Saturday - 5:00am
Yuri can appreciate a foreign sunrise as much as the next person, but when that five o’clock sunrise is accompanied by shrieking birds, a pounding headache, and no memory of the previous night, there is no appreciation to be found. He's laying there, on a plush expensive mattress, somewhere between dreaming and waking, and trying in vain to piece together the events of last night.
He remembers his flight from St Petersburg with Viktor and Yuuri, and meeting Beka in baggage claim. He remembers checking into the room he's sharing with Beka, the mini fridge full to bursting with pricey bottles of champagne. He remembers getting ready for a night out, standing side by side in the wide vanity mirror with Beka, indecisive about whether or not to pull his hair back. He knows Beka looked meticulously tousled when they finally left the hotel after sharing a bottle of champagne between them - tousled enough that Yuri worried about others pursuing his friend.
Yuri remembers the first bar, watching Viktor and Yuuri drape themselves all over each other and Mila finally giving in to the urge to kiss Sara. He remembers laughing when Beka whispered in his ear to watch Mickey’s meltdown, just before said meltdown occurred. He remembers Leo’s joy at being able to treat them all to round after round of terribly strong mixed drinks. Phichit was taking too many pictures and Chris was taking his clothes off to dance all over JJ. Things started to get a little fuzzy after Leo bought them a third round. Or was it a fifth?
The music in the bar, Yuri remembers, was loud, and Viktor joined Chris in the removing of clothes. So Yuri tugged Beka out to the sidewalk before he could get dragged into another dance off. He remembers walking to another bar, arm in arm with Beka, matching Beka shot for shot, the tequila burning their throats and warming their stomachs, and the rest of the night is a blur of bright lights and loud music.
More awake, now, than asleep, Yuri digs his thumbs into his eyes to block out the light and groans. His hair is still pulled most of the way back, despite the loose tendrils that have fallen out during his sleep, and he’s bare from the waist up. When he moves something coarse and scratchy drags across his leg that reminds him, absurdly, of tulle. Yuri moves to roll off the bed but a strong arm pulls him back.
“Yura,” Beka whispers, a little panicked, and how had Yuri not noticed they are sharing a bed. “What did we do last night?”
Yuri freezes. What did they do last night? “I… I don’t know. I was just trying to figure that out. ...Why?”
Slowly, the muscles in Beka’s arm relaxes, and he raises his hand from where it’s spread across Yuri’s chest. Yuri catches a glint of gold in the sunlight coming through the open window and his stomach does the weirdest little flip as he belatedly realizes there is an identical gold band on his own finger. Together they lay there in silence, both their hands held out before them, side by side, wearing matching fucking rings. The scratch against his leg that Yuri felt earlier is absolutely a tulle skirt, and upon taking a mental inventory, the skirt seems to be the only thing Yuri’s wearing. Beka, pressed tight against his back - everywhere - is wearing an open button down shirt… and that’s it.
“Did we…” Yuri says, barely daring to put it to words. “Beka, did we get married last night?”
“We must have,” Beka says. It sounds like he’s barely keeping it together. “What I can say, pretty definitively, is that we had sex.”
Yuri nods. He can’t even say he didn’t see it coming; a weekend drinking in Las Vegas is the ideal time to fuck your hot best friend, of course, but… “How can you even tell?”
“You topped,” he deadpans.
“Damn,” Yuri says. “I really wish I could fucking remember that.”
Beka sighs. “Well either way, we need to get up and figure out how we went from bar number two all the way to a chapel last night.”
Yuri hums in agreement. “Preferably before Viktor and Yuuri catch wind of it.”
Friday - 9:30pm
“No, Yura!” Beka’s shouting over the music. “Lemme show you again - salt first,” and he licks the salt from his hand, “drink, and then lime,” he chokes out as he shoves the lime wedge in his mouth. “You try!”
Yuri tries again, and again, and by the fourth tequila shot he's pretty sure he's got it down. Salt, drink, lime. Drink, salt, lime? No that's not right… No matter what order Yuri does the shot in it never gets easier; the tequila burns its way to his stomach and sits, heavily. He is loud and obnoxious, he knows, but he can't stop himself screaming at every man, woman, and otherwise that eyes Beka up and down - and there are a lot of them.
