonders why Yuuri even came if he refuses to follow through on his flirtatious promises. Victor is all too aware of his impending nuptials, Yuuri should know that more than anyone.

Victor is startled from his thoughts by Yuuri’s hand on his cheek.

“You may have guessed this about me,” Yuuri smiles, not flirty, but sweet, “Considering my occupation, but I am a very selfish man, Victor.”

Victor’s heart leaps into his throat. “O-oh?”

“I know you are promised to another, but I would have you in any way I can for as long as I can. If you would have me.” Yuuri’s eyes glint and his hand tenses, pressing his fingers deeper into Victor’s skin. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s toeing the line.

Victor is in love.

“Oh.” Victor is in love and all he can do is repeat the same syllable over and over again apparently.

But he’s not surprised that love makes him a little bit dense.

Yuuri’s face falls and his hand follows quickly after. Victor panics, because that’s not at all what he wants. Why would he stop touching him?

“Of course, if you wish it so, I will leave you alone,” Yuuri says, his voice carefully even.

“Yes!” Victor blurts out, heat rushing to his face. Yuuri’s eyes shutter and Victor realizes he answered the wrong question. He quickly clarifies, “I mean, no! Don’t leave me.” The last sentence comes out as more of a plea, but Victor can’t find it in himself to be abashed.

Yuuri’s face goes soft again and Victor’s heart melts. “Then I will stay until you cast me aside.” Yuuri twines their fingers together and presses up until their foreheads are touching.

“I will never,” Victor breathlessly assures him. He thinks about getting closer, about braving the distance between their mouths, but he has plenty of time for that.

He can be patient.

---

Yuuri stays until the early hours of the morning. They fall asleep together on Victor’s huge bed, just talking and talking, and when they run out of things to talk about, they just bask in each others presence, playing with each others hair or their fingers.

They fall asleep on top of the covers, Victor’s head on Yuuri’s chest, their legs so entangled that one would not be able to tell them apart.

Victor wakes when the sun has barely begun its day, the sky outside is tinged the faintest of gray. Yuuri has tucked him under the covers and Victor makes a noise when he realizes that Yuuri isn’t in bed with him.

“Shh.” Yuuri is standing over him. He brushes Victor’s hair back and presses a kiss into Victor’s forehead. “I have to check on the ship and crew. I’ll be back and maybe we can have a proper date.”

Victor is too bleary to voice his joy, and with a brief gust of wind from the balcony doors being opened and closed quickly, Yuuri is gone.

Victor falls back asleep with a smile on his face, his chest warm despite the chill in the air.

---

Yuuri makes good on his promise not a week later.

This time he shows up in the early evening, as the sun is kissing the horizon. Victor is taking a walk on the grounds, his mother had insisted on his input on no less than twenty wedding arrangements today and his nerves are worn thin. Though it’s chilly, he couldn’t bear to be cooped up any longer.

Yuuri appears out of nowhere, leaning against a frozen trellis in the garden. Victor’s face splits into a wide grin as soon as their eyes lock.

Victor sweeps Yuuri into his arms and spins, kicking up snow and slush and frozen mulch. He doesn’t even care that the bottoms of his trousers are filthy when he sees Yuuri’s flushed face and bright smile.

Yuuri grabs Victor’s hands and leads him around the grounds, ducking away from guards behind convenient bushes and statues. Victor follows easily. He would follow Yuuri to the end of the earth without a second thought and he no longer wants to push that urge down.

Eventually they reach the wall that surrounds the palace and Victor asks, “What now?”

Yuuri sends him a smirk over his shoulder, and scales the wall gracefully. He settles on top of the wall, one leg hanging off of either side and laughs at the way Victor’s jaw has dropped.

Yuuri offers his hand to Victor, who gladly takes it, and begins the arduous process of pulling him up. Victor struggles, there are no handholds that he can find, and there are patches of ice everywhere his feet seem to connect with the wall. But, with Yuuri’s help, he manages to climb up without any permanent damage. His pride, however, is entirely ruined.

Yuuri jumps to the ground on the other side of the wall, landing spritely on his feet, his knees bending on impact to lessen the pressure on them.

“Want me to catch you?” Yuuri asks, his smile is teasing and Victor knows that as much as he would enjoy being caught in Yuuri’s stupidly strong arms, he should probably try not to look like a complete fool in front of his paramour.

(His paramour! How exciting! Victor can’t contain his giddiness.)

Victor’s landing is not nearly as graceful as Yuuri’s, and despite himself he stumbles into Yuuri’s arms regardless. Yuuri stops him from send them both tumbling to the ground by wrapping his arms around Victor’s chest.

Victor allows himself to enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by Yuuri’s warmth long enough that Yuuri clears his throat and has to push Victor away.

“I had a plan,” Yuuri says, a faux stern look on his face, “This wasn’t exactly part of it.”

“Alright, alright.” Victor laughs and takes Yuuri’s hand, gesturing for him to take the lead.

Yuuri leads them through St. Petersburg, down twisting alleyways, out of sight of anyone who might cause a commotion if they recognized the crown prince. As they draw closer to the center of the city, Yuuri gets more and more antsy, until he pulls to a stop and turns to Victor, looking contemplative.

“We need to do something about your hair,” Yuuri says.

Victor understands. Even though it’s much shorter now, the color itself is still almost immediately recognizable. He curses himself for the lack of foresight, he should have worn a hat. Then, an idea strikes.

Victor smiles brightly and reaches over to yank Yuuri’s hat off of his head, almost cooing at his ruffled hair, and then pulls it over his own head.

“Ta-da!” Victor spreads his arms and grins triumphantly.

