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Sucks and swallows anything&period
Sucks and swallows anything&period

Most people don't have much cause to be smiling on the morning of the eighth day of the mission, but when the camera feed clicks on to focus on Nyka in the lab, she's doing precisely that.

With the feed confiscated, there's not as much to do as we could be doing today. Thinking of volunteering to help out with some of the chores around the ol' homestead, if there are any I'm suited to do.

The camera kicks on in the lab. Nyka is at her work station, the tablet set to the side. She's typing as she speaks, not looking at the camera.

Seriously, what in the actual fuck. I'm going to need to track down Doctor Rozgold from Cultural and see if I can talk to him.

It's a character replacement code. Bloom and I are both English native speakers. He isn't. The quote sounded precise, per English, but that'll be up to Father Riordan to verify for certain.

That doesn't happen with most translations from Doctor Aerglo. Pidgin doesn't work that way. There is more and more of it in her recordings.

She snatches up the stylus from her desk, and drums it in the air without looking at it, no longer looking at the camera. Her eyes are on the screen in front of her, out of frame, but the lack of visual tracking suggests she isn't actually reading anything on it.

While I'm reasonably sure they'd take volunteers instead of picking a name out of a hat or voluntelling someone to do it, sooner or later, if they want the hard facts on transmission, they're going to need someone.

Someone we probably won't have when this is all over and done with. The stylus slows, and she says, "Hopefully, we can get the data from the audio review of the data from Icarus I before it comes to that, or we're not just dipping a toe into the Weyland-Yutani bullshit any more.

Everybody's scrambling so hard to handle the effort to get us the fuck off this rock and keep Icarus II from going the way of the first mission, we aren't exactly doing what we came for.

Arguably, there's overlap, but it's oblique as hell. Her lips thin to a line, and she sets the stylus back down on the desk.

Something on the screen catches her attention enough for her to start typing again, and her tone, while tense, returns to a crisp, wry tone.

If that theory proves out regarding the code, there are a few basic implications -- and fuck Hark for telling me to think about this aspect of the problem, because now it's hard not to.

If the morse code sample was directly produced in English only We branch. Nyka is in the lab, leaning in over the tablet, but out of frame.

It means her voice is muffled as she says, "Same tracking data's coming back. Ran the numbers through the verification script.

Tense, she listens for a voice over the comms, easing into her chair like she's aching to the bone. She pulls off the earpiece, dropping it onto the workstation.

Only then does she turn the chair to face the tablet. Tank top, tattoos. No lab coat. She's visibly exhausted. She rests her forehead in her hand, propping up her head.

B has access through research, so he was able to run the scan from the lab. Unique signature, after all. Icarus II's parts are Near the center of the asteroid.

Probably down in the original mission's mine shafts, which may not even still be open. The feed clicks on in the Chaos Theory Lab, and Nyka drums lightly on the work station table, staring into the camera.

She has a few new cuts and scrapes, and bruises in a few spots starting to show. I'm not essential personnel on that one, but they were supposed to notify him to keep eyes on.

Didn't happen. Her lips purse, and the stylus she's twirling in her other hand swings into frame briefly. She watches the screens beyond the tablet, her face impassive.

She is quiet again for some time. The reflections of light from the screens beyond the tablet cast her features in blue and green.

The clever ones, the ones who only imagine themselves to be clever Put the ones who only imagine themselves to be clever together, and you'll find out quickly just how dangerous they are as they tear everything -- including one another -- to pieces trying to prove they're clever.

She sets the stylus down on the table with a quiet clack. Cancel noise on track 8. Her voice is still elevated as she begins to speak, talking over the music that she presumably hears, stretching with a long sweep of her arms.

Whatever she's doing looks like some odd fusion of yoga and tai chi. Biometrics should check in on this one: are we looking at something that infects through the visual cortex alone?

If Moreau is running with pure audio, and we don't have any ill effects, that's thus far supported. Still talking over the music.

