Hello and welcome to my newest Yuri on Ice story! This one is a royalty AU because I'm a massive history nerd and I love looking at royal families and customs, particularly that of Russia.

This isn't meant to be a historical AU because I didn't put it in another particular time period, so it's basically going to have whatever historical titbits I find interesting in it. Hope you enjoy!

It was far too hot to be wearing these ceremonial robes, Victor thought crossly, opening the front of his long robe in the hopes of somehow getting some cool air to reach his body. He felt like he had been standing on these steps for a thousand years and still there was no end to his torment as the ballroom was not even half full yet. Russian tradition dictated that the royal family could only formally start the celebrations once all the guests had arrived and until then, they had to make a show of their might, their wealth and strength on display to prove why they were the ruling family. Unfortunately for Victor, that meant they had to stand on the steps before their thrones, acting like ice statues as they surveyed the room in their full regalia, under the eyes of all of their subjects and every moment was sheer torture.

Victor had never been a patient man and this truly was stretching the limit of his sanity. On the outside, he effortlessly portrayed a perfect picture of the famed Crown Prince, his posture immaculate, his robes flawless, his face perfectly controlled. Inside, however, he felt like screaming. Against his father's strict orders, he had been out at the lake all day, practising his jumps and spins until his legs had gone numb from the cold and his brother had come shouting and swearing at him to get inside. He loved skating and felt truly at home when he was dancing on the ice but right now he was paying sorely for his passion; his legs had since regained feeling and were aching so much, it felt like they were throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his joints hurt so much, he wondered how he was still standing after so long. His robes were heavy on his tired shoulders, the velvet of his robe feeling like it was lined with lead, and the thick fur around his collar was damp from sweat. What made it worse was that the robes engulfed his entire body, the gold embroidery wrapping itself all around him like it was smothering him as it shone against his silver hair. They were worn to conceal the suit he wore underneath, so it could be formally unveiled at the start of the ball and be shown off in front of all the guests but they also ensured no cold breeze could reach his stifled body and Victor was beginning to fear he would suffer heatstroke before the ball could even begin. What made it worse was that he could show nothing of his suffering on his face- that would be a sign of weakness and he had had it drilled into him from birth that a Nikiforov never shows weakness, no matter what pain they were suffering.

Normally, this would be fine- Victor had gone through worse in his royal duties, either in long boring meetings or in even longer parties. However, he had never had to endure it with his younger brother's complaining before. This was his first big public event as he was now fifteen and old enough to attend to princely duties but even though he had been nagging to attend these events for years, he hadn't stopped moaning since they had arrived. That was the thing threatening to tip him over the edge.

"This is stupid." Yuri, the younger of the two princes, spat out from Victor's left, his face not even trying to cover up his angry frown. "Why do we have to stand up here in these stupid dress things? I'm boiling to death here and I want a drink! Why can't we just go down there and talk to the morons like we usually do at every dumb party? This blows!"

"Because my little Yuri," Victor said, fighting to keep a neutral look on his face as he glared at the back of his brother's head. "This isn't a regular dumb party, this is the Winter Ball and we have to stick to the traditions. That means we have to wear our robes and stand here until all the guests arrive. All of the envoys have to see us at our best and most intimidating so their countries won't want to mess with us. It's all about power play, something we both need to know about as heirs to the throne."

"I don't need to know about this stupid show-off nonsense!" Yuri snapped back, turning his head back to snarl at his brother but a cough from the side of the stage made him quickly look forwards again. Victor gave a small smirk at that. Yuri could complain all he wanted about etiquette and how stupid it was but he would never dare put a foot wrong, especially when his governess Lilia was watching him. "I'm not the Crown Prince like you! The only way I'm going to come to the throne is if you die!"

"Well, you do threaten to kill me on a daily basis…" Victor replied. "Maybe one day you will succeed in murdering me and then what will you do?"

"I'll accept the country's thanks for ridding them of a stupid idiot king." Yuri grumbled as he fidgeted under his robes. Like Victor's, they too were covered in delicate golden embroidery, though in a different less flashy pattern of tumbling leaves to indicate his status as the second prince. Victor knew he didn't like it; the robe was made of mint green velvet that perfectly matched Yuri's deep green eyes but Yuri hated any clothes that didn't match his personal style. Victor had seen a glimpse of Yuri's suit just before they both donned their robes and he couldn't wait to see the faces of their guests when they saw it. The trousers and shirt were black, which wasn't too bad for his taste, but his jacket was purple and lined with a garish leopard print that instantly smacked you in the face when you saw it. Victor also knew that Yuri was going to put sunglasses and leather fingerless gloves at some point during the evening and he had to smoother a giggle as he imagined what the king's face would look like. He should have organised a court painter to capture the moment, he thought wistfully. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

"I can't wait to get this thing off," Victor heard Yuri groan as he shuffled his feet under the long robe. "I don't know why you're so pleased with yours, it looks even worse than mine."