Beka’s dragging Yuri out of that bar by the back of his jacket before he starts a fight, and then they're arm in arm again on the streets of Las Vegas. Yuri is still so, so loud; he has never had tequila before and just as he's beginning to think he's found a new favorite drink his stomach begins to turn over. He stops walking. Beka looks at him a little concernedly.
“Yura?” He asks. “Are you alright? You're looking a little pale.”
“Might throw up,” Yuri hears himself mutter.
“Okay,” Beka says. He is very obviously trying not to laugh. “There's a dumpster over there.”
Yuri throws up behind the dumpster and then feels like he could drink all the tequila in all the bars in this stupid town. He tells Beka this, but Beka just nods and suggests they buy him a toothbrush first.
Saturday - 6:00am
“Uh, Yura…?” Yuri is inspecting his reflection in the bathroom mirror when Beka calls for him. He's got a whole galaxy of love bites on his chest and shoulders and thighs and it makes him absolutely sick to think that he still has no idea what Beka's mouth feels like on his skin - or that could be the hangover that's just now beginning to steamroll him.
Yuri doesn't answer him right away in favor of taking further stock of his body the morning after. It's not just the hickies, after all; at some point last night Yuri got his nipple pierced. Not both, just one. It's almost like he impulsively decided to go for it and then changed his mind after the first one. He wonders if Beka did something equally as impulsive, aside from marrying Yuri, of course.
“Yuri, are you alright?” Beka asks him from the bathroom doorway. He is studiously avoiding allowing his eyes to wander, careful to keep his gaze on Yuri's in the reflection, rather than all the skin that's on display now that Yuri has taken off the dress he woke up in.
“I got my nipple pierced, Beka,” Yuri says, because he really can't think of anything else to say. “It's tender and sore like all these fucking hickies, and I can't remember any of it.” Beka looks like he wants to apologize, so Yuri barrels on before he can. “The worst part, though, is that all of this is evidence of an amazing night, and the last thing I remember is puking behind a dumpster.”
Here, Beka covers a laugh with his fingertips. “Well in that case, I have good news and I have bad news.”
Yuri just waits for him to continue.
“A lot of it is… documented,” Beka timidly explains.
“Documented…” Yuri manages, his mind running through all the terrible possibilities. “By who… exactly?”
“Us, mostly,” Beka says, turning his phone over in his hands. “Also Phichit… and Chris… and Viktor… and Mila… and -”
“I get it,” Yuri interrupts. “By everyone. Jesus. Is it trending yet?”
“Off and on for about three hours now,” Beka tells him.
“Yakov and Lilia are going to kill me.”
“So what happened after the dumpster?” Yuri asks, pulling a bath robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door and throwing it on.
Friday - 11:00pm
“And here we have Yuri Plisetsky, four time GPF gold medalist and Olympic World Record holder in his short program score, brushing his teeth in a public bathroom sink,” Beka teases, pointing his phone at Yuri. “Welcome to Las Vegas, kitten.”
“Fuck off,” Yuri spits, covering the phone’s camera with his hand as he rinses his mouth out with metallic tasting water. “Where to next?”
“Are you sure you can handle more?” Beka asks, skeptical, as he puts his phone back in his pocket. “We've only been to two bars and you already got sick.”
“I told you, I feel better now,” Yuri assures him. And he means it.
“Fine,” he relents. “Bar or casino?”
“Casino?” Yuri lights up at the suggestion. “I mean I don't know about you, but I've got money to blow.”
So they head to a casino. A good one, right there on The Strip. And they drink. Beka buys Yuri a gigantic frozen margarita, and then another, and another. They drink until they can't see the cards in their hands, and they are losing money like it's their job.
It hasn't even been an hour when trouble starts to brew. There is a big big man with a thick beard and even thicker shoulders a few tables away that keeps making eyes at Yuri. Yuri is pretty sure Beka has noticed him, too, given the way he inches just a little bit closer and occasionally runs a hand down Yuri's back. He keeps asking if Yuri is doing alright, and Yuri continues to reassure that yes, he's fine.