Yuuri just shakes his head fondly. And then they’re off again, no longer just sticking to back roads, but daring to walk along the more populated streets. Until they reach the marketplace.

The marketplace is a large, brightly lit street, crowded with stalls that are selling anything and everything a person could want. Victor has never had the chance to see it in person before, his parents think that shopping is beneath them and what’s the point of servants unless they do everything for you. There’s always been something about shopping that intrigued Victor, though. He has no idea how Yuuri knew that this was a good idea, and his heart warms. Yuuri knows him so well!

“I get the feeling that you don’t get to shop for yourself very often,” Yuuri shyly rubs the back of his neck.

“You’re amazing,” Victor breathes out. He desperately wants to pull Yuuri into his arms, but the potential scandal stops him.

Yuuri blushes, pleased. Victor wants to kiss him more than ever, but he’s being patient. He has to be patient and wait until the right moment. He never thought he would be a hopeless romantic, but now that he’s presented with the opportunity, he’s falling headlong into the role with ease. Instead of following through on his desires, Victor stands there, holding his arms stiff at his side.

“Come on,” Yuuri tugs gently at Victor’s hand, “let’s go find you something almost as pretty as you are.”

“Almost?” Victor asks teasingly and lets himself be led.

“Well, you’re the prettiest thing in the world, so,” Yuuri says bluntly and shrugs.

Victor’s face flames and his heart tries to break free from his ribcage. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Yuuri’s easy praise. It’s just always said with such sincerity that Victor can’t help but swoon.

Too embarrassed to reply, Victor follows Yuuri as they wind their way through the stalls, looking at the various wares. Or, well, Yuuri is looking at the wares. Victor is just looking at Yuuri, delighting in the way his eyes sparkle with determination.

Yuuri’s eyes light up and he drags Victor to a stall selling spun glass figurines, cooing over the different animals featured as the shopkeep explains the process to him. Victor tunes it all out, content to just watch, until Yuuri shoves a small figure into his face. It’s a small, glass dog and Victor smiles can’t help but gasp at how detailed it is.

Victor didn’t grow up wanting for many things, but one thing his parents never allowed him was a dog, no matter how much he begged. His mother cited allergies, but Victor always thought that to be a flimsy excuse considering the size of the palace. She likely wouldn’t have ever run into it there.

Victor must have let some longing bleed into his expression, because before he knows it, Yuuri is purchasing the figurine before pulling him to the next stall.

Victor is completely powerless as Yuuri tugs him along to stall after stall. Yuuri keeps insisting on buying things for him, so about five stalls in, Victor starts returning the favor, picking out things to buy Yuuri, and they end up with almost too much to carry by the end of the night.

It’s the best night he’s ever had.

---

Victor leans against the barre, panting lightly. His instructor had left him to warm down almost ten minutes ago, but Victor has no motivation to do the necessary stretches. Instead, he’s working through a routine he came up with when he was younger.

He  should  be practicing for his first dance as a married man, that’s why his instructor was even back in the first place, though Victor has no need of her. His mother was convinced that after years without instruction Victor has grown two left feet. “You don’t want to embarrass your wife, Vitya!”  She had chided, and Victor had been too tired to argue.

Plus, dancing is always a welcome distraction from the wedding. And Victor only knows how to cope through avoidance, so here he is.  

Luckily, distractions are pretty frequent lately, and they’re almost always in the form of Yuuri showing up to whisk Victor away for a night together.

It’s only been a month since the first time, but Yuuri shows up at least once a week. They don’t always leave the palace grounds - one night, they walked the outskirts of this until it felt like Victor’s fingers would fall off from the chill - but every night is as amazing and exhilarating as the joy of Yuuri’s company always is.

The door opens, but Victor doesn’t bother to turn towards it. Lilia probably just forgot something and is coming to retrieve it. So he continues running through his routine, focusing on movement of his feet, until a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind.

Victor startles and turns, coming face to face with Yuuri, and he gasps in delight, throwing his arms around Yuuri in return.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Yuuri says, hiding his smile against Victor’s collarbone, but Victor can feel it through his thin shirt and his heart leaps.

“You mean you didn’t come here just for me? I’m so hurt, Yuuri!” Victor pouts, letting go of Yuuri to fold his arms across his chest.

“Don’t be silly,” Yuuri smiles and it lights up the whole room, “I’m here to dance.”

“Well don’t let me stop you,” Victor gestures to the open space. The practice room is fairly large considering there’s never more than two or three people in it at once.

Yuuri hums and steps back into Victor’s space, “You wouldn’t leave me partnerless, would you?” He looks up at Victor through his eyelashes.

“Oh dear,” The words leave Victor in a rush of breath, “I could never be so rude.”

Yuuri grins and pulls Victor back into his arms, resuming their positions from so many months ago.

“There’s no music,” Victor whispers, but starts going through the beginning steps of a waltz anyway.

“We don’t need any,” Yuuri’s hand at the nape of Victor’s neck is like fire and it makes it hard to think. Victor finds his mental capabilities are always decreased whenever Yuuri is around. He’s not quite sure that Yuuri’s words make any sense, but he doesn’t care.

Victor pulls Yuuri closer, until they’re pressed chest to chest, so close that it makes proper dance moves difficult and they resort to small steps and swaying back and forth. Victor buries his nose in Yuuri’s hair and tries not to imagine a wedding where this would be his first dance.

If Victor holds on to Yuuri too tightly, his fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt, then Yuuri doesn’t comment on it.

---

On the first almost warm night of the year, Yuuri shows up on Victor’s balcony with a blanket and a covered basket with the neck of a wine bottle sticking out.