"Excuse you! Mine looks great, thanks very much." Victor said, pretending to sound offended as he dramatically swept his arm, making the gold on his robe glitter like sunlight dancing on water. Though he did hate the thing in that moment for making him feel like he was wearing an oven, he had to admit that it was a stunning garment. The gold thread that danced over the robes had been elegantly crafted into a winding wreath of chamomiles, Russia's national flower, that spilled from the collar of thick white mink fur and trailed all down his back and over his hanging sleeves, knotting and twisting into each other like the world's most complex daisy chain. On the lower half of his robe, glaring out from his back with eyes of shocking silver thread, was another symbol of Russia, the brown bear. It was stood upright on its hindlegs with its paws held upright, like it was challenging the world to a brawl. It was a masterpiece of embroidery work, every element looking almost too real to be hand sewn but it was the colour of the velvet that Victor liked the most. Like Yuri's, the colour had been matched to his eyes so the chamomiles and bear stood out against a backdrop of a bright blue that could have paled the sky on its finest summer day. Victor had always been very proud of his eyes; he had been complimented on them for as long as he could remember and countless poems had been written to try and describe the beauty of their colour. Their shade of blue was now so famous that it was known across Russia as royal blue in his honour and Victor took the opportunity to wear it as much as he possibly could.

Yuri sniffed. "You just like it because it's your colour. You're so boring Victor. I bet your suit under there is blue too, you vain arse."

Victor smiled but said nothing. Oh, how wrong he was.

He knew everyone was expecting him to wear a suit of that colour; it was his, why would he not wear it? But that was just too predictable and one thing Victor hated was being predictable. He loved to surprise people and he knew that the suit he had on underneath the stifling robes would do just that. He couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces, hear their gasps of astonishment and feel their eyes on him all night as they just couldn't look away. That is what he always wanted to do, it was what thrilled him. The trouble was, it was getting more and more difficult to summon up the effort to do it each year.

He sighed. He was twenty-seven now, no longer the young excited man he had once been, and things were starting to lose their appeal. He loved his country and his people but the business of government that once had him so impassioned and so inspired to make it a better place for all had slowly been worn down to long meetings and petty issues of diplomacy that made him want to cry and hide from the world forever. He didn't spend as much time down by the lake anymore, he had so little time for ice skating these days but when he did, it was increasingly more difficult to pull himself away to get back to his normal life. There were times he wished he had been born a commoner; then he could spend all his days pursuing ice skating and he would never have to attend another worn grey meeting again and listen as more and more old men told him why they couldn't implement his ideas. He had tried to get them to listen again and again but nothing was working and he was always shouted down over matters of expenditure and then told to look at some boring issue that was always insignificant. It was truly dull and it hurt that none of the officials really seemed to trust him; he couldn't remember the last time he had felt a spark of anything resembling passion or inspiration. It was like everything inside him was going numb, like he was turning into the ice he loved so much. And the sad thing was, he wasn't doing anything to stop it.

He was suddenly shaken from his thoughts by a loud fanfare of trumpets. Both he and Yuri gave a long sigh of relief. That signalled the beginning of the opening ceremony, meaning all the guests had finally arrived and they could at last remove their robes.

They both turned their heads to the side to watch as their father, the Tsar of Russia, as he gave a nod for the doors to be closed and then went to shrug off his ceremonial robes. Unlike the ones worn by his sons, which had been specially made for them when they were fifteen and were altered every year to fit them, he wore the Imperial Robes that had been passed down through the Nikiforov family for generations. They were coloured a deep crimson like the colour of blood and there was so much gold stitched into it, the red of the velvet appeared only in small flashes like peeping eyes. The gold formed a giant two-headed eagle that sprawled across his back, its wings open in flight and its talons curled around a sceptre and orb. The two pairs of eyes in black thread stared out defiantly, daring anyone to challenge the authority of the person wearing it. There was no denying the power of those robes- no one could refute their royalty.