They take pictures of each other, selfies of the two of them, artistically lit pictures of their drinks, and they laugh. They're sitting so close that their thighs are touching and Yuri is overwhelmed with the urge to kiss Beka. He's considering it, seriously considering it, when all hell finally breaks loose. They are moving away from their Blackjack table together, arguing over slot machines versus roulette, when the bearded man approaches them.
“Hey sweetheart,” he slurs at Yuri, “ready to ditch that loser and get fucked by a real man?”
Yuri can't help himself. He laughs. He laughs so hard he doubles over with it. “No fucking way,” he says. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn't fuck you even if you paid me.”
Beka smiles and puts a hand on the small of Yuri's back to usher him away, but then a big hand swats Yuri on the ass. Everything happens fast, then - Beka throws the first punch and blood shoots up his forearm when his fist connects with the guy’s nose. Yuri tugs a set of keys from the guy's back pocket and they run. The big guy chases them out of the casino and Yuri shoves the keys at Beka, who flips through them while he and Yuri continue to run, and then he makes a sound of triumph.
“Here!” He barks, and tugs Yuri's wrist toward a motorcycle sitting on the curb. The man chasing them spits out threats and curses, but he's too big and ungainly to keep up. Beka shoves a key from the guy's key ring into the ignition of the motorcycle and starts it up. The engine roars to life beneath them.
As they drive away, Yuri gives the asshole the finger and shouts, “Fuck you!”
They are riding an adrenaline high fueled by too many margaritas and grand theft auto but it feels like goddamn living. Yuri wraps his arms tightly around Beka's waist and hangs on for dear life, savoring the way Beka caresses his forearm with quick, careful fingers while they drive.
Saturday - 6:15am
They've gone through everything in Beka's phone, now, that's been documented of their blackout, and there are some things that still don't make any sense. Where did they get the motorcycle so many of their selfies have been taken on? And who is the strange Indian man laughing with Beka in this picture at this diner? And which of them suggested the chapel with the Elvis impersonator? And where in the fuck did Yuri find a designer wedding gown at such an hour?
Yuri hasn't dared to even plug his phone into the charging cable yet, trusting Beka to field any and all inquiries surrounding his current state.
They're sitting together on the bed they shared last night, delicately avoiding the topic of their marriage. If the pictures are to be believed, there is a marriage certificate and everything, not that they've gone hunting for it yet. Yuri doesn't know what to think - he's all mixed up inside. He knows how he feels about Beka: he knows it's hardly platonic and more than sexual, but he is also so young, and this decision was poorly thought out and probably so impractical. Despite all that, though, he kind of wants to make it work. He wants to hyphenate their last names and get a house together in whatever city Beka will call home with him. He wants to adopt a bunch of cats and babysit the gaggle of brats Viktor and Yuuri are bound to have.
It scares him, a little, to look at Beka and consider these things. Before now he has never considered a future like this - with someone, apart from skating. He has always knows that someday he will retire from a life on the ice and that it will be time to move on, but this… this wasn't something he'd ever anticipated.
“Beka,” Yuri says, a little haltingly, looking down at his ring and absently spinning it on his finger, “is this… I mean… are we going to stay married or not?”
Beka looks at him, his expression unreadable, and then looks down at his own ring.
Saturday - 12:45am
They've just left a tattoo studio and Yuri's nipple fucking hurts. Beka has a tiger head freshly inked into his shoulder blade and he's got Yuri pressed against an alley wall. Yuri's hands are buried in the soft tresses of Beka's hair and all he can think about is the way Beka's tongue tastes. It's a fucking miracle they haven't stripped each other naked right here in the alley. Yuri's got one leg hooked around Beka's hip and Beka is rutting up against him like he's just discovered friction. They're panting and moaning against each other's skin and it's surreal. Yuri is so drunk he's terrified he'll forget this by morning, but hopes that if he prays enough some deity will be kind enough to let him have this.
He has his phone out, and he thinks he may have been taking a video or a picture or something to commemorate this monumental shift in their dynamic. The kissing eventually stops when Beka, out of the blue, pulls back to announce that he's hungry, and Yuri's stomach responds with an impatient growl, and so they get back on the stolen motorcycle and take off to find some food.