Not seeing anything any stranger than the shit we've been dealing with all wee-" Pausing mid-bend, briefly, she sucks in a breath and continues to move before she continues to actually speak.

Friends absolutely do not let friends make flowcharts! She breathes out completely, her face lightly flushed. See no evil, hear no evil. Speak no evil.

It's gonna come around to bite us in the ass eventually. She's moving again, voice still elevated to carry over the music, even if it's erased from the recording itself.

She still compensates for it, no matter how unconsciously. It's almost possible to detect the rhythm of the piece from the way she moves. If you ever.

Figure out how to not stress the shit out of a psych eval. When you know you probably. Wouldn't pass a fucking Turing Test.

On a good day. You tell me how, yeah? Still trying. To figure out if that was a bad idea. But it was good to know I wasn't.

The only one with. That particular sinking feeling. That project. With the dream team. With the. Impossible bullshit. So shiny you go blind.

She deflates more than she stops, sinking slowly to her knees before landing hard on her ass. Only then does she look up at the camera again.

Still out of breath for a moment more -- gravity is hard -- she slowly shakes her head. She heaves herself up from the floor, walking toward the tablet, at which point the feed comes to an end.

The feed clicks on to Nyka, leaning over her tablet with a slightly less stressed out look on her face. The lab is visible at an angle, though mostly the ceiling over her head.

So, the whole place just tried to shimmy. That's pretty fucked up, kids. You don't even want to know what was coming through over the radio.

This has got to be hell on MacLeod. Heading down to Engineering now, dragging along lunch and coffee. B's gotta be going out of his head over this.

And things seemed to be going so well last night, right? Fuck, at least the interns got the net up earlier. Hopefully it's still stable.

Break needed. None of it. Like there's time for any of this, right now? She glances away from the camera, and the stylus falls flat against the desktop.

In some ways. Hand-written notes, near the back end of an old journal in which various similar entries are collected.

The script varies, and the dates span over a century, as though many people have added to it over time. I've ignored almost every piece of advice written in this book at one time or another.

I would like to say I was somehow ignorant of the lot of it, but this is the first book I ever committed entirely to memory, word for word.

In-depth records of this mission exist. They can never be read. I know what you're thinking: that only makes it more tempting. I know, because it's what I would think, if I was the one reading this.

I would want to know. It would raise the hairs on the back of my neck until it itched, until it burned.

I know you won't listen. You won't listen any more than I did. I understand; I really do. If you're reading this now, you know that 'don't go on that mission' isn't in you.

And I'm sorry. I wish I had the words that would make a difference, words none of the others whose words come before mine did. We may all die here.

It's likely. It's even advisable, in most respects, in order to safeguard humanity. I hope that won't happen.

There are too many people here who don't deserve it. Too many people I care about. I couldn't tell you if I'm one of the ones deserving or not, but I can never leave here.

While I show no symptoms, I have been exposed. People have dreams and plans -- and those things, they give people the kind of hope everyone needs to get through something like this.

More than I might have ever imagined want me there, when this chapter comes to an end, to start a new one with them.

They're all beautiful, messy, and honest. They're the best dreams, and I want to be there to live them. I hope this primer makes it out.

If anyone does, I aim to send it on, and send it home. Nick hasn't been exposed; he may make it out of here. God, I hope so. I thought I was so clever, all this time, avoiding all the things that were worth mourning if ever they were lost.

Being prepared, at any time, to disappear into tradition. I wonder if, when Antonin told his children to look to the stars to find our way, he knew where it would all lead.

I find myself reading that passage more often, now, since we came here. I used to laugh at his romanticism, and poetic terms of phrase.

He wrote as if he was in love with the stars, somehow, and I thought it was absurd. Now, I wish I could have known him. I have so many questions.

I know that I found something truly remarkable here. It wasn't an impossible city, an asteroid stopped at the brink of a black hole, or the written form of speaking in tongues.

It isn't alien life, or any of the other things that, were anyone ever to be allowed to know of them, you brilliant idiots to come after me would pursue with the sort of passion operas are written to convey.

