For the lewd ask-story meme, how about... category 5, option 2, with Viktoria and Yuriko (I assume those are the gender-swapped variants?)
(SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE A FULL CHRONICLE OF THE ADVENTURES OF VIKTORIA NIKIFOROVA, CHRONIC U-HAUL LESBIAN, BUT FOR NOW PLEASE LET THIS SUFFICE)
Bradley Serrano is an American skater somewhat known within the community for being a creep. Viktoria has seen him compared to Christophe and always grimaces at whoever’s doing the comparing. Chris is a pervert, sure, but the only person he ever makes lewd comments about is himself. Chris has enough brains in his head to know that hovering over someone almost a full foot shorter than you is predatory, and that backing someone into a corner makes them deeply uncomfortable.
Viktoria had a feeling that they wouldn’t be able to escape figure skating in a city full of figure skaters. Not even at a club.
“I would tell you not to get involved,” Chris says, watching Viktoria slowly unfold her legs, the crimson soles of her Louboutins reaching towards the floor as she slides off the barstool. They’re still dressed for the gala, even though they left ten minutes after it started when Chris huffed into his champagne glass and Viktoria hissed I could not agree with you more out of the corner of her mouth. “But I don’t think you’d listen to me.”
“Well,” Viktoria says, smoothing out the lines of her dress (Dolce and Gabbana, Fall/Winter 2015, Pink Tulle and Rose) and reaching up into her hair to pull out several strands. They fall about her chin, still curled elegantly. “You’re not wrong.” She hands Chris the rest of her drink, which she has been pretending is a martini. It’s vodka in a martini glass. She hates gin, and hates vermouth even more.
“Godspeed,” Chris says, and knocks back the rest of it.
Viktoria crosses the room to where Bradley has cornered his unwilling prey. She’s a dark-haired slip of a thing, with wide brown eyes and glasses on her nose. She’s wearing an unflattering and shapeless black dress with full-length sleeves and a crew neck. Someone’s grandmother’s idea of a little black dress. Also, a hideous striped blue satin sash around her waist.
She’s cute though, and is doing pretty well at tottering on a pair of pretty high heels despite her other fashion choices.
Viktoria sucks in a huge gust of air and releases it in a bleat of, “Darling!” that catches both of their attention.
Bradley turns and raises an eyebrow. Viktoria came up in the senior division with Bradley and has always entertained fantasies of someday jabbing the heel of her stiletto into the meat of his foot and saying something cool and dramatic like, “I eat two-bit skaters like you for breakfast,” but she’s saving it for a time when she can afford to have the ISU expel her from competition for a season. Maybe it’ll be how she announces her retirement.
“Darling, I’m so sorry, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Viktoria pushes past Bradley’s shoulder and takes the girl in her arms. She’s stiff against Viktoria’s shoulder.
“So you know each other?” Bradley asks, trying to sound friendly. He’s not a friendly person, so it fails miserably.
“Haven’t you met my girlfriend?” Viktoria asks, and if possible the girl stiffens up more. I’m rescuing you!! she wants to yell. Let me rescue you! “She’s at all my competitions. Isn’t that right, Kitten?”
“Um,” mumbles the girl. “Yes. That’s–yeah.”
“Oh?” Bradley says, and he and Viktoria aren’t even trying to subdue the open hostility in their eyes anymore. Your quads are sloppy and so are you, Viktoria shrieks from the front of her mind. “Do you have a favorite?”
“Um, well,” the girl stammers, and Viktoria feels her breath against her breast. She loosens her grip so that she can pull away if she wants to–oddly, the girl doesn’t even seem to notice. “I really love her free skate from this season, but my favorite of all time is–two years ago, she skated to Jupiter, Bringer of Jollity and she wore that rust-gold hankerchief dress with the swirling details on the bodice–”
Oh shit, goes Viktoria’s inner monologue. This chick literally knows who I am.
“But her Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien program will always hold a special place in my heart, as well.”
Bradley says, “Sounds like you caught yourself a fan, Vickie,” and Viktoria wants to sock him in the jaw so hard that a shiver goes down her spine.
