Chapter Text
The last thing Eros was prepared to see tonight was living legend Victor Nikiforov.
But he never has had good luck, has he?
He only allows the revelation that comes with that shock of silver hair to shake him for a moment as he grips the pole with his hand and whips himself around it, climbing up and then glancing down at the crowd right below his stage as he slides gracefully back down.
His audience doesn’t seem to notice the temporary distraction. This isn’t like skating, he won’t be docked points for not getting as high on the pole as the night prior.
Tch. The last thing Eros wants to think about is skating, but it’s hard when he can glance over and-
Victor Nikiforov is closer now, with a Swiss skater trailing behind (Christophe, he thinks? Yeah, that sounds right). They’re wearing their skating jackets. When Eros glances out to the crowd, he can see a spot more people in team jackets, too, but he doesn’t recognize the specific people wearing them.
Another turn or two around the pole, and Victor and Chris have reached his stage. Eros is dancing on the main stage, but it’s not the only one occupied at the moment.
Eros bites his lip before he runs his hand up his body, then slowly lowers onto his knees in front of the two professional figure skaters who have pushed their way close to his stage.
As soon as he’s close enough, Christophe reaches out and slips some bills into his skimpy shorts. His club, L’Envie, requires the dancers to keep their bottoms on in some capacity. Eros is already shirtless. Mostly naked.
Eros smiles in appreciation and bats his eyes, then sends a heated gaze to Victor Nikiforov in all his silver-haired glory standing there with a smirk on his face.
Victor holds the money out and Eros plucks it delicately and stuffs it somewhere on his person. Then, he regretfully crawls away to accept money from patrons that are regretfully not Russian figure skating legends.
After his routine, Yuuri presses a cool cloth to his upper chest as he stuffs money in his locker in the backroom, his ears buzzing from the music and his mind buzzing from the fact he just met his idol. Technically. Met might be a strong word.
He can’t afford to be Yuuri for very long. He needs to stay Eros.
But, he can be Yuuri for a moment longer.
One of the other dancers smirks at him. Always smirks at him, actually. His name is Hugo, but his stage name is Enrique. They’ve been out for drinks a number of times, they chat together on every shift they share- he’s no Phichit, but Yuuri likes Hugo a lot.
“Do you happen to follow professional figure skating?” Yuuri asks, leaning into the mirror as he twists and runs his hands over his hips.
“Uh, no,” Hugo says with a laugh as he shakes out his hair. It’s getting long, and it looks good on him.
Yuuri’s weight, and therefore his figure, has been in a bit of a flux since he left professional figure skating about five years ago, but it seems to have settled as of late. He’s not particularly thin, despite the exercise he gets from the pole.
His doctor in Spain told him, gently, perhaps his body just isn’t meant to be thin, and assured him he’s healthy at his size- his overall habits are more important than a number on a scale or on a measuring tape. His therapist tells him basically the same thing, and has been helping with issues of anxiety and self-worth, but it’s no easy journey.
Under the harsh glare of the stage lights in their backroom, he can just barely make out the stretch marks that live on his stomach. He covers them every night with makeup, although he’s not really ashamed any more- not usually, anyway. He covers them because it’s part of the job, but he no longer resents their existence the way he used to.
Interestingly, he’s noticed he makes more money when he’s on the heavier side anyway. Go figure, huh?
And Hugo tells him, as much as their job is predicated on sex appeal, looks are far from the only factor. Not even the most important, really- it comes down to the whole performance, more than the sum of it’s part, and the personality they put forward.
They’re selling a fantasy of someone attractive in every sense. Someone who will listen, who knows when to laugh, who knows when to sympathize, and looks good while doing it. Sexy therapists, really.
“Why?” Hugo asks, and Yuuri had almost forgotten he’d posed a question. He drops his hands from his body and clears his throat.
“Some famous figure skaters are here tonight,” Yuuri tells him, “Hot ones.”
“Ooh,” Hugo perks a brow. “Fun to get professional athletes at our humble little bar,” Hugo laughs. Yuuri snorts.
L’Envie is big, one of the nicest strip club in Barcelona, with a comfortable and sophisticated atmosphere (all things considered, anyway. naturally, debauchery is still common within these walls, but it's classy). It’s part of a network of clubs, with locations around the world managed by the same elite owners.
Yuuri shouldn’t even be surprised Chris and Victor are here. It’s a few days before the Grand Prix Finals, and he knew that. He’s got tickets to cheer on Phichit, obviously. He even has a VIP pass to watch him practice.