I didn't have to come here to find it, and I hope that's what you see. I hope it's what you learn from this.

Twenty-three lives weren't enough to teach me; let the twenty-fourth be enough for you. Love is real. You will never be able to quantify it, measure it, analyze it, or explain it.

There is no test you can run in a lab to prove it, and no theorem that will define it for you. You will know it when it happens, all the same.

Rough notes, taken on paper. It's the decent quality stuff brought along special, initially to soften the blow of bad news when it was to be delivered to the mission director.

It's funny to think about how we gave up paper because it was so impermanent and fragile, and now all the things we typed and recorded are the ones we're going to lose.

Meanwhile, the primer is still here. It may not have the recordings, or the scans of the other volumes like my tablet does, but I've stopped wondering why they all wrote it out longhand.

There are letters and printouts tucked between the pages, photographs, but it isn't a scrapbook. It could never be mistaken for one. The lab has been disassembled, for the most part.

The monitors are long since gone, save for the one behind her at her primary console, and the quirky device that once spread over the walls is half disassembled for spare parts, and presumably to retrieve anything of actual value it was hiding.

Her various cuts and bruises have healed, visible now only as a subtle marring of the tattoo spreading from her left collarbone and vanishing into the collar of her lab coat, and as slightly darker lines on too-pale lifetime spacer skin.

She's put together, or as put together as she can be; the dark circles around her eyes are more telling than the freshly showered cleanliness.

It's our twenty-first day on the surface of the Icarus Asteroid, and will be among the last hours we spend on this station. Anyone should, ideally, be able to use it, now, to help get home again.

We will be abandoning the Icarus II, and the majority of its contents, including all of the data on the computer systems, this recording included.

If you're watching this now, it's probably already too late, but if you can, run. Don't wait. Don't stop to listen to the rest.

Just go, and don't look back. There, she pauses. After roughly thirty seconds of silence, the smile manages to make its way to completion, albeit briefly.

It's a rueful one. So, if you're still listening, here's something to consider. Team Chaos is here because we're better than most at tracking down the less obvious causes hidden in the sequences of cause and effect: the details.

From those details, projections for the long view -- the big picture -- become the next step. Paranoia hit on day one, and it's still pervasive.

Getting data share up and running took effort, and we were still in the midst of sifting details when word came down we'd need to cut and run to another system, without most of it.

I am entirely too sober for any and all of the above. Not impossible, but nothing guaranteed. I just wish he wasn't here, having to do it.

It's a collection of long odds and what-the-fuck, but it is what it is, and it's solid. She looks down.

Given infinite time and resources, we could figure it out, whether the 'it' in question is technology, biology, or something as yet unknown. We don't have infinite time or resources, and so there's a trend toward calling it all magic, the work of gods, and something within the supernatural realm.

A series of best guesses, and many of them along the way are wrong. That it has been worshipped before, and seeks to be worshipped again. Those servants could be host to the shadows we have seen mimicking the crew of the Icarus I, and reportedly one of our own drones, in the form of a mirror image.

The human body can support them for no more than 36 hours before our bodies fail. If the being itself is present, killing it may or may not stop the effects of the mania it generates, or the workings of its minions.

The data is conclusive on this point to the contrary: drilling through to the city causes seismic activity that disrupts its ability to retain its static position.

She sucks in a quick breath, and looks up at the camera again. Best eliminated, by standard reckoning, but that's not what's happening here.

They're being kept alive, forcibly. MacLeod would be blown to hell if that C4 went off, and they had to know that. More specifically, down the mine shaft.

To the city. The 'fuck it' look she gives the camera as she lights it speaks volumes through the silence of that first drag. Here's what we've got: something that wants us to believe it's a god," follows the exhale, streaming with smoke.

Clever enough to count on us being stupid -- or at least easy to predict. Last I heard, clinging to the ship. Maybe infesting a crewmate, like MacLeod.

