As soon as they enter the concert area, Yuri turns to Victor and sneers.
“Okay, we’re here. You can leave now.”
Victor gives his little brother a placid smile. “No can do, Yura. I promised Dedushka that I’d look after you. Or do you not know what chaperone means?”
Yuri, predictably, just scowls at him, but makes no further attempt to get rid of him. Instead, he stalks through the crowd, forcing Victor to keep up with him, though that’s not too difficult. Even among a sea of metal, fishnet, and leather, Yuri’s purple jacket makes him an easy target to spot.
Victor thought his little brother was over-dressed for a simple punk rock concert, but as they walk closer to the stage, he can see that Yuri’s wardrobe is quite modest. Really, the purple leather jacket is the most ostentatious thing he’s got on, save for maybe the large bejeweled cross around his neck.
Victor is the one who feels out of place, now. He’d opted to wear a simple maroon v-neck and dark jeans, but he’s severely under-dressed compared to the other concert-goers. He sees leather-and-mesh leggings, fishnet tops, jackets with metal studs all over, and hair of hundreds of different colors – though Victor can’t really make fun of that last one.
At any rate, Yuri seems happy enough to be here, and that’s all that matters. Naturally, their grandfather had been hesitant when Yuri brought up the concert, since Yuri was all of sixteen, and he wasn’t crazy about his favorite genre of music to begin with. But Victor took one look at his little brother’s earnest, pleading expression, and offered to be his chaperone for the night.
It was worth it just for the ecstatic grin Yuri’d given him in return.
He continues following Yuri through the auditorium, keeping a careful eye on his back as he muscles past people to get a good vantage point. Finally, Yuri comes to a stop in a spot he apparently deems acceptable enough, and he turns back to his brother, still scowling, but that’s his default expression, so Victor merely smiles back.
“So… When do they go on?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard above the chatter of the crowd. The stage is pretty close to where they are, though it’s currently empty, save for mic stands and a drum set.
“The show starts at seven,” Yuri answers. Victor goes to check his phone, but his brother beats him to it. “It’s six forty-five, so fifteen minutes. Unless the opening act decides to play early…” A hopeful expression glazes over Yuri’s face, causing Victor to raise an eyebrow.
“Opening act? Aren’t we here for the main event?”
Abruptly, Yuri scowls again. Somehow, the effect of it is lost in the haze of ‘smokey-eye’ makeup that Yuri’s attempted on himself.
“Duh, but the band they got for the opening act is awesome, too. Generation Partizan; they’re local. Beka’s taken me to see some of their shows before.”
“Ah.” Victor closes his mouth at the mention of Yuri’s best friend Otabek. Victor likes him well enough, but their grandfather thinks he’s a bad influence; he’d been the one to introduce Yuri to this type of music, after all. The only reason Otabek isn’t here with Yuri is because he’s out of town on a family trip. He’d given his ticket to Yuri and asked him to have fun on his behalf. Victor thought it was sweet.
Dedushka thinks it’s further corruption of his Yuratchka’s innocence.
Victor lets the subject drop and instead casually observes the crowd. Victor’s friends had tried telling him horror stories about what goes on at concerts like these – loud screaming and cursing, on-stage orgies and public sex, actual satanic rituals – but thankfully, Victor ignored them. Clothing choices aside, there’s nothing inherently ‘corrupt’ about these people. They look like normal folks, out to have fun and listen to music.
Plus, his brother is one of them, so he can’t be too harsh.
His gaze slides from a woman with shockingly bright green hair to a spot closer to where he and Yuri stand, and abruptly, he freezes.
His eyes have just landed on an ass in the tightest pair of red jeans Victor’s ever beheld. And it’s a gorgeous ass, too. One of the prettiest on Earth, Victor’s sure. He’s got half a mind to take out his phone and get a picture, if not for posterity, then to send to Chris, his best friend and fellow ass connoisseur. Before his fingers can so much as twitch, however, the figure whom that glorious ass belongs to turns, and Victor finally takes in the rest of it.
His face turns as red as those sinful jeans. Oh, fuck.
Because God has apparently decided to bless Victor on this day, the ass is attached to the most attractive man he’s ever seen; lean and built, pale skin, dark, slicked-back hair, and Asian features, he looks like he’s stepped right out of Victor’s wet dreams and into the real world.
Victor actually gulps as the man turns completely around. In addition to the painted-on jeans, he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off his toned forearms, collar popped, and a black vest. He’s not the most ostentatious person in the room by far, but Victor still can’t look away.
Tight Jeans is talking to someone, a guy with an undercut and a leather jacket, but the rest of the audience has now become a blur. Victor’s almost positive he’s drooling. Jesus Christ.