There's a twenty four hour diner in the middle of the desert, a few miles away from the lights and chaos of The Strip. It's shaped like a giant metallic pill on stilts and Yuri loves it. It's the kind of cliche he used to see on tv as a kid, from its eerily empty parking lot to its strange patrons. They order coffee and waffles, and they make small talk with the owner, a tiny Indian man by the name of Kuth who recognizes them from television.
“My daughter, she skates,” he tells them, and then, to Beka, “she thinks you are very handsome.”
“Your daughter had better back off,” Yuri says around a mouthful of butter and syrup. “This one belongs to me.”
“Is that so?” Kuth asks with a gleam in his eye. “Las Vegas brings this out in people. It's why we have so many wedding chapels.”
Yuri and Beka stop chewing the moment his words sink in, and they look at each other in understanding.
“Beka,” Yuri breathes, and Beka nods.
“Yes,” he says quickly. “Yeah, absolutely, let's do it.” He turns to Kuth. “Kuth, my friend, we need your help.”
Saturday - 1:56am
The top of Yuri's strapless dress won't fucking stay up. The beading around the neckline is delicate and careful, feminine in a way Yuri finds he absolutely loves. His leather jacket is open overtop of the dress, and his heavy combat boots are a perfect complement to the short, ruffled tulle skirt. He doesn't have a bouquet of flowers, but the chapel provided him with a bottle of expensive champagne to carry instead. It's open, and Yuri is drinking from it as he staggers down the aisle.
Beka looks… well, Beka always looks fucking great, but right now he has never looked sexier. He is standing straight-backed beside the Elvis impersonator, hands clasped in front of him, fiddling with the rings he is holding. He's smiling at Yuri, and he can't seem to take his eyes off him.
Everyone is here: Viktor and Yuuri are in the front row, a phone in each of their hands, recording everything. Chris is just behind them, crying happy tears and clutching his own bottle of champagne in one hand and JJ’s arm in the other. JJ is blessedly quiet while he watches, but there seems to be a sparkle in his eye that might be an unshed tear. Phichit looks like he can barely stand, but he's still taking picture after picture while Seung Gil, stoic as always, holds him up. Mila and Sara are giggling together, hardly paying attention to anyone but each other, and Mickey keeps batting Emil away as if he's an annoying insect. Leo and Guang Hong are absent, likely already back to their own hotel room in the throes of something sexier than what's happening here.
When Yuri reaches Beka's side he takes one last long pull from the bottle and then offers it to Beka, who graciously takes it and does the same before setting it down on the floor, out of their way.
Saturday - 6:20am
“Before I answer,” Beka says quietly, “there's one more video you need to see. It hasn't been posted anywhere, and the only people who have seen it, from what I understand are Viktor, Yuuri, and now myself. We improvised our vows. Would you like to hear them?”
Yuri nods, secretly glad to put off Beka's reply for just a few more moments.
Beka hands his phone over to Yuri. For a moment there's the wobbling of someone trying to steady the camera and the fuzzy in and out of it trying to focus. Yuri and Beka are in the center of the shot, standing so close together it's a miracle either of them can breathe. Beka's cupping Yuri's face with his hand and looking at him like the sun rises and sets with his smile. They’re swaying together, far too inebriated for their own good, and Yuri in the here and now wants to die of secondhand embarrassment. He can’t believe the way they’re looking at each other, and that other people were there and saw them like that.
Beka's vows are short, quiet, and so slurred they’re a little hard to understand. “Ask me again tomorrow, and my answer will be the same: I love you, Yura, and I'm in this for good if you are.”
Beka slides Yuri's ring on his finger and then waits. Yuri struggles with his words.
“I can't believe it's taken us this long to say it out loud,” Yuri murmurs, looking down at the ring he’s putting on Beka so he doesn't have to look him in the eye to say it. “Ask me again tomorrow and I'll say the same thing: I love you, and I want to marry you again, properly, when we're sober.”
