There wasn't a single part of Yuri's body that he didn't admire. Long toned legs, lean torso, lithe yet strong arms. And Flynn liked showing that admiration with tongue and teeth and fingertips as much as the rest of his body. Every inch of flesh quivered beneath his touch. Every gasp of that smoky voice was like music.

Even as Yuri's taut thighs quaked at either side, he continued the slow and deliberate rocking of his head. Yuri was leaned back against the tile of the shower, hands clawing, nails tearing into the grout. He moaned, the sound reverberating with the bathroom's acoustics, dampened only slightly by the cascade of water from the showerhead. Fumbling for a handhold, he raked the fingers of one hand through Flynn's hair, grabbing very briefly. It was taking a lot out of him not to speed things up.

Shifting his weight a little, Yuri slid one leg up, the ball of his foot coming to rest on the edge of the tub and sending a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo clattering down between Flynn's legs. Flynn ignored them and continued his pleasurable work, which would have been a lot easier if Yuri would have stopped fidgeting so much and just enjoyed it.

Yuri let out a gasp, sharp and breathy, that drowned in the moan that followed. He moved again, something with his leg. Maybe this position was becoming uncomfortable. He slipped, trying to catch himself for a half a second, and Flynn pulled back, arms braced to stop his fall, but it was too late.

"Fuck," he winced, letting out a ragged breath as he let his weight settle against Flynn and the bottom of the bathtub.

"Are you okay?" Flynn asked, holding back a bit of laughter that threatened to come bubbling to the surface. For as graceful a dancer as Yuri was, even he could be a klutz apparently.

"Yeah. It's fine."

He groaned as he tried to move, one leg pushing against the tile and the other trying to, but he stopped after a few seconds and took a deep breath.

"Do you need some help?"

"It's fine. I'm fine."

He didn't sound fine, and with the mood completely ruined, Flynn stood and offered him a hand. Yuri still tried again on his own, hands planted on the edge of the bathtub and lifting his weight with his arms. There's no way he could stand just doing that, and Flynn was left only momentarily wondering why he wasn't using his legs to give him enough leverage.

The shock of it pulled a gasp out of him, and his eyes darted back to Yuri's.

"What? It's no big deal."

He didn't dignify that with a response, lifting Yuri out of the tub and setting him on the edge so that he could get a better look at the swollen mess that was Yuri's left ankle.

"How's it feel?" Flynn touched it gently, probing the quickly bruising area with two fingers.

"It'd feel a lot better if you stopped touching it."

It wasn't broken. He was glad for that much, but he sagged against the floor, trying to get a hold of himself. An injury like this should have been nothing. Things far worse than this happened on the ice every day. Even practice could leave a player with sprains.

But what if this was worse than just a sprain? Yuri's job, Yuri's career, depended on his legs. Injuries shrugged off easily in hockey were serious business for a ballet dancer. A particularly grave injury could mark the end of a dancer's career. But he couldn't panic. Yuri was calm enough, and even he had to be thinking the same thing.

"Sorry." Flynn sagged further, crumpling into the tile floor.

"Don't worry about it." Yuri said that so easily.

He couldn't just not worry about it. There was something more constructive he could do about it though.

"Here." He moved to one knee. "Put your arm around my neck. I'm going to carry you to the bed."

"I don't think is the best time to be worry about that dilemma."

"Can't you stop joking for a single second?"

"Not really."

Flynn picked him up anyway, carrying him with ease back into the bedroom adjacent and placing him just as gently on the end of the bed. In his sock drawer, he found a fabric bandage and wrapped up Yuri's ankle as carefully as he could, mustering through the winces and groans of pain that Yuri tried to suppress but came out of his mouth anyway. At least treating his own injuries after games prepared him for what he truly hoped was nothing more than a sprain.

He pulled Yuri's clothing, a pair of tattered jeans, and a short sleeved white shirt, off the floor and helped him get dressed. Afterward, he fumbled into his own clothing and checked the bandage again.