As the doors closed with a sound like thunder, two servants dashed out to collect the robe as the Kings slipped it from his shoulders. Underneath, he wore his usual military uniform; unlike both his sons, the Tsar didn't have much interest in clothes. He had served in the military for many years before ascending to the throne and so, much of his interest was centred there. For much of Victor's childhood, he had been away from St Petersburg fighting in wars, leaving Victor to be raised and educated by his most trusted advisor Yakov. It was Yakov now who handled most of the domestic affairs and kept the peace and Victor, in his heart, considered him as more of a father figure than the man whose blood he shared.

Once the servants had hurried the robes off the stage, one nearly tripping in her haste to get away, the Tsar then turned his head to Victor and gave a slow nod. Victor gave a sigh of relief as he gratefully removed his own robes and when a chorus of gasps rose from the audience watching them, he gave a wide grin. He could sense the surprised eyes of his brother on him as well as he gaped at him and he grinned even wider. This had been the perfect choice.

His suit was styled like a military uniform with a jacket that had small golden shoulder pads with gold lanyards draped over his shoulder and three gold strings of aiguillette replaced the usual buttons, keeping the jacket open at the front to reveal his white shirt underneath. That, however, was where the resemblance to a real uniform ended as the rest of it was pure Nikiforov flair. The white shirt had a neckline that plunged into a low V, exposing a little of his muscular chest and his jacket was a bright magenta that got darker as it trailed down his slender body. There were two short tails at the back that flared out over the top of his legs which were dressed in slim black trousers. It was an outfit that demanded attention and Victor was pleased to see the reaction it got. The only negative reaction came from Yakov who Victor saw facepalming in the wings of the stage. The Tsar raised his eyebrow but made no further comment. He was used to his eldest son's behaviour and, Victor thought with a sigh, not much made him give a reaction anyway.

Yuri, not to be outdone, practically clawed off his robes when given the signal and even louder gasps were torn from the audience, some bordering on being screams. Yuri gave a pleased grin at the reaction and stood there proudly with his hands on his hips, not caring that the Tsar was softly shaking his head and Yakov looked ready to tear what was left of his hair out. Once the noise had finally died down, the Tsar raised his glass, quickly handed to him by a servant and made a short speech that Victor had heard too many times to listen to as he formally opened the ball.

"Dearest friends, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to the Winter Ball…"

It was all too easy for Victor to zone out, holding his glass aloft almost robotically as the words washed over him like the cool air he could not feel on his skin. His mind drifted back to the lake in the castle grounds where he had gracefully skated the morning away. He imagined he was back there, his treasured ice skates back on his feet as he danced to a music only he could hear, letting it move him like he was its puppet…

Before he could get too invested in his daydream however, Victor found himself raising his glass and toasting his father, voices around him ringing off the walls for the Tsar's good health and long life. He downed his glass of champagne in one fluid movement, laughing as Yuri tried to do the same and choked on the fizzy liquid, nearly spilling it all down his front. As he was at last allowed to step down from his throne and move into the crowd, his empty glass was quickly refilled and people suddenly swarmed him, the air now abuzz with chatter as they clambered for his attention. Victor plastered a winning smile of his face. The art of conversation was one he had perfected years ago and it was all too easy for him to entertain the many diplomats and members of the Russian court. He was seen as their star, the crown jewel of the royal family; there was no room for him to disappoint.

It was a little while later, when the ball was fully under way and Victor had mostly lost track of all the things he had been discussing, when Victor felt a sudden light but firm touch on his shoulder. For a second he froze but when he heard a familiar laugh from behind him, he instantly relaxed and a smile spread across his face.

"Victor! I haven't seen you since your last trip to Paris, I thought you'd dropped off the face of the Earth!"

"Chris!" Victor exclaimed happily as he turned around and wrapped his old friend in a hug, all formalities forgotten. "It's been far too long! How have you been, old friend? Still gracing the beds of anyone who'll take you?"

"Why Victor, how you wound me sir!" Chris cried, trying to sound horrified as he clasped a hand to his forehead but his spluttering with laughter stopped either of them from taking it seriously. "I'll have you know, I'm on important business here- and it has nothing to do with your attractive Russian subjects!"

Victor laughed again as Chris pulled him into another hug, ignoring the stares of everyone around them. "Seriously though, it is good to see you. Paris just isn't the same without you."

