Sochi Grand Prix Banquet

Victor Nikiforov was bored. The banquet started off as it usually did, with more exaggerated pomp and circumstance than Victor cared to indulge in tonight. Sure, he was the star of the evening, what with winning yet another gold medal. He was also a vision in his suit, his well groomed appearance and jeweled blue eyes coveting the gazes of many men and women in the room. But he felt constrained by the fabric tonight, and being gaped at like that was something he was beginning to marginally tolerate. Yakov would have his head otherwise and he didn't have to energy to withstand a late-night lecture on etiquette.

He spent much of his time looking for a way out of the hall, wishing he had Makka with him to keep him company. The poodle's presence was one of the few things that kept him in good spirits. Unfortunately, people kept coming over, asking questions, making unnecessary small talk, acting like they were his friends when really, Victor could care less about having them near him. Not today. Nonetheless, he put up his facade, played the part and then resumed planning his escape.

"Are these events really necessary?" his fellow Russian Yuri Plisetsky yawned next to him. Victor shrugged and sipped on his drink; he itched to knock the damn thing back if only to numb himself. He'd been feeling out of sorts since the press conference, and had been unable to shake the inexplicable sensation all evening.

"How soon are you starting practice?"

Victor took yet another sip at that question, "Sometime next week. I have a couple things to take care of in Sochi before I head back to St. Petersburg."

Yuri nodded, "I'll see you then. I think sneaking a drink is in order if I'm going to sur...vive...what in the fuck?"

Victor followed the younger skater's disgusted leer and found himself staring at one Yuuri Katsuki who was on the floor displaying some rather stunning dance moves given that he was clearly under the influence of several (hundred?) bottles of champagne. Victor's expression wasn't one of disgust though. His eyes twinkled suddenly at the sight before him.

"Well here's something you don't see at every banquet," he said animatedly. Yuri narrowed his eyebrows.

"For someone who placed last, he seems rather happy to further embarrass himself, don't you think?"

Victor said nothing but recognized the fierce anger lurking within him that immediately flickered at Yuri's words. Truthfully, he had watched Yuuri's performance and despite fucking up much of the technical aspects of his routines, his footwork had been incredible. It felt like he was watching someone create music with their body. He had felt the same unexplainable anger then. Why didn't the passion in Yuuri's movements ever reach his eyes?

'It has certainly reached them now.' Victor found himself grinning as Yuuri shed his tie and lifted his shirt from his pants, moving to more complex movements, including a headstand that was definitely going to leave him with a resounding headache in the morning. Victor's fellow competitor, Chris Giacometti joined the fray and Yuri, against protests as crude as he could muster at such a social gathering, found himself in an all-out dance off. The entire spectacle drew a not-so-approving crowd and Victor watched as multiple pictures and videos were enthusiastically shot. He took the opportunity to shot his drink, not out of frustration anymore, but because the complete personality shift that Yuuri had undergone was beginning to turn him on.

Then, much like the dazzling effects of a lightning bolt, something extraordinary happened. Victor felt a hand take his own and pull him onto the dance floor. There were gasps and murmurs from the crowd, and Chris and Yuri cleared the way, sharing a shocked glance at this new, very unexpected development. Victor found himself dancing an odd combination of ballet and flamenco with a very drunk Japanese ice skater who, hours ago, had barely looked him in the eye.

The way he looked at him now, his smile as refreshing as a sunbeam, his eyes carefree and filled with laughter...the way he touched Victor, his hands nonchalant in its placement, drawing even more raised eyebrows from onlookers...the way he guided Victor along the floor, taking charge of their movements, his breath hot and wild on Victor's face and neck...it was thrilling!

Victor, for one of the few times in his life, wanted everyone to gape and followed Yuuri's lead, delighting in the crowd's confusion. He tipped his leg into the air, as Yuuri posed at the side of him, cradling Victor's cheek and steadying himself with a hand on Victor's thigh. Victor rested a supportive hand on the man's back, just in case. They dissolved into giggles and Victor felt more free in that moment than he had ever felt before. If Yuuri Katsuki laughing in that devil-may-care way was the last thing he heard in his life, Victor would stroll willingly into the afterlife.

