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Wouldn't Hurt

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"You're welcome any time!" are the last words Yuuri slurs out, or that's what they sound like to Victor. Then Yuuri slides down Victor's arm and Victor doesn't react in time to keep him from slumping on the floor.

Victor covers him with his jacket. "We can't leave him like this. Is his coach here?"

The banquet room is emptying out, people heading back to their rooms or to the bar, laughing or criticizing, and staring, still staring. Victor doesn't care.

Chris shakes his head. "He's probably passed out somewhere too by now." He squats beside Yuuri and brushes the hair from his forehead. "I can take him up."

And that would be a good idea, let Chris take care of it. Drink some water, go to bed. Wake up and go home. "I'll do it," Victor says.

They both haul Yuuri to his feet. Victor gets his arm around him. Yuuri blinks a little and takes his own weight, mostly, one arm wrapping around Victor's waist and leaning his head on Victor's shoulder.

Chris drapes Yuuri's jacket over Victor's other arm and slides Yuuri's glasses in the pocket. "Good luck," he says and leaves them there.

Victor looks down at Yuuri, at the top of his head. "Can you walk a little?" He takes a step, to give Yuuri the idea.

Yuuri steps too so Victor steps again. Yuuri follows, lagging about half a step behind, hand clutching and re-clutching Victor's hip.

Victor rebalances him while they wait for the elevator, gets a better grip under Yuuri's arm. But when the doors open, Yuuri stands up straight and walks right in, pulling Victor by the wrist.

As the doors close, he looks at Victor, eyes clearing a little. "Did I win?"

A tiny plume of heat flares in Victor's chest, chasing out all over under his skin like rabbits running. For the second time tonight. "You..."

And before Victor can choose his words, Yuuri knocks Victor against the elevator wall and kisses him.

This is not a good idea. Victor hardly knows Yuuri, hardly registered him before tonight. Yuuri is drunk, too drunk. This is a public place, it's indiscreet, and Victor is never indiscreet.

But Victor is not exactly sober himself and while he's working through this chain of thoughts, he's kissing Yuuri back, opening his mouth for Yuuri's tongue, taking Yuuri's face in his hands, stroking Yuuri's jaw with his thumbs.

Yuuri slides his hands into Victor's jacket, pulling at his shirt until he gets one hand up inside, running it up Victor's back. Yuuri's hand is warm, his mouth is warm, and Victor doesn't like the cold.

The elevator stops and the doors open. They are starting to close again before Victor disengages, as much as he can, and steers Yuuri out into the hotel hallway, Yuuri's hand still up on Victor's back.

"What's your room number?" Victor asks. He lets go so he can rifle Yuuri's jacket and comes up with a keycard. He holds it up like a visual aid. "Room number."

Yuuri squints. "604."

Victor guides Yuuri to 604. He slides in the keycard and turns the handle. It doesn't work so he tries again. After the third try, the door opens from the inside. By Chris. Who is completely naked.

"Did you want to come in?" Chris smiles pleasantly and Victor feels a surge of irritation.

"Do you know his room number?" Victor knows better than to hope Chris hasn't noticed Yuuri pulling at Victor's clothes, leaning against Victor's side. He just hopes Chris won't mention it.

"614," Chris says. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to.

"Thank you." Victor tugs at Yuuri, gets his feet started up, and walks them both to 614, not looking back, even though he knows Chris is watching.

The door to 614 opens on the first try. Victor gets his thoughts together, he's not going to allow this, not today. He pushes them both through the door and turns on the light. He's not going to do this, he's not.

"You should go to --" he starts to say.

Yuuri jerks away from Victor and into the bathroom. He flops by the toilet and vomits, champagne, hor d'oeuvres, stomach acid, vomits until he's gagging on his empty throat.

Victor stands back until it's safe. He hands Yuuri a glass of water. "Rinse, don't swallow," he says. He flushes the toilet.

Yuuri stumbles back into the room and crawls onto the bed. Victor puts a bottle of water on the night stand. He takes another bottle and drinks half of it down. He looks down at Yuuri curling into a half moon, face flushed, fully dressed on top of the duvet.

Just the shoes, Victor thinks. Just the shoes will be okay. He slides them off Yuuri's feet and doesn't do more, doesn't even touch the top of Yuuri's sock.

Yuuri grabs Victor's wrist and pulls him down onto the bed. And as Victor is falling, he tells himself he won't, he doesn't want to. But he does want to. Even though he's just seen this man empty his stomach contents, Victor still wants to curl around him, half moons together, and more.

Yuuri throws his arm over Victor's chest, his leg over Victor's thighs. His mouth against Victor's cheek. His sour breath in Victor's face. And he rests there, pinning Victor with his weight.

It's warm and Victor likes to be warm. It wouldn't hurt to lie here, just lie here, and maybe sleep, his hand on Yuuri's arm. Victor puts his hand on Yuuri's arm, closes his fingers around it. He breathes, stretches his leg to toe off his shoes, wonders if he can reach the lamp from here.

He turns his head and puts his lips to Yuuri's forehead, not a kiss, just a touch. He turns his body and puts his arm around Yuuri's waist, moves his hand down Yuuri's back, not a caress, just--

"Victor," Yuuri says. He presses his forehead to Victor's temple. "Did I win?"

Victor takes a deep breath. He slides out from under Yuuri's leg, his arm. He stands by the bed and drinks the rest of the water. When he puts the bottle down, Yuuri is asleep.

"Yes," Victor says. "You won."

He turns out the lights and closes the door behind him. He goes down the hall to room 604. He knocks on the door.