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A/N: I wasn't sure how to tag for warnings, so here's a summary: one, Viktor does express sexual interest, and he is underage, but he doesn't actually do anything; and two, the story does mention inappropriate touching, but only in terms of Viktor being warned to watch out for it (nothing upsetting happens; this is a light story).
Viktor always remembered his first modeling experience because it surprised him, and of course, surprises were integral to his approach towards life.
Yakov was there the whole time to supervise, and even important phone calls were taken with his coach a few feet away, glowering at the dressing room Viktor was in, but still, the day before, his coach had sat him down and given him the Talk.
No, not quite the Talk, which Viktor had eavesdropped on from outside closed doors whenever Yakov had dragged older rinkmates in for a stern discussion about either a shameful lack of focus lately or a noticeable increase in teenage dramatics. Viktor had been quite looking forward to the Talk, especially since he wasn't sure how much he could trust the information he tricked out of Maksim and Raisa before they recovered from their hangovers in the mornings and realized who they were gossiping with.
“You're only fifteen!” a quickly sobering Maksim had once gasped in shock after Viktor tried clarifying just how tightly one is supposed to grip another man's cock.
Viktor did have his desktop computer, but considering how often Yakov used it to talk to his teachers online, it wouldn't be a smart choice to have any incriminating word searches on it. Not to mention, despite Yakov's professed disdain for watching reruns of ice skating competitions (“It's over! What do we care now?”), Viktor was willing to bet one of Makkachin's less favorite toys that Yakov surfed the same video sharing website that Viktor did.
Unfortunately, it would be another year before Yakov tackled the topic of sex with Viktor. Instead, Yakov had brought out a stuffed bear (its black button eyes looked as sad and resigned as Viktor's limpid blue ones), and with Lilia sitting next to him in stoic support, had gruffly explained the difference between a bad touch and a good touch. Viktor had attempted to stop this painful experience on behalf of everyone (“Yakov, really, I think I'll be fine. I already know all of this.”), but Yakov persisted, and when Viktor thought it was finally over, his coach sent him out to get a water and bathroom break so that he could process everything but also ordered him to come back in ten minutes so that Lilia could explain the next part: consensual touching mattered with girls and boys.
“Have pride in yourself as a work of art. You are the one to decide, not anyone else,” Lilia emphasized in conclusion twenty minutes later. “Understand? You have any questions?” Eyes wide but feeling oddly proud inside, Viktor shook his head.
So, with all of that knowledge, including a last-minute tip from Raisa on how to break free and knee someone taller in the balls, Viktor went off to wear expensive fashionable clothes that he wouldn't be able to keep until the year he won his first Worlds, and numerous brands began throwing free goods at him so that he'd be inclined to be the face of their next campaign. He was also so incredibly prepared to handle a molester that he just kept waiting for one to show up.
“Hi there, Viktor, right? I'm Yaromir, and I'll be one of the guys helping you,” the man with the lovely plum shirt said warmly once they arrived, holding out a soft hand to shake Viktor's. Yaromir also had a lovely tenor's voice that Viktor admired, but the squeakiness that rose up at the end was a little distracting. “Um, does your dad want to come in with you, or...?”
Viktor smiled and shrugged.
Yakov didn't come into the dressing room with him, which was really just a curtained alcove in a corner of the room where the photographers had set up for the shoot, but Viktor could see the shadow of his coach's tilted head, and his mischievous side (Bad Viktor! Bad, no pastila for you!) had to be strongly persuaded not to fake any distress. Poor Yaromir seemed the delicate type, and his heart probably would give out if Yakov barged in like a bear, and then who would help Viktor carefully arrange the next scarf around his neck so that it fell in folds just right?
The theme of the photo shoot was “Elegance of Winter,” which Viktor approved of, and undoubtedly, that was the reason why he had been asked to model the company's winter clothing line. (Oh, did he forget the company name already? That was no good; he'd better ask Yakov again later.) Viktor wasn't sure what demographic the company was targeting, but who cared about the suffocating heaviness of winter clothing? It was much preferable to shop for the thin long-sleeved shirts and light jackets that popped up in stores once the wonderful summer pushed away the bleak winter.
Viktor's thoughts were interrupted when the stylist, Inna, came in to check how his blow-dried hair was holding up after he was dressed. “You look so handsome!” Inna complimented, and she patted Viktor on the shoulder. Viktor smiled up at her; she had a way about her that reminded him of his favorite cousin, Esfir, and he was glad that Inna moved her hand away a socially acceptable moment later so that he didn't have to kick her for being a potential pervert.
Yaromir took a step back and gave Viktor a look from head to toe. “Hmm, yup, I think we're good to go.”
One of the photographers apparently got bored with the wait and actually knocked on the wall next to their alcove to get attention. “Hey, so, is the kid ready yet? It doesn't take that long to put on a pair of pants, a shirt, and a coat, okay? I have another job to do.”
Yaromir rolled his eyes, the first sign of uncouth behavior that Viktor had seen so far from him. He whispered conspiratorially to Viktor, “He won't last in this business if he can't recognize that beauty takes time.” He gestured towards the full-length mirror that Viktor had failed to notice earlier, absorbed as he was in his thoughts.
Viktor gaped at himself.
Amazing! He looked—Viktor's brain struggled for the right descriptor—he—he looked like a devastatingly elegant prince!
Viktor was impressed at how the long dark grey coat managed to make his hair stand out even more than it normally did and at how the shoulder pads inside didn't overwhelm his still scrawny shoulders and managed to hint at the future breadth that his doctor had promised at his last physical. The thick dark red scarf that wrapped around his neck made a stylish match to the dark green, red, and grey plaid of the coat's underlining. The grey v-necked pullover was barely visible with the coat taking precedence, but it looked perfect paired with the crisp white button-up underneath. The olive green pants narrowed slightly at his knees and then continued on to flare just slightly above his ankles where navy blue socks peeked out.
“Wow,” Viktor murmured happily to himself. Well, Yakov was going to be happy too. Viktor knew what he was going to spend his next paycheck on, and it wasn't going to be the usual knickknacks that he grew bored of in a week and then tried to dispose of by sneaking into his rinkmates' sports bags.
Seven months later, the latest edition of International Figure Skating came out, and Yakov grudgingly framed it, even though he grumbled to Viktor that his goal isn't to land on the cover for being voted “The Most Fashionable.”
Viktor just beamed at him.