as parties went, the victor nikiforov's were the kind that people would talk about for weeks before and weeks after. victor knew that his was only because he was adored by the press; what more could they want but a child celebrity with "daddy issues," as various magazines and newspapers had included in their write-up of him, who had grown up to be "wayward" and "attractive" and had "been rumoured to take intoxicants frequently."
it all made victor want to say ugh!
victor nikiforov knew that he was the "great gatsby" of those would had risen to fame via their parents playing on the sweet face and growing talent of a child, and had "gone off the rails" as a result. he was jay gatsby among that crowd of figure-skaters, young millionaires, calvin klein models and the like with their faces plastered over tacky, glossy magazines for the public, in as much as everyone would come to his parties - because they were full of the most expensive liquor that came cheaply to him and rich with sugared bank noted and party pills, and they only happens every so often when chris either forced victor to host one to keep up his social status, or when victor was so painfully bored that he just felt like thumping music and short-skirted girls and boys on expensive suits cramped together in a darkened house that was usually so big and so lonely, flirting with one another in order to climb up the social hierarchy.
he was jay gatsby in as much as everyone flocked to his parties - to have the ecstasy of being able to say that they were at one of the victor nikiforov's parties; their rarity making the announcement ever the more sumptuous - but none of them came to see him.
then again, victor couldn't give a fuck about any of them, or why they were there. in a way, every person in a short skirt or expensive suit at every party - whether in a penthouse or a big and lonely house in japan - was only there for themselves. for social points, to make money.
the night started at the first step of every party, where girls and boys flirted with victor and laughed obnoxiously at every word he said to show themselves off to all the others in the vicinity at the victor nikiforov's side. and usually, victor would go along wit it for a while, and would embrace the life his father with the metal scissors in hand and silver strands of hair in the other had pushed him so hard to have.
but not tonight.
victor gave even less of a fuck about everyone else in his house that friday night, and only cared about the angel he had been unable to get off of his mind with the dark, dark hair and chocolate brown eyes.
is he lying to me?
is he really hurt?
is chris right?
do i love him?
victor's stubborn, dismissive and frankly uncaring conscience didn't contradict him for once, and victor continued to pushed through bodies clad in short skirts and expensive suits to try and find the glow of the soft, delicate angel of a boy who had cried in his arms on the grey couch that chris and some girl were draped over together, the girl with her legs crossed and chris sipping at a cocktail glass of bubbling, golden champagne.
relax, victor.
he isn't here yet.
he will be.
relax, victor.
•
"hey, hey, look at me."
yuri looked away from the rain-covered window of the passenger side of celestino's porsche and up at the man in the driver's seat who's face he knew so goddamn well.
"lose that pout, will you?" celestino said with a fleeting smile, before his expression shifted to flint-sharp. he grabbed the side of yuri's jaw and tilting his face up towards his.
"no one will want to fuck you if you look so fucking mopey, yuri."
celestino pushed yuri's face away harshly, and yuri rubbed his jaw.
"i want at least sixty tonight. eighty would make me smile, eh, sunshine? think you could do eighty for me?"
yuri looked at him with wide brown eyes, as the rain picked up its pace outside.
"eighty?"
although the car was devoid of light, the streetlamps revealed to yuri that celestino's expression had darkened.
"you know what? since you've whine like a little bitch about going out tonight - which i don't understand because it's one of those parties where you'll make a large sum - i want at least eighty."
"what?" yuri asked, his voice wavering at the thought of four different men putting their hands on him, and that not one of them would have the scent of vanilla that he held in his fantasy.
"what?" celestino mimicked. yuri sat quietly in the passenger seat of the stationary car, listening to the pulsating music from inside the house he had been in before, and slept on the grey sofa he could see through crowds of people on victor's familiar front room with victor's arm around him.
"you going to get out?" celestino asked with an eyebrow raised, gesturing to the car door. yuri looked up into the car mirror to see if phitchit had applied enough concealer; the mascara on his lashes distracted attention from the faint lilac patch around one eye, and the lip gloss from the split in both of his soft lips.
he reached for the handle, but celestino stopped him.
"show me that smile," he teased, grabbing yuri's jaw the same way and turning his face roughly towards his, pressing into the cut that was covered by makeup on yuri's cheek. he forced himself not to cry out, and gave celestino the small smile he was looking for.
"good boy," celestino leered, and put one hand on yuri's inner thigh. by now, yuri had learnt to ignore his touch, and barely batted an eye as celestino moved his hand further and further up yuri's skinny ripped jeans.
