Chapter Text
Most people assumed that Yuuri didn’t have a soulmate. It was easier that way, surrounded as he was by people with their cute matching birthmarks, countdown timers, or magical red strings tied to their fingers. Even some of the weirder resonance manifestations he’d heard of, like bursting into song whenever his soulmate did, or switching bodies every Leap Day, those were still experiences that a person could talk about in polite company. If one of his eyes were blue or green and the other his natural brown, he could at least meet his mother’s gaze with both of them, unflinching.
“Why couldn’t I just, like, taste whatever he’s eating as long as it’s soup?” Yuuri groaned one day as the phantom sensations began. At least this time he was at home, with no plans to go anywhere. He was rarely that lucky.
“That’s oddly specific,” Phichit said. His manifestation came in the form of a tiny, glittering star that orbited his head and changed color depending on his soulmate’s mood. It was pretty, and didn’t require maintaining a mental map of every public restroom on campus.
Yuuri pushed what was left of his lunch away, across the dining table. It was good tonkatsu ramen, too; he’d decided to splurge after doing well on a tough exam. But it would have to wait now. “I saw it on Reddit once.” As if his own manifestation wasn’t just as out there. He stood up. “I’ll be—”
“—in your bunk,” Phichit finished knowingly. “Gotcha.”
Yuuri bit his lip, as much to stifle a scathing retort that his roommate in no way deserved as in reaction to the sudden, familiar, gelatinous chill that had enveloped his dick.
Stupid horny soulmate. Would it kill the guy to warm up the lube, at least? Just once, as a treat?
***
It wasn’t all bad. Hell, it wasn’t even mostly bad. Yuuri’s soulmate was a lusty and creative lover, even when he was just touching himself, which was usually what Yuuri felt through their bond. The man did have partnered sex, but it was occasional, occurring in short clusters of a day or two up to a week, and then he went right back to self-pleasure for several months at a time.
(Was his soulmate's lover a long-distance romance? Was he in his country's military, deployed overseas? Yuuri couldn't help but be curious about the stranger who had unwittingly given him his very first prostate orgasms.)
No, the problem was one of timing. The guy had a ridiculously high libido, jerking himself off twice a day, every day, like clockwork. And now that Yuuri was going to school and training in Detroit, only one of those clocks went off at a reasonable hour. When Yuuri felt a hand wrap around his cock and start to stroke at ten or eleven at night, his only worry was not keeping Phichit awake by moaning out loud. When those same sensations started up in the middle of the afternoon, when Yuuri was in class or at practice, that was another story entirely. When that happened, all he could do was lock himself in the nearest bathroom and ride it out, high-key terrified that this time someone was going to report him for public indecency.
So he scheduled around the problem whenever he was able. Morning ice time. Evening classes. Anything to avoid being in public between two and four in the afternoon. It wasn't perfect -- course requirements were not known for their flexible scheduling, for one thing -- but he managed to muddle along.
And then Yuuri's soulmate began a strange new tradition.
***
It was the worst night of Yuuri's life. His dog died. He was in last place by a truly staggering number of points. Victor Nikiforov had asked him if he wanted a selfie, as though Yuuri was a fanboy instead of one of only five of Victor's direct competitors. And now, assuming that the pattern of the last several years was going to hold, Yuuri had very little time left to lock himself in his hotel room before his soulmate started getting the both of them absolutely wrecked.
Cocks in his ass. Cocks, plural. Serial cocks. Cocks forcing their way down his throat. Cruel fingers twisting his nipples, only to be immediately replaced with tongues or teeth. Fingers and mouths roaming over every inch of his body, leaving no part of him untouched.
The first time it had happened, Yuuri had been terrified. He'd thought his soulmate was being assaulted. Phichit had heard Yuuri crying out, and when he came running he'd thought that Yuuri was having a seizure. But then there came a mouth on his own dick, sucking him off, and Yuuri knew that technique. It was his soulmate's lover. His soulmate's lover... plus friends, apparently.
For whatever bizarre reason, Yuuri's soulmate had chosen to become the recurring main attraction at an actual goddamn orgy that took place once a year, always on the night of the men's free program at the Grand Prix Final, just an hour or two after the end of the medal ceremony.
Of course, this was the competition when Coach Celestino decided to dawdle. This was the night he decided Yuuri needed a cheer-up dinner and a pep talk. It wasn't his fault. His coach knew about the daily manifestations... sort of. He knew that Yuuri had some kind of daily resonance with his unknown soulmate, and that it was something that Yuuri found deeply embarrassing, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He certainly didn't know about what was about to start happening in...
Yuuri felt the burn of a single lubed digit sliding inside his body and beginning to press against his outer walls, stretching them to prepare for the ordeal to come.
He hit the doors to the hotel lobby at a dead sprint, ignoring his coach's outraged squawk, bolted past the tasteful marble columns and potted ferns, practically slamming himself into the elevator doors in his desperation to press the button to summon the lift.
Luck was with him: the doors opened almost immediately after he stabbed his thumb onto the up arrow.
"Yuuri! Just the man I wanted to see!"
Luck was not with him: the elevator cab contained one Christophe Giacometti, Swiss national champion, incorrigible flirt, and a friendly face that Yuuri normally didn't mind spending time with whenever they met during events just -- oh god -- not right now, not right now..!
"Uh, hi Chris, sorry Chris, can't talk. Gotta, um, bathroom!" A second finger pushed inside him alongside the first and started to work him open in earnest. Yuuri brushed past him and slammed the palm of his hand on the number of his floor.
He was already half hard.
Chris was still inside the elevator when the doors closed and the cab started to move upwards, and he was regarding Yuuri with faint alarm.
"Darling, are you... unwell?"
Yuuri tried for a smile. The crease between Christophe's brows deepened. "Uh, maybe? We just got back from dinner. I think my fish might have been... off?"
He heard Chris start to ask another question, but his soulmate chose that moment to add another finger, and this one brushed deliberately against Yuuri's prostate. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and closing his throat against any noises that might try to bubble out of it.
He felt a cool hand press against his forehead. "I think you have a fever, Yuuri. Where is your coach?"
His laugh was shaky and more than a little hysterical. "Oh, he's downstairs. Somewhere. Probably. I'm fine, really Chris."
Chris did not look as though he believed that Yuuri was fine. "Let me escort you to your room, and then I'll go look for him. I don't think you should be alone right now. Whatever this is... I don't believe it's food poisoning."
"No!" Yuuri yelped in alarm. "I'm fine, really! I just... I just need..." The phantom fingers pulled out of him all at once, dragging against his sweet spot on the way out, and Yuuri's vision went white. The other skater caught him before his knees could buckle entirely, but there was not a power on earth that could have prevented the low moan that tore out of him.
Green eyes went wide, and then immediately sharpened. They looked him up and down, lingering first on Yuuri's face, and then immediately dipping to the now obvious tent in his athletic pants. Christophe's mouth opened, and closed again. When he managed to speak, his voice was sharp. "Yuuri, what on earth is happening to you? If I didn't know any better..."
The elevator doors finally opened at the correct floor, and Yuuri lurched out of Chris's grasp, making a beeline for his room, patting frantically at his pockets to fish out his room key as he ran. He slammed the plastic card against the reader at the same time that he threw his weight into the door itself, forcing it open the instant that the mechanism released the tumblers, and he burst into the safety and privacy of his hotel room just as the first dick of the evening pressed itself against his asshole and began to push inside.
Yuuri staggered to the bed, kicking off his shoes and shedding his coat and glasses on the way, letting them fall unheeded to the floor. He didn't have time to undress further; this first man was eager and not the slightest bit gentle, setting a brutal pace from the very first intrusion. He knew his soulmate had prepared himself, he'd felt his soulmate preparing himself, but it couldn't have been enough. Not for this. Whoever his soulmate was, he was going to hurt in the morning.
Yuuri would be fine. He experienced everything his soulmate did, felt every touch and every thrust, and would orgasm with his soulmate, but he wasn't actually having sex with anyone. When he woke up in the morning, the only soreness he would have to deal with would be the bruises he'd earned in real life from landing all of his jumps on his butt during the free skate.
The first man didn't last long. He was fucking Yuuri's soulmate like he hated the man, like he was actively trying to split him in two, and every thrust punched a sound out of Yuuri that was halfway between a moan and a yelp. When Yuuri finally felt the fingers tighten their grip around his hips and the hot splashes hit his innards, he could only sigh in relief and try to catch his breath before the onslaught resumed.
Someone was cursing steadily in French somewhere in the vicinity of the doorway.
"Chris," the name turned into a whimper as Contestant Number Two slid inside Yuuri. "I am literally begging you to go away right now." He didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see his sort-of-friend's shocked expression. A hand wrapped around his cock and started to pump him as the phantom dick began to thrust. Yuuri's back arched involuntarily, his hips bucking.
The furious-sounding French cut off. "What the fuck is happening, Yuuri?" The Swiss skater sounded angry. Worse, he sounded almost frightened.
Yuuri barked a humorless laugh. "Fucking is exactly what's happening, can't you tell?" he snapped. "I thought you were the expert on the subject." It wasn't a kind thing to say, but he didn't have a whole lot of kindness to spare at the moment.
The second man was kind, though. Far kinder than the first. He was chasing his own pleasure, but he was at least trying to make it good for Yuuri's soulmate. The hand on Yuuri's cock was gentle and sure, and it didn't take more than a few experimental thrusts for the stranger to home in on Yuuri's prostate and make it sing.
"Yuuri--"
"I said I'm fine!" he snarled. The pain from the first man was fading, becoming a distant memory, and the only thing stopping him from letting go to the rising pleasure was a busybody of a silver medalist who refused to take a goddamn hint. "This happens to me every fucking year, and it's fine!"
"Every... year...?" Chris sounded stunned, and then he was silent and Yuuri was getting fucked faster, and better, and there were fingernails running along his stomach and sending sparks up and down his spine, and just as he was beginning to hope that the other skater had finally left him alone, finally let him be, Yuuri heard the sound of a mobile phone being dialed.
