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For a while, as the world gets a bit grayer and his confidence curdles into complacency, Victor feels like the only surprise left in the universe. His competitors skate well, but never well enough; the media asks so many questions, all of which they’ve asked before; Yakov yells and Yura shouts and Chris flirts and Mila laughs and Georgi cries. It’s up to Victor to shake things up a bit.
Of course, surprising people takes work and planning and dedication. It doesn’t really leave much room for spontaneity—but Victor’s out to surprise others, not himself. And it’s difficult, more with each passing season. He’s working with just himself and the ice, after all, and there’s only so many ways to make the old feel new again.
He’s not...he’s not satisfied. With himself, with his programs, with the ice. Everything feels off, in some understated way, his whole world skewed just a little bit left of center.
Katsuki Yuuri is a surprise. A drunk, assertive, pole-dancing surprise.
He’s a whirlwind in human form; Victor’s spent thirty minutes predicting what will happen next, and been wrong every time.
Katsuki doesn’t just lurch around until he passes out—no, he demands a dance-off with Yura, of all people. And he might be wasted, but he can move. It’s the first time Victor’s ever seen Yura grin at a banquet; it’s also the closest his little rinkmate’s come to actually murdering someone. ...Probably. Hopefully.
And then Chris teasingly makes a comment about not expecting Yuuri to know anything but ballet and ballroom, and Victor’s not sure where the pole comes from or why no one has ushered little Yura away to spare his innocent eyes, but he’s not about to stop watching long enough to do it himself.
Sponsors and coaches and Michele Crispino gape in horror—and not just at Katsuki and Chris. Mila and Sara haven’t stopped wolf-whistling and cat-calling since the pole appeared; Yura’s shouting incoherently but still sneaking Looks at the Japanese Yuuri; and Victor’s been laughing and staring and taking pictures since Katsuki came staggering out of his champagne flute fortress. Yakov will probably lose what’s left of his hair over all of his skaters being in the thick of it, but it’ll do him some good, focusing on something other than his divorce.
The pole dance will be the end of it all, of course; what could possibly top stripping at a banquet? While drinking champagne straight from the bottle and spraying it out on the crowd?
Except Katsuki’s only partially dressed himself again before he throws himself into Victor’s arms and flexes against him in a way that is thoroughly distracting and invites him home and asks him to be his coach.
Victor starts to think that Katsuki Yuuri is perhaps too surprising. He’s shaken, genuinely shaken by a few drunk words, and he tries to get himself together even as he lets himself be pulled into a dance.
It’s supposed to be a competition. Victor takes comfort in that, because he understands competitions. He wins competitions.
He doesn’t win this one. Though he doesn’t lose, either—no, at some point, he and Yuuri both forget they’re in a dance-off and just start dancing together. Victor tries to hold onto a sense of distance, of control, but Katsuki’s gone from angry with Yura and challenging with Chris to playful with Victor, and that’s…
Yuuri’s shirt is undone, bare chest gleaming with sweat, and his eyes are dark and a bit mischievous, and he might’ve downed bottles of champagne all on his own, but his form is perfect and his hands are warm and steady against Victor, and--
Katsuki Yuuri is chaos. Pure, thrilling chaos. Around him, even the grays of the world seem vibrant and new.
And Victor wants. He’s breathless with it, nerves sparking, fingertips tingling, heart thumping overtime. He’s electric with feeling, back from the dead, and if this is Yuuri in defeat, he can’t wait to see him in victory.