"Nor is St Petersburg without you." Victor replied honestly. Christophe, or Lord Giacometti to give him his full title, had been Victor's friend since the pair of them were teenagers and had attended lessons together under Yakov's strict supervision. Under those conditions, they had formed a fire-forged friendship and, because Chris had a Russian mother but a Swiss father, they had made several trips to Paris together where, free from the Russian court, they could let themselves go a little wild. There were many establishments in the city that the two of them were banned from entering and Victor had a few memories from those trips that still made him blush.

It was in Paris where the two of them had partied all night, made mistakes and experimented, often with each other, in a way that just wouldn't have been allowed in St Petersburg. However, whilst Victor's antics had been handled very discreetly, given his title and the scandal it could cause, Chris had no shame in his past and had a reputation with his long string of male lovers. There were many in Russia who disapproved of the Crown Prince's friendship with a man who was reported to bed anything with a pulse but Victor ignored it. Though he and Chris joked about his reputation, he knew the stories of his friend were greatly exaggerated and he wouldn't have traded their friendship for the world. As they had gotten older, however, he found they did not spend as much time with each other as he would have liked- Chris held land and titles not just in Russia but also in France and Switzerland and he often spent long periods in those countries to manage them. He also made no secret of the fact he found the Russian court far more stuffy than their French and Swiss equivalents but still he came to see his friend and Victor always heartily welcomed him. The world was always less boring when Christophe Giacometti was around.

"So, how long are you staying with us this time?" Victor asked as a waiter passed and topped up both their drinks. Victor's glass was still half full but Chris's had been nearly empty and the minute the waiter was gone, Chris had gulped the whole thing down and quickly called over another. "I can't even think of when you last came here."

"It has been too long since I graced St Petersburg with my presence." Chris agreed with a sly grin. "People will have forgotten about me and I must remind them. But you'll be pleased to hear Victor, I'm going to be staying for a while; I have some work I need to do for the Swiss embassy. They've managed to royally mess up a trade agreement and it should take me a good few months just to untangle the disaster they have made."

Victor couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through his chest. "That's brilliant!" He said, almost jumping up in his excitement. "I mean, not that you have a lot of work to do and that there's a mess, that's not good at all…"

"I know what you meant, my friend," Chris laughed as for a third time, his glass was refilled. "It will give us plenty of time to catch up. Are things really as bad as you say in your letters? In some of them, you didn't even sound like yourself." Victor looked up to see Chris was giving him a worried look and he gave a sigh and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know Chris," he admitted. "Sometimes it just feels like I'm going through the motions, like I'm not doing anything for myself anymore. I used to love my duties, I wanted to do the best I could for my people and my country but nothing is going right and I don't want to try any more. I can't remember the last time I got really fired up for something and it's draining me. This morning, I felt so low, I almost told the maid that I didn't care what I wore tonight!"

"Sacré bleu!" Chris sounded genuinely shocked and he suddenly pulled Victor towards him, nearly pouring the contents of their champagne glasses over both of them as he embraced him. "That is a travesty!"

"I know!" Victor cried out. "But I just don't know what to do any more Chris. Can you think of anything that would help?"

For a moment, Chris looked pensive, his finger stroking at his light goatee as he racked his brain. Then a wide devilish smile slowly grew on his face, spreading until it looked like his mouth was being pulled to its limit. "I know what you need to do."

"What?" Victor asked before eyeing him warily. "I don't like that look on your face Chris."

"The answer is simple." Chris ploughed over him. "You just need to get some again."

"What!?" Victor close to screamed, causing a few people to look over at him in alarm. "Chris, you can't just say that!"

"Why not?" Chris replied innocently like he hadn't just told his friend to go find himself a lover. "From the sounds of it, you need to get a bit of zest back in your life and what better way than through-"

"What are you old farts talking about?" Chris was interrupted as Yuri stormed over to them, his clothes rumpled like he had just been running and his eyes so filled with rage Victor wondered how there wasn't a smoldering hole in the wall somewhere. Anyone else would have recoiled at the sheer level of anger the teenager was emitting but Chris, who had known Yuri since he was a tiny baby, just smiled in welcome.

"Such a pleasure to see you Yuri," He greeted him. "Your brother and I were just discussing the beauty and wonders of life. Would you care to join us?"

Chris's smile was as sweet as honey but Yuri visibly shuddered and stepped back. "No thanks. I know what that means when it comes to you, you pervert." Chris merely raised an eyebrow at the comment but Yuri was no longer focused on him; instead he had turned to address Victor, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot angrily scuffing the floor like it had offended him personally.