Ecstatic, Victor shrugs on a jacket and yanks the blankets off of his own bed. Together, he and Yuuri arrange them, almost nest-like, on the floor of Victor’s balcony. Once he’s satisfied with the result, Victor plops down right at the center and looks up at Yuuri adoringly.

Yuuri settles right beside him, pressed into Victor’s side. He smooths out the blankets in front of them before he puts the basket down. With his hands freed, he wraps an arm around Victor’s waist and leans against his shoulder.

“You always bring me the loveliest surprises, Yuuri,” Victor says. He reaches for the basket and opens it to find an assortment of breads and cheeses.

“I like surprising you.” Yuuri’s face flushes at the confession and Victor’s own face warms.

“You’re so wonderful!” Victor pulls Yuuri into a hug and tucks his face into Yuuri’s shoulder.

“A picnic on the beach would have been ideal, to be honest. The stars are more beautiful when they hang above the ocean,” Yuuri says. He rubs his neck, a nervous habit that never fails to fill Victor with fondness.

“We would freeze to death, even if the snow has started to melt.” Victor has heard many horror stories about people braving the water in early spring and never making it back to the beach.

“I think we would be smart enough to know that swimming isn’t an option,” Yuuri says, a teasing quirk to his lips.

“I don’t know,” Victor whines, “I’ve been told I’m quite the dullard.”

“Who told you that? I’d like to see how they like the taste of steel.” Yuuri is teasing still, Victor is almost sure of it, but his eyes flash dangerously. Victor’s mouth goes dry.

Victor glances around for a change of subject, not wanting to admit to Yuuri just how many people may have implied Victor’s density, and pulls the bottle of wine out of the basket. “No glasses?”

“Glasses are for the rich,”Yuuri says primly. He takes the bottle from Victor, expertly uncorks it, and downs a gulp straight.

“My dear,” Victor says, an air of faux offense about him, “I think you might have as much money as me if you include your ship. You really ought to act in a manner befitting of your financial state.”

“How dare you. I’m a ruffian.” Yuuri pouts, jutting out his bottom lip and Victor can’t stop himself. He leans forward and kisses him.

Kissing Yuuri is earth shattering, the ground breaks under Victor’s knees and he’s falling, falling, but not moving at the same time. The world narrows down to the connection of their lips, Victor’s hand on Yuuri cheek, Yuuri’s fingers in Victor’s hair. Nothing else matters.

Victor forgets about everything, about his duties, about Anette, and willfully drowns himself in Yuuri’s taste. Yuuri opens his mouth and Victor groans, entirely overwhelmed, but he doesn’t want to stop.

Yuuri is the one to break the kiss, he leans back and looks at Victor wonderingly, his eyes wide as he asks, “Really?”

Victor doesn’t answer, doesn’t really know how to, instead he leans in and recaptures Yuuri’s mouth. They can talk about it later.

---

Later comes too soon.

The very next day, Yuuri intercepts Victor in an empty hall on his way to meet his mother for more wedding preparations.

“Yuuri! What a surprise!” Victor pulls Yuuri into a hug. It’s odd for Yuuri to visit two days in a row, usually he likes to lay low for a bit between dates, but Victor is always happy to see him.

“Hi Victor,” Yuuri says, his voice soft. There’s a nervous energy thrumming through him, noticeable in the way he can’t seem to stop shifting on his feet.

Victor, eager to see Yuuri smile, plows ahead, “I’m supposed to be meeting with a florist soon, but I’m sure I can skip it.” Victor winks, “I don’t think they’ll miss me too much. It’s not like flowers can grow right now anyway.”

“Actually,” Yuuri coughs. There’s an edge in his voice that makes Victor’s smile freeze in place. “This won’t take very long. I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” Victor has never been in a relationship like this before, not one that’s based on feelings instead of obligations, but he has it on good authority (from Christophe Giacometti, king of emotional relationships) that that phrase never means anything good. Dread settles like a rock in his stomach.

“Yes.” Yuuri worries his lip between his teeth as he looks around at the deserted hallway. “Is there somewhere a bit more private we could go?”

Victor nods, wordless, and leads Yuuri by the hand into one of the palace’s libraries. It’s the small one, conveniently located in the very hallway they are escaping from, and unlikely to be used anytime soon, as the main library has a much larger selection.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Victor asks once the door is firmly shut behind them.

“I.” Yuuri starts, then stops, thinking the words over before starting again. “My crew and I need to leave the country for a while.” Victor’s heart stops.

“What do you mean?” Victor asks, as calm as he can manage, because the alternative would be throwing himself at Yuuri’s feet and begging for him not to go, for him to take Victor with him, for him to keep Victor at his side forever.

“We’ve been here for too long.” Yuuri explains in a rush, almost as though he can see the way Victor is spiraling. Maybe Victor’s not as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. Or maybe he’s just gotten too used to being open with Yuuri. A bitter taste rises up against the back of his throat and he almost misses Yuuri’s next words.

“People are starting to get suspicious and Russia isn’t exactly known for being tolerant towards pirates.” Yuuri sighs and suddenly he looks ten years older than he is. “I can’t ask my crew to risk their livelihoods for me.”

The words settle over them like a blanket, and Victor feels like suffocating. Yuuri’s leaving him. He should have known it was only a matter of time. No wants the real Victor, there are always expectations too grand for him to ever live up to.

In the back of his mind, Victor wonders what quality of his is so disappointing that Yuuri is fleeing the country. Maybe he was too clingy. Maybe Yuuri finally realized that his forehead is too big. Maybe Victor kissed him too soon, or not soon enough, or maybe he’s just a bad kisser. Victor is usually pretty good at ignoring his insecurities, but now they crash over him like a wave, pulling him under the surface and washing his good feelings away with the current.

