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Yuuri watches Celestino and his wife head towards the strip, Yuuri standing at the entrance to the hotel in Las Vegas they’re staying at. His rinkmate, Charlotte, the only other person on this trip with them from their rink in Detroit, has already left to go with some of her friends. She’d offered for Yuuri to come with, but they both know it’s out of politeness rather than any real desire to spend the time together. So, he did the equally polite thing and declined and now he’s got all of Las Vegas in front of him, none of which he truly wants.
Celestino had won a radio lottery back in Detroit for a chance to see Champions on Ice in Las Vegas. The fact he offered for Yuuri to go shows no real passion for Yuuri, in Yuuri’s opinion, and is just rather the logical conclusion to events—Viktor Nikforov, love of Yuuri’s life and lifelong obsession since he was little, is in America for a single night. Of course he has to ask Yuuri to go, otherwise Yuuri will be asking him incessantly questions about the time he was there. Celestino and his wife, Maria, and Charlotte have all been nice on this trip, invited him to dinner and to breakfast, but Yuuri isn’t shocked or upset when they go their separate ways.
He looks down at his phone. It’s too late, or too early, to phone his parents, Phichit is definitely with friends back in Detroit, and there’s very little Yuuri wants to do on the Las Vegas strip by himself, so he supposes he’ll duck back inside, make another night of room service and playing Pokemon until he’s too tired to stay awake.
Yuuri takes a deep, laboring breath as he turns back towards the Venetian where they’re staying, its faux-ancient columns and bright lights all beautiful in the night. He’s never seen Italy before, but he imagines this hardly holds a candle to the actual beauty of Venice. Maybe one day there’ll be competitions held there, but then Yuuri can’t help but grimace—there’s no chance he’d make it, even if they were held there. Still, he lifts his phone to snap a picture (his mom will appreciate them) when the phone is knocked out of his hand. Yuuri bumbles to the side with the momentum of someone crashing into him before, on instinct, he reaches out, catches the figure who has knocked into him in a dip that has both of them rather stunned.
Yuuri looks down and sees the most vivid, beautiful blue eyes he’s ever seen, silver hair like gossamer fanning out behind as steady hands clutch his neck. Yuuri blanches at the figure as said figure smiles at him.
“Oops, sorry!”
“You’re—!”
And the man that has haunted Yuuri’s dreams since he was a child, the man whose very existence convinced Yuuri to pursue a life on the rink, the very reasons he’s here tonight, Viktor Nikiforov splits into a smile, releasing Yuuri’s neck to wink and put a finger to his lips.
“Shhh! Don’t give it away, I’m hiding.”
A call of Viktor’s name through the night grabs both of their attention. Yuuri rights them both, moves to let go of Viktor before suddenly his hand is grabbed.
“Come on!”
Yuuri blanches as he’s suddenly dragged through the streets of Las Vegas, that beautiful hair fanning out behind Viktor in front of him. Yuuri’s mind must be left on the concrete behind them because he’s running after Viktor, laughing in spite of himself as the shouts of Viktor’s name grow softer and softer until they’re lost to the roar of the city.
Viktor pulls them into the first club he finds, Yuuri clumsily holding onto Viktor’s hand as he flashes his ID. He’s twenty-one and should be doing this routinely, but clubs don’t appeal to him, especially when his only friend isn’t old enough to get in. But Viktor is telling him where to go and Yuuri might be anxious and awkward, but he knows well enough that when Viktor Nikiforov invites you out, you go.
Yuuri downs the drink that Viktor gives him and then the next and then the next, listening as Viktor talks about how beautiful this city is, how much warmer than it is in Russia, how happy he is to be away from Yakov and the rest of the troupe. Yuuri thinks he could be talking about the composition of paint and Yuuri would still be hung on his every word.
“What’s your name?” Viktor shouts above the pulse of the music despite the fact that they are close enough that Yuuri can taste the cheap vodka on his breath.
“Yuuri Katsuki!” Yuuri shouts back, having a slightly hard time keeping Viktor in focus.
“I’m Viktor Nikiforov!” Viktor shouts back and Yuuri can’t help when he shouts back a very emphatic “I know!”
“Oh! Did you come to see the skaters!”
And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the fact that Viktor is so beautiful in the pulsing lights, but Yuuri can’t help the words that escape.
“I came to see you!”
And Viktor, Viktor Nikiforov, Olympic Skater and Grand Prix multi-winner and the most beautiful man that Yuuri has ever seen, blushes. Actually blushes.
“Well, you certainly got more than you bargained for.”
And Yuuri’s tongue is lazy in his mouth. He wants to tell him that this is more than he could ever hope for, that he feels like he’s dreaming, but he can’t. He just gazes at him like Viktor is the only thing worth looking at. Yuuri’s heart is pounding in his chest before he downs his drink—he has no idea what it is, Viktor ordered it for him, but he could drink tar for all he cares if Viktor asked.
“Dance with me!” Yuuri demands instead.
Viktor blinks at Yuuri for a moment and Yuuri’s ready to repeat himself before Viktor’s face splits into a smile. They take each other’s hand and shove their way onto the floor. There’s barely room to breathe let alone stand, Yuuri’s whole body is pressed into Viktor and he swears he could die like this, but Viktor is holding onto him, their cheeks pressed together while Viktor clings to his shoulders. Yuuri’s hands have nowhere else to go but his waist, so he grips him tight, feels the searing heat of his body, and Yuuri lets himself be just another twenty-something for a few minutes.