He found himself wishing Yuuri wasn't so inebriated. He wouldn't remember a damn thing in the morning and this was something worth remembering. Victor never wanted it to end. They shared a final, contented grin as Yuuri dipped him, his lips mere inches from his own, before being parted as their coaches were called to deal with the situation. Victor reluctantly let Yuuri go, following a fuming Yakov out of the hall. Yuri still looked repulsed by the whole thing, personally offended that Yuuri had dared to watch in Victor's direction, much less touch him, but he thankfully kept his thoughts to himself. Victor wasn't in the mood. Photos from inside the banquet were not allowed on social, so there was no harm done to any of their reputations.

As he moved further from the beautiful storm of Yuuri Katsuki, he found his initial indifference returning. It felt like he was walking back into a prison of his own making. Victor, seeing what lay outside the wasteland of his conflicted emotions, glanced back at the hall.

'In vino veritas,' he thought.

Victor walked out of his hotel room, unable to sleep. He hadn't gotten much rest in the past few days, except the stolen hours right before he competed. Yakov hated when he did that, so he slept mostly to see the steam shoot out his coach's ear. Not surprisingly, he found Chris engaged in some lascivious activity outside his own room, his male companion struggling to get the door open.

Victor chuckled, "Still up are we?"

"You could join us," Chris winked at Victor, "we don't have to be rivals tonight."

"In a past life, maybe," Victor smiled and kept walking as the two men finally made it into Chris' hotel room.

Victor remembered the days he sought such temporary gratification. He'd been young, provocative, an instant charmer whose roguish good looks seduced the masses wordlessly. Even though he retained much of his flirtatious tendencies, those past moments were nothing more than empty pleasures now, something he had no desire to fill his life with anymore.

'I wouldn't mind filling it with more dancing,' he thought as he reached the elevator, 'I hope he's doing okay.'

He stepped into the lobby and made for the entrance, thinking a late night walk was just what he needed to clear his head. He usually imagined Makka at his side to help fill that lonely void. He slowed down as he approached the hotel's information desk, touching his cheek thoughtfully. He closed his eyes, imagined the hand that lay there at the banquet and then turned to the man at the desk.

"Goodnight Mr. Nikiforov and congratulations! How can I help you tonight?"

"I was hoping you could tell me what room Yuuri Katsuki is in? I have something to return to him." Victor included the white-lie as a backup. He was relieved when the CSR asked no further questions.

"That's no problem. All the competition guests seem to be up and about tonight," he typed in Yuuri's name, "He's in three-three-five. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you. Have a good night."

Victor walked back to the elevator, unsure of what he was doing, or why he was doing it. But the feel of Yuuri's hands lingered on him, and as far as he was concerned, there was no harm in checking in on a fellow skater, especially a drunk one.

The logic, self-serving as it was, kept him balanced as he stepped out onto the third floor. For someone who had put himself on display like that, he really didn't like to be around people. All the other finalists were on the fifth floor. Victor didn't complain; he was quite happy there was no one around to witness his spontaneity. This wasn't something Victor had planned on doing, and he felt somewhat unguarded by the way his mind became completely one-track.

"Three-three-five," Victor said to himself, and with a deep breath knocked soundly on the door. There was a low crash, and an audible 'Fuck' from the other side of door. Victor smirked, but as the door opened, his expression morphed into something else altogether.

Yuuri stood in a tight pair of boxers, his hair disheveled, and eyes glazed. His body was lean, the muscles defined. He'd clearly taken a bath not too long ago, as droplets of water fell from his hair and rolled across his body. Victor rested a hand calmly on the wall, but his insides were going fucking insane. It made no sense. Victor didn't know the man and yet, he couldn't shake the sublime attraction that flared within him. If his knees buckled now...

"Victor...Nikiforov..." Yuuri drawled. Victor found his voice somewhere between the lust he abruptly felt, and the unknown territory he stood in.

"Hello Yuuri, I just wanted to check in on you. You're okay, right? You remember the banquet? You had a lot to-"

But Victor never finished because without warning, without stopping to realize he was half naked and still wet from the shower, without surveying the consequences of what he was about to do (though, how could he, he was still pretty drunk), Yuuri grabbed the front of Victor's shirt, pulled him in and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.