Suddenly, Tight Jeans glances in Victor’s direction, catching his eye. Victor feels his body stiffen as the gorgeous stranger blinks at him – his eyes are brown, Victor notes, though it’s a bit hard to be sure in the auditorium’s low light. He doesn’t dwell on it, though, because Tight Jeans smiles at him.
Well, ‘smiles’ isn’t quite right. More like smirked. Tight Jeans is smirking at him, eyes hooded with what is obviously flirtation, and to make matters even worse, he licks his lips.
Victor might’ve squeaked. He’s still not sure.
His brain flatlines as the stranger whispers something to his friend and then starts to approach him, leaving Undercut to watch him leave. Tight Jeans saunters with a sway of his hips, and God, how can one person embody eroticism so completely?
He makes his way over to Victor, until he’s practically chest-to-chest with him, and fuck he’s even prettier up close oh God Victor please calm down –
“You lost, baby?” Tight Jeans purrs, his smirk widening as he takes in Victor’s flustered expression.
Mercifully, he’s shorter than Victor, so he doesn’t also have to be intimidated by height. Victor clears his throat and tries to speak. Key word: tries.
“I, uh… N-No, I’m not… What?”
He wants to crawl in a hole and die, but Tight Jeans – man, he’s really got to learn his name – seems charmed by his lack of eloquence, if his small chuckle is anything to go by.
“I just mean, you kind of stand out.”
“O-Oh, well…” Victor raises his hand and rubs the back of his neck. His eyes are drawn to the stranger’s face, most particularly his lips. They’re still curled up in a teasing smile, but they look so soft and – is he wearing lip gloss? Victor gulps again. “I-I guess I do. This, um, isn’t really my scene.”
“I figured,” says Tight Jeans. He takes a step closer, so now their chests are definitely touching.
Victor’s friends might’ve had a point about the public sex thing.
“What’s your name, baby?”
Victor snaps out of his daze at the new question. “V-Victor.”
Tight Jeans hums. “Tell me, Victor,” he starts, but Victor’s about ready to explode just from hearing his name drip from his mouth like honey, “if this isn’t your scene, what brings you here? And who do I have to thank for making it happen?”
Victor blinks. Oh God, he flirting. He’s actually flirting with Victor. His tongue feels like it’s inflated to twice its size in his mouth, and has thinking always been this difficult?
“B-Brother,” he manages to get out. “My little brother. He’s, uh, really into… this.” He gestures at the crowd as if to elaborate. “I’m… chaperoning.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” says Tight Jeans, to his credit, he looks like he means it. His expression has softened the slightest bit. “Which one’s your brother, then?”
Victor forces himself to tear his eyes from Tight Jeans to look behind him. But, to his horror, Yuri is no longer there.
“Shit!” he curses, not noticing how Tight Jeans startles. “Yuri!”
“W-What?” asks the stranger.
Victor cups his hands around his mouth. “Yuri!!”
“I’m right here, fucking hell!” a voice from a few feet away replies grouchily. Victor’s head whips around to see Yuri standing there, a soda in hand, looking just as irritated as he always does. The panic that seized his heart for a moment subsides, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
“Where the hell did you go?” Victor asks, enveloping his little brother in a hug, not caring if the younger teen tried to shove him away. Which he did, almost immediately.
“Ugh, I just went to buy a drink, calm the fuck down!”
Victor lets himself get pushed off, and he’s almost smiling at his brother’s usual antics when he catches sight of Tight Jeans again. He looks bewildered, but he quickly smiles when Victor catches his eye again.
“Your name is Yuuri, too?” he asks Yuri, who finally takes notice of him.
Much like Victor, Yuri’s jaw drops, but apparently for an entirely different reason.
“Y-You…” Yuri’s mouth flaps wordlessly for a few moments. “You’re… You’re Yuuri Katsuki!”
Victor looks at his brother, confused, before swinging his gaze back onto Tight Jeans – or is it Yuuri Katsuki? He looks just as confused, but it fades quickly, and soon, he’s smiling politely at Yuri.
“I am,” he confirms. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Yuri gawks at him for several seconds before slapping Victor in the arm.
“Ow!” Victor hisses.
“That’s Yuuri Katsuki!” Yuri whispers back.
Victor stares hopelessly between the two of them. “Okay…?”
Yuri gestures at Yuuri, arms flailing, while the latter looks on, obviously amused.
“The Yuuri Katsuki! Rhythm guitarist from Generation Partizan!”
Victor blinks again, brow furrowed. “And that’s… a band, right?”