Victor chokes back tears, terrified of Yuuri seeing him cry, but being too overwhelmed by his own shortcomings and the thought that Yuuri is leaving. God, will they even see each other again?

The last thought prompts Victor to ask, “Forever?”

“Wh- No!” Yuuri looks up at him, eyes wide with shock. “I only mean to stay away until summer, just long enough for people to forget our faces.” Yuuri hurriedly explains.

The words should be a relief, but Victor doesn’t feel any lighter at hearing them. Instead, anger, hot and heavy, burns in his chest. “And then?” Victor asks.

“And then what?” Yuuri blinks.

“And then you’ll stay, for what, a week or two? A month if I’m lucky, before you have to leave again. Rinse and repeat?” Victor spits the words out, like they’re something that taste foul.

“Most likely, yes.” Yuuri’s face scrunches up in confusion, and in any other instance Victor would find the expression adorable, but right now he mostly just feels empty.

“I see.” Victor says, for lack of anything else.

“I’ll never be gone for too long,” Yuuri takes one of Victor’s hands and runs his thumb along Victor’s knuckles. “I don’t think I could handle it after having you to myself for so long.” He says so quietly that Victor could almost fool himself into thinking he imagined it, if not for seeing Yuuri’s lips move himself.

Yuuri looks down at their joined hands and Victor follows his gaze, sees the tension in Yuuri’s hands, like it’s taking all of his concentration to stop them from shaking. He’s just as affected by this as Victor.

“So don’t,” Victor says, clutching at Yuuri’s hands with a bruising grip.

“What?”

“Don’t handle it. Take me with you.” It’s a fit of madness, Victor’s sure, that makes the plea escape his mouth. And he’s dizzy with the possibilities of it.

“I. Victor-” Yuuri starts, but Victor hears the regret in his voice and panics.

“I won’t get in the way.” Victor pulls himself closer to Yuuri, close enough that they’re sharing breaths, and tries not to sound quite as pathetic as he feels. “I can be useful to your crew. I’ll do grunt work. Or. Or-”

“Victor, I can’t.” Yuuri interrupts, raising his voice over Victor’s babbling. And, oh, he sounds devastated. Victor hates himself a little bit more for causing him to sound like that.

“Why not?” Victor asks, quiet and pained, but unwilling to just let Yuuri leave him without some sort of explanation. He’s spent too much of his life just going along with the paths other people have set for him, he’ll be damned if he lets the one good thing in his life go.

“You know why.” Yuuri pulls away, and Victor chills, outraged at the evasion, both physical and verbal. And for once he allows himself to be mad.

“Because you aren’t into kidnapping?” Victor snaps out, stepping away from Yuuri and crossing his arms. “It’s not kidnapping if I go along willingly, and Yuuri, I assure you that I am more than willing.” 

“Well. I’m not.” Yuuri says flatly and Victor’s protests die in his throat. Maybe he was wrong and Yuuri doesn’t care after all. This is just another conversation for Yuuri.

“Is it me?” Victor asks, and he hates the way his voice breaks, but the burning in his eyes is more pressing. He blinks, trying to stop the inevitable, but all it does is bring the tears out faster. “Have I disappointed you in some way?”

‘No-” Panic is edging into Yuuri’s voice.

“Were you even planning on coming back? Or were you just going to use this opportunity to drop my deadweight?” Victor hates how desperate he sounds. He hates how much emotion he’s putting on display. He’s been trained to bottle this kind of stuff up, but now it’s devastating, like a dam breaking and flooding his entire body with anger and sadness and creeping loneliness. It’s exhausting.

“Of course not!” Yuuri insists and Victor wants to yell out of frustration.

“Then why?”

“I don’t - I don’t deserve you.” The words, yelled loud enough that they would surely draw the attention of any passerby, are a slap in the face.

Something shifts in Victor, walls slam up, a belated sense of self preservation kicking in that allows him to say, “I’m not so sure that’s your decision to make,” as cold as he can be.

“What?” Yuuri looks at him with his wide, beautiful eyes. It’s hard, but Victor manages to be impassive.

“I’m a very important man.” Victor wants to choke around the forced loftiness in his voice. It would be less painful than this conversation. “Anyone who I choose to spend time with is more than worthy of it.” And of course it’s true that Yuuri is worthy, but what about Victor? He’s an empty man with empty titles. There’s nothing of worth in him.

“I’m a selfish man, but I’m not that selfish.” Yuuri sounds defeated and there’s a twinge in Victor’s chest that he refuses to dwell on. “There are people who need their prince.”

“But they don’t need me.” The way Yuuri flinches in response probably means that Victor’s tone is more venomous than necessary, but he thought- he had hoped- that Yuuri saw him as more than a prince. Clearly, he was wrong. “They need His Imperial Highness Victor Alexandrovich Nikolai Nikiforov.”

“And they can’t have him if I steal you away.” Is that regret that Victor hears? But, no, no. He can’t let himself hope. Look where that got him.

“I’m not- I’m not their property.” It’s a vain argument, but a familiar one. It’s just not one he thought he would have to have with Yuuri. “I don’t want to stay here for the sake of people who only care about what I represent.”

Yuuri deflates, but it’s not in acquiescence. He’s as exhausted as Victor and just as stubborn. Victor’s walls melt away at the sight of Yuuri looking so defeated.

“You’ve been a prince your whole life, Victor. I can’t take your entire life away from you,” Yuuri says, but Victor hears the finality in his words, clear as day. Victor deflates, the anger leaving just as quickly as it had come.

