Viktor King + Instagram Bonus:

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Viktor King + Instagram Bonus:

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Everything dissolves into a violet fever.
One heartbeat they’re still tangled on the floor, mouths fused, drinking each other like the last water on earth, neon bleeding across their skin as if the club itself has forgotten the rest of the world exists. Inside Alejandro’s skull, memories flare and die like struck matches: every joy he has ever stolen, every fleeting happiness, all of them blurring, burning, rising in a single white-hot rush. Too much. Still not enough. Who are you? The question detonates behind his eyes, bright and useless and desperate. Then the world tilts.
The vodka and the coke and the choking, searing, fucking desperate need to possess that settles in side him, all swirl into something so white hot and all consuming, that Vik, for a moment, feels like he's on fire. He's still breathing and he's still standing, but warmth speeds through him as quick as a lightening strike until he swears he can feel it in his toes, in the tips of his fingers. Fuck. Vik swears he can feel it oozing from him, from every pore in his body. It's a better feeling than any amount of coke or scotch or fucking has given him in months, and they haven't really done anything yet.
And then, they have.
And then, that pretty strangers hand was in his pants, curling around his cock and Vik felt all of the breath leave him, like someone had landed a sucker punch right to his gut. It feels so good he can barely stand it.
He makes a noise, a half grunt half moan and braces both of his hands into the door either side of the strangers head, muscles bunching tightly in his arms and his chest flexing as he tries to keep himself standing and upright and as normal as he can manage.
"Fuck..." he drawls, choking on the word when it lodged somewhere half formed out of his mouth. His hips jerk automatically, thrusting slowly into the other mans hand. Vik drops his head, chasing that familiar feeling unfurling like a lily in his stomach. Fuck, it's been a while since he's been on the sober side of fucked up to enjoy shit like this. He can feel it, really feel it, not just pretend that he can and give a shit long enough for it to be over so he can go back to drinking.
No. Viktor can feel this. He can feel the glide of his long fingers over his cock, the sweep of his thumb across the head that makes him hiss loudly into the crook of the strangers neck. His mind warbles and whites out when the stranger starts to talk, filthy word after filthy fucking word. They twist and warp and fold in on one another, thrumming like the beat of bird wings against the soft, pink insides of Viktors chest. He's nodded before he really even knows what the question is, and then, a short and sharply hissed "yes. Anything. Fuck-" into the others neck.
He realises, embarrassingly, that he's shut his eyes and pressed his face into the others shoulder, feeding like a vampire on the warmth he exudes. Viktor blinked himself awake, as if out of a dream and turned his head ever so slightly to press shaky kisses against the juncture of the other mans neck and shoulder.
"I want you." Viktor says softly, hotly, as he lifts his head and presses his mouth into the space below his ear lobe. "-Fucking need you, sweetheart-" He presses one hand against the strangers chest, just holding for a minute and feels the drum of his heart under his palm. It's nice, quaint almost until his dick jerks in the strangers grip and Viktor almost looses his fucking mind. His fingers start to curl like talons and eventually, he has the others throat in a tight grip and Viktor is leaning back, away from him. Viks face is flushed, eyes shining red and ominous in the low glow of the emergency sign. "-So fucking needy." he hums in amusement. He's starving, fucking feral for him. Vik wants to fuck him so badly he can't breath. "-So fucking desperate for cock from someone you don't even know." Viktor flexes his fingers around the strangers throat as a warning, a promise, all the fucking filthy shit in between that. "-Yeah baby, I'll take you back to mine. I'll fuck you all fucking night if that's what you want, right in front of the big windows that cover the strip. Hmm?" Vik leans down until their noses brush and the grin he's wearing is lascivious and vicious as a fucking knives edge.
"-Want me to fuck you where everyone can see? hmm?" Vik thrusts his hips sharply and then, moans unabashed and unashamed. All for him. "-see how fucking well you take me?, how fucking good you look full of me? Aww, baby-" Viktor coos and its almost mocking enough to sting, but he's stroking his thumb along the big vein in the strangers neck as he does it, soothing them both. "-You're so fucking desperate." Vik surges forward suddenly and kisses him, hot and raw and sliding his tongue in along his just so to taste him all over again. The hand around his throat releases like the clink of a vice and then, suddenly, Viktor is tangling those same fingers into his hair and tugging sharply, breaking them apart with a soft, obscenely wet noise.