And then, in the video, they're kissing; gently, at first, and then with desperate, sloppy purpose. Beka draws Yuri closer, his hands spread wide over Yuri's back, and Yuri throws his arms around Beka's neck and smiles into the kiss. Viktor, who must be the one holding the phone, is cooing and making little awwww sounds at them, and Yuri, here on their bed watching all this on Beka's phone, is surprised it's taken him this long to start rolling his eyes.
“I meant it,” Beka whispers, gently plucking the phone from Yuri's fingers. “I know I don't remember, but I stand by what I said. I want to stay married, if that's what you want.”
“I do,” Yuri says.
Saturday - 2:35am
Beka carries Yuri over the threshold of their hotel room, and Yuri kicks the door frame on their way in. They are loud and drunk, their champagne bottle sloshing and splashing everywhere. Yuri’s back connects with a mattress in the same moment Beka snatches the bottle from his grip. He sets it down on the bedside table and crawls atop Yuri. Beka lets his fingernails drag across Yuri’s inner thighs and Yuri feels a shudder quake through him. Beka’s hands move to the back of the dress to tug down the zipper and then the fabric, and his mouth latches onto Yuri’s collar bone. He licks and nibbles and sucks a bruise into Yuri’s skin.
“Are we going to do this?” Beka whispers into Yuri’s neck.
“Yeah, Beka, we’re doing this,” Yuri pants in return, his hands shoved up the back of Beka’s shirt, clawing at the skin of his back.
Beka draws down the lace briefs Yuri’s got on underneath the dress and tosses them over his shoulder to be lost somewhere at the foot of the bed. And then he’s ducking down to take Yuri’s cock in his mouth. Yuri sees stars. He’s got his head tossed back in bliss, his fingers curling in dark strands of soft hair, his hips moving of their own volition to get himself as deep in Beka’s throat as he can be. And God, Beka just fucking takes it; he opens his throat and sucks Yuri down to the root, the flat of his tongue rough on the underside of Yuri’s cock. It feels so good, almost too good, and Yuri has to bite his lip until he tastes blood to stop himself coming. The vibrations in Beka’s throat when he moans around him has Yuri twitching and stuttering and jerking his hips even more. Yuri can’t see Beka around the skirt but he really hopes Beka has a hand down his own pants because there is a very good chance Yuri won’t last much longer like this.
“Yura, will you fuck me?” Beka asks hastily, pulling off Yuri’s dick and crawling back up his body.
Yuri is still reeling from the sudden lack of Beka’s mouth, but he nods anyway and moves to shove the dress the rest of the way off him.
“No, keep it on,” Beka says, and for just a moment they are still.
“Okay,” Yuri breathes, “okay, yeah. I didn’t bring condoms.”
“Do you have lube, at least?” Beka asks. “I got tested after that whole thing with JJ and Bella, and I haven’t had sex since.”
“That whole thing with JJ…” Yuri mutters, a little confused, and then, “Y’know what? I don’t wanna know… later, maybe. I have lube, I’m clean. Yes?”
“Yes,” Beka affirms, and so Yuri gets up from the bed and stumbles across the room to the bag he still hasn’t unpacked. He only has to dig for a minute before finding the bottle of lube he packed, but that minute is long enough for him to somewhat get his bearings. He is still way, way too drunk for this, and may not even be able to come at this point, but the temptation of finding out what Beka feels like wrapped around him is too strong to say no.
Beka opens beautifully for Yuri’s questing fingers; his hips roll up into it and he spreads his legs in shameless need. He’s hard as a rock and leaking from the tip, and his shirt is open down the front, so much flesh on display for Yuri’s mouth to roam. Beka is quiet beneath him but his breathing and his expressions give him away. He lets his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back, and Yuri watches those long dark eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. Beka’s fucking beautiful, and for just a moment Yuri finds himself feeling a little jealous that fucking shithead JJ got to see Beka like this before Yuri. But then he shoves that aside because so what? JJ may have gotten to see it first but now Yuri will get to see it regularly, daily even… Yuri will get to take Beka apart like this, three fingers deep while his body begs for even more.
“Ready?” Yuri asks him, gently pulling his fingers free of his body.
“Don’t hold back,” Beka says, and it sounds like a command. “I want to feel you in the morning when I can’t remember any of this.”
