WHATSAPP • viktuuri ✔️

• 97 pt. 2 •

// OKAY //

song is sex by ...
the 1975 wowza who would've guessed

SORRY ITS RLY LONG

//

in a kitchen filled to the brim with teens and alcohol - not quite a pretty sight - victor nikiforov and yuuri katsuki decided to go along with their clichéd surroundings by making out against the counter, victor's hips pressed back against the counter and yuuri dressed in full black except for phichit's berry red knee socks, looking almost like a pyschopath.

a cute one, with a hickey under his sweater.

"oh wow," came a voice victor recognised cutting through the raucous hum of clamouring voices and drunken singing along to ear-splitting music. yuuri pulled away from him, hands still linked around his neck, to see a boy in a killers shirt with deep-set eyes and a smirk that might as well have been a neon sign reading "asshole jock 101."

"can we help you?" yuuri asked lightly, my in the slightest by bothered by this killers boy or his small cluster of a gang - a few he recognised as main soccer players who the girls tripped over each other for. thankfully, not jj leroy. takeshi was there alright, but yuuri refused to let himself flinch. instead, he just rolled his eyes as if they were wasting his time.

which they were - victor wasn't kissing him anymore, and that was a valuable use of time because he tasted like cherryade and chewing gum and yuuri couldn't get enough of it.

"i didn't know jordan invited fags to his house parties," the boy went on, flicking his hair out of his eyes with one head movement as he tapped the edge of the vodka bottle in hand on the counter. yuuri just rolled his eyes again at that, ready to go to another room and leave the asshole soccer jock with his obediently laughing crew. but he felt victor's grip ever-so-slightly tighten on his waist, and realised that these were probably the guys who'd been giving him shit. about his longer hair, sexuality, anything they could use as a point to hurl insults at and make themselves feel like the big guys.

yuuri had learnt to brush it off, but god, had it been hard though. phichit was still having to act like a mom and harass him to make sure he'd eaten that day, and to make sure he wasn't in a bad place at 3 a.m.

yuuri glanced from the smirking boy with his killers shirt (which pissed yuuri off, because he liked the killers but wished this asshole a fiery death) to victor, and at first wanted to throw the first punch - he now knew exactly how leo had felt with guang-hong having a panic attack in the bathroom - but then had a better idea.

the asshole, he realised, had still been insulting the both of them for this entire time period, looking like he owned the place and smirk that goddamn same smirk.

"you know what else is gay?" yuuri cut in curtly, with a wry red smile to match phichit's knee socks, and turned away bluntly from whoever the fuck this nobody was to kiss victor as hard as he could, hands going up to either side of his face, tongue in his mouth. the boy looked on in apparent disdain, mouth twisting from its smirk to a look of forced disgust, which only made yuuri kiss victor harder as if to kiss him until he couldn't breathe.

"jesus fucking christ," the boy muttered, and he and his gang dispersed. yuuri went on kissing that cherry soda spearmint mouth a while longer, feeling victor's confidence in the way his lips were working and the way his hands had slipped up yuuri's shirt and were pressing him to him tightly.