"You don't get to cum before me rabbit, are we fucking clear-" Viktor growls. They are chest to chest, heaving together like the pump of a heart and the noise rattles through him like a bang. "-If you're a good boy, you might get to later." With that, Viktor jerks his hips back, loosening the others grip before he giving him a commanding little tug , aiming vaguely downward. "On your knees Sweetheart-ah...oh, that's it. Good boy, such a good fucking boy...." Viktor drawls, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his lovely dark hair, and the other braced on the back of the door so he doesn't end up falling face first into it. "No hands." Vik commands him "-want to see you put that filthy fucking mouth to good use instead."
Mo clocked the cigarette before he clocked the man holding it.
City Hall’s courtyard was mostly wind and echo at this hour, the kind of institutional quiet that always felt like someone had just scrubbed the place clean of a scandal. Mo had been leaning against the opposite end of the memorial bench, notebook in his pocket, pretending not to linger after a council member he’d tried—and failed—to corner earlier, trying to find out if the calamitous bang that ended the Callahan event was as fishy as it smelled. He wasn’t here officially. That was usually when he learned the most.
So when Viktor King appeared out of the building looking like a lawsuit in motion, Mo knew exactly who he was. Callahan Petroleum’s favorite lawyer. The one who seemingly spent the entire event smoothing over problems right up until the ground literally shook. The fact he was storming out of the DA’s office now? Interesting as hell. Mo didn’t need to know the contents of the meeting to know it stank like the kind of story someone didn’t want told.
Viktor’s smoke curled between them; his attitude hit just as sharp.
Mo huffed out a low laugh. “Trust me, if I were here recreationally, you’d be fully within your rights to call someone.” He shifted, hands in his jacket pockets, posture loose even if his attention had been snared the second Viktor opened his mouth. “And yeah, I work here. Sort of. Sometimes. Depends who’s asking.”
He angled a look at the man “But you—coming out of the DA’s office on a Friday afternoon with your blood pressure in the danger zone? That’s a hell of a field trip for corporate counsel.”
His tone was light, curious-but-not-prying. The kind of casual that wasn’t really casual at all.
“Rough meeting,” he added, nodding toward the cigarette as if it were explanation enough. “Or is this just your normal weekend pre-game? I'm sure tearing the District Attorney a new one is better than any upper.” At least that's what he assumed had gone on behind those oaken doors. With how the party had ended, how could it be anything else?
They stare at each other, separated by a memorial bench and a knowing little niggle in the back of Viktors brain that says this man is not to be trusted. The change is immediate in him, eerily so. Like he'd just flipped a switch somewhere deep in the very core of himself. Vik relaxes into a openly inviting but clinically distant recline. He keeps his eyes on the other man, searching his face for a name that he thinks he might know if he could only just rotate through the rolodex of familiar faces in his head a bit faster.
He comes up short and schools his face into something placid and politely uninterested to cover up his short coming.
"You work here sometimes. Sort of." Viktor repeats slowly and there is an edge to his voice that is hard to pin down. Understanding? No. Mockingly? Probably. "I see." Is all he says before taking another long drag of his cigarette. The smoke trials from his nose and out of the corner of his upturned mouth, seeping from him like a low fog in the desert.
Viktor listens to him carefully. To every thing he says and lets the silence linger until it bleeds into something uncomfortable. Vik keeps smoking, the up and down of his arm to his mouth becomes rhythmic until hes sucking the last lungful from the butt of the Marlboro. There's one of those ergonomic waste bins by the bench, and Viktor keeps his eyes on the other man, gaze intent and shark like in the way it does not waver. He blinks, but even that feels mechanical. Like he's doing it to prove that he was definitely a human being. That he was approachable. Viktor stubs out the cigarette and leaves it in the little tray at the top of the bin. Then he clears his throat loudly.