We're thinking too small. There's one thing it has to know we need in order to leave: the engine core. A power source, at that. This, we know.

We have to drill to fetch the core. We'd have to be ready to haul ass the moment B gets it in place. They miss things. If it's too easy to get?

Not enough time. Jump to: navigation , search. Sister Machine Gun - This Metal Sky It is lonely here Living in the hazy moment Between the alarm and the awakening When the dream precipitates Madness as its encore You are only half there The other half erased To be brushed from the paper By the same hand That fingers your ache like a fresh scab Until you bleed a river of indignance I see now it's not division, but subtraction You peddle your pieces to a man called compromise Until the only thing left standing Is the place where you once stood You have reduced yourself from static To dead air Droning Or it could be the other way Take the wire to the other side Of this metal sky And you will see These stars are just projections This is not real Which means their thunder is merely a threat Do you want to know the truth?

They need you They are mechanical, maniacal, derived You couldn't drown in their gene pool if you tried But they're all made up in brilliant disguise Selling the very thing they most want But cannot possess: You And magic is the key to their success A simple sleight-of-hand steals your autonomy Leaving you believing you are in control Tell me, do you trust your judgment?

My friend, your id's been tricked Welcome to Metropolis. Danny Elfman - The Little Things Let the headlines wait, Armies hesitate.

I can deal with fate But not the little things. Armageddon may Arrive any day. I can't get away From the little things.

With a pile of cares And a bucket of tears, I could look at the sunlight And I feel no fear. With a mountain of maybes And some Icarus wings, And I'm armed with delusions And one little thing, And that one little thing, And that one little thing, And it all comes down to you.

Have you heard the news? Bad things come in twos. But I never knew 'Bout the little things. Every single day Things get in my way. Someone has to pay For the little things.

Shriekback - The Bastard Sons of Enoch Cain decked the angel Said, "fuck you, screw," Shook the garden's dust from off his shoe Then he walked in the desert a mile or two He came to the plain where the medlars grew And he sat down on the burning sand Looked at the red on his brown right hand And he spoke to the devil about his plans Out to the east of Eden Oh, the Devil said "Cain, I think this will fly, I want this bastard deep and high, From the guts of the earth to the clean blue sky, Time to rape, scald, scar up and petrify.

Tim FitzHigham - All At Sea The English Channel turns out to be the busiest shipping lane in the world. Massive Attack - Inertia Creeps.

Kongos - I'm Only Joking Maybe the planets Are trying to become the stars And we really came from Mars The earth is alive And man is a parasite And heavenly bodies make us fight I'm only joking And I don't believe a thing I've said What are you smoking I'm just fucking with your head Only a crazy little thing I read.

Yeats, Rosa Alchemica. Reputation as a Troublemaker Along with her twin. Sooner or later, one of those pranks or weird competitions between them will end up being lethal.

Yeah, Those Kolveks The family's reputation precedes them in space, for good and ill. A century ago, they seemed to be tied strongly to Weyland-Yutani.

Now, the whole family are die hard for Penumbra. Rumor is this is linked to the disaster on the Noc, but there seems to be more to that story.

Drunken Philosophy She knows how to solve all of your problems once she has had a few drinks. No, she really doesn't.

She can sound pretty convincing, though! Other Vices Random one-time hookups are a thing. To say she blows hot and cold would be an understatement; it's more like 'furnace' to 'hypothermia' toward damned near everyone she's tangled with.

If you want to do something with this in past history, just page. She will likely give zero fucks, as though it never happened, but if you're looking for someone to have had a former fling with, potentially in between assignments in which you never even actually got her name, it's possible.

She will remember. She may pretend not to to be an asshole she doesn't do 'polite pretense' , but she does. Gender totally irrelevant.

Everyone has Their Heroes. As a result, she's sturdier than might be expected, even if she won't be doing any heavy lifting any time soon.

Partying in zero-G makes everybody an acrobat eventually. Like anything else could go here. Edit: except maybe this. Creative strategy, jury rigging, inventive thinking.

