all the president’s rubies (victuuri)
i believe it was @katsukiyuuristrophyhusband who was saying that of all the theories in victor “my husband” nikiforov, they would probably roleplay at least the first three. so i thought about it when i went on a run, and here we are:
The man he sees across the room fits in too perfectly; lean body in a royal blue Isaia suit that’s tailored to aching perfection, the inseam of the trouser cut short to reveal a scandalous sliver of bare ankle, and a white band collar shirt instead of a traditional button down to accentuate his long neck. The man is quintessential classics with the precise amount of unorthodox edge to suggest he is a man who is always on the precipice of something.
He watches the man run his fingers through his silver hair like lavish strands of spiders’ silk. The man screams expensive. How many millions of dollars would you be holding in your hands if you had this man underneath you?
He must be brave. There’s no time to waste. He steps across the ballroom and into the man’s social circle with his chest out like he belongs there.
“Katsuji Yuuta,” he introduces himself. “May I buy you a drink?”
“Vitaly Nikonov,” the man replies, smiling. “And I already have a drink. But you may keep me company.”
“What are they doing?” Yuri whispers a little too loud, watching Katsuki slink over to where Victor is talking to a handful of sponsors.
“Maybe this is like that banquet where they pretended they were meeting again for the first time,” Otabek offers, stealing a stuffed mushroom from Yuri’s plate and popping it into his mouth. He licks at the grease left on the tip of his thumb. “Remember that last year? They even brought that old tie and Victor cried when he tied it around Katsuki’s head like a crown.”
Mila laughs into her champagne flute and Yuri suppresses a shiver.
“This feels worse than that. This feels,” he says, pauses, curls his nose, “this feels weirder.”
“So what brings you here?” Vitaly Nikonov asks, rolling his wrist and watching the maraschino cherry swirl around in his manhattan. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Funny,” Katsuji Yuuta says, and he looks Vitaly Nikonov up and down like a question and an answer all at once. He tilts his head at the group Vitaly’s with and takes a swig of his own champagne. “I thought we might be here for the same reasons. But I see you here, and suddenly I can’t remember why I came.”
“Oh, Mr. Katsuji,” Vitaly says, voice lowering. “I don’t think you’ve come close to coming yet.”
“Uh, guys,” says Mark from Sony, bumping a fist on Vitaly’s shoulder. “Victor? Yuuri? I’m gonna–me and the boys, we’re gonna, uh, step away for awhile.”
Vitaly Nikonov hums as if Mark from Sony is very, very far away. He can see nothing else but Katsuji Yuuta’s soulful, brown eyes.
“Spies!” Mila does not squeal as she runs back to Otabek and Yuri with a refreshed drink and a plate of bacon wrapped scallops. “They’re pretending they’re rival spies. Or maybe Yuuri’s a honeypot? I don’t know, all I could hear is them talking about trading intel upstairs and–”
“Gross,” Yuri says, stealing her champagne and downing it in one gulp. Yuuri and Victor at banquets are going to drive him to an early retirement. Next to him, Otabek is stoically looking at the chandelier over their table, trying not to laugh.
“Mr. Katsuji!” Victor moans dramatically, his band collar shirt torn open, buttons flown across the room. “Oh, if our agencies found us this way, they would kill us!”
“Stop!” Yuuri laughs on top of him, tucking his face away in the curve of Victor’s neck. “Now it just sounds stupid.”
“We must run away together!” Victor says, rolling his hips up to greet the inviting curve of Yuuri’s ass through his briefs. “Change our names! Go into hiding! The two of us against the world!”
“Victor, you said if I won gold you would take this seriously,” Yuuri whines, and he nibbles at the soft of Victor’s earlobe to make him gasp and still.
“I am taking this seriously,” Victor says softly underneath him. He rolls his hips up slower this time, a little more sluggish drag to prove how earnestly invested he is, dick hard and needy between the undone fly of his own pants. “I was going to tell you of a bungalow I know tucked away off the coast of Bali. We’ll think up new identities. You can be Yuuri Katsuki. I’ll be Victor Nikiforov. Former figure skating champions. We’ll fall asleep to the sound of waves every night, and no one will ever find us. What do you think?”
Yuuri grinds his ass down where Victor is waiting for him. “I think you should keep going.”