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I said don't worry about it. It's only a sprain."

"Shut up. You're going whether you like it or not."

Yuri's further arguments proved fruitless as Flynn largely ignored them while getting his shoes on.

He refused to be carried down the stairs. Flynn couldn't blame him. Walking down was long and awkward as Yuri was forced to hobble, supported every step by Flynn, even though he was trying to deny that help the whole way. His quips fell on death ears as Flynn started the car and headed for the nearest emergency room.

There was a line. What did he expect? People were always idiots and couldn't be trusted not to do something stupid to hurt themselves or someone else. Flynn signed them in, and they were set to wait in the tiny, chair-lined room with a dozen other people with varying degrees of emergencies.

"How is it feeling?"

"You're making a big fuss for nothing."

"This could be serious!" Flynn was mostly getting annoyed that Yuri was the one not making a big deal out of this. "What about-?"

"Dancing? Eh." He shrugged, staring down at his bandage-wrapped foot. "There are other things in life. I'm sure I'll find something else."

"But you love dancing."

"Yeah, but if I have to give it up, then I have to. Doesn't mean I want to, but if it's my time, it's my time."

The idea of such a short-lived career was shocking. Many hockey players stayed in the game for years, even with serious injuries that put them out of commission for a while. He had seen players break bones, suffer serious head trauma, lacerations that could have resulted in death from blood loss, and yet they all came back to the ice. To think that something any worse than a sprain would have pulled someone from their passion and back into the real and mundane world was colder and crueler than Flynn wanted to believe.

"Lowell!" The nurse called from the door.

Yuri tried to stand on his own before Flynn could get up, but he was on his feet to brace Yuri a second later. They limped over to the nurse, who looked at them sternly over her square framed glasses.

"And you are?"

"Flynn Scifo."

"Relationship with the injured?"

"I-uh-"

"We're together. Get over it." Yuri snapped.

She scowled a little, but showed them to a small, curtained off examination room down the hall and left them to wait for the doctor. Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long.

The doctor was an older gentleman with dark skin and hair. He greeted them cheerfully and went right to work removing the field dressing that Flynn had made on Yuri's ankle and doing an thorough round of poking and prodding, himself. Yuri didn't say anything to him as he did it. He didn't gasp or groan. He simply sat silent, watching him.

"It appears to just be a bad sprain. I'd like to do an x-ray to make sure that there isn't any more serious damage."

"That's fine." Yuri said that with such ease that it chilled Flynn. If the doctor was even considering that it could be something worse, he should have been worried, but he wasn't fretting at all. He was so cool and calm that it made Flynn feel like he was worrying too much. But Yuri's dreams, his life goals were at stake here. Wasn't it natural to be worried?

The same nurse returned with a wheelchair and with Flynn's help, Yuri was put in it and taken off to another room while Flynn was left to wait. It seemed like it was forever before he came back beneath the watchful gaze of the nurse, but it had only been a moment, and when she turned and was gone, the doctor was back, holding sheets of dark film in his hands. He pinned them up on one of the walls and switched on the light box underneath.

"I don't detect any fractures, so it looks like you'll be fine in a few days. In the meantime, you'll need to wear a splint and I've written you a prescription for some low dose pain meds." He handed a stack of forms over to Yuri, who flipped through them briefly while the doctor stooped to put the splint on Yuri's leg. "Give it a week before you do a lot of strenuous activity, and call me if the pain persists any longer than that."

"I will."

They were allowed to leave once Yuri signed out and was given his pain medication, and Flynn returned the wheelchair to the front desk as soon as he had Yuri loaded into his car.

The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Yuri popped open the bottle of medication and fumbled for Flynn's half full water bottle that had been in the center console for two days now. Apparently the warm temperature of the water didn't bother him enough to say anything as he guzzled down two of the pills and most of the remaining contents of the bottle.