Yuri looks like he’s about to combust. “They’re the opening act I was telling you about! For God’s sake, Victor!”
Victor holds up his hands defensively. “How was I supposed to know that?”
Yuri opens his mouth to yell some more, but he’s cut off by the sound of someone giggling. The brothers turn their heads to see Yuuri holding a hand to his mouth, trying to smother the laughter before it got too loud. Victor blushes at the sight – Yuuri looks adorable like that, in contrast to the ‘sex-kitten’ vibe he was giving off earlier.
Yuri blushes, too, but probably more from embarrassment than a sexual crisis. He fumbles around, reaching into his pocket, and to Victor’s surprise, pulls out a pen and a small autograph book. Was he always carrying that?
Yuri shakily holds out the items to Yuuri, who’s smile only grows as he takes them. He seems to understand what the young teen is asking, as he flips open the book and uncaps the pen, scrawling his name across the page. He hands it back to Yuri, who looks like it’s Christmas morning, and tilts his head towards Victor.
Before Yuuri can speak, however, Undercut emerges from the crowd, placing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, which draws away his attention. Victor frowns, suddenly uncomfortable with the casual intimacy that Undercut initiates.
“Yo, Yuuri, we gotta do warm-ups!” he says in an admonishing tone. “Did you get the guy’s number or what?”
Undercut looks at Victor, who stiffens, but Yuuri just groans.
“Not yet, JJ,” he says, sending him a pout. “I’ll be there in a sec, start without me.”
JJ makes a face, glancing between Yuuri and Victor, before finally shrugging, and he removes his hand from Yuuri – to Victor’s relief. “Alright,” he says simply as he turns away, disappearing back into the crowd.
Yuuri turns back to Victor and Yuri, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, I gotta go…”
“I-I understand,” Victor stammers, earning a strange look from Yuri. “You should, ah, go and warm up…”
Yuuri’s smile turns into that smirk again. “I will. But, before I do… Well, I might as well just ask. Can I get your phone number?”
Victor inhales sharply, keeping his wide eyes on Yuuri, despite the clearly audible gasp he hears from his brother beside him.
“W… Why?” is all Victor can manage to ask.
Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re hot?”
Distantly, Victor hears a rip, then something is shoved into his chest. He looks down and sees a torn piece of paper from Yuri’s autograph book, and his little brother holding out a pen.
“Give him your fucking number,” he hisses.
Victor startles into action. “Okay, okay!” He writes out his number and then hands the paper to Yuuri, who takes it coyly.
“Thanks, Victor,” he says, licking his lips for the second time that night. Victor might faint. “I’ll find you after we perform, okay?”
“I, uh… O-Okay.”
Victor and Yuri watch as Yuuri strolls away, tucking Victor’s number in the back pocket of those jeans.
Yuri is muttering to himself, but Victor can still hear him.
“He’s even hotter up close,” his brother breathes. “Beka’s gonna be so jealous…”
Victor honestly doesn’t remember anything after Generation Partizan leaves the stage.
To be fair, he doesn’t remember much while they were performing, either; all he can recall is watching Yuuri perform.
He’s breathtaking – his fingers fly across his guitar, perfectly in sync with the rest of the band. Victor’s still not one for rock music, but he could make an exception if it meant watching Yuuri play. He can’t take his eyes off him, not even once.
He barely remembers Yuri shouting over the music, pointing out the other members of the band. There was JJ, the lead guitarist and vocalist, Phichit the drummer, and Mila the bassist, and they were all good. But Victor still doesn’t pay an iota of attention to any of them, not when Yuuri starts sweating, rivulets of water slipping down his neck, soaking his shirt and making it almost translucent.
It takes all of Victor’s willpower to not pop a boner in the middle of the concert, because that would just be too much.
Anyway, after Generation Partizan finishes up their set, they leave the stage to make way for the main event. Not that Victor can even remember their names. But Yuri is screaming his head off with the rest of the crowd as they take to the stage, so Victor resigns himself to the fact that he can’t convince his brother to let them leave early.
He just wants to retreat to his apartment and quietly fantasize about the hot guitarist in peace, is that too much to ask?
Apparently, because not five minutes after the new band starts playing, Victor feels a presence sidle up next to him, and he turns his head to see Yuuri, still flushed and sweaty from his own performance. Victor’s attempts to keep his dick under control die a quick and painful death.
“Hey,” Yuuri greets, far too nonchalantly for someone who looks like sin incarnate. “Did you like our set?”