Sometimes, you just have to whip up a method on the fly and hope for the best. Just try telling her what to do, see how that works out for ya.

Bluffing skillz? When you can't actually hit the broad side of a barn, you learn to talk the talk well enough to be convincing.

A little too weird. Practically speaks her own language with her twin, and what she does in that lab? Makes sense to roughly no one, and fewer still even want to find out.

Much less than you think. Probably bonkers. Per whatever TD determines. Theory Lab. No badges for Project Icarus. Icarus II Mission: Day One Text Capture FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK Text Capture Not flushed down KV Crashed on surface.

What the fuck happened? Probably why the lights are already back on. Multiple injuries on Research Tier.

Multiple lacerations from my harness, minor. Waiting on head count. Nick's alive. Our jump point moved. We're lucky to be alive. Icarus creating unstable conditions.

No prior model for Icarus' behavior. Data collection initiated for model rendering. Time distortion in effect. Communications to Corporate impossible without further calculations.

Davies' pod isn't opening. Need to report this up the ladder ASAP to disseminate without panic. Let them find a way to break the news to their respective teams, and run it up the flagpole.

Taking first shift. Started calculations on distortion strength. Back to work. Far be it for me to not help. Today, we will be investigating this mysterious ooze discovered in my sacred coffeema-" A beep chimes from the door, and the feed cuts out abruptly.

Switching to visual readout only. This is a whole world of not OK. Back to work with me. Might be burning the midnight oil tonight. Not sure yet.

I'm not going to pretty up that visual for you, Corporate. Deal with it. I'm an idiot. They were getting a tapping on the shielding in morse code, Harkaway and Bloom.

Translation: fucked up shit from the Bible. In morse code. Got there just ahead of Director Davies and B.

Bloom piloted a drone to see if there was damage. See what was outside. Per Director Davies' order. Ten of them. The words 'Come and See'. I need a fucking drink.

I didn't realize I have never gone so long without being able to see the stars. Just one shit glimpse through the drone camera. Only a split second.

It matters, somehow. Shift ends in a little over an hour. Kenna's coming by with that damned test.

Fucking HR. Checked in with Kenna. Tracking: Language vs. Code implications Dataset on Icarus I Mission Timeline vs.

Temporal Distortion Dataset on IA spacial distortion into KV; we need to get a sensor out there List of potential alternate jump points Tracking of initial jump point I'm going to hit the showers, then kill off some brain cells.

Maybe then this shit will start making some sense. More to come. He knows Hark pretty well. We may not work the same, but that makes him a good call to interview me, I guess.

Gave me the post-contact warning signs they're watching out for. So far, so good. It needs us to look. For now. Working in blinders.

Is gonna be for shit. Go on. Initial data came back rapidly. The calculations performed by the navigation planning for Icarus Mission II: did not accurately account for the current position of the asteroid.

We became aware: we had no accurate measure of time distortion on site. This information was presented to Mining Director Thornton, Science Director Aerglo, Culture Director St.

George, and Chief of Engineering di Mercurio shortly after arrival, once power was restored to the Icarus II.

At this time, Director Davies was still in stasis and could not be contacted directly. Data analysis for further detail was initiated immediately and continues.

This is unprecedented. Analysis essential to departure continues; accumulated data is included below. Initial reports indicated the Icarus Asteroid IA was slowing down.

This is what the mission planning data used to plan Icarus Mission II. This data was accurate so far as the planning commission was aware. See above.

This is the data that would be used to create any navigation projections for any potential rescue mission by those at home.

It is in a static position as regards KV George. It is not slowed further, it has stopped movement into KV George entirely.

This is unprecedented, more so than the already unprecedented deceleration. The static position of the Icarus Asteroid IA is causing space to warp around it en route to KV George.

This accounts for the movement of our arrival jump point. CN: That specific point in space has been displaced in ways the nav team could not have predicted.

The movement of space into KV George appears to be speeding up. Until we can launch a series of sensors, we will not have an accurate measurement.