“I would gladly give it to you.” Victor forces himself to smile, ignoring the way it makes his face and heart ache, and he grasps Yuuri’s hands.

“I have to refuse,” Yuuri says regretfully, but his lips quirk into a wobbly half-smile.

Victor is overwhelmed by the urge to bawl, so he buries his face in Yuuri’s neck. “How can you ask me to live a life that has no place for you?” He mumbles into the patch of skin above his clavicle.

“Reluctantly.” Yuuri sighs and pets Victor’s head.

“I still don’t understand,” Victor says, petulance bleeding through his voice.

“I truly am sorry, Victor.” The petting stops and Yuuri’s fingers twist in Victor’s hair.

“So, three months?” Victor slips his arms around Yuuri’s waist and pulls back to meet his eyes.

“Thereabouts, yeah.” Yuuri’s lips twist in a humorless smile, but he returns Victor’s embrace easily enough.

“I’ll be a married man when you return,” Victor says, partly to get a rise out of Yuuri, but mostly it’s disbelief that spurs the words. Without Yuuri, there really is no escape from his duty.

“I suppose you will,” Yuuri’s words are almost airy, but his arms tighten around Victor.

“I wish-” Victor starts, but bites back the rest of the thought. Wishes have no place in this life of his. There’s no point in voicing them. “Please don’t forget about me,” he says instead.

“I could never.” Yuuri cups Victor’s face in the palm of his hand. “I’ll be back before you know it.” They both know it’s a lie, but Victor’s too tired to call him out on it. He just wants to bask in the moment, no matter how sour it is. It might be his last one with Yuuri.

“I will try to be patient.” Victor turns his head to press a kiss to Yuuri’s palm.

Yuuri’s smile breaks Victor’s heart all over again. “Goodbye, Victor,” he says. He pulls Victor down into a fleeting kiss.

And then he’s gone, leaving Victor’s arms and his heart empty as he sweeps out the door.

“Proshchay, moya lyubov.” Victor says to the air. And if he has to take a few minutes to wipe away tears, then no one has to know.  

Five minutes - or maybe an eternity, who’s to say? -  later, he straightens his coat and goes to find his mother. There’s a wedding that, unfortunately, is not going to plan itself.

---

The next month passes much quicker than expected. Of course, there are moments where Victor misses Yuuri, where the pain in his chest is akin to a phantom limb, like something important has been torn from him and his brain can’t function properly without it, so it fills the void with pain.

Those moments pass like molasses, too slow to even comprehend. But the rest of the time, he’s kept busy by wedding preparations and sitting in on his father’s council meetings.

He finds himself even volunteering to do things that he’s not needed for in order to avoid the moments when the loneliness is too much to bare. He doesn’t think he’s coping very well, but he refuses to dwell long enough to think of a better way. Instead, he throws himself into his duties and tries to forget about what he really wants.

Before he knows it, but what feels like years since he last saw Yuuri, the preparations for the wedding are finished. All that’s left is the ceremony itself. That is, if Victor manages not to die of boredom from the celebratory feast the night before.

It’s more of a banquet really. The majority of the food is set up as a buffet, all except for the royal families’ meals, which are served at a long table that’s raised above the rest of the room so they can look down at their subjects. It’s a power move that Victor doesn’t really care for, but he’s grateful for the excuse of warm food that will delay his having to endure endless small talk and empty congratulations.

Everyone who wasn’t immediate family of the bride and groom were doomed to mill around at too small tables that were arranged as such that there was plenty of space for dancing. Victor deliberately doesn’t glance at the dancefloor more than necessary.

Half of the guests are trying to enjoy their food as elegantly as possible under the circumstances, and the other half are foregoing sustenance to dance the night away. Victor longs to be part of the crowd on the dancefloor, but he has duties he must attend as one half of the couple of honor.

Victor indulges himself with his meal as slowly as he dares, until his father starts sending pointed looks in his direction. With a reluctance he doesn’t dare let show on his face, Victor stands, offers his arm to Anette, and begins making rounds.

Victor and Anette charm their way through maybe half of the nobles present before Anette spots a friend and makes herself scarce, with only an apologetic look in Victor’s direction.

Victor doesn’t mind. The absence of her arm in his feels like a weight off his back. He finds it much easier to slip into a familiar routine of schmoozing without having to play off a near stranger.

He keeps one eye on his father the entire time, and once the king is paying more attention to his company than his son, Victor breaks away from the center of the crowd and finds himself a wall to get acquainted with. 

It’s not long before his solitude is interrupted. Victor can’t say he’s surprised, but he can’t help but be a little disappointed that he couldn’t blend into the wallpaper.

Yakov Feltsman, Victor’s former tutor, sidles up to him. His face is impassive, but Victor can recognize discomfort in the way he’s carrying himself too stiffly, his back too straight, his arms too still, and the ever-present crease between his brows a bit too deep.

“It’s a lovely banquet,” Yakov says, as gruff as ever.

“Yes,” Victor says, but it’s more out of reflex than him actually paying attention. Instead, he stares into the glass of the alcoholic beverage that somehow made its way into his hand when he wasn’t paying attention.

“And where is your bride-to-be? I thought you would jump at the chance to show off your dancing skills.” Yakov says, his voice heavy. Victor doesn’t miss the implication, that he should be at her side. Victor shrugs Yakov’s disapproval off, as he’s done his entire life. He will enjoy any peace he can get from this union he didn’t ask for.

“Anette doesn’t dance,” Victor replies in a detached sort of way. The words register as familiar and it takes him a minute to remember why.