They dance until they’re drenched in sweat, until Yuuri’s voice is hoarse from shouting above the music lyrics he barely knows, and drunk on both the alcohol and the way that Viktor feels against him. Neither of them can hear much of what the other says, but they carry on their conversations all the same. Viktor drags Yuuri to three more clubs, each other them with worse music and worse alcohol, but neither of them care. They don’t let go of each other the entire time, Viktor and Yuuri’s bodies slotting together like two halves of a long-lost puzzle.
Yuuri is staring up in fathomless blue eyes as Viktor smiles back at him, foreheads together as they sway terribly off rhythm with the music while coiled around each other like snakes.
“I think I love you!” Viktor shouts into Yuuri’s ear and despite everything, it feels terribly intimate. “I know we only just met, but I think I love you!”
Yuuri’s heart is clenching in his chest and he grips Viktor’s waist tighter, staring up at him. He’s loved him since he was a child, gazed up at Viktor and found him set amongst stars. There’s no stars here, but the lights are flashing and Yuuri’s never felt so light before, he might as well be floating into the heavens.
“Then let’s get married!” It takes a second for Yuuri to realize he suggested that, but there’s no part of him that wants to take it back. Especially not when Viktor’s face splits into a smile so bright it could rival the sun.
“Yes! Yes, Yuuri— Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Was, will you marry me?!”
Maybe they looked it up on their phones, maybe the chapel just appeared into the street when they stepped outside, but Yuuri and Viktor are clinging to each other as they stand inside a far too cold building, clinging to each other in a desperate attempt to stand up straight. It’s the middle of the night and they’re tripping over everything as they babble out to an officiant what they want, but neither of them care. They’re laughing together and holding onto one another as they fumble through the line that this over-exhausted priest bumbles at them. Neither Viktor or Yuuri are paying attention to him, they’re holding hands and waists and shoulders and it takes a second for either of them to realize the man is waiting for them to speak.
“Oh! I do!” Yuuri blurts out, looking almost surprised. “I absolutely do!”
“And do you…” The officiant squints at the name written on the paper before Viktor bursts out laughing.
“Viktor Nik— Niki— Niffy—“
“Nikiforov!” Yuuri corrects, grinning when Viktor keeps laughing into his shoulder.
“And do you, Viktor Nikiforov, take this man to—?”
“Absolutely!”
Viktor doesn’t wait for announcements or orders to kiss Yuuri then. And Yuuri is… Well, he can’t be stunned, this is what they’re supposed to do.
It’s not his first kiss, not by far, but it’s no better coordinated than the first one. His first kiss had been a fumbling, awkward thing at a college party, everyone feeling uncomfortable at the harsh smash of lips together around a bottle being spun on the floor. This one is clumsy too, but then Viktor softens and Yuuri softens and— and it’s slow and sweet and neither of them can get enough. Yuuri holds Viktor tight to his chest and Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s shoulders so tight that Yuuri swears his head might pop off.
Yuuri thinks he could live in that kiss forever and, maybe, he does.
There’s sunlight streaming through the room early the next morning. Yuuri groans, head pounding as he lays there in a rock-hard, too-big bed. He sits up and immediately regrets it as his stomach tosses, hand to his head.
He fumbles through the memories of the night before, trying to remember when he drank so much. Eventually, he remembers silver hair, blue eyes and— And he doesn’t know if he remembers it so much as the sight of them beside him jogs the memory.
Viktor Nikiforov, with a laundry list of epithets, is lying in a bed in Las Vegas, staring up at Yuuri with a quiet, reserved smile.
“How do you feel?” Viktor asks, face half buried in a pillow. Yuuri thinks he has no right looking so beautiful after waking up.
“I, uh…” Yuuri licks his lips and then winces. “Like I ate cotton. You?”
Viktor nods his head in agreement, not even trying to move.
“Do you… Do you remember last night?” Viktor asks hesitantly. And when Yuuri nods, Viktor uncurls his fist, a golden ring sitting snug around his finger. Yuuri then looks down, sees a matching one just as snug around his finger and his stomach plummets.
He married Viktor Nikiforov.
“I— We can— This happens all the time here, it’s—“ Yuuri coughs and then clears his throat, the action making his head spin, but still he pushes on.
“We can have it annulled, if you want.”
And then Viktor stares at him curiously, then down at the ring on his hand. There’s a momentary pause before he reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the golden band before looking up at Yuuri.
“I would rather not, if that’s okay.”
The hour after passes in a hazy sort of slog. Yuuri and Viktor are both chewed apart by both Viktor’s handlers and Celestino, but Viktor still holds onto Yuuri’s hand all the while. Celestino is staring at Yuuri like he doesn’t know what to do with him as he and Viktor part ways. Yuuri is left feeling rather stupid, rather confused, watching Viktor’s retreating back before Viktor breaks away and comes sprinting back to Yuuri’s side. He throws his arms around Yuuri’s neck, clings to him for a moment before kissing him squarely on the lips. This time, he tastes like cheap mint toothpaste rather than cheap alcohol and Yuuri can properly appreciate how warm and solid he is against him. It’s only when Viktor pulls away he realizes that there’s been a piece of paper shoved into his hand.
“Call me when you get home, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov!” Viktor demands as he runs off. Yuuri can only stand there for a moment, clutching the paper to his chest with a shaky, dizzy smile as he calls back “I will, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov!”