"Father isn't happy with me."

"I can't imagine why."

"Shut up old man." Yuri snapped at him before pausing for a second and then continuing to speak. "It's not just because of the suit, though that's a big part of it and I don't see why he doesn't like it, it's awesome! He says I'm not behaving in a manner that becomes a prince. Just because I don't want to talk meaningless gibberish with this bunch of old fools…" He clenched his fists tightly for a few seconds before letting them go with a frustrated sigh. "But now, he's saying that I shouldn't be allowed to do any more of these public event things. I think he wants to pack me off into the army. It's ridiculous- just because he was a second son that went into the army doesn't mean I should go!" He looked back up at Victor and his eyes were pleading. "Victor please tell me he won't make me go!"

Victor pressed his lips into a thin line. He wanted to tell Yuri that there was no chance of him being sent into the army but they both knew it would be a lie. Their father was perfectly capable of doing such a thing, even though the whole court knew Yuri wasn't built for the army. He had the fire and determination to fight but his build held him back- Lila had trained him for years in the classic art of ballet as a means of burning his excess energy and as a result, his body was now willowy and slender and his limbs, even though they had power and strength, looked like pale twigs. Yuri was built for a stage, not a battlefield and Victor resolved on the spot that Yuri was getting nowhere near a war, not if he could help it.

"I'll go talk to Father," He said, handing his champagne glass to Chris and moving through the crowd. "Stay with Lord Giacometti and keep out of trouble."

Yuri grimaced at the idea of Chris keeping him out of trouble but he gave a nod of agreement. "Watch out for the south side," he called out over people's heads and Victor started pushing his way through the crowd to find his father. "Some idiot got drunk and he's challenging people to dance-offs left right and centre."

So that's why Yuri looks so disheveled, Victor thought as he gently but firmly moved people out of his way. I wonder what is going on there- it must be pretty crazy if Yuri got dragged into it. He quickly dismissed the thought however; he had a mission and he was going to fulfill it. He just needed to find his father.

The guests parted before him like the Red Sea as he moved around the huge ballroom, struggling to catch the distinctive red of his father's uniform. Could he have left already? He wondered. No, he couldn't have, there would have been an announcement or something. He was just beginning to wonder if he should check the Tsar's apartments, just in case, when a sudden round of loud cheering brought his pondering to a halt.

What on earth is going on? He thought as he looked over his shoulder and stared at the large crowd that had formed on the south side of the ballroom. The crowd was so thick, he could barely see anything and he suddenly had a thought. What if the Tsar was in there? That would certainly draw a crowd as the Tsar hadn't danced in years. Spurred on by new motivation, Victor marched over and began to force his way through.

"I am the Crown Prince! Let me through!" He tried calling out but the cheering of the guests around him was so loud, nobody could hear a word. He had to resort to shoving, the boniness of his elbows coming into use as he forced his way through the throng of people. At last, he made it to the front, gasping for breath after the tight press of the people around him.

That was like being in a vice, he thought before he lifted his head up and started to scan the crowd for his father. However, before he could properly search the crowd for any glimpses of red, he made the mistake of looking at the centre of the dancefloor, where the attention of the guests was focused, and at once, everything else in the room paled away. The deafening cheering behind him faded into a hum like the low buzz of an insect and it felt like all the guests had suddenly melted away until he was the only one in the room watching. For standing in the middle of the circle, dancing with a beauty he had never thought was possible, was the most breath-taking man he had ever seen.

He was Asian, his body small and so soft-looking, Victor ached to feel it in his arms. His slight chubbiness gave his body and face a sweet and innocent roundness but he could tell instantly that it was deceiving; this was a dancer's body and the graceful and almost-impossible looking shapes it was making was testimony to that. He was moving with all the elegance of a swan but his aura was more like that of a lion, stalking and hunting his prey with no mercy. Victor could see it flashing in the man's eyes; they were a dark nut-brown colour but they flashed with copper and gold hues that made Victor feel weak at the knees. His hair was black and wild, the silky strands falling into his face as he moved without a care and Victor suddenly wanted to brush them away from his face and feel them falling between his fingers. His light skin was gorgeously clear and his mouth was hanging open the tiniest slit in his exertion; Victor saw the tip of a rosy tongue flicking out to wet his lips and his knees almost crumpled there and then.