“She doesn’t even  dance.”

The unending ache in Victor’s chest makes itself known. And he’d been doing such a good job of avoiding thoughts of Yuuri until now. Victor closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. It would be no good to dwell on another man when he is to be married in less than twenty four hours.

“Ah.” Yakov shifts awkwardly. Perhaps he is just now realizing how ill-fitted Victor and Anette are as a couple if she doesn’t share one of his very few passions.

Yuuri, on the other hand, is an excellent dancer. If he were here he would command the attention of the entire royal court with the sway of his hips and the complicated steps of his feet. Victor wonders how Yuuri would dress at an event like this. Maybe he would wear another captivating dress, or perhaps he would wear the immaculate jacket that Victor saw him in when they first met. Victor’s not sure which option is more appealing.

Belatedly, Victor realizes that he allowed his mind to wander, and the silence between Yakov and himself is stretched thin. “How is Lilia?” Victor asks, partly to watch Yakov squirm, as Victor himself no doubt did when asked about Anette.

“You would know better than I,” Yakov grumbles, staring into his drink as though it might hold the answers to fix his frayed relationship.

“I suppose.” Victor nods and finishes off his own drink. He looks at his empty glass blankly before handing it off to a servant who is passing by.

The servant keeps his head down as he takes the glass, offering Victor a replacement full of red wine. As soon as Victor takes it, the servant is scurrying away. Victor narrows his eyes at the retreating form, something niggling at the back of his mind.

Yakov clears his throat, a tad impatiently if you ask Victor, though it’s possible it’s not the first time he’s had to do so, just judging from the shade of red Yakov’s face currently is. “If you’ll excuse me. I should make sure Lord Plisetsky hasn’t bribed a servant into giving him a drink.” Yakov dips his head to hide the disapproving look on his face.

“Mm.” Victor hums, noncommittal, his focus shifting back to the servant.

There’s something about him, something about the way the moves through the crowd, gracefully sidestepping careless dancers, blending into the crowd easily until he wants to be seen when he offers a drink to some noble or another, a smirk playing at his lips, and oh-

He reminds Victor of Yuuri.

Loneliness stabs through Victor’s chest with a vengeance. A lump forms in Victor’s throat, making it nearly impossible to finish his wine, so he stares into his deep, red reflection, trying to blink away the burning in his eyes. God, he wishes Yuuri were here.

“Fancy meeting you here,” A very familiar voice says right next to Victor’s ear.

Victor whirls around, heart beating frantic against his ribcage, and comes face to face with- “Yuu-”

“Shhh!” Yuuri silences Victor with a finger to his lips, “You’ll ruin the surprise!” Yuuri winks.

He looks amazing as always, despite the unfortunate quality of his disguise, the uniform that the servants were given for the night. Victor wants to bang his head against the wall for not immediately recognizing him, too caught up in his own melancholy to pay any real attention to his surroundings.

Victor struggles to find a breath, his head spinning with shock and delight, “What are you-”

Yuuri hushes him again and sends him a honey-sweet smile that melts Victor’s heart. Then, quick as a whip, Yuuri bodily spins Victor, so that his back is against Yuuri’s very firm chest, and he puts a knife to his throat. The wine glass that Victor was holding goes flying and shatters against the floor, and the party halts, all eyes turning to Yuuri.

“Wow!” Yuuri’s bright voice echoes through the ballroom. He turns so that he and Victor are facing the table at which Victor’s parents sit. “It sure is easy to catch the attention of your majesties.” And then he bows, as much as possible while he’s holding Victor hostage.

Victor swallows and his adam’s apple brushes against the blade. The very dull blade. And suddenly he gets it.

“What do you want?” Victor’s father demands. He’s half standing, like the commotion caused him to leave his seat, but the sight of his son with a knife to his throat made him freeze. It’s almost comical to see him hunched over in such an awkward and undignified position.

“Well, I’ve recently found myself in the business of kidnapping,” Yuuri says calmly, his voice carrying easily despite the lack of power he’s putting into it. He squeezes Victor’s bicep reassuringly and Victor relaxes into his hold, his heart singing.

“How much money are you after?” Victor’s mother is still seated, but the way she plays with the end of her silver plait speaks to her nerves. “Or do you seek asylum, perhaps?”

“No, no. You misunderstand, your grace,” Yuuri laughs lowly and Victor just barely manages to hold back his shiver at the warm breath against his neck. “I just want him.” Yuuri punctuates this by shaking Victor, not enough to hurt him at all, but enough that his intention is made clear to the rest of the room.

Victor just tries not to show how Yuuri’s manhandling is affecting him. It takes a lot of concentration.

“Guards!” The King’s face turns a shade that would give Yakov a run for his money

“Ah, none of that now.” Yuuri doesn’t move an inch, entirely unaffected by the King’s outburst. As he talks, the guards, who had been slowly inching their way to them, remove their helmets, revealing themselves to be Yuuri’s crew and turning their weapons on the nobles in the crowd. “Your staff was surprisingly easy to subdue. You may want to hire better muscle.” Victor’s knees go weak at the sight of Yuuri’s smirk. He’s lucky Yuuri is there to support his weight.

“How dare you?” The King bellows, finally pulling himself upright fully. He reaches for his sword and Victor has to bite back a smile. His father’s sword is purely decorative and even Yuuri’s blunted knife would easily win against it in Yuuri’s hands.

“Ah! I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Yuuri jerks Victor, pressing his knife just a tad deeper into his throat and the shuddering gasp that escapes Victor lips is genuine. “Weapons make me very twitchy, and I’ve heard that royal blood is particularly likely to stain.”

