M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

4.| party favour

LOLITA
by lana del rey

the victor nikiforov was at another pumping, fast-paced, drug-laced party in chris giacometti's penthouse, and once again, he was bored out of his fucking mind. he had the trace of some girl's lipstick on his mouth, and a bottle of vanilla vodka, clear as diamonds, in his left hand. all around him were those same drugged-up rich kids, slipping a few bank notes for party favours, knocking back shots and dress straps slipping.

god, victor found it all so fucking boring.

he was giving serious thought to either hitting up on more than he knew he should, or just looking in the direction of some girl or boy to get them to wind up in alien sheets tasting like flavoured vodka and lipstick at 3 a.m. this he was giving serious thought to, but a dark-haired boy he recognised almost at once coming over to the couch on which he was sat caught his attention, and he managed a teasing, alcoholic smile.

"look who it is," victor smirked, and the boy rolled his eyes and sat down next to him on the couch, crossing his ankles and shaking dark hair out of his eyes.

"so is this what you meant," victor leant closer to him and raised his voice over the pulsating music, "when you said that it was usually you who came to me?"

"perhaps," the boy said softly, playfully, pouting his lips a little in way that made victor swallow down more vanilla vodka and want this same dark-haired boy to be the one he ended up next to with a comedown at 3 in the morning.

"you gonna drink yourself to death?"

victor laughed, and shook his head.

"you ever got anything nice to say?"

the dark-haired boy smiled at that. god, victor found him attractive when he turned his head like that. he offered him the bottle, and he took it.

"so, let me guess," victor went on, as the boy raised the bottle to those soft-looking lips and left the taste of vanilla vodka on his tongue, "how much?"

the boy laughed again, and leant his head on the back of the couch so that he was staring up at the ceiling. it looked as though he weren't part of the artwork of drugs, sex and armani suits displayed before the both of them. he had his eyes closed for a second, and victor didn't know why, but he found him more pretty than attractive right then.

he took the bottle back from yuri's hands and drank down more. yuri opened his eyes again, and turned so that he was leaning on the couch with the right side of his body, facing victor.

"so you are gonna drink yourself to death, huh?" he teased again, and suddenly victor hated hearing that, hated how his cocaine-tinted vodka-licked brain was unsure of how to answer the boy's teasing tone.

he hated that at a party like this one, being the victor nikiforov, he couldn't pay this one fucking whore for whatever party favour he fucking well pleased.

"what's it to you?" he shot back, the edge in his voice audible amid the thickness of obnoxious music and drunken seduction. "you just want to suck my dick for money, don't you? why the fuck would you care if i'm an alcoholic, huh? i'll still pay up."