Yuri on Ice, "Picture Picture" (Yuuri ->Victor, Yuuri/poster!Victor)

[melodytree]

Title: Picture Picture
Fandom: Yuri on Ice
Pairing/characters: onesided Yuuri/Victor, Yuuri/poster!Victor
Rating: M
Contains: Masturbation
Summary: Yuuri talked with his posters of Victor. Then, at some point, Yuuri's imagination went beyond just talking.
Notes: Written for Maitimiel for Chocolate Box 2017.

Yuuko was a good friend. Ever since they had discovered Victor, after the initial fascination refused to wear off, she would always lend magazines to him when she discovered a new article about their new idol. Yuuri always returned them by the end of the week, though not before spending long hours reading and re-reading and looking at the pictures at night when he should have been studying, and when he had the spare pocket money, he would buy his own copy to pore over.

The most well-worn of his own collection was the one that had a picture of Victor and his dog. He read it almost obsessively, to the point that Mari noticed and gently teased him for it. "Haven't you memorized the whole thing by now?" she asked one night, and he frowned at her over the table, where the two of them were waiting for dinner.

"That's not the point," he said. (The answer was 'yes, days ago.') Mari, leaning her chin into her hand, promptly snatched the magazine from him and turned it over to take a look. "Hey! Give that back!"

"I just want to see what's got you so interested. Oh, hey, isn't this that skater you like so much? He has a cute dog."

She did, eventually, give it back after he whined enough, though that was about the time Mom came out with dinner, so he had to set the magazine aside anyway.

He forgot about the incident by the next day, until a couple of weeks later, Mari knocked on his door after dinner. When he opened it, he could see that she was clearly holding something behind her back. "I have something for you," she said.

It turned out to be a poster, which she let him unroll. At his first glimpse of what was on it, he couldn't do so fast enough – it was an enlarged version of the picture of Victor and Makkachin that he had spent so much time looking at. He could hardly thank her, too distracted by how he could see every detail of Makkachin's fur, how Victor was so much closer to life-sized.

"I saw it when I was out with my friends earlier," Mari said, sitting next to him to examine the poster as well. "The store didn't have anything I was interested in, but I saw this and remembered it from that magazine you wouldn't let go of. Do you want help putting it up?"

"Yes, please!" She held it above his desk for him while he taped the corners down, and then Victor was right there to keep him company as he studied. He couldn't stop staring even as Mari ruffled his hair. "You're the best sister in the world."

"Yeah? Make sure you show how much you appreciate me by helping me clean up outside tomorrow, okay? Dad was getting on my case about it earlier."

"Okay!"

She left him, then, and he was alone with Victor and Makkachin. It really was a wonderful picture; Victor looked so happy, smiling with his hair falling in his face and halfway through trying to share his scarf with Makkachin, who was cuddled up with Victor and coming as close to smiling as a dog probably could. "Hi," Yuuri said, quiet. He felt silly as he did so, but Victor just looked so close. "I'm Yuuri."

There was no reply, of course. A moment later, he realized why the silence felt so off: he'd spoken in Japanese, but Victor didn't know Japanese. He spoke Russian and some English and according to one of the interviews he was learning French, too. The problem was, Yuuri didn't know Russian or French, and while he was supposed to be learning English now, he had only just started this year and so far it wasn't a good subject for him.

Yuuri bit his lip and gave Victor's face another look. Well, maybe if he could pretend it was a magic poster that would talk back to him, it could also translate for them until he knew how to say everything he wanted to say in English.

Hello, Yuuri, he imagined, in the voice that he knew from interviews. I'm Victor, and this is my dog Makkachin. She's really big, isn't she? Do you want to pet her? She's very friendly.

"Yeah," he whispered, leaning over his desk to run his fingers over the poster-Makkachin. "I love dogs."

It became a habit, to talk with the poster-Victor when he needed a break from homework, or when something exciting happened in skating practice, or when he couldn't fall asleep at night. He even broke out the English phrases they were learning at school. There was no way Yuuri could have had the courage to use them on a foreigner in real life – not that there were ever foreigners in Hasetsu – but Victor would always reply kindly. Yuuri couldn't feel self-conscious about his accent, either, since he knew Victor had a strong accent, too.

A few months later, his parents let him get a dog.

Everyone fell in love with Vicchan immediately. Mom wanted to hold him, though Dad had to tell Yuuri to let go of him first. Mari, who had been uninterested in the idea of adopting a dog, kept tugging his long ears back and forth and scratching his neck. The first night that Yuuri carried him up to his room for bed, he was so excited and happy he was almost shaking. "This is my room, Vicchan," he said, sliding the door open with his foot so he wouldn't risk dropping his new puppy. "This is my bed, you'll sleep here, and--"

At that moment, Yuuri paused in turning to close the door when he saw the poster.