The man was wearing a basic black suit with a short jacket and a blue tie that Victor thought almost made a mockery of his beloved colour but it was clear his clothing was not in the same condition it had been when he arrived. The jacket was only just clinging onto his shoulders and as Victor watched, the man casually shrugged it off and threw it into the crowd, where it was caught by another Asian man who was happily cheering him on all whilst waving a strange black box in the air. Victor didn't have much time to focus on it as the minute the jacket was freed from his shoulders, the man started to unbutton his shirt and Victor was mesmerised. The man radiated pure sexual energy as he undid each button, moving his hips and rolling his body in a way that had Victor salivating. With each button, Victor was treated to more and more of the man's skin, revealing a beautifully toned chest and abs that made his head real. Am I dreaming this? He thought, his eyes locked on the figure like he would disappear if he looked away. Surely this angel can't be real?

Almost as if he could hear his thoughts, the man suddenly turned around and looked directly at him. Victor gulped as those predatory eyes, alive and hungry with a lust that Aphrodite would have been proud of, swept over his face and when he gave a pleased smile, it felt like his insides had turned into mush. The man stalked his way over to him, one hand raking through his hair as his hips swayed alluringly, and before Victor could react, he was standing right in front of him, so close he could feel his hot breath on his skin and see every metallic fleck of copper in his eyes.

"Your Highness," the man purred and Victor felt the words go straight to his lower half, where they settled into a hot coil that threatened to burn him from the inside out. "Would you honour me with this dance?"

Victor had never agreed to anything more quickly in his life. "I would love to." He almost whispered and the man grinned at how breathless his voice already sounded. He led him out onto the dancefloor, the crowd around them seeming to hold its breath as he pulled the crown prince impossibly close. The man was shorter than him but Victor felt helplessly in his thrall and that became more apparent as he started to lead, moving Victor so effortlessly around the floor, it was like he had been made to do it. Victor usually resented being lead around the dancefloor, he preferred to take control of the dance, but he knew that this man could have led him out of the ballroom and into the Outer Hebrides and he would still have followed him gladly. All he could do was stare spellbound at the man's face, marvelling at how he seemed to scream innocence and debauchery at the same time. The man chuckled as he looked up at him and Victor could feel his cheeks going pink at the sound.

"You appear to be enjoying the ball, your Highness." He whispered softly into his ear, his voice slow and sensual as the word rolled from his tongue. As he spoke, he rolled his hips upwards so they hit Victor's dead on and the Russian prince didn't know how he stopped a loud whimper from escaping his mouth. "Your guests certainly seem to be enjoying the show."

Victor tore his eyes away from the man for a brief moment to glance at the faces around them and he almost laughed at the sight that faced him. The entirety of the crowd appeared to be in shock, their faces twisted into horrified caricatures as they stared open-mouthed at the pair dancing in front of them. Many older members of the crowd looked scandalised at how close the two men were and several men were covering the eyes of the ladies next to them, muttering lowly about impropriety. He also caught sight of Chris and Yuri, both fighting their way through the thick throng of people to see what had happened to him. Chris looked stunned for a moment, his eyes widening when he spotted the man's hand firmly planted on the small of Victor's back and trailed down to his rear, but then he gave a beaming grin and started to cheer his friend on. Meanwhile, Yuri looked furious, his eyes promising murder as he shook his fists at Victor, only held back from grabbing him by the mass of the crowd pulling him back. Victor even though he caught a glimpse of his father's red military uniform but he found he couldn't bring himself to care. He was having the time of his life and he didn't give a damn who saw.

He turned back to the mysterious man with a sly smile of his own and, before he could register his demeanour had changed, Victor had taken control, sweeping him off his feet into a low dip that had some of his strands of hair lightly brushing the ground. Their faces were now so close, their noses were almost touching and Victor almost lost his nerve, wanting nothing more than to steal this man away and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Instead, he just gave the man a wolfish smile and shivered when he heard his breath hitch.

"They certainly do seem to be having fun," he murmured, revealing in how pink his partner's face went. "How about we give them a proper show?"

The man smiled like he had never wanted anything more in his whole life.

"Let's set this winter ball on fire."

Interesting fact: the two headed eagle is the symbol of the Romanovs, Russia's old royal family. The chamomile and the bear are also symbols of Russia. The more you know I guess.

If you want to check out my other Yoi fic, Happy Families, please check out my profile.

Hope you liked it and please leave a comment!