No, we haven't gotten to it yet. Yes, I realize there are technically two of 'me'. He's working on it, too. The Chaos Theory Lab is not usually tasked with damage control, particularly on this scale.

If mining has some to spare and wants to send them up, I can coordinate with Engineering on the required specs. Coordinate means exactly what you think it does.

Moving on. The time dilation calculations have come back. They are atypical on multiple fronts. It was always up to you. You always had the tendency to keep yourself busy, so I thought you preferred it that way.

I thought it was what you wanted. Apparently not. After all, he himself had initially thought the same, right? And he thought he was happy , or at least, content with the way things were.

Perhaps, for a time, he genuinely was. Funny how things like that can change without a warning. They stay silent for a while; a pause just to let the conversation sink in.

But the thing about it was that whenever it did happen, none of them knew what to do or say afterwards. Viktor is the first to break the silence that had fallen over them, clapping his hands on his lap and rising to his feet.

He plasters a smile onto his face, looking slightly sheepish. After talking to Yakov, even if it was brief, Viktor feels like a weight had been somehow lifted off of his chest.

He makes his way several floors down to the fourth floor, to where just some of the sets in the studio are. The moment the elevator doors open, he immediately picks up on the familiar, heady scent of sex and sweat.

Chris and Mila are here, filming on the same floor but not in the same video. Viktor checks his phone for a moment and decides to visit Chris first.

When he opens the door, the rest of the set is dark save for the lights focussed on the makeshift massage parlour. The smell of sex is stronger now, more concentrated.

One of the cameramen behind the magnum dolly turns to look at him, a look of recognition passing his face, but he returns his attention to filming straight after.

The director follows suit and casts a glance at Viktor, raising a finger to his lips to signal Viktor to keep quiet. Viktor nods in acknowledgement, gently closing the door behind him.

He makes his way into the room, footfalls silent, and he can see Emil and Chris lying on top of the white spa bed, soaked with massage oil and revealing the blue mattress underneath.

Chris is lying on his stomach, his face buried into the foam ring at the head of the massage bed. As soon as Viktor exits the room, everything is quiet in the hallway again.

He makes his way a bit further down the hall, and as soon as he opens the door, loud moaning spills out into the hall.

He quickly gets in and closes the door behind him. In a way, he feels like the ghost, flittering in and out of rooms filled with people having sex.

As they both reach their orgasm, they take a few minutes to catch their breath. Not long after, an assistant immediately approaches the both of them with their robes and a pack of baby wipes so they can wipe themselves down.

Mila pulls her baby blue silk robe on and smiles at Viktor when she sees him, giving a small wave in greeting.

Viktor grabs a bottle of water from one of the coolers and hands it to her. She smiles at him gratefully before twisting the cap open and downing half the bottle in mere seconds.

I am so gay. Automatically, they make their way out of the room, Mila giving Sara a wave and a quick goodbye.

Is he done filming yet? Which is, like, amazing. Not yet. Viktor bites his bottom lip, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his cheeks.

He absolutely beams and flushes a light red. He lets out a laugh, feeling his heart race at the very thought of Yuuri. I know it.

Chris knows him, by the way. She ducks behind one of the wooden dividers and her blue silk robe is haphazardly tossed over the top of it. Viktor pauses to think of all the people Chris probably knows in this city alone and he laughs.

Mila walks into view, a white towel draped around her body, and she steps into the en suite. Not long after the door closes behind her, he hears the shower running.

He sighs, checking his phone for the umpteenth time that day. No reply from Yuuri yet— last he heard from him was earlier this morning, before Yuuri had his ballet class.

Yuuri made sure Viktor could just come during his regular time slot and rehearse if he wanted to though.

I will, ttyl! Like the smitten man he is, he goes through his previous texts with Yuuri with a lovesick smile on his face.

Eventually he scrolls back down and closes his phone screen. He leans back into the couch and glances around the room.