"i still don't know why you're complaining so much, yuri," he said with a deep-throated laugh. "here, you can get fucked by that victor you're so in love worth and even get paid for it. what's there to complain about, huh? you're ol' celestino ain't that bad, is he?"
his voice hardened at yuri's tearful, shameful silence.
"i said is he?"
"no," yuri managed to say, in nothing g more than a whisper. he started picking at his lilac-painted nails to distract his focus from the stinging in his eyes; if he cried, the makeup would run away, and celestino would be angry.
"go on then," he said with a fake, paper thing smile, and leant across from yuri to open the car door.
the smell of him made yuri shrink away; the feel of his breath so close to him made it hard for him to breathe.
celestino winked at yuri as he stepped out of the car and into the rain. "make me proud, eh, babe?"
yuri nudged the car door shut with his arm, and ran up the three marble steps of the front door of victor nikiforov - the victor nikiforov.
maybe he loves me.
maybe this is the last time.
yuri looked at the black porsche who's sound he hated hearing outside his and phitchit's flat turn a corner and disappear, and yuri wondered if that was the last time he was ever going to see celestino, and allowed himself a small smile.
he stood outside the open front door, the smell of alcohol, sweat and money eye-watering. the cut on his cheek started to sting from celestino's touch, and yuri stepped away from the pounding music and down into the street he had run back along to press a kiss against victor nikiforov's cheek.
"see you soon, yuri."
and yuri could almost cry and wet the makeup covering his bruised and bloodied face at the thought that victor would see now him as the slut he was, although he had told yuri that he "was not nothing" and made him feel special; he had made yuri feel more than a piece of property rented out to strangers in bathrooms at parties and hotel rooms.
and now what choice did he have but to walk through that door into the house in which he had felt victor nikiforov touch and let four different men touch him in places that he didn't want to be touched all for celestino, or else his face would sting more the next day and he wouldn't have the money he was saving up to move away with back to hatsetsu any time sooner.
yuri braced himself, and wiped the two lone tears from his sore cheeks that he hadn't been able to hold back. he straightened the thin black coat he was wearing with his black ripped jeans and tiny tight baby pink crop top, and headed up the three wide steps once more and slipped inside victor nikiforov's house, a lump in his throat and his legs shaking with the disgust of what he would have to do in the next hours that would go by ever so slowly.
where are you, victor?
yuri wanted to make sure that the silver-haired boy with the ocean blue eyes didn't catch a glimpse of him throughout his party, so that he would never know that the boy he had told was worth so much more than sex has to sleep with over four different men to make the money he needed for a slim chance of better things.
"and you are?" a boy with a canadian accent asked, pressing a glass of champagne into yuri's hand almost immediately.
"y-yuri," he got out, forcing his chocolate eyes to stop hunting for the boy with the scent of vanilla and lemon cologne and threw back the whole glass in one go.
"jj," said the other man, who smelt of too much cologne.
•
victor🍾: yuuuri where are you
message not sent!
victor slammed down his phone onto the countertop of the kitchen and poured himself a sparkling drink. he wasn't drunk; he wasn't high. he wanted to keep a clear head for the boy with dark, dark hair he had realised that he was completely, hopelessly in love with; yuri katsuki.
victor didn't like the feel of being in love at all; it wasn't the need for his thighs or mouth that victor wanted with an irritating desire; it was yuri that he wanted, and everything about him. the feel of his soft lips, his soft hair, the way his tongue poked out a little when he was concentrating on cooking, the dimples he got when he smiled, the sound of him sleeping and his bubblegum scent.
and without him, victor was aching, and he was aching for a hit to take his mind off of it. but no; he wanted to be fully sober when he felt the softness of yuri's skin once again, and heard the softness of his voice; not too quiet, not too loud.
victor🍾: yuri come on text me
message not sent!
victor was still worried about yuri, and the flood of texts he had sent him the night he was hitting up at seung-gil's. the guilt that victor had felt - a new sensation entirely - had been unbearable. and although yuri had shut down any talk of those texts, victor was still worried about his angel. and whenever victor had lain awake at night, worrying over someone hurting his baby, his mind had floated back to tearful words yuri had spilled on his grey couch whilst yuri wiped away his tears.
oh, yuri.
you are worth so much more than me.
victor was disgusted with himself, leaning against the marble countertop of his kitchen and looking around the living room for yuri. he was disgusted that he hadn't had to work desperately to the top of the social structure but had been placed up there without wanting to be there, whereas more than over fifty percent of those in the room he stood in alone would have killed to be in such a position as his.
and yet victor hated it.
more than fifty percent of the people on that room, where Loving Someone by the 1975 had started to play on the speakers, who have killed twice over to have as much money as the victor nikiforov, and thousands more out there on that street alone who deserved it. like yuri katsuki.