It takes Victor’s mind a few minutes to reboot. “Y-Yeah! You’re really good…”
Yuuri beams at the small compliment, clumsy as it may have been, and links his arm with Victor’s.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward,” he starts, leaning in close so that he’s practically whispering in Victor’s ear, “but I was thinking, after the show, we could…”
He trails off suggestively, making Victor’s entire face – probably his entire body, honestly – heat up at the implication.
Unfortunately, even as his cock twitches in interest, his eyes are unwillingly drawn towards Yuri, who’s jumping up and down with the music.
Victor holds back a sigh.
“I-I’m sorry,” he says to Yuuri, who blinks. “But my brother has a curfew, and I have to get him home, so…”
“Oh, right,” Yuuri says quickly, his expression morphing to one of contriteness. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot the whole ‘chaperoning’ thing…”
“I-It’s fine…” Victor replies. Then, after a few moments, “And I mean, you have my number, so…”
Yuuri brightens almost immediately. “So, if I wanted to call you up and ask you out…”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Victor finishes, smiling.
“Good.” Yuuri presses himself closer to Victor’s side. “I’d never forgive myself if I let such a hottie get away.”
Victor’s certain his face is permanently red by now. “The feeling is mutual,” he murmurs. They’re staring into each other’s eyes, an act which is usually supposed to be soft and romantic, but they’re surrounded by screaming rock fans and bright lights. Still, Victor doesn’t care. Yuuri’s eyes are the color of caramel, and he could just drown in them.
They hear the click of a camera phone go off, even amidst all the noise. Yuri is standing just off to the side of them, his tiger-patterned phone held aloft. He looks unimpressed.
“This is for Beka,” he explains flatly. “And seriously, this is a rock concert. Save the gooey shit for your first date, fucking hell.”
And with that, he repockets his phone and turns back to the aforementioned concert, getting lost in the music again. Victor and Yuuri stare at him, but he doesn’t look back.
Finally, Yuuri laughs, leaning against Victor and peering up at him through his eyelashes. “He’s right, you know. This isn’t proper concert etiquette.”
Victor feels his lips twitch with amusement. “Oh? Like I said, this isn’t my scene. You should teach me.”
Yuuri grins. “Gladly.”
He grabs Victor’s hand, and then they start to dance.
When Victor brings Yuri back to Dedushka’s house, his brother says goodnight in a very unexpected way – he hugs Victor.
“Tonight was awesome,” he says, voice muffled against the material of Victor’s shirt. “Thanks, bro.”
And before Victor can so much as lift his arms to return the gesture, Yuri’s stormed off to his room, ears red and eyes pointed towards the ground. Victor watches him go with a smile. He says goodnight to his grandpa and then departs for his apartment.
His dog greets him as enthusiastically as ever, bounding up to him with tongue lolling and tail wagging.
“Hey, Makka!” he coos at the poodle. “You’ll never guess what happened to your Papa today!”
Just as he proceeds to tell his very interested dog the tale, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Oh, that might be him!” he says to Makkachin, who tilts his head curiously while Victor fishes his phone out. A quick glance at the screen confirms it’s an unknown number, and Victor is grinning as he unlocks the phone.
The message that awaits him is… odd.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: dick pic pls - yuuri
Victor stares at his phone. He slowly blinks, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Huh. He’d figured Yuuri was direct, but not to this extent.
Before he can think too hard on it, though, his phone buzzes again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Oh my god i swear that wasn’t me!! Our drummer grabbed my phone and sent that, i’m so sorry!
A beat passes, and Victor can’t help it; he starts laughing. It’s not as if Yuuri can see him. Feeling bold, he types out a reply and hits send.
ME: Oh, really? So you don’t want a dick pic, then?
He changes the contact name of Yuuri’s number as he awaits his reply, which as it turns out is not very long.
YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: what
ME: I was on my way to the bathroom and everything
YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: wait are you being serious or are you just messing with me
ME: Depends on which you’d prefer.
YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: I would not be… adverse to a dick pic. If you were okay with that.
ME: Coming right up. But just between us, ok? No nosy drummers allowed.
YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: Deal. I’ll send one too~ ;)
ME: What a gentleman
YUURI WITH THE PERFECT ASS: lmao
Victor makes his way towards the bathroom, grinning at his phone all the while like a lovesick schoolgirl. If schoolgirls were in the habit of sending dick pics to hot guitarist they’d met that night, anyway.
Once he’s inside, he unbuttons his jeans and tugs them, along with his briefs, down just enough to free his soft dick. He holds up his phone to the mirror and takes a picture, then inputs it in a text to Yuuri.
Victor already feels smug. Let’s see how the sex kitten reacts to this, he thinks.
He hits send.