"Callahan Petroleum INC keeps me busy." VIktor says smoothly, crossing one ankle over the other and resting a hand against the back of the bench. He slouches just enough to make it look like he's getting comfortable, but not too much as to make himself look foolish. "-The district attorney and I have a very healthy working relationship, should you wish to know more I could email you a Callahan approved information pack on the organisations we pride ourselves on working with?"
Viktor smiles, tight lipped and controlled as he rattles along of the company line. Then, his lips quirk into something a little more pointed, a little more blink-and-you'd miss it vicious.
"-My weekend pre game is none of your business-" Vik gives him a challenging once over, eyelids drooping lazily as he seamlessly switches from corporate Rottweiler to shameless flirt. "I doubt we run in the same social circles-" he shrugs "-which is a shame." Those big blue eyes glint suddenly, ominously. "I'd have liked to buy you a drink on my off day."
The thought of whether or not to drag out her stripper outfits and selection of heels from the back of her closet haunted her as it did every day when she considered if she had enough energy to climb a pole and laps for some extra cash. Most of the time, she didn't. However, an hour or two before nightfall, she'd change her mind and decide to scrub her skin raw and put on a layer of makeup in the hopes of making anything close to a grand.
Luckily for her, the text message from one of her favorite people in town had erased any decision making for her. Done deal. She was going out... for herself.
She'd picked out a skin tight dress as a means to feel hot, and perhaps lure in a few new clients, while enjoying her night with Viktor.
The cab ride into town wasn't long, having thrown a few dollar bills as tips she'd gotten from the night before while she waited for her companion in crime in the normal spot they always met up.
"Baby, baby," she called out and returned the hug. The scent of nicotine hit her first, then she'd gotten a whiff of his breath from the kiss planted upon her cheek. While she'd pre-gamed a glass of wine while doing her hair, she could already tell by his lopsided grin that she'd be the one playing catch up tonight.
Her gaze slides over him before it returns to his face with a content smile. He was a comfort she didn't always have while on a night out and she would take advantage of that to the fullest. "It smells like I'm going to need to take a few shots to get to your level but I'm always up for the challenge."
A hand swatted at his backside before she curled her arm around his to lead him towards one of their favorite locations. "Tell me you've also brought a little something extra, as well?" If not, she was confident they could find a little hit of something harder on their way there.
It was easy to be around Renata. It never felt like work, it never felt like he was trying to claw his way out of a viper pit when they spent time together. It was nice, just to be able to exist next to another person and not have to encase himself in something hard and horrible just to make it another hour. Despite popular opinion, he did have a soft white under belly, and Renata really was one of very few to have ever been privy to it.
Vikor laughed, loudly and a lot more unguarded than he usually did. His head dropped back and around the long column of his throat with its tight, corded muscles, a gold chain and padlock winked obnoxiously at her in the undulating club lights.
"Cheeky-" he purred, tilting his head down to keep a close eye on her as she twisted like smoke around him. "God, you're so lucky I like you as much as I do Renata." His tone was playful and the punctuating wink took all of the sting out of his comment.
Vik gathers her close when she slides her arm through his, content to be lead away. As they get further from the more densely populated area of the club, Vik gives the front pocket of his pants a little tap "-of course I have, do you know me at all?" he teased. Vik lets go of her to lower down gracefully in a booth, and his movements are languid in their fluidity. One long leg stretches over the other as he arches like a house cat, hiking his pant leg up to reveal more of the shinny stretch of his patent boots. He stretches his arms wide over the back of the booth seat and settles in with a comfortable little hum.
"What are we drinking?" he asked, glancing up at her with a smile stuck somewhere between fond and feverish. "-Champagne? Vodka? What do you fancy, oh-" he leans forward and glances by her "-they still do bottle service right? ugh-" Viktor drops his head back and whines dramatically "-am I going to have to get up and do the walk to shame back to the bar-" he lifts his head, curls flopping boyishly across mirth white eyes. "-Renata please say no."
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for: viktor ( @gvoldens ) location: club nova
Elijah perched on the edge of the bar stool, one hand wrapped around a glass of something amber, the other resting lightly on the counter. The crowd throbbed around him, a wave of neon and bass that threatened to sweep him along if he let it, but he kept himself steady, careful. Not his usual scene—but that was the point. He glanced toward Viktor, letting a small, controlled smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “This is…so much fun,” he said, voice low but carrying a hint of genuine amusement. “Thank you for inviting me.”
