The step sequence of Stay Close to Me is meant to be grand and graceful, long extension like the curved neck and sweeping wings of a swan; every line perfect as carved marble. He can hear Yakov yelling something, but it doesn't matter: he built this program, designed it, perfected it, even before he knew what it was really meant to convey.
(Although it's a little more difficult to focus on the loss of love and a shattering sense of despair when being shouted at to keep his shoulders down and extend further by a cranky old man.)
Deep edges, slicing across the ice, while he reaches past an audience who isn't here, in the bright sunshine of the rink, reaching, reaching.
(He waited for longer than he'd ever admit.)
The rink walls a blur around him on this second round of focusing on the elements, as he slides by, vision obscured by a silver mist of his hair, before the bright shock of his toepick biting the ice to send him soaring, wrapped tightly around himself, and the perfect relief of finding the control in the edge when he lands, sinking low into his knee, arms spread:
And again.
(Wouldn't this jump sequence be perfect for Eros?)
Which pushes him out of the recovery faster, ignoring the finale he was meant to practice in favor of a jaunty, sparkling dance that isn't what he wants it to be... yet.
Letting the spread eagle he'd slid into slowly peter out, to find Yakov glowering across the ice, which makes Victor smile, even though his rapid breath, as he slowly makes his way over, Yakov's voice a growl echoing in the empty rink.
"Pull that shit again and I'll have you skating figures for the next week."
Met with a shrug, while Victor finds his water bottle and takes a long drink to catch his breath, smile gone mild, but quirking hard at one corner. "I can't help when inspiration strikes, Yakov."
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(Although it's a little more difficult to focus on the loss of love and a shattering sense of despair when being shouted at to keep his shoulders down and extend further by a cranky old man.)
Deep edges, slicing across the ice, while he reaches past an audience who isn't here, in the bright sunshine of the rink, reaching, reaching.
(He waited for longer than he'd ever admit.)
The rink walls a blur around him on this second round of focusing on the elements, as he slides by, vision obscured by a silver mist of his hair, before the bright shock of his toepick biting the ice to send him soaring, wrapped tightly around himself, and the perfect relief of finding the control in the edge when he lands, sinking low into his knee, arms spread:
And again.
(Wouldn't this jump sequence be perfect for Eros?)
Which pushes him out of the recovery faster, ignoring the finale he was meant to practice in favor of a jaunty, sparkling dance that isn't what he wants it to be... yet.
Letting the spread eagle he'd slid into slowly peter out, to find Yakov glowering across the ice, which makes Victor smile, even though his rapid breath, as he slowly makes his way over, Yakov's voice a growl echoing in the empty rink.
"Pull that shit again and I'll have you skating figures for the next week."
Met with a shrug, while Victor finds his water bottle and takes a long drink to catch his breath, smile gone mild, but quirking hard at one corner. "I can't help when inspiration strikes, Yakov."