.

.

Michele catches a whiff of vanilla and expensive hairspray before he hears the voice.

"You're… Sara Crispino's brother, aren't you?"

His protective older sibling instincts kick into full-power, before Michele even turns around. He brandishes a finger at the offender. Michele's face darkens and bunches together into a menacing, enraged glare.

"Listen, asshole—if you think I'm getting you her number just because—"

The other man laughs as a response with a deep, low timbre. Michele lowers his hand and accusatory finger, now frowning in suspicion. Who the HELL does this guy think he is? And what's so damn funny?

"Oh no, you're mistaken," Georgi tells him pleasantly. He pats off his runny, white makeup off his face with a towel. The greasy, black-grey lipstick still caked around his mouth. "I was actually hoping for yours?"

Michele's violet eyes bug out.

"… Eh?"

.

.

It happens so fast. Michele gathers his wits and accepts.

Jesusmaryandallofthesaints

He accepts, for some reason, giving a fellow competitor his personal phone number.

Meeting up at the local, outdoor cafe outside of their hotel sounds… like a date to him? Michele's dated a couple men back in Italy. Men are nice. Men are nicer than nice. They've got corded, firm muscles and soft skin and big, handsome smiles and big, not-so-soft cocks… whoa, okay.

He's getting offtrack.

Michele chooses a empty table on the far side, straightening his brown, woolen coat and placing clothed-gloved fingers around his porcelain cup. The coffee is too-weak and sugary, tasting like heavy cream. He sips occasionally.

Georgi. Georgi Popovich, Michele reminds himself.

That's who apparently now owns his phone number. That Michele gave to him.

For some reason or another.

(It could be that the other man smiled and asked so eagerly. All of the heat building in Michele's chest from rage slowly crawled onto Michele's face and ears, burning so bashfully on the surface.)

A few minutes pass, and Georgi steps around the cafe's ironed gates, joining him. No makeup in sight, or odor like hairspray. Georgi's thick and dark hair lacks the usual quiff, flopping against his high forehead.

He's really not bad on the eyes.

Michele swallows, licking a corner of his mouth.

"Here's, uh," he says, tensing and motioning to the second, visibly steaming cup of coffee in front of him. "I didn't know what you wanted so I got a regular… that's alright?"

"Yes, of course," Georgi replies, sending him a close-lipped but grateful smile. "That was very kind."

As the other man takes a seat across from him, Michele's shoulders relax. Georgi is handsome, with a thin, pointed nose and captivating blue eyes—ohgod, he shouldn't be doing this right now. Michele's groin tightens up. He shifts awkwardly in the cafe chair with Michele's knees pressing together, clearing his throat.

"So, how do you know my little sister?"

"I don't very much," Georgi says truthfully, setting his chin on his bare palm. "My rinkmate Mila does."

Mila.

(Is that the red-haired woman Sara hangs out with?)

Michele remembers his twin gushing about a Mila in her division constantly. She always took Mila with her to restaurant dinners and banquets and clubs, refusing Michele's insistent offers to protect them from creeps.

Sara rarely ever came home during those nights. She did however send Michele numerous texts on his behalf, assuring him she's safe at Mila's and going to rest up there. Sometimes in the early morning, Sara would send him selfies. Her long, black hair thrown back on a pillow, her fingers petting Mila's curls—

oh.

"I know it must be strange that I asked you for coffee. We don't know each other that well." Michele snaps out violently of his revelation about his sister's romantic life, blinking owlishly. Georgi adds, pressing an entire hand against his breastbone, "I… must admit that I've been admiring your skating, Michele. It's beautiful."

"It is…?" Michele repeats with uncertainty, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes, it speaks of lost love! And that love carries a passion behind it enough to take anyone's breath away. You thought about your twin Sara while performing to 'Serenade for Two'?"

Michele nods hesitantly. Usually when someone spoke about Michele's emotional connection to his twin, they either made a joke about it or cringed. It infuriates him so badly. Michele knows what they're implying and they're wrong.

He loves Sara, but the way a brother should love his sister in his mind. Protecting her, cherishing her.

"Beautiful," Georgi sighs out dreamily. The relief thrums along with Michele's pulse heightening.

"Sara means everything to me."

The other man nods.

"I can understand that. My girlfr—" Georgi cuts himself off, lips tugging downward. "My ex-girlfriend used to be that to me," he corrects himself, going solemn. "But we were both unhappy in the end, unable to grow as people. Sometimes it's truly best to let those you love go, so new love may be found."

Become strong, Michele Crispino. I can skate without your love.

Sara's harsh words replay in his mind. Is that… what she truly meant?

For once, the thought doesn't pain him. She felt the same pain then too, but became strong enough to admit what they both needed to hear. Michele holds up his cup of coffee. "To letting go," he says, faintly smiling.

Georgi watches him curiously, following his lead and tapping their cups.

"And to the happiness found."

.

.

Waking up face-first into someone's armpit comes off as a rude awakening.

Michele groans, rolling away and squinting his eyes open. Definitely not his hotel room. His mouth tastes like whiskey and saltine crackers, but he has a pretty clear memory of being sober enough for an orgasm.

Or two.

He's never been especially into receiving blow-jobs, but Georgi knows how the fuck to use his tongue.

Feeling warm and exhausted, Michele stretches his arms and ignores the fact that he reeks like sex. He pulls his vibrating mobile off the bed-stand nearby. Sara's texting him?

He receives three photos of her lounging and grinning in bed, her slim curves draped in a baby blue tee. All of them feature Mila with her eyes shut, pouting a little in her sleep. Normally, Michele would text Sara back without any photos from him, begging her until she agreed to having breakfast downstairs with him.

This time, he snaps a photo of him and Georgi still snoring lightly, barely able to contain his amusement.

His mobile vibrates again, not even a minute later.

Copycat! I was sleeping with a hot Russian first!

Michele stifles his bout of laughter, digging deeper into the sheets and covering up his mouth. He could get used to having a new, lovable thing in common with his twin sister.

.

.


Yuri on Ice isn't mine. YOI RAREPAIR WEEK 2017 BEGINS NOW! According to the rules on Tumblr, everything but Viktuuri is fair game. I'm so ready to post! :D I decided on Georgi/Michele, especially since Georgi was all starry-eyed about Michele's "Serenade For Two" performance, and I stumbled on a prompt too! "Georgi/Michele + appreciation kink, fluff, any rating" and just went full steam ahead with the idea! So, as always, any comments/thoughts are very much appreciated! If you participating too, let me know throughout this week via PM! I really wanna check out everyone's stuff! :DD