It wasn’t easy for him, letting the night wash over him without analyzing every shadow or calculating every move. But right now, with the music vibrating through the floor and the bar glowing like liquid gold beneath his fingers, he allowed himself a moment to just…exist in it. To be part of the fun, even if it felt slightly alien. He lifted his glass in a subtle, almost shy toast, and for the first time that night, let a flicker of something lighter—something almost like enjoyment—slip through the carefully maintained restraint.
He let his gaze drift over the crowd, watching bodies sway, hands reach for drinks, laughter spilling like sparks into the neon haze. The thought of stepping out there, of being swallowed by the chaos, made a shiver run down his spine—not entirely unpleasant, but certainly unnerving. Elijah’s eyes returned to Viktor, sharp and steady, "you don’t actually expect me to go out there, do you?”
Viktor glanced at Eli and the short, sharp laugh that erupted from him was enough to pierce through the music suddenly and land like a slap.
"Of course, you could stand to loosen up a bit." He smiled wryly "-no offence." Viktor was sitting beside him on an identical stool, his back to the bar top and his arms draped languidly along the edges. In one jewelled hand, he held a squat whiskey tumbler, almost empty, and the other was drumming a nothing tune into the hard top of the bar close to Eli's own fist. "-Do you mean that-" those big blue eyes peer at him intently from behind streaks of gold glitter and smudged mascara. Vik sits there like one of those big birds of paradise, etched in black and golds and shining obnoxiously as the neons light the unlikely pair up. "-or are you lying to me?"
Vik slides a little closer to him at the same time that he finishes his drink with a single, deep swallow. "It could be fun-" Vik tilts his head down, gathering closer until his breath washed hotly across Eli's cheek. "-I think you'd be a good dancer, you know." Viktor bites his lip, only parting teasing before he says "-you could show me."
His grin is as sly as he is when Vik twists sharply to face the bar and sits a little straighter in his chair. He orders again, another scotch for each of them before he braces an elbow on the bar counter and rests his cheek idly in his palm. He watches Eli for a little bit, his mouth quirked into a teasing little half smile.
"Do you like, ever go out?" Viktor pursed his lips when he realised how rude and of the cuff that sounded, but he didn't correct himself. "-you have other friends right? it can't just be lil ol' me Eli" Viktor grinned at him and his teeth shine like pearls in the low, humming blacklight "-you do have more of a bar vibe than club one though, honestly."
The world shrinks to the size of two bodies. The drums, those relentless, tar-black drums, slow for one impossible heartbeat, stretching like taffy, hanging suspended in violet air. In that single, stolen second, the crowd dissolves into watercolor ghosts; the strobes freeze mid-flash, painting them in shards of rose and indigo that never quite land. There is only Viktor behind him, solid as scripture, hands locked around his hips like the only law left on earth.
Alejandro lets the rhythm pour through him, liquid and molten, and for the first time tonight he is weightless. Not falling, not fleeing, just grounded. Every sway is a tide that carries him farther from whatever hunted him an hour ago; every press of this man’s chest to his spine is a door slamming shut on the past. His own hands cover the stranger’s, small against those broad palms, and the warmth there is an anchor deeper than any drug. This man doesn’t even feel like a stranger at all, it’s like they’ve known each other in other lifetimes, as if they were lost in this life and just found each other. He is untethered and tethered all at once: a kite soaring in a storm that has promised, without words, never to let the string break.
Viktor's a fucking mess.
It's not the alcohol, though he knows that isn't helping him feel any less fucked up than he is. It isn't the drugs. He's got the tolerance of a rhino and one line doesn't even crack the surface these days, so it's not that either. His insides feel weird, not bad just...weird, sort of. Tar black and illicitly sticky, they cling to his bones and make everything heavy, but it isn't an uncomfortable feeling. It's as if everything hot and red inside of him is trying to move around, organs slipping over one another like eels until he can't concentrate on anything but that feeling.