“You’re a monster,” The King says, horror dawning on his face.

“Maybe so.” Yuuri shrugs, the motion dragging skin-warmed metal along Victor’s throat. “Phi!” Yuuri calls and Victor recognizes Phichit as one of the imposter guards. Phichit grins at the pair of them. “Clear a path!”

Phichit is quick to obey, shaking his sword menacingly at the crowd of aristocrats. If Victor didn’t know how charming and light-hearted he is, then he might even be scared by the display. Nobles rush out of the way, clearing a path through the center of the ballroom, straight to the large, ornate doors. Yuuri removes the knife from Victor’s neck for the briefest moment, just to send the King a mocking salute, and then the knife returns and Yuuri starts dragging Victor to the exit.

Victor is more than happy to let himself be dragged. He almost wishes that Yuuri would throw him over his shoulder and carry him out. Almost.

“I’ll kill you for this.” The King says quiet, but dangerous, and his voice carries easily despite the orders that Phichit is barking at the crowd.

Yuuri freezes, and Victor stumbles, not expecting the sudden cease of momentum, the only thing keeping him on his feet is Yuuri’s arms, strong and secure around him. Victor glances over his shoulder in time to see Yuuri send a chilling, mirthless smile to the king. “I’d love to see you try.”

Victor can’t see his father’s reaction, but no more words are spoken as Yuuri ushers him out of the ballroom, so Victor can only assume that the display was as debilitating as Yuuri intended.

Once they’re clear of the ballroom, Yuuri drops the knife, kicking it aside carelessly, and takes Victor’s hand. Yuuri grins at him, full of adoration that Victor is sure is echoed in his own expression, and then they run.

Victor’s not really wearing clothes that are suited for any sort of strenuous activity, so the run down to the docks takes about twice as long as it should. His robe continuously tangles in his legs and his too soft shoes don’t offer any real protection against the worn cobblestone of the alleyways they duck into.

When the docks are within eyesight, but still a bit of a run, Yuuri loses his patience, pulling Victor to a stop without warning. Victor doesn’t get a chance to ask why they stopped before Yuuri sweeps him into his arms in a bridal carry and sprints to the Eros.

Victor shrieks in delight and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s neck. He knows they must look ridiculous, Victor is not a small man by any means, but no embarrassment could ever compare to the happiness he feels when he’s in Yuuri’s arms.

They make it to the Eros in no time and Yuuri carries Victor across the gangplank, like they’re newlyweds crossing the threshold of their new home.

“Yuuri!” Victor buries his face into Yuuri’s hair before Yuuri can put him down. “That was amazing!”

“It wasn’t that impressive,” Yuuri says. Victor pulls back and coos when he sees how flushed Yuuri is at the attention. Reluctantly, Victor squirms out of Yuuri’s arms.

“Well, I was very impressed,” Victor tips Yuuri’s face and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s chaste by all definitions, but it’s the first time they’ve kissed while Victor is no longer promised to someone else. Victor never wants it to end, he wants to crawl into Yuuri’s skin and live there just so they never have to be apart again.

But soon, much too soon if you ask Victor, Yuuri pulls away. “You’re just easy to please,” he says, but his voice is unsteady and Victor lets himself believe that Yuuri is just as affected.

“Yuuri! You wound me! I don’t think I’ll ever recover from being called ‘easy.’” Victor pouts.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you.” Yuuri pulls Victor close by his hips and grins up at him.

“Oh,” Victor swallows, his heart thundering in his chest, “and how do you propose you’ll do that? You have a lot to make up for, you know.” Victor’s smile is brittle, but no less real. He knows they’ll have to talk about the month that Yuuri was gone, but unlike last time he put off talking, Victor knows they have all the time in the world to sort things out.

“I have a few ideas.” But instead of inching ever closer, Yuuri pulls away completely and starts walking in the opposite direction.

Yuuri weaves his way through his crew, effortlessly avoiding getting in anyone’s way. Victor blinks, a bit dazed at the sudden shift in demeanor, and also a bit confused because he hadn’t even realized the rest of the crew had returned. The Eros seems just about ready to set sail.

“Yuuri?” Victor says quietly, but his voice must have carried - or Yuuri has super hearing, which is an interesting theory that Victor isn’t willing to completely dismiss - because Yuuri stops right at the stairs that lead to the helm and aft mast, and sends Victor a look that clearly means ‘follow me.’

Victor, never one to ignore Yuuri’s wishes, hurries to catch up, ducking around crew members with much less grace than their captain.

Victor makes it to the helm right behind Yuuri. Yuuri is grasping one of the golden spokes, but his grip is loose, almost hesitant. He looks to Victor, his face open and vulnerable.

“Where would you like to go?” Yuuri asks and Victor’s heart  soars.

Victor pulls Yuuri into a bruising kiss, grasping at his shoulders like the lifeline that he is and he would swear that the earth shatters beneath their feet and they just don’t feel it because they’re lucky enough to be on the water.

Minutes or hours or maybe even days later, Victor pulls back and gazed at Yuuri, so full of love. Yuuri’s eyes are still closed from their kiss and his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. Victor can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

“Everywhere,” Victor answers and places his own hand over Yuuri’s on the wheel.

After all, they have all the time in the world. 

--- One Year Later ---

It’s difficult to adapt, to go from spoiled prince to someone who does hard labor everyday. Yuuri had tried to assure Victor that is wasn’t necessary, that Yuuri just wanted him close and there were more than enough crewmembers to handle upkeep of the Eros. But as much as the idea of being Yuuri’s kept man was delightful, Victor doesn’t want to just exist, he wants to belong. He wants to be someone that Yuuri can be proud of.