There are different costumes and props everywhere, drawers filled with all sorts of pornographic paraphernalia. There are splashes of lace and leather around the room, the singular best combination of naughty and nice.

Over a coat rack, Viktor sees a twist of pink shibari rope and a red leather whip coiled up and hung over one of the hooks.

After a few minutes of waiting around, Mila finally exits the en suite, dressed in a fit tank top and skinny jeans. She has the same towel in her hair, the curls a darker shade of red and dripping droplets of water onto the floor with every minute movement she makes.

What did he say? Come on, I need the details! Mila looks at him, mouth agape as they stare at each other in silence. No way!

Viktor shrugs his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. Plus it was a complex thing, being a sugar baby. Like, sure, they had arrangements and all.

For a long time, it had been up to debate and personal interpretation of what makes one a sex worker. But still, when it came to sugaring, there was that level of personal and emotional involvement.

Meanwhile, when it came to porn, it was strictly business. The living legend of modern-day porn, at that! Would Yuuri get upset?

Would he think that Viktor had been purposely hiding it from him? Would he think Viktor had been deceiving him? She nods, and they take a moment to step in the elevator going all the way down to the ground floor.

Viktor is rendered speechless before he bursts out laughing. Together, they step out of the elevator and walk out of the building, the sun high up in the sky now.

Viktor shoves his hands into his pockets and squints at the sudden influx of sunlight, shrugging his shoulders in response.

But there just had to be something, something more that made a part of him afraid to fuck this up. He thinks of their first date together, how Yuuri had been so open yet so closed off.

A paradox, beautiful and devastating all the same. When Yuuri had, quite literally, danced into his life, he brought about with him a range of emotions Viktor never thought he could feel again, and with such a burning bright intensity , it left Viktor feeling breathless in the best possible way.

It was the fact that he just was. Another waiter comes and sets two menus in front of them, and Mila busies herself with it despite always ordering the same thing whenever she comes here.

Without missing a beat, Viktor fumbles for his phone and unlocks it, immediately going to his pictures. How can he not have any pictures of Yuuri?

But he continues scrolling up and down his album anyway, and amidst pictures of Makkachin eating a chew and sleeping beside Viktor, there are no pictures of Yuuri at all.

Viktor takes a moment to mentally berate himself for not even bothering to at least take one 1 selfie with Yuuri, despite majority of his day consisting posting selfies on Snapchat.

Yuuri looks absolutely stunning in each and every one of them, which makes it a bit hard for Viktor to choose which one to show Mila. His hair is slicked back, a few stray black strands falling over his eyes, and there are flecks of amber and gold in his eyes.

I look at him and I feel like my heart is about to burst. But, like, in a good way. How do people take selfies like these?

Teach me your ways, Yuuri. They share a laugh, only managing to put the phone down when a waiter comes to take their order.

Mila sighs, turning to look at Viktor with a soft smile. You deserve to be happy. He lets out a raspy laugh, pulling away so he could somehow fathom his emotions.

She understands. He pauses and squints at his phone, double-tapping on a photo of the poster Yuuri had sent him. Of course I would! I think Jamie did a few striptease performances there.

He mentioned it once. Viktor leans back in his chair and mulls over it. He pays the driver and gets out of the car posthaste, and the first thing he sees is the long line in front of the building.

He warily eyes the long line wrapping around the block and walks up to the bouncer standing in front of the black double-doors. Viktor discreetly makes his way into the club, following the narrow and dimly lidded path leading to the rest of the night club.

Where are you? I want to see you [kissy-face emoji] [kissy-face emoji] [kissy-face emoji] [kissy-face emoji]. Not even a few seconds later, Viktor gets a text from Yuuri.

I guess you'll have to sit up front and wait for me then. Viktor casts a glance at the very front of the room, where the stage is. There are already a lot of people occupying the tables around it, all except for a leather armchair right in front of the stage.

Just as Viktor is about to walk towards it, he gets another text from Yuuri. And Viktor? Yes, baby? He licks his lips and his hands are trembling when he types in his reply.

