Jean-Paul and Yurio, December 11
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ax_mainAfter the Rostelecom Cup, JP finds Yuri abusing a punching bag that may or may not be named "JJ".
Yuri growled at the bag and kicked it, making it sway and its chain rattle. "Yoptel-mopsel! You fucking prick!" Another kick. Then another, so hard he had to jump out of the way as the bag swung back. "Fuck you!" he yelled at the bag.
"If it would help," Jean-Paul observed from the gym's doorway, "I could put 'The Theme of King JJ' on the speakers." It wasn't hard to guess just what -- or rather, who -- had managed to bore under Yuri's skin. Or why. Losing sucked. Losing to someone you despised? Almost painful.
"I don't want to hear that fucking name!" Yuri growled and kicked the bag again, this time with a very amateur round house.
Sure, JJ LeRoy had more experience. He also had more quads in his program. The Final was a week away, and Yuri had to find a way to beat that fucking douchebag. With his stupid fucking girlfriend and his stupid fucking sunglasses on top of his head. "Argh!" Another kick, and the bag rocked even harder.
"You break your ankle and Yakov will straight-up murder you," Jean-Paul pointed out.
"It'd help me more if he murdered LeRoy," Yuri muttered, but he sighed, knowing JP was right. Sulkily, he allowed, "I guess these things aren't made for kicking."
"It is a punching bag, ice kitten." Jean-Paul spoke with deliberate slowness. "It is made for punching. This is why you should have take the hand-to-hand classes." He glided over to where Yuri was glowering and steadied the bag. "Anyway, if you want JJ dead, you have the equipment."
"What? I could skate out and bounce his head off the ice next time he kisses his stupid reflection?"
Jean-Paul snorted. "You could turn into a tiger and bite his face off."
"It might be worth ending the career." Yuri glared at the punching bag like it really was his nemesis. "If he says 'ladies first' to me one more time, I might."
"He is a doucebag," Jean-Paul agreed. "But if you need to burn off some steam, you could get Drake to freeze the lake over so you can skate around. Or I could teach you to throw a punch."
Yuri looked down at his hands. He didn't know how to do much with them off the rink. On the ice, they were important, even if they weren't the stars of the show... maybe he should be using them more...
He looked back up at JP. "Show me."
Jean-Paul took him through the basics -- stance, wrists, where to focus the impact. It was all too easy to understand Yuri. He'd been where he was just a couple of years ago: hungry to prove himself, desperate not to have it show, all drive and anger. He'd had to learn how to temper himself in short order, almost on his own. And then his powers... yeah, he knew where this kid was coming from. And he didn't mind giving a hand.
Yuri was all sharp focus, soaking up every word from Jean-Paul like it was precious gold. After the first few moments, he'd almost forgotten how much he wanted to beat the shit out of JJ--on the ice--and was completely into throwing a tight, powerful jab. He practiced a few times, whooshing at the air, keeping his off hand up in front of his face. "Like that?"
Jean-Paul nodded, dropping his own guard. "Oui, just like that." He smirked. "You really want to beat the shit out of him, don't you?"
"He thinks he's so great and funny." Yuri threw another punch, this time a 1-2 with both hands. "He's got nothing special. Nothing beautiful."
"He's got confidence. That goes a long way. And he knows how to market himself." Jean-Paul stepped back to get a better look. "I should know."
"So what? I've got all that and more." Yuri threw another punch at the air, then turned for the bag. He was ready to feel something give. "I don't have to make up my own nicknames. My fans do that for me."
Jean-Paul braced behind the bag to keep it steady. Yuri hadn't taped his hands, but Jean-Paul figured he could distract him before too long. "And you hate it."
Yuri swung. He connected with a satisfying thunk sound, but the bag barely moved--and not just because of JP. "No one but my grandpa should call me Yuratchka. And I'm not a kitten."
"Face it, you're adorable." There was another "thunk!" from the bag, and Jean-Paul smirked from behind cover. "And the harder you fight it, the more adorable you're going to be. Most of your fans are younger than you are, I'm betting."
"I'm almost sixteen," Yuri grumbled, but there was slightly less ire in him now... for some reason. He punched again. Then again.
