As Chris prepares to leave from the GPF in Barcelona, he reflects back on the one who got away.

What if all of Chris's posturing about Victor had nothing to do with Victor? What if all his feelings were unrequited for another man?

A pole dancing, dark-haired, innocent sexuality who was stolen away by the man who always bests Chris on and off of the ice.

Want to send me a prompt or idea for a drabble/meta? Come find me on Tumblr :) n3rdlif343va (Also if you want to see this story with pictures, it is posted on Tumblr and on Ao3 with the pictures appearing along with the text. FF won't let me do that here!)

Chris smiled at his beloved cat, letting her comfort him as his mind circled around unpleasant thoughts. Life was unfair, he pondered, stroking the soft fur as he rested his head against his bent elbow.

He had survived his first in-person encounter with the relationship deemed by the world as Victuuri. Survived was a loose term, his heart still aching with all the realizations that the Cup of China had dumped upon him. The man he had pursued, subtly and without aggression, had fallen for someone else. Even now, surrounded by all the comforts of home, Chris could feel the power of that loss.

It was heavier and sourer than Chris had thought it would be, seeing him in the arms of another. Especially when a year ago, Chris had been so close. A breath away, bodies moving skin-to-skin, Chris had held him inside a bubble that was all their own. They had moved together in fluid motion, never breaking contact, as if they were born to move together in this way. He remembered every moment and bitterly opened his phone to flip through the pictures again.

Amused, Chris had watched as Yuuri Katsuki stumbled through the banquet grabbing the wrist of Russian's ice punk and flinging the young man onto the dance floor. A slurred snarl dared the blond boy to a dance off, and the night had suddenly become interesting. Taking a step forward, Chris had watched as Yuuri moved over the floor, as captivating in dance as he was in skating.

Next it had been Victor's turn and Chris had felt the flare of jealousy lick over his heart. Victor had smiled, brighter than Chris had ever seen and he could feel the competitive spirit bristling in his bones.

When Yuuri had landed in his arms, Chris knew that there was only one way to eclipse Yuuri's other dance partners. A secret Yuuri had shared with him one night over drunken texts.

So he had pulled Yuuri toward the stage, whispering sweet words of encouragement and praise into the pink-tinted ear. Chris had never intended on ending up in his underwear, but when Yuuri's hands made quick work of removing his clothing, Chris had been powerless to resist. He returned the favor, narrowing the world to two people as he carefully removed Yuuri's clothes, hesitating only in the thought that he would have to share Yuuri's beauty.

Every fiber of Chris's body remembered that dance. Yuuri's strong arms and legs supporting Chris as they wound their bodies around a pole in perfect rhythm. It wasn't a ridiculous manipulation of ballroom dance like Yuuri had shared with Victor or a battle of flips and turns like he had shared with Plisetsky. Their dance was raw, skin sliding over skin, a battle of desire stripped of all pretense and drowning in want.

At least, Chris had thought that's what it was. When it ended, Yuuri's feet had hit the floor, arm pulling Chris flush to his chest. The black hair had tickled Chris's cheek as Yuuri leaned in, the breathy giggle far too innocent for the mess they had made of each other. The conundrum who was Yuuri Katsuki. Beautiful and breath-taking, shy and intimidating, talented and flawed. The man was everything and Chris had felt the hope rise as Yuuri remained pressed against his side.

Until the words had fallen against his ear. "Do you think he was watching?"

With those six words, Yuuri had jumped from Chris's arms. A shirt covered Yuuri's bare shoulders, his tie secured over his head like some sort of ridiculous battle armor. And then he was gone, moving across the room in dizzy zigzags to beg Victor to be his coach.

The picture made Chris's stomach sour again. Victor had won that night, because Victor always won. But Chris's hope had remained, knowing that Yuuri had left with his coach and not with Victor. Over the months immediately following the Sochi banquet, Chris had kept a close eye on social media, noting that it didn't seem that Victor and Yuuri had found a way to each other. Reaching out to Yuuri by text, he could tell from the responses that Yuuri didn't recall the events of the banquet. And Chris's heart twisted.

So he had designed a program based on mature sexual love. He thought, if it was perfect, it would cause Yuuri to remember. If he could be enough, if he could be the man who Yuuri briefly trusted to touch his sacred skin, maybe Yuuri would want him.

Standing, Chris placed his glasses over his nose. He didn't believe in soulmates the way Victuuri's Instagram followers seemed to, but he did believe in love. As the door to his apartment opened, he smiled at the reason why.

A man built of creativity and biting sarcasm stood waiting for Chris. A man who had been by his side for years, but never took a place beyond choreographer and friend. Until the night that he had found Chris, crying and alone in his hotel room. They had talked for hours about loves lost and found, and how life would go on, even if it had to end a bit first. In the quiet of the hotel on their last night in China, Chris had found someone who understood him and loved him and he had thrown himself into that love with wild abandon.

Victor had won the heart of Yuuri Katsuki, but Chris had also won. Stepping into his boyfriend's embrace, Chris let the bitterness fall away, ready to face the dreaded Victuuri and take the gold in Barcelona.