He picks the card up and takes his seat, making himself comfortable in the leather armchair. In the back, he can see two pole dancers writhing to the beat of the music.

Not too long after, the server comes back with his drink. Even though Viktor wishes he could see Yuuri right now, he absolutely adores how passionate Yuuri is about his dancing.

Viktor goes through their texts for a bit longer, a moony smile on his face, but just for a moment, he feels off. Viktor knits his brows together and glances around.

He can barely make anything out, but he knows he can feel someone staring at him. Which is weird , right?

That was really weird. Several minutes later, the lights onstage dim down and a hush falls over the room for a quick second before promptly bursting into raucous hoots and cheers.

Viktor cheers too, knowing the show is about to start. His heart starts to race at the very thought of seeing Yuuri. Strobe lights flitter over the crowd, darting across the stage as if searching for something— some one.

Upbeat EDM music plays on the speakers and along with it is a burst of colour— a kaleidoscope of pinks and purples and blues that have come to life, matching the tempo of the music.

The music changes to a slow sultry tune, and she twists and winds her way around the pole. Dollar bills start falling, and within minutes, the stage is covered with all sorts of dollar bills.

He checks his phone again and goes through his notifications, only to see none of them are from Yuuri. Viktor huffs a small sigh and closes his phone.

He looks absolutely gorgeous , much like the personification of desire itself. His hair is slicked back, lips glossy, and his brown eyes smoky with dark eyeshadow.

Yuuri turns so his back is facing the crowd, and with a shrug of his shoulders, the edges of the robe slip off his shoulders.

He slowly lowers it down, gradually revealing the expanse of his skin, and the crowd cheers in encouragement and anticipation.

When his hands are level with his slim waist, he drops the rest of the robe, falling straight down to the floor and pooling at his feet. He turns his head to the side before the rest of his body follows, facing the audience.

Yuuri saunters over to the spin pole at the front of the stage, one foot in front of the other as if walking along an invisible tightrope, his hips swaying as he does so.

He twists his legs upwards, body pressed up against the pole as he switches to an invert before he pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his torso around the pole in a crouch spin.

Within seconds, it begins to rain money. Without ever looking away, he rips the strips of thin white paper wrapped around the stacks of bills before he pulls a couple of bills out, tossing them onstage as high as he can.

He takes a second to adjust his grip on the pole before climbing up, the spin pole spinning him around as he does so.

With his shoulder pressed against the pole, he lifts his legs up into an aerial invert, head tipping downwards with his legs above his head.

Yuuri presses his legs against the pole and straightens his position from a V-invert to a basic one, legs pressed against the pole by his ankles.

He bends one of his legs down into a split invert and the cheers of the crowd only grow louder as he holds that position for a few more seconds before lowering himself back down to the floor.

He runs his hands all the way down his body, slowly crouching down as he spreads his legs apart. He caresses his inner thigh with one hand, the other hand brought up to his lips, suggestively licking his middle and index finger.

He circles the area a bit more, hips swaying as he does so, before he makes his end destination known. With eyes half-mast meeting his, Yuuri grinds down on him in small figures of eight, the friction between them building and his own arousal growing.

He uses that same hand to push himself away from Viktor for a moment, hands reaching behind him as he unclasped his bralette, shrugging it off in a fluid motion and haphazardly tossing it aside, revealing two heart-shaped hologram pasties on his chest.

He sinks down to his knees for a moment and moves the thick layer of dollar bills surrounding the pole aside, clearing just enough space for him to use the pole properly.

He grips the pole with a regular two-hand grip and climbs up, slowly spinning as he does so. He has the pole in-between his arm and the side of his thigh, using that as his grip, before tipping backwards and twisting into a scorpio, still spinning around the pole.

He transitions from a scorpio to an aerial invert before carefully lowering himself back down on the floor.

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1 Kommentar

  1. Kazrasar

    Sie hat die bemerkenswerte Idee besucht

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