"How do you feel?" Flynn asked sheepishly. He just wanted something to be said between them, some notion that Yuri wasn't mad at him for some reason or something to that effect. He knew that he didn't like the quiet.

"I'm all right." Yuri's voice was soft and sincere, warm and calm. It was a tone that didn't make him question whether the words paired with it were true or not. "Oh, damn. I guess I need to give Hilda a call."

Yuri rummaged around in his pants pocket, groaning as his leg shifted beneath him.

After a moment, he settled back down into his seat and pulled out his cell phone. A few blips from the presses of buttons resounded as he dialed and then slumped against the window with the phone to his ear.

"Hey there, Director... I had a bit of an accident. It's fine. Just a sprain. I even had it x-rayed... It's not that serious... I'll still be fine to dance Siegfried in two weeks... Don't worry about it... Thanks. Yeah. You too. Bye." He snapped the phone shut after the brief conversation that Flynn hadn't been privy to. It seemed to go well enough that he didn't have much need for worry now. Yuri being okay was the first priority, and with the drugs apparently starting to kick in, that point was well taken care of.

Having to lug him upstairs to Flynn's apartment was no picnic. The meds had kicked in a lot faster than Flynn expected and Yuri was essentially dead, wobbly weight in Flynn's arms up four flights of stairs, but they made it anyway.

He let Yuri flop down on the sofa. He'd have to move him again to the bed so that he could get a proper night's rest without too much damage to his ankle, but for right now, it would suffice. He would get the bed ready, a few pillows toward the end to prop Yuri's leg up and an ice bag to take the swelling down. He could do that much.

Yuri propped himself up against the arm of the couch, watching Flynn move around. His eyes were a little glassy. He didn't seem quite coherent.

Flynn grabbed an ice pack after setting the bed up. Once he got him moved, Yuri could sleep. He sat down next to him on the sofa, and started to gently pull off Yuri's shoe, the other one still clutched in his hand after the examination. He tried to take it from him, but Yuri resisted at first, weakly tugging it to keep it out of Flynn's hand.

Finally he wrestled it away, tossing it onto the floor beside the sofa, and Yuri slumped against him, nearly throwing him into the opposite arm of the couch.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"Come on. I'll help you get to bed."

"I don't need you to take care of me." The words were horribly slurred, but the lack of any truth to them made Flynn smile.

"I know."

A few days later, Yuri was up and walking. The memories from after talking to the troupe director on the phone were a blur, aside from waking up in Flynn's bed alone with his leg propped up and the pain from before back. But he healed quickly and proved to Flynn just as fast that there had been no need to worry in the first place. All the worry about losing his career over an injury, that was something that Yuri had always lived with. He had known it without illusions since day one that anything more serious than a sprain could ruin the career that he loved, the career that he went to school much of his life for. It was a risk, and the risk was worth the reward. He never stopped believing that.

Flynn should have been finished with practice any time now, and Yuri was waiting for him, bag in hand. It was something that he had fallen into the habit of without even realizing it at first. He didn't mind though. It was comfortable and normal.

The Zaphias Knights came out, Flynn hidden among their ranks. They accepted him as one of their own so easily, even knowing exactly what Yuri was to him. They never treated either of them any differently for it, and Yuri was glad for that. He had even been invited to family events with the team, although he hadn't gone to a single one yet in spite of Flynn's protests. Maybe that would change soon.

They greeted him and left Flynn standing there before him as they filed out of the municipal ice rink and off to their other lives.

"Thanks for waiting."

"No problem. How was practice?"

"Pretty good. And yours?"

"Same." Yuri dropped the handle of bag he had been holding into Flynn's hand. "Here."

"What's this?"

"If you look inside you'll find out."

Flynn eyed him suspiciously over the brown kraft paper bag with a blue plastic ribbon puff taped to the front. He was lucky that Yuri bothered to pack it up at all. Finally, he opened the bag, and looked at the contents, his mouth a little agape. The look that crossed his face next was a grin.

That cheap plastic bathtub mat would serve them well.