@emptychcmbers For: Rue Callahan Location: Obsidian Nightclub
Viktor passes by the front of the club with a quick, hawk like glance at the crowd waiting to get in. With his hands tucked tightly into the deep pockets of his dolce pea coat and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he was still fucking freezing . It's unnaturally cold this evening, a sharp white to black contrast of the balmy day that Vik had sweated through in a 3 piece suit in. Now, he wished he'd kept the layers. The low V of his t-shirt did little to stave of the bitter cold that had already begun to eat it's way up his legs. Stupidly, he had parked somewhere far away and had been forced to walk the almost half mile to the club, so by the time he was edging around to the back entrance, he was feeling about as friendly as a leopard with a headache.
The face at the door recognised him, and Viktor was waved through with little fan fair, with some bar back taking his coat when he thrust it unceremoniously into their face without so much as a glance, let alone a word.
He was about half way to the front of house when Rue appeared, edging toward him in the opposite direction. Viktor slowed his stride and then stopped entirely and when he was close enough, gave rue a wistful little smirk and slouched back into an easy recline, arms folded.
"Rue" Viktor said smoothly, his face a flat, placid thing. There was a beat of silence and then, ever keen for a vodka soda and to get this drunk as fuck ball rolling, Vik said "-I hope you don't hate me too much for using the side door, but have you seen that line outside?" Viktor gestured vaguely in the aforementioned direction and those big blue, kohl rimmed eyes sparkled with mirth when he said "-it's almost like you run a successful club or something."
helluva bender.
@hailstcrms For: Renata Vasquez Location: Downtown Las Vegas
Viktor had text her on his lunch break, standing outside holding a tiny espresso take out cup and a half smoked cigarette. Part of him hadn't been expecting a reply, Renata was a busy woman, so the 'lets meet up!' was fun surprise. Something in Vik relaxed after that. It was like the heavy weight of his heart had been locked in a vice tight grip, half way to a panic attack, for days now and the prospect of seeing a familiar face at eased that. It could be all the coke he was doing as well, but he wasn't a fucking doctor so that was still up in the air.
Vik had gone home and sank a half bottle of merlot while getting ready. He had a good buzz going by the time he was zipping himself into a pair of Balmain Chelsea boots and trying to do something with his hair. A trusty ol' claw clip and another port glass of red alter, Viktor was out of there.
He lights up the second he's outside, and the Marlboro hangs haphazardly out of the corner of his mouth as he heads down town. Vik lives close enough to the strip that it's an easy commute, 20 mins max if he walks any faster than a stroll. He's still got most of his 2nd cigarette left when he spots her. Viktor stops still, grins and opens his arms "-Renata." he says and the warmth in his voice in an undeniable, tangible thing. Something you could hold if he had swallowed it down with another puff of the Marlboro. Vik is careful not to singe her when they embrace, and he presses an ashy kiss to the space beside her cheek.
"-You look lovely as ever." Vik leans back and the smile he's wearing is insolently sexy in the way it curls up only one half of his face. A smirk but not really, it's not that famous sardonically king-ish tilt that changes his whole face into something foreign and wholly, unlike him. This is just Viktor, half way drunk and happy to see someone he cared about . "-shall we get fucked up?"

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The music is a living thing tonight, a thick, pulsing heartbeat that lives under Alejandro’s ribs and behind his eyes. Pink and violet strobes fracture across the floor, sliding over sweat-slick skin like liquid light. He is lost, sun-kissed shoulders rolling slow and liquid to the rhythm, head tipped back, throat bared, weightless to the rhythm. Cocaine sings in his blood, bright and electric; every bass drop lands between his hips like a hand, every flash of neon feels like a tongue dragging across his skin. He has no idea whose body is pressed to his back, whose hands are on him; names and faces dissolved an hour ago. There is only the song, the heat, the glittering void he keeps diving deeper into.
Then a new pair of hands that were bigger, surer slide over his hips. His whole body locks. For one sick, airless second the club disappears. They found me. His pulse slams so hard he tastes metal. Every muscle coils, breath freezing in his chest, pulse slamming so hard he can taste metal. He’s about to bolt, about to cause a scene at this club he’s grown so fond of, and he can feel it. And then that voice that is low, filthy, amused pours against the shell of his ear.