"Which means you have a bunch of fourteen year olds looking at your pretty, scowly face and doing what they can to make you less frightening, non?" It was utter bullshit, but it was keeping Yuri's mind off of the skate. And JJ.
"Do they have to do the kitten ears though?" Yuri didn't want to admit defeat. Jean-Paul was annoyingly rational sometimes. He threw another 1-2. His knuckles stung, and he liked it. "It's humiliating."
For more reasons than one.
"Better than flower crowns, non? At least the ears relate back to you."
"What's wrong with flower crowns?" But he was just being a brat, now, and half-heartedly. He threw a few more punches, each slap more satisfying than the next, his arms vibrating with it.
"Utterly fucking generic," Jean-Paul shot back. "It's one step up from buying a bouquet outside of the stadium."
"Yeah, yeah, all right." It was true, anyhow. Yuri threw another punch, sharp and fast, and the bag rocked a little in JP's arms. He smiled. "This is good."
"I did notice you'd stopped snarling." Jean-Paul stepped out from behind the bag, trying to hide his own amusement. The kid looked like a fucking Christmas angel when he actually smiled, and he wondered why all those girls were determined to chase him to the ends of the earth. He definitely was not marketing himself to best advantage. Ah, well. At least he did have his own style. "Don't overdo it, though. I'm guessing you'll want full range of motion the next few days."
"Yeah, true." Yuri let his arms drop to his sides. "I wonder if Beka knows how to box. Seems like the kind of thing he'd know how to do. We should work this into our dailies."
"You're really stuck on him. Not," Jean-Paul added quickly, "that it's a bad thing. You two look good together."
Yuri had been glaring at that first bit, but the addition calmed him right down. He nodded. "He makes me stronger. I didn't think it'd work like that. It's good. I get... things, more. You coming out and all that bullshit." It wasn't coming out right, but this emotional confession bullshit was kind of gross, so he didn't even want to be good at it, honestly.
Jean-Paul laughed, loud and full-throated, at that. "Yeah, all that bullshit. Miles of it. Welcome to the club." He hooked one hand around Yuri's elbow and towed him off. "Come of. Food and hydration will do you good."
Yuri allowed it, not even thinking twice. "Okay. And when I crush the Final, I want that--baked thing."
Yuri growled at the bag and kicked it, making it sway and its chain rattle. "Yoptel-mopsel! You fucking prick!" Another kick. Then another, so hard he had to jump out of the way as the bag swung back. "Fuck you!" he yelled at the bag.
"If it would help," Jean-Paul observed from the gym's doorway, "I could put 'The Theme of King JJ' on the speakers." It wasn't hard to guess just what -- or rather, who -- had managed to bore under Yuri's skin. Or why. Losing sucked. Losing to someone you despised? Almost painful.
"I don't want to hear that fucking name!" Yuri growled and kicked the bag again, this time with a very amateur round house.
Sure, JJ LeRoy had more experience. He also had more quads in his program. The Final was a week away, and Yuri had to find a way to beat that fucking douchebag. With his stupid fucking girlfriend and his stupid fucking sunglasses on top of his head. "Argh!" Another kick, and the bag rocked even harder.
"You break your ankle and Yakov will straight-up murder you," Jean-Paul pointed out.
"It'd help me more if he murdered LeRoy," Yuri muttered, but he sighed, knowing JP was right. Sulkily, he allowed, "I guess these things aren't made for kicking."
"It is a punching bag, ice kitten." Jean-Paul spoke with deliberate slowness. "It is made for punching. This is why you should have take the hand-to-hand classes." He glided over to where Yuri was glowering and steadied the bag. "Anyway, if you want JJ dead, you have the equipment."
"What? I could skate out and bounce his head off the ice next time he kisses his stupid reflection?"
Jean-Paul snorted. "You could turn into a tiger and bite his face off."
"It might be worth ending the career." Yuri glared at the punching bag like it really was his nemesis. "If he says 'ladies first' to me one more time, I might."
"He is a doucebag," Jean-Paul agreed. "But if you need to burn off some steam, you could get Drake to freeze the lake over so you can skate around. Or I could teach you to throw a punch."
Yuri looked down at his hands. He didn't know how to do much with them off the rink. On the ice, they were important, even if they weren't the stars of the show... maybe he should be using them more...