“Fucking bite me,” she snaps, and drags the girl away, both of them tottering on their heels as they lean on each other. They get across the room before Viktoria pulls away and straightens the girls’ hideous dress and very lovely hair. “Hi, sorry, I just–he’s a bastard, and you looked really uncomfortable, and I–hey, sorry, just a question, but do you know who I am?”
“Yes,” the girl murmurs, and leaves it at that.
Viktoria nods to herself, glances around the room and sees Bradley still staring like the creep he is. “What’s your name?”
“Yuri,” she murmurs, and Viktoria thinks how odd, because this girl is beautiful and slight and a name like Yuri doesn’t suit her at all. She adds, “It’s a girl’s name, in Japan,” because Viktoria must be doing that thing where she thinks so loudly that the room can hear it.
“Okay, Yuri, can I kiss you?”
Yuri squeaks.
“It’s just that he’s not going to go away until–”
“Um, yes. You can kiss me. Um, yes. Please? Yes.”
Viktoria grins and leans down to kiss her. She smells like something fruity-sweet, apples or cherry blossom, and her lips are a little chapped. Her hair is so thick that it immediately integrates into Viktoria’s fingers when she sets her hand on Yuri’s jaw.
Oh, goes something in Viktoria’s heart. Oh.
They part ways after a moment because someone bumps into Viktoria and she has to catch herself against the wall. There is a blush high on Yuri’s cheeks, and her hand is clenched in that stupid blue ribbon.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Viktoria asks. “Could I–anything you want. Could I?”
Yuri nods slowly.
GAY! I’M SO GAY!! Viktoria shriek-texts to Chris later, as she and Yuri are riding a cab back to the Sochi Marriot. Yuri had two champagne cocktails and she’s giggling quietly to herself at something on her phone as her hand inches up underneath Viktoria’s skirt. They’re staying in the same hotel. Viktoria is starting to think that maybe she should know who Yuri is. I AM A BEACON OF QUEERNESS IN THIS TAXI RIGHT NOW. HELP ME?
Do you honestly want to be helped? Christophe texts back.
Viktoria thinks about how badly she wants to put her mouth between Yuuri’s legs, how she wants to watch her tits fall out of her bra and feel the weight of them in her hands. And, because Viktoria is the worst kind of U-Haul lesbian on the face of the planet, she briefly lets herself fantasize about marrying Yuri in a ceremony by the sea.
No, Viktoria says. That was more like an existential cry for help. Like I know I can’t be helped but I can still ask for it you know????
Use protection. I slid a dental dam under your door. Please don’t try to move in with her.
No promises, Viktor says, and then slides her phone back into her purse, takes Yuri by the back of the neck and glues their faces back together. Yuri’s hand moves fully up under Viktoria’s skirt and Viktoria can’t believe that she actually chose to wear underwear today.
They make it into the hotel with few mishaps, aside from perhaps the fact that Yuri takes off her shoes and sprints into the lobby barefoot, heels dangling by their straps from her fingers. Viktoria follows her and presses her against the mirror of the elevator, kisses down her neck.
“How do you walk in those heels?” Viktoria asks, sloppy. “They’re so tall.”
“Ballet,” Yuri hisses. “Lots of ballet.”
“Oh, oh.” Viktoria is imagining Yuri’s feet en pointe and this is not productive. Will she ever be able to wear this underwear again? Probably not.
They slam into Viktoria’s hotel room at top speed and Viktoria all but tosses Yuuri onto the bed, crawls on after her and immediately presses her whole face underneath Yuuri’s skirt. Let me die here, Viktoria thinks as she presses her nose against Yuri’s damp panties. I would be so happy.
“Viktoria,” Yuri whispers, and Viktoria pulls her head away for only a moment so that she can pull Yuri’s underwear down. They’ve got poodles on them. Viktoria is in love.
“Call me Vika,” Viktoria says, and sets to eating Yuri out with the kind of focus usually reserved for step sequences and braiding her own hair.
In the morning, Yuri is gone.
Viktoria tells herself that this is fine.
When the video of Yuri performing Stammi Vicino goes viral, Viktoria realizes where she might have erred.
Don’t, Chris texts at one in the morning.
Viktoria does.