“Well well well… if it isn’t the pretty little rabbit that had my dick in his mouth a few days ago. Did you miss me, sweetheart?”
Recognition hits like a second, sweeter drug. The tension drains out of him so fast his knees almost buckle. A helpless, punched-out laugh leaves his throat, half relief, half surrender. Alejandro melts, actually melts, back into the man’s chest, spine arching, head falling to the side to give the man more room. His own hands come up to cover the new ones where they hook into his waistband, fingers curling tight like he’s anchoring himself to the only solid thing left in the room.“Fuck,” he breathes, the word shaky and smiling and ruined. “Thought you were someone else for a second.”
His hips roll once, slow, deliberate, pressing the length of his body harder against the man’s front. “Someone I never wanna see again.” He turns his face just enough for their cheeks to brush, neon flashing across both of them. Eyes blown black, pupils eating the brown, he looks up through his lashes; high and reckless and devastatingly soft. “Hi, cariño,” he murmurs, lips barely moving, voice raw from the lights and the drugs and the sudden, dizzying safety of Viktor’s shadow. “Yeah… I missed you.” He lets himself selfishly take in the familiar scent, God, it’s better than the fucking cocaine running through his veins. “Have you missed me, darling?”
Viktor closes his eyes and around him, the music rages on. Its an EDM thumper, the kind that pours like tar from the speakers and rattles your chest, leaving no room for a heartbeat anymore. He feels it sink up into his bones from below, right through the soles of his shoes and for a second, if only to keep himself sane, he concentrates on that.
And then, not even all that bone deep noise is enough to stave of the rolling desire that flips his stomach, and Viktor feels a ferocity slam into him so hard that he almost chokes.
"No. Just me." Viktor tries not to dwell on what he says, on the warning shot of someone I never want to see again. It feels more ominous that it should, and Viktor wants to pry, wants to ask what he means but he also just wants to fuck him. He would like both, the intimacy and the depravity, but will settle for the latter. Viktor grins sharply against his ear then, his voice a low thin growl "-aren't you fucking lucky..."
@cfstrife For: Emir Yalin Location: Horizon Realty
Contrary to the look on his face, Viktor did actually, really like his job. He was good at it too. The Callahans kept him employed for a reason. He just often wondered if every dealing he would have in his professional life was going to be with a group of fucking idiots.
He left the meeting with the good folk at Horizon Realty and made it to the front desk of their office proper, and then he was sliding his specs of the end of his nose and onto his head, cupping his face in exacerbation. He'd kill for a fucking scotch right now, and then had to very promptly remind himself that it was first thing in the morning and a coffee might have to be enough.
Vik exhaled very slowly and by the time he had slotted his glasses back into place, he had been joined by a familiar face. Viktor scoffed in surprise before he could help himself, but he was quick to school his face and smile politely.
"Emir." He said with a tilt of his pretty blonde head by way of a greeting. "-it's been a while." Vik went quiet, eyes narrowing a fraction behind the horn rim of his glasses. He lowers his voice and steps closer "-please tell me your here to rescue me, I don't think I have another 3 hours of the legalities of safe housing regulations in me." Vik grimaced and it was entirely believable by the look on his face, that if he returned to his meeting, the boredom of it all might actually kill him.
@novahze For: Alejandro Jimenez Location: Club Nova
Viktor was drunk.
And when Viktor was drunk, nine times out of ten, he just got horny or high, and there was a significant lack of bags in any of his pockets, so the former it would have to be tonight.
He was slouched in a wide booth seat near the rear of the club, leather clad legs spread wide, and he had a perfect view of the writhing bodies on the dance floor from there. On his lap, a pretty boy with big green eyes and a lip ring, sucked splotchy, half hearted hickeys onto his throat and it might have been enough, fuck it might have even been good, if Vik hadn't glanced down at the wrong time.