To delay going out on the floor, Yuuri does any necessary touch ups to the makeup on his face. It’s not oppressive, doesn’t tend to take over his features in any way, it shouldn’t even be noticeable to the patrons. Some of the dancers go all out (it’s always more noticeable on the women, but there’s still a sliding scale from natural-looking to high drama) and Yuuri has done the dramatic, smoky looks on special nights, but- usually it’s subtle, just a little liner under on his eyes and foundation that matches and his skintone and just enough bronzer to accentuate his features.
“We should really hit the floor,” Yuuri says with a sigh as Hugo regards him, leaning against a vanity.
“Hell yeah, go get with some pro figures skaters,” Hugo laughs, and Yuuri doesn’t even want to think of the prospect of running into Victor again.
When he steps back onto the floor, it’s harder than usual to shove himself into the role of Eros, but he spots someone that does help.
“Stefano,” Eros says, a genuine spark of happiness lighting up his face. The old man smiles and his eyes crinkle.
“Eros! I’ll buy you a drink. Jonas told me he’s just stocked a new wine,” Stefano says, and Eros dutifully loops his arm in Stefano’s elbow and allows himself to be escorted up to the bar.
Stefano is, by far, Yuuri’s favourite patron at the club. An older gentleman, he lost his life partner a few years ago. He still wears his wedding band, and has never been anything but kind and respectful. He tips well and asks Yuuri about his life and Stefano tells him stories about growing up in Italy. And, he gifts his favourite dancers (Yuuri included) wine from his daughter’s vineyard at Christmas.
Eros sips his wine delicately, always careful to watch how much he drinks on the job. It’s nearly impossible to avoid drinking anything, and, honestly, when he started there was level of buzzed which he preferred to be at. Not drunk or anything, but it could be difficult to do his job entirely sober. Yuuri understands that isn’t fantastic, needing to be drunk to do something isn’t a good sign, but the job paid well and he’s been doing it for a few years now, so it comes a lot easier now.
He still isn’t completely sober most nights. Patrons often want to buy them drinks before asking to dance, so it’s just hard to avoid.
Yuuri has avoided everything stronger than alcohol (well. while on the job, anyway. college was an experimental time in many many ways), so he considers himself to have an okay relationship with substances and with his job, on the whole.
Once Eros finishes his drink, he and Stefano go to a private room and Eros gives him a fun dance filled with mundane chatter about some birdwatching Stefano was doing, or, well, trying to do- his eyesight isn’t what is used to be, he explains. Eros asks him if he can replicate birdcalls and Stefano tries it out right then and there, sending Eros into a fit of giggles.
Eros squeezes Stefano’s hand before they part ways, silently thanking him for the distraction.
As he walks through the club, though, the distraction is short lived. Victor could be anywhere.
It’s Christophe that brushes the back of his hand along his arm though, gentle, trying to get his attention but not be too handsy.
Eros turns to him with a little smirk and the flick of his head makes his hair swish.
“You were beautiful on stage, mon chéri,” Chris says, and Eros smiles.
“Thank you,” Eros says.
“May I buy you a drink?” he asks.
“I’d love that,” Eros says, and Chris places a hand on his back to go up to the bar.
Eros leans against the bar and gives a signal for the bartender, Anna, to make his drink virgin, and she signals that she understands. He smiles at Chris.
“What’s your name?” Chris asks as he sips his drink.
“Eros,” he tells him.
“Oh, what a wonderful name,” Chris says, and he takes Eros’ hand to kiss it. “For passionate love, n’est-ce pas?” he tips his chin and Eros laughs, giving him a flirty look.
“Mhmm. What’s your name?” Eros returns as he’s given his hand back.
“Chrisophe. You may call me Chris,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Chris,” Eros says as he leans his elbows against the bar and bends forward just a bit. He glances Chris up and down. “So, are you one of the figure skaters in town?”
Chris perks a brow, looking surprised and perhaps a bit excited to have been recognized. “You follow the Grand Prix?”
“You could say that,” Eros admits with a glint in his eyes as he plays with the straw in his drink.
“Oh, there you are,” they hear, and Eros stands straighter.
“Victor,” Chris greets, and Eros swears internally. He was so wrapped up in being Eros for Chris, he forgot Victor might pop up at any moment. And he did.
