WARNING: Drunk sex Chapter Four: Drowning His Sorrows It wasn’t until after eight that Yuri and Layla finally got a moment to themselves upon returning to their hotel suite. After the conclusion of the awards ceremony, the rest of the day had been filled with photo shoots, press conferences, and interviews with the local and international news outlets. Again, Yuri had relinquished to Layla most of the spotlight focused on them, content to let her speak on his behalf as well, but every time a reporter had asked them about Sophie Oswald’s tragic death, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. The moment they entered the sitting room, Yuri crashed on the couch, emotionally drained, while Layla searched for a place to put the trophy. “It’s larger than expected, isn’t it?” she said, admiring it. “We ought to settle on a schedule.” “For what?” Yuri asked wearily. “For possession of the trophy. I was thinking we could switch every other month. On the other hand, Kalos might want to display it in his office…” He gave a dismissive wave. “Do whatever you like with it. I don’t want it.” “What do you mean, you don‘t want it? We both earned this.” “Everybody knows you’re the real reason why the Golden Phoenix was such a success,” Yuri said. “I’m just your pretty boy partner. You could do it by yourself if needed be, so you take the trophy. It‘s yours.” Layla set the trophy on the coffee table and stared down at Yuri, hands on her hips. “Yuri Killian, you know as well as I do that’s not true. I value your partnership, and I don’t want to hear you put yourself down like that.” “Whatever,” he mumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes to block his view of the award. “I still don’t want it.” “Look, I understand you’re upset about Sophie,” Layla said in a softer voice, taking a seat on the arm of the couch near his feet, “but we just won the International Circus Festival. Aren’t you even a little happy about that?” Honestly, he wasn’t. Just looking at the trophy was a painful reminder of the cruel lengths he had gone through in order to win it. He was little better than Kalos, who had pushed his father into agreeing to perform the dangerous Legendary Great Maneuver for his own selfish goal of putting the fledgling Kaleido Stage on the map. “I think we should celebrate,” Layla announced when Yuri didn’t respond to her question. “Maybe it’ll help get your mind off things for a while. We’re in one of the most exciting and beautiful cities in the world, but we’ve been so focused on the competition, we haven’t had the chance to enjoy it.” Lifting up his arm, Yuri looked over at