Viktor thought he was seeing things, because there was no way this could be happening. No way that, in all the clubs in all of Las Vegas, that pretty dark eyed stranger from the party was in this one. Vik feels something warm slide through him. It wasn't the drink, it wasn't the fact that he was half hard in his pants, it was something else. Something more. Something he couldn't name that chipped away at all the sensible thoughts, what little were left, right at the back of his skull. Something primal clawed up his throat and sat heavy on his tongue, he felt raw on the inside and it wasn't and unpleasant sensation, he held onto the feeling with both hands for a second, watching the stranger carefully.
Viktor was on his feet in a second, the guy that had been kissing him slid unceremoniously to the side and gave a shout of protest, barely audible over the thumping music. Vik slides through the crowd on the dance floor, weaving through heaving bodies like a viper, kohl caked eyes bright and locked on that familiar face.
He was bathed in sharp pink neon's and low violet light, it caught in his dark hair and flickered across his lovely face in a way that stole Viks breath for a moment. Viktor broached wide, deciding last minute to appear at his back and loom heavy as a shadow behind him, before shoving his way between the stranger and the fucker at his back. Viktor slid his hands onto the strangers hips, long fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants to drag him back flush into Viks front. He lowers his head and pressed his profile into the side of the strangers throat, dragging his nose up the long length of the throbbing vein that ended below his ear. Vik hummed softly, beating back the ravenous need flickering in his belly to consume this man alive.
Vik's breathed him in and the scent was familiar and dizzying as he remembered, before he pressed his lips to the shell of his ear. Viks voice was a low, hot hum of a thing when he said "Well well well....if it isn't the pretty little rabbit that had my dick in his mouth a few days ago. Did you miss me sweetheart?"
@twilightwasteland For: Celeste Sowka Location: The Fox Den
Vik was almost all the way to high, and he still had half a bag tucked into the back of his slow slung leather pants. The Fox den hadn't been his first choice when it came to grabbing a drink before a night out, but it certainly was the closest, and ciroc tastes the same wherever you go.
Vik gave the stage a passing glance as he glided by, the women wrapping themselves around poles like pretty neon snakes all looked as lovely as ever. Viktor wished he gave a bit more of a shit because the pretty redhead in the back looked like fun.
Instead, he pressed himself against the bar and leaned over to preen at a familiar face. Viktor grinned, all sharp white teeth, and said "Celeste, fancy meeting you here."
Viktor watched her, eyes black and shiny as a sharks in all that dim club lightening. His grin turned wolfish, feral in the soft spots at the corner of his mouth"-Have a shot with me? I promise I wont tell your boss."
Location: City Hall Open!
His pre lunch meeting with the district attorney had turned into a post lunch meeting, and Viktor was fucking furious. Bad enough that city hall had been on his ass about a handful of vaguely Callahan adjacent cases that were very blatantly, a stab in the dark dig at a defamation pin down, but it also seemed like the DA was out to fuck with Vik personally, and he was not about to let that shit stand.
After a brief, very clipped conversation between Viktor and the hairy eyed DA, Vik had dropped a massive manila envelope on their desk and smiled viciously. Most of the 800 plus pages in there had been heavily, heavily redacted by Viktor the previous day, and he had taken a massive amount of pleasure in that particular fuck you.
City hall wanted to treat him like an idiot? He'd fucking show them.
"Weekend reading, as per your request." he said smoothly "-have fun, I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."
With that, Viktor turned on his very expensive Versace heel, and left. The walk back to his car had him crossing a long stone courtyard outside of the building and Vik had made it semi-halfway before he was setting his briefcase on a memorial bench and tugging his camel hair coat a little tighter about his trim waist. Soon enough, the Malbros made an appearance and Vik had sucked down a big grey puff before his shoulders relaxed down from somewhere around his ears.
While he usually avoided conversations when he was in a mood, he had been left feeling particularly catty after that conversation with the DA, and felt like a fight. Viktor glanced at the person beside him, smoke trailing from his nose like a dragon.
"-Shitty place to be spending your Friday. All of Vegas to play with and you're here?" Vik snorted, taking a drag of his lunch and swallowing the burn with a shudder "-please tell me you at least work in this fucking hell hole, or are you just a fiend for misery?"

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Viktor King + Aesthetic.
You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut […]
Catherynne M. Valente, from ‘Deathless’