And it took a while, the first few months were full of bruises and blisters as Victor blundered his way through learning how to be of use. Menial labor was not something his tutors saw fit to teach him, and Victor hadn’t even realized how lacking he was in that department until he threw out his back trying to raise a sail by himself.

Eventually though, he got the hang of it, his arms became toned with muscles he didn’t even know existed, and his blisters became calluses that his Yuuri liked to kiss at night when they were alone in their quarters.

Which is where Victor should be right now, but Yuuri is asleep and he got restless, so instead he’s wandering the deck.

The night crew is always pretty barebones. Typically they find a shallow place to drop anchor so most of the crew can sleep, but there’s always someone on lookout, and if they’re close enough to inhabited land, there’s someone on patrol.

Tonight, they’ve set up near an island in the Indian Ocean that’s almost certainly deserted, so they’ve forgone the patrol. Victor is grateful for that, because it gives him a chance to wander around uninterrupted.

As he wanders, his feet bare against the pristine wood, he idly checks the rigging. Testing the knots of every section he passes. He stops at one particular knot, one of the ones keeping the fore sail lifted, and though it’s perfectly fine to last until morning, he unties and reties it so it’s tighter and more secure.

This is not an uncommon occurrence. Victor, having spent most of his life on land and living in a palace that was the size of a large village, frequently gets antsy being cooped up on a ship for days, or sometimes weeks, at a time. It could be a bit suffocating, especially considering how many other people lived on the ship, and Victor often found himself craving the days in port, even though he always had to keep a low profile so no one recognized him.

It was all worth it though to see Yuuri every morning when he wakes up. Victor would gladly spend every day for the rest of his life on this ship if it meant that Yuuri would be happy.

Over the sound of the waves brushing the side of the ship, Victor can hear the soft clicking of claws making their way to him. Victor turns and braces himself as Makkachin jumps him. He doesn’t fall, only because he was expecting it, so Makkachin whines, trying to reach Victor’s face, her feet pawing useless at Victor’s abs.

Victor laughs and kneels so he can hug her, uncaring of the way she immediately slobbers all over his face. Yuuri must be awake then, since Victor had left her shut in their quarters when he left.

Victor found Makkachin in Barcelona during the two months they were sailing the Mediterranean. He had been on his own for a few hours while Yuuri took care of business, so he wandered the city, marveling at the shops and cathedrals, and he happened upon Makkachin begging for food at one of the stalls.

She had been so thin, and the locals seemed to be indifferent to her sad eyes. Luckily Yuuri had no such defenses, especially when her puppy eyes were paired with Victor’s. Now Makkachin is an official crew member.

Eventually Makkachin’s sleepiness overpowers her desire to cover every inch of Victor in drool and she curls up, resting her head on his feet. Using the rail as leverage, Victor carefully pulls himself up, trying his best not to disturb Makkachin. It would be a crime to wake her up, so Victor is trapped until she decides to move.

Absentmindedly, Victor runs his fingers through his hair as he gazes at the brightening sky. It’s a habit he developed when he started growing his hair out again, and now that the strands reach his shoulders, he finds a lot of comfort in it.

The upkeep is much more difficult when he doesn’t have easy access to baths, but some nights Yuuri will help him braid it, a feat Victor hadn’t thought possible at its current length until Yuuri showed him a style that he was taught during his brief visit to America. Victor has missed his long hair and he’s more than happy to indulge Yuuri’s fascination with playing with it.

Victor feels Yuuri before he hears him, his footsteps too light to be heard over the waves, but Victor has been expecting him ever since he heard Makkachin approach, so he doesn’t jump when arms wrap around his waist.

“What are you doing up?” Victor asks, leaning his head back to rest it on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” Yuuri says, his voice more alert than Victor expected considering the early hour. The sun is just starting to breach the horizon, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky.

“You need to rest, darling.” Victor brings one of Yuuri’s hands to his mouth so he can a press a kiss between his knuckles.

“Mm.” Yuuri hums, in a tone that borders on a whine. “What are you up to?” Yuuri twines their fingers together, resting their hands over Victor’s heart.

“Just thinking.” Victor shrugs.

“About what?”

“Life. Love.” Victor’s voice lilts teasingly.  “You know, the usual.”

“All good things, I hope.” Yuuri laughs, but Victor can practically feel the self doubt emanating from Yuuri in waves.

Yuuri’s struggle with self worth is a constant battle, one which Victor is happy to help him fight. So Victor grips his hand tighter and says, “Only the best with you, moya lyubov.”

Yuuri’s breath catches audibly, and he buries his face in the nape of Victor’s neck.

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot too.” Yuuri mumbles into Victor’s skin and Victor has to strain to hear him until he draws back, and though he doesn’t release Victor’s hand, he does let go of his waist. “Our love, our life,” Yuuri explains, and there’s a shuffling sound, like Yuuri is searching his pockets for something. Then.

Yuuri slides a ring onto Victor’s finger.

“O- oh?” Victor lifts his hand and stares hard at the ring. It gleams bright in the light of the rising sun.

“What do you think?” Yuuri asks after a moment, his voice small.

“Oh, Yuuri!” Victor spins around in Yuuri’s arms and drags Yuuri into a kiss, only a little regretful when Makkachin boofs disdainfully at him when he interrupts her nap. “Of course!”

Yuuri lights up, joy radiating from his entire body as he yanks Victor down into another kiss, pressing as close as physics will allow their bodies to get. Victor wants and wants, and for once in his life, he’s sure his wishes will be fulfilled.