"Oh! Victor, look, I got a dog! He's a poodle just like yours, but he's going to be smaller, Dad said. His name's, um." Yuuri felt his cheeks heat and he ducked his head to check on Vicchan, before looking back up again. Victor was nice. He wouldn't make fun. "I named him after you! But he's little, so we call him Vicchan instead of Victor."

Victor, he imagined, was flattered, and told Yuuri that Vicchan was the second-cutest dog he had ever seen after Makkachin. After that, Yuuri made sure to include updates on Vicchan when he chatted with the poster in the evening.

"Vicchan saw snow for the first time ever today! I don't think he knew what to make of it. We only got a little bit, though. It doesn't snow much around here. Does Makkachin like diving into snowbanks?"

Sometimes, when she's feeling energetic. She's a pretty lazy dog, though. Afterwards, she sleeps a lot.

"Vicchan and I went to the ocean after school and played in the waves for a long time. Saint Petersburg is on the ocean too, right?"

It is! You must be good at geography, Yuuri. What is Hasetsu like? I don't know anything about it.

"Today I saw Dad napping after he did maintenance work all morning. Vicchan was curled up with him. It was kind of like Vicchan was saying, you worked hard, now let's rest together. Even though Vicchan didn't actually help."

It sounds like you've raised him well, Yuuri. Dogs are such perceptive creatures, and he must have been trying to help your dad in his own way.

Over the years, Yuuri bought more posters, and while at first they were all the same poster-Victor to him, once he got more than a few, they became different. There was the Victor in his practice clothes, long hair down and twisting with him, looking elegant and feminine; Yuuri talked to him about skating. There was the Victor at a competition, the first season he'd cut his hair short, his face serious and sad above the sparkles of his costume; Yuuri talked with him the most before his own competitions to make himself feel better when he was nervous. There was the Victor on a day off, wearing a backpack in a park somewhere; Yuuri talked with him about school, tried out more of his English than normal.

Then there was the one from a fashion shoot, with Victor sitting on a chair and smiling, the one clean spot in a messy and old-fashioned house. Yuuri put it next to his bed.

He couldn't, at first, place what had made him put that poster there, right where he could see it before he went to sleep, even with his glasses off.

Maybe it was Victor's eyes, sharp and bright.

Maybe it was Victor's pose, the delicate set of his fingers on his knees at contrast with the clear strength of him.

Maybe it was Victor's shirt and how it was open halfway down his chest.

It wasn't long before one night, sleepily touching himself, Yuuri made the mistake of opening his eyes while facing the wall. He froze with a gasp; Victor was looking straight at him. Yuuri, he said, and Yuuri loved the way all of the poster-Victors said his name, deep and fond, gliding over the long u, but it never quite made him squirm like this before.

Yuuri, he said again, and Yuuri imagined him folding down a bit in that chair, propping his elbows on his knees and catching his chin in his hands. Yuuri, why don't you show me what you're doing.

Yuuri bit his sleeve and used the other hand to slowly pull the blankets off. Victor didn't ask for anything more, but he was looking at him so intently, Yuuri did his best to make it look good, trying not to go too fast and arching off the bed. He could tell Victor was pleased when he was finished and went to sleep quite content.

In the morning he remembered everything. He sat in bed for a few minutes, touching the edge of the poster, face hot, wondering if he should take it down.

But it had been so good, imagining Victor watching him. And it wasn't like it was going to hurt the real Victor, far off in Russia. Though if Yuuri did ever achieve his dream of skating on the same ice as him, it could make it weird. Could he really face Victor without remembering this, hear Victor say his name without an inappropriate reaction?

But. It had been good. And as he toyed with the edge of the poster, he could have sworn he heard a whispered Yuuri. With a shiver, he slowly pulled his hand away and went to go get ready for the day.

Halfway through getting dressed, however, a thought struck him, and he looked around at the other posters. Which of them had been watching his back last night, he wondered, his toes curling into the smooth fibers of the tatami. Which of them wanted to see more?

He realized it was a silly thought. That didn't stop him from considering each one as he got his things together, too shy to outright ask them.

The next time, he tried laying on his back, though he kept his head turned towards the one poster. Come on, Yuuri, he heard, I want to see how much you're enjoying this.

Watch me, he plead in his head, though the words didn't quite make it out. Victor still heard. He kept his eyes right on Yuuri the whole time, as Yuuri twisted and shoved a knuckle in his mouth, as he accidentally bit down too hard as he tried to keep from making noise and didn't stop anyway because he was so close, as Yuuri shut his eyes and thought of the poster-Victor reaching out to touch him and came.