Victor’s eyes land on Eros, and he sees a change there. Victor went from looking partially distracted and vaguely annoyed to, well, delighted. His smirk only grows as he glances Yuuri up and down shamelessly. Yuuri feels himself blush, really blush, and thanks heaven for the dim lighting in the club.
“Victor,” Chris repeats, smirking widely, “meet Eros.”
“Eros?” Victor asks with a perk of his brow and, fuck.
“Hi,” Yuuri says. He cannot afford to be Yuuri right now, though, even if this is his idol.
Now he wishes he’d gotten his drink alcoholic.
“Hello there,” Victor says with a chuckle, and Yuuri just breathes though his nose and gives him a dazzling, flirty smile back.
“Eros was just asking me about the skating competition,” Chris says, and Victor gets that same look of surprise and excitement.
“Oh?” Victor asks. Eros shrugs nonchalantly.
“I don’t follow too closely, but the skating is beautiful. I recognized your jackets,” he explains with a gesture. “The two of you must be very athletic to have made it this far in the competition,” Eros purrs.
They both glow, and Victor looks Yuuri up and down again.
“Well, you’re certainly athletic yourself. Not just anyone can perform the feats you did up on that pole,” Victor winks, and Eros glances down bashfully.
“It takes practice,” is how accepts the praise. Eros tucks a small strand of hair behind his ear, then settles against the bar again and takes another sip from the drink Chris bought him.
There’s a bit more vaguely flirtatious chatter between them as Eros finishes his drink. Once he’s done, Chris and Victor look at one another.
“Eros,” Chris says, coming a little closer, “care to dance for me?”
Eros smiles, not missing the look Victor is giving Chris. It’s annoyed and petty, he thinks. “Of course,” Eros says anyway.
Chris and Victor look at one another- the glance is, again, meaningful, but Eros doesn’t know how this time. He hooks his arm in Chris’s, but he risks the glance back at Victor as he’s led away.
Victor is leaning on the bar, sipping a drink, and glancing his way with a slight turn of his head. Eros smirks at him- not cruelly, but as if he knows a secret. Then Eros looks back at Chris and laughs at something funny he was saying about a mix-up at the airport on the way there.
Eros secures the door of the private room and recounts the rules to Chris. Bottoms stay on, etc.
“And no touching, except for here,” Eros says, drawing a box with his pointer finger on his hips. Chris nods, and they select some music to listen to as Eros dances for him.
Chris is chatty, complimenting him and still telling travel stories. Eros honestly likes it better when patrons talk, it gives him more to work with and removes some of the inherent awkwardness of dancing, scantily clad, for strange men.
“On a flight from Detroit, an older woman fell asleep on my shoulder. She was more embarrassed than I was,” Eros says, and Chris laughs.
“What brought you to Detroit?”
“My best friend lives there,” Eros says, settling in Christophe’s lap finally. Chris places a hand in the allowed spot and Eros touches Chris’s arms, body moving to the music.
“Oh, that’s sweet. I, too, have friends all over the world.”
“From skating?” Eros asks, and Chris nods happily.
“It brings us together.. the love of the ice,” he says, and Eros smiles wistfully.
“I,” Eros starts, and then bites his lip, “I couldn’t compare myself to you, of course- but I skated when I was younger. There’s nothing like the feel of the ice under your skates.”
Chris tsks at the self-deprecation. “Like what my dear friend said out there, we’re both athletes in our own right! And, in all honesty- I’d say the only thing that compares to the glide of the ice is the feel of the pole in my hand,” Chris says, and Eros laughs.
“You pole dance?” he asks, eyes flicking up and down Chris’s chest. Chris nods. “I’m not shocked,” Eros murmurs.
“It’s great fun. If I didn’t have my job, I’d want yours. Hell, maybe I’ll go into stripping, after. Once I win gold,” Chris says. Eros just smiles.
“I look forward to being your co-worker, then,” Eros says, “in a few days time.”
Chris tilts his head back and laughs. “I bet you say that to all the pro athletes who come through here!”
Eros winks, “Maybe.”
He finishes up his dance and they step outside to pay. Usually they’d stay in the room to wrap up, but they were both distracted by the conversation, so Eros doesn’t say anything.
As Chris brings out his wallet, Victor comes up to him.
“Chris, status update. One of the young ones has gone back to the hotel, he was starting to feel anxious,” Victor says, and Chris nods as he starts counting bills.
“Oh, what a shame. A young one, you say? Which?” Chris asks, thinking, “Was it Yuri?”
Ice runs down Eros’ spine and he blinks, stunned for a second.