but victor was bored of it all.
victor wanted to take yuri away from wherever he was living; he knew it wasn't great, because yuri hadn't wanted to leave, victor could see, and they hadn't said a thing about what his "home" was like. and victor wanted to be in the same bed as yuri every night - not just for sex, but to have his arm around him and show him how much more he was worth than sex, night after night until yuri accepted it himself, and every night after so that victor could fall asleep with the scent of bubblegum and the rise and fall of yuri's chest.
victor took one last gulp of champagne; the ache in his arms had gone on for too long, and he wanted to feel yuri katsuki's warmth and sleep beside him every goddamn night.
•
yuri felt dirty.
he didn't like the feel of jj leroy's lips against his, and working down his body. he tried to act like he was enjoying it - as celestino had told him to do - but he felt disgusted and his limbs were stiff was repulsion and resistance.
jj had introduced yuri to chris giacometti on their way upstairs into a guest bedroom on the right of the first landing, which had been so shameful for yuri as he had known chris before his fall on the ice. chris had looked at both him and jj uncertainly, before jj lead yuri into the room who's bed he was sitting in with pale blue walls.
yuri wished that jj's touch was the soft touch of the victor nikiforov who had dried his tears and whom he had teased at that party in chris's penthouse, and longed for his overpowering scent of cologne to be a sweet as the mixture of vanilla and lemon.
"yuri," jj murmured into yuri's hair, pulling at his jeans and undoing the zip. yuri but his lip and swallowed back the tears of resistance in his eyes.
i don't want this.
don't make me do this.
i don't want this.
don't make me do this.
jj was running his hands over the strip of yuri's bare torso, and yuri grabbed at fistfuls of the sheets so as not to cry out as he pressed against the bruises hidden away by phitchit's concealer.
i don't want this.
don't make me do this.
i don't want this.
don't make me do this.
and yuri couldn't find comfort in the thought of celestino leaving him alone in his bedroom the next night instead of sending him to a yellow-lit hotel bed; the knowledge that he would have to three more men push him against a bed or bathroom tiles made him feel physically sick.
"yuri," jj moaned again as he kissed and sucked at the tender spot on yuri's neck. and yuri imagined that he could smell pancakes, and that it was victor nikiforov - his victor nikiforov - who's lips were against his skin.
"yuri..."
he wished it wasn't jj leroy moaning his name, and felt his chest tighten once more at the thought of three other men.
i don't want this.
don't make me do this.
i don't want this.
don't make me do this.
and yuri knew that resisting woul only make it hurt even more, and he fought off tears with the memory of celestino's boots last time he refused as jj unzipped his own trousers and yuri turned over, flushed face down on the mattress that yuri thought smelt oh-so-slightly of vanilla.
i'm so sorry, victor.
i told you.
i'm nothing.
i'm worth only sex.
and as jj was kissing down yuri's back, toying with the hem of his crop top, yuri knew that he had to pretend to enjoy it, and not feel the pain of victor nikiforov being in the same house as he degraded himself once again.
yuri forced himself to smile and kiss along jj's jawline, murmuring his name as if it was victor nikiforov.
the pain intensified; yuri didn't know how in hell he was going to make celestino eighty at the least with the resistance and the panic that made it feel as if he were drowning.
yuri, wait.
what if celestino was right?
victor never said that he loved you.
your fantasy is a fantasy.
why resist for a love that doesn't exist?
he'll hurt you, yuri.
he'll hurt phitchit, yuri.
you need to money, yuri.
you're nothing, yuri.
•
victor could almost feel the warmth and the scent of yuri katsuki, and he was on a larger high than any drug could give him at the through of murmuring "i love you" into yuri's, soft, dark, dark hair.
victor was worried about jj, and the ruby dots on his arm; he hadn't seen gil all night, and now a vhctir stepped onto the first landing of his house to be greeted by the remains of those sober enough to try and show off with him as a decoration by their side, he started to worry if jj was shooting up on heroin right then and there. and victor started to feel almost sorry for him, with the stress from his parents for a good place at the finals in barcelona and now that his fiancée had left him.
victor made a mental note to find jj once he had breathed in the scent of bubblegum once more.
he tried guest bedrooms and walked in on drug-fuelled sex more than once, and could almost feel the softness of yuri's hair against his cheek.
"victor," chris said as he turned the door handle of the final door on that landing. "victor wait - "
and victor saw that it was jj leroy who was enjoying the feel of the soft lips, skin and dark, dark hair of yuri katsuki.
well that was long
pt. II tomorrow xx