Yuri doesn’t use as much lube as he probably should. When he finally presses inside Beka it is tight and scorching hot. Beka’s eyes are wide and his head tipped back. Yuri takes advantage of the position to seal his lips on the long exposed line of Beka’s throat and begins to thrust. He loses track of time and space, hears himself groaning and crying out Beka’s name.
“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers. “Fuck, Beka, you’re so good. So hot. So fucking… oh, God, Beka, you’re perfect.”
Beka moves with abandon and Yuri can hardly keep up. They can’t find a good rhythm, too caught up in chasing their own climax.
“Harder,” Beka gasps, his need for more finally getting the better of him, and Yuri complies. He’s sweating, moaning, trembling, overstimulated and ready to finally come but he can’t yet. He needs Beka to lose control first, needs to see Beka fall apart.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers urgently. “Get yourself off, I want to see you come.”
Yuri repositions, pushing himself up so he’s not crouched low over Beka anymore. The shift in position seems to press Yuri’s cock against Beka’s prostate - his cock jumps against the taut muscles of his abdomen and he sucks in a surprised breath. He’s got a hand wrapped around himself, stroking furiously, a tiny little “Ah, ah, ah,” getting caught in his throat on every exhale. Yuri’s got Beka’s hips in his hands, his thrusts sharp and deep and quick.
They’re racing toward the finish line together, exhausted by everything that’s happened tonight and so, so ready to finally come and fall asleep in each other’s arms. There’s no way either of them will remember a single thing by the time they wake tangled up in each other, but it’s all documented. They will deal with the fall out in the morning, when they can think logically, but tonight they are newlyweds, clinging to one another in the pursuit of more, together.
“Coming,” Beka gasps in warning. “Yura, fuck, I’m coming.”
And he is, in thick hot stripes that shoot up his chest to land all the way up on his neck and chin. Without thinking, Yuri leans down to lick him clean, and the squeezing and twitching of Beka’s muscles around him finally do Yuri in. A groan punches out of him and he bites down on Beka’s shoulder as he empties himself inside. The tension in both of them relaxes, completely, and they are limp against one another even as Yuri lets his softening erection slip free of Beka’s body. He could fall asleep like this if Beka let him, lying atop his chest and between his open legs. It’s like he’s found where he belongs.
But Beka maneuvers them into a more comfortable sleeping position, his chest pressed against Yuri’s, both of them lying on their sides and holding each other close.
“I love you,” Beka whispers as he kisses Yuri again.
Yuri whispers back, “I love you too,” but Beka is already snoring softly into his throat. Yuri is still waiting for the room to stop spinning. “Please don’t change your mind about this in the morning, Beka,” he pleads, and falls into a deep sleep.
Saturday - 7:00am
Viktor is on his second cup of coffee by the time Yuuri finishes with his shower. He’s been scrolling through his phone, reliving all of last night’s excitement vicariously through social media. He didn’t expect Yurio to stand by his drunken, poorly thought out decision to marry Otabek last night, but they have posted to Instagram an album of pictures that contains their marriage certificate, their rings, and a sickeningly sweet screen grab from the video Viktor recorded last night at the chapel. It’s the moment right after their kiss, where Yuri and Otabek are looking at each other with new eyes. Viktor knows that look, of course, because his and Yuuri’s wedding photographer captured the very same moment at their wedding, and it’s currently hanging over their mantle back at home in Hasetsu.
Viktor is proud of Yurio; it’s not everyday you get to watch a boy you helped mold into the adult he has become finally blossom and fall in love. It’s been seven years since Yurio’s first GPF win, and the years have been very kind to him. He has made friends and rivalries and opened up to so many people. He is a few short years away from retirement, even if he will never admit it until he must, and his life with Otabek is bound to be fulfilling and happy for both of them.
“How are the newlyweds?” Yuuri asks, throwing himself onto the sofa beside Viktor and tucking his feet underneath him.
“Still in love,” Viktor smiles.
“Good for them,” Yuuri says softly, genuinely. “They deserve it.”
“They certainly do,” Viktor agrees, and sets his phone aside to draw his husband closer in search of a kiss.