“Christophe. Not that young! Yuri is fifteen years old, he didn’t come with us to a strip club.”
With that, it dawns on Yuuri that Victor was talking about the Russian punk, Yuri Plisetsky. The newest addition to the Senior division of men’s figure skating. He lets out his breath in a quiet sigh of relief.
Neither Chris or Victor noticed his panic, anyway.
“Oh, right,” Chris laughs. “Which one, then? Otabek?”
Victor shakes his head, “No, no.. the, uh, Canadian?”
JJ, Yuuri thinks.
“Aaah, JJ,” Chris says, and Yuuri smiles to himself. Chris then turns to him with his own dazzling smile. “Sorry I didn’t square this away properly,” he says, and hands Yuuri the money. Eros blinks and smiles at him, taking it.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Eros waves a hand.
“And,” Chris adds another wad of cash, approximately the same amount as he’d just given, “I’ll treat my friend here,” he winks at Eros, and glances at Victor.
“Awh, Chris,” Victor says with a chuckle. “I won’t stop you.”
Yuuri was wondering if he could, perhaps, make it out of this night without having to give Victor Nikiforov a lap dance.
No such luck.
They trail back into the room Yuuri just exited and Yuuri takes a deep breath to ground himself, thinking back to the moments before competitions where he felt the very same panic rising that he does now.
Still, when he turns around, he gives Victor the spiel about the rules, where he’s allowed to touch, clothing staying on, etc. Victor smiles pleasantly and looks up at him. Yuuri turns the music on, blocking out some of the noise in the club.
“You’re a very beautiful dancer,” Victor comments, and Eros just smiles at him wordlessly, a hand on his neck before he runs it down his side, onto his thigh and back up a bit. “How long have you been dancing here?”
“A few years,” Eros comments, and Victor nods.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and Eros chuckles lowly, nodding.
“It’s a nice place,” he says, “and dancing is fun.” Which is true. He does like his job. It is fun.
It’s nice to step outside of Yuuri, to put away his anxiety and dance and please men. To captivate their gazes for a while. It excites him, and shocks him, that he’s even capable of doing it- despite the fact he’s been doing it for years. It still seems like it shouldn’t be real that, he, Yuuri, is able to harness this sensual power.
He glances at Victor with lidded eyes and sees the same look he sees night after night. It’s terrifying and thrilling at once, because he’s looked up for Victor so long and now he’s here and he’s looking at Yuuri like he’s this delightful, sexy little thing that he wants to put his hands all over- but he’s not actually allowed to touch, and that drives him wild.
Yuuri allows himself to be lost in these thoughts as he climbs onto Victor’s lap and Victor places his hands in the spots he is allowed to.
“I like talking to customers. You meet a lot interesting people,” Yuuri adds, “like men who have won- what is it, five goal metals at the Grand Prix Finals?”
Yuuri can’t entirely tell as he slings his arm around Victor’s shoulder and presses up against him, but he thinks Victor is blushing. He also can’t tell if it’s from his flirtatious praise, or his body. Probably both.
“You don’t follow skating too closely, hm?” Victor asks with chuckle.
“Even causal fans know about Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri purrs, and Victor tightens his grip on Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri laughs, delicate and pleased. Victor bites his lip and Yuuri smirks. “You’re very cute, Victor,” Yuuri says. He doesn’t know why.
“And you’re gorgeous,” Victor returns without pause. Yuuri bites back a smile and bends backwards in Victor’s lap, then steps away to turn around and dance with his back to Victor, his eyes going wide temporarily because he’s not sure what’s been coming over him but he’s glad for it.
He likes his job. He’s surprisingly good at it. Even when it involves grinding on his childhood idol and long time crush. Maybe especially when it involves that.
Victor asks him a few more random and innocent questions, which music he prefers to dance to, things like that. Yuuri responds with simple and polite answers, and they keep the air casual and flirty between them.
Victor tips him despite the fact Chris included a tip in the money he already gave Yuuri, and Yuuri thanks him.
“Good luck,” Yuuri says, with a wink. Victor grins at him, seeming genuinely pleased. “Not that you’ll need it.”
“I appreciate it all the same,” Victor smirks.
Afterwards, Eros feels lighter as he continues to walk around the club. It’s not every night you get to meet your idol, and it’s definitely not every night you get to turn them on and drive them wild with desire, but as terrifying as it was in the moment, he’s pretty sure this actually turned out to be the best night of his life, all things considered.