The call connected, and before whoever Christophe had called could say a word, Chris was babbling something in rapid-fire French. His voice was urgent, and Yuuri opened his mouth to say something both unsportsmanlike and potentially friendship-ending--
The cock pulled out of Yuuri abruptly, and suddenly he was alone in his body again. The phantom touches were gone.
Chris spoke again, and another voice answered, also in French but it had a strange, almost familiar accent, but Yuuri was too busy gasping and quivering in reaction to pay too much attention.
His soulmate's orgy had... stopped. Why had it stopped?
The call ended with a beep, and then there were footsteps approaching the bed. "Yuuri?" Christophe's voice was oddly hesitant. "That was... that was soulmate resonance, was it not? Your manifestation?"
Yuuri pried his eyelids open to meet Chris's gaze. "Don't you dare laugh at me," he whispered dully.
Chris sat down beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Darling, I'd never." His voice was gentle.
"It stopped. I don't know why it stopped."
The other man hummed noncommittally. "Would you like some water?"
Yuuri nodded weakly, his body still trembling from the sudden cessation of the resonance. Chris helped him sit up, grabbing the water bottle from the bedside table and holding it up to Yuuri's lips. The cool liquid washed away the dryness in his throat.
"You said this happens to you every year?"
Of all the conversations Yuuri wanted to have with another human, this one wasn't at the bottom of the list only because Mari's phone call about Vicchan had been even worse. But Christophe, like Phichit, had already seen. It wasn't as though talking about it could possibly make him think any less of Yuuri now. So he sighed, and shrugged, and said, "Yeah. This is the fifth time."
Christophe's expression flickered. "And have you ever experienced resonance at any other time?"
His laugh was humorless. "Oh, only every single day since sometime in high school. But that's just... normal. It's not this." Yuuri sighed. "I don't understand why he does it. And I really don't understand why his lover would let him. Those other men... some of those other men are cruel." Like the first one that night, who had all but tried to murder Yuuri's soulmate with his dick.
"Your soulmate has a lover?" Chris's eyes had widened, and he was looking at Yuuri curiously.
Yuuri nodded. "He's not around very often, but I like him. He warms the lube, and he kisses like he means it. He's sweet."
That seemed to shock Chris for some reason. Yuuri was about to ask why, when someone pounded on the door to the room. Both men jumped at the sound, and Yuuri turned to glare at Chris. "You called my coach. I told you not to--"
The door banged again. It didn't much sound like Coach Celestino, actually. Whoever it was sounded pissed.
Chris got up to go answer it. Yuuri thought about protesting, but there was little point. Chris hadn't done a damn thing Yuuri had asked him to do yet, so why would he start now?
Light from the outside corridor spilled into the doorway as the door opened. Yuuri couldn't see who was there, but he heard an angry-sounding barrage of French. The voice sounded weirdly familiar...
"English, mon coeur. And please be kind."
And Victor Nikiforov walked into Yuuri's hotel room. "What the hell, Chris? You said you were going to bring Katsuki, so why--"
Yuuri stared. He had never seen Victor look like this before. The living legend was impeccably groomed, always. Even his paparazzi pics looked like he was posing for them, his hair and clothing immaculate, his makeup on point. This Victor... this Victor looked a lot like Yuuri felt. His silvery hair was sticking up at odd angles, and he looked like he had gotten dressed in the dark. Even his face was shiny, as though he'd been sweating very recently. And there was an odd hitch in his gait.
Victor looked annoyed. "I would appreciate an explanation," he growled. "I was in the middle of--"
"We both know what you were in the middle of. And you were supposed to wait."
"I got tired of waiting."
Yuuri looked from Chris to Victor, and back to Chris. None of this made any sense. Why was Victor here? And what did Chris mean, that the two of them knew what Victor had been in the middle of? Why would Yuuri have the slightest clue what--
"Oh, do shut up, Vitya," Chris snapped. And to Yuuri's astonishment, he marched up to Victor and pulled him in for a searing kiss.
Resonance immediately burst across Yuuri's lips and tongue. He was being kissed. His soulmate was being kissed by his gentle lover, right at this very moment, just like Chris was kissing Victor, and he--
"No." The word spilled from Yuuri, unthinking. "No." This wasn't... it couldn't...
Christophe released Victor, and the sensation of being kissed immediately vanished. He turned to Yuuri. "Yes, darling."
Victor's annoyance was giving way to confusion. "What..?"
But Chris had already turned away from... his lover? and came to sit by Yuuri on the bed. "May I kiss you, Yuuri?" he asked gently.
Yuuri shook his head. "I-- I've never been kissed before," he stammered somewhat nonsensically.
Chris smiled. "I think you have been. I think you've been kissed often, and well, by someone who kisses like he means it."
Feeling more than a little bit like he was dreaming, Yuuri tipped his face upwards. Christophe Giacometti bent down to meet him, and his lips were warm, and soft, and real, and achingly familiar.
And Victor Nikiforov gasped.