He looked back up at JP. "Show me."
Jean-Paul took him through the basics -- stance, wrists, where to focus the impact. It was all too easy to understand Yuri. He'd been where he was just a couple of years ago: hungry to prove himself, desperate not to have it show, all drive and anger. He'd had to learn how to temper himself in short order, almost on his own. And then his powers... yeah, he knew where this kid was coming from. And he didn't mind giving a hand.
Yuri was all sharp focus, soaking up every word from Jean-Paul like it was precious gold. After the first few moments, he'd almost forgotten how much he wanted to beat the shit out of JJ--on the ice--and was completely into throwing a tight, powerful jab. He practiced a few times, whooshing at the air, keeping his off hand up in front of his face. "Like that?"
Jean-Paul nodded, dropping his own guard. "Oui, just like that." He smirked. "You really want to beat the shit out of him, don't you?"
"He thinks he's so great and funny." Yuri threw another punch, this time a 1-2 with both hands. "He's got nothing special. Nothing beautiful."
"He's got confidence. That goes a long way. And he knows how to market himself." Jean-Paul stepped back to get a better look. "I should know."
"So what? I've got all that and more." Yuri threw another punch at the air, then turned for the bag. He was ready to feel something give. "I don't have to make up my own nicknames. My fans do that for me."
Jean-Paul braced behind the bag to keep it steady. Yuri hadn't taped his hands, but Jean-Paul figured he could distract him before too long. "And you hate it."
Yuri swung. He connected with a satisfying thunk sound, but the bag barely moved--and not just because of JP. "No one but my grandpa should call me Yuratchka. And I'm not a kitten."
"Face it, you're adorable." There was another "thunk!" from the bag, and Jean-Paul smirked from behind cover. "And the harder you fight it, the more adorable you're going to be. Most of your fans are younger than you are, I'm betting."
"I'm almost sixteen," Yuri grumbled, but there was slightly less ire in him now... for some reason. He punched again. Then again.
"Which means you have a bunch of fourteen year olds looking at your pretty, scowly face and doing what they can to make you less frightening, non?" It was utter bullshit, but it was keeping Yuri's mind off of the skate. And JJ.
"Do they have to do the kitten ears though?" Yuri didn't want to admit defeat. Jean-Paul was annoyingly rational sometimes. He threw another 1-2. His knuckles stung, and he liked it. "It's humiliating."
For more reasons than one.
"Better than flower crowns, non? At least the ears relate back to you."
"What's wrong with flower crowns?" But he was just being a brat, now, and half-heartedly. He threw a few more punches, each slap more satisfying than the next, his arms vibrating with it.
"Utterly fucking generic," Jean-Paul shot back. "It's one step up from buying a bouquet outside of the stadium."
"Yeah, yeah, all right." It was true, anyhow. Yuri threw another punch, sharp and fast, and the bag rocked a little in JP's arms. He smiled. "This is good."
"I did notice you'd stopped snarling." Jean-Paul stepped out from behind the bag, trying to hide his own amusement. The kid looked like a fucking Christmas angel when he actually smiled, and he wondered why all those girls were determined to chase him to the ends of the earth. He definitely was not marketing himself to best advantage. Ah, well. At least he did have his own style. "Don't overdo it, though. I'm guessing you'll want full range of motion the next few days."
"Yeah, true." Yuri let his arms drop to his sides. "I wonder if Beka knows how to box. Seems like the kind of thing he'd know how to do. We should work this into our dailies."
"You're really stuck on him. Not," Jean-Paul added quickly, "that it's a bad thing. You two look good together."
Yuri had been glaring at that first bit, but the addition calmed him right down. He nodded. "He makes me stronger. I didn't think it'd work like that. It's good. I get... things, more. You coming out and all that bullshit." It wasn't coming out right, but this emotional confession bullshit was kind of gross, so he didn't even want to be good at it, honestly.
Jean-Paul laughed, loud and full-throated, at that. "Yeah, all that bullshit. Miles of it. Welcome to the club." He hooked one hand around Yuri's elbow and towed him off. "Come of. Food and hydration will do you good."
Yuri allowed it, not even thinking twice. "Okay. And when I crush the Final, I want that--baked thing."