It wasn't long before he was performing for the other ones as well, although he was always conscious of all of their eyes watching him. The sad-looking Victor encouraged him on in slow murmurs; the mischievous-looking Victor from a magazine cover, one finger pressed to his smile, happily praised him.

"Is there anything you want me to try?" he asked one night, curled up near the wall with his hand touching the glossy paper of the long-haired Victor in practice.

Victor knew exactly what Yuuri was thinking about, of course. Why don't you try looking beautiful for me, Yuuri. Even more so than you do already.

Yuuri wasn't beautiful, and nothing was ever going to get him to look as handsome as Victor, but he tried. He pulled out the slim black clothes his Mom had gotten him for more formal occasions that he never had occasion to wear, and cracked open the makeup kit he only used for competitions. He didn't really know how to make it work beyond that, and he was sure he was over-doing the eyeliner, but he tried. Mari was off on a school field trip, and Yuuri had taken a bottle of her nail polish, black like what Victor wore in the poster. He felt guilty as he opened it and started to apply it with hands that shook a little, but he would replace it before she noticed, and surely doing this once wouldn't use up much of it?

He resisted the urge to turn the lamp off like normal when he was done. "How does it look?" he asked, copying a pose from one of his other favorite pictures of Victor: head tilted, fingers curled gently into his cheek, soft smile, lowered eyelids.

You look gorgeous, Victor crooned, and Yuuri flushed. He could have sworn another of the posters whistled at him, maybe the backpack-Victor. Feeling emboldened, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and let his head roll back a bit. Ah, there we go, he said, this time breathless. Please, Yuuri, let me see more.

When he finished, he was too content to get up, change into his night clothes, scrub his face, and find his way back to his bed. He stayed curled up on the floor, one hand set on the bottom of the wall, whispering with the poster-Victor until he fell asleep.

He tried not to let his imagination get too far away from him, but sometimes when he came back from a loss at a competition, or hurting from a bad fall in practice, he didn't bother with that restraint: he closed his eyes and imagined one of Victors coming out from his poster, coming to his bed. He might tell Yuuri he would do better next time, or just to concentrate on him. He might kiss him, or slip to his knees and beg to touch him. Some of the time, Yuuri lost focus with the idea and shoved his hands back into his hair, thinking that Victor was stroking it instead, or wrapped himself up in his blankets and just talked with Victor until he felt better.

These kinds of fantasies were the ones that left him feeling the most awkward when he woke in the morning, the posters quieter in the sun coming through the window. But they helped, giving him something to do other than compulsively re-play everything he had done wrong in his head.

They became such a fixture in his life, that when it came time to pack for university, he found himself at a bit of a loss, looking around at all of them. He wanted to take all of them with him, but he was going to have a roommate, and then as soon as possible he was going to go to America to train and still have a roommate. His parents didn't blink over his obsession with Victor, but he had the idea that it was not quite normal. Mari, for one, had more than once rolled her eyes when yet another package from Russia showed up on the doorstep, full of magazines he couldn't get his hands on in Japan. (She still brought them in for him, left them by his bedroom door without opening them, except once when it had gotten rained on and she checked to make sure water hadn't gotten inside.)

So maybe it would look too weird to bring all of them. But he couldn't take none of them, and it was hard to choose. The morose Victor, the one with him leaning against the wall of the rink during a break from practice, the magazine cover – he peeled them down carefully and set them in an old poster tube so they would survive the trip without folding lines.

The last one he decided on was that first one with a younger Victor and Makkachin. "Maybe you'll help keep me from missing Vicchan too much," he told the poster as he stood on his chair to reach the upper corners. He couldn't help but spare a glance to his dog, sleeping in the middle of his bed. He felt bad that there was no way to take Vicchan with him, or to at least tell him that he was going to be gone for a while but still coming back one day. "See you soon," he said right before he rolled it up and put it in the tube with the others.

He said the same thing to the ones he left behind just before he took off, waffling in the door to his bedroom. They wished him a safe trip, said they looked forward to when he came back. As stupid as it was, he felt a little badly for them, too. He told himself that they wouldn't get lonely; they only came alive when he was there with them. Not like poor Vicchan, who wagged his tail as Yuuri waved good-bye like it was any other trip away from home.

(He ended up buying more posters, anyway. Not a lot – the Internet and his hard drive fulfilled his want for as many pictures as possible, without taking up his entire side of the room or costing money he couldn't often afford – but the pictures didn't come alive in his imagination the same way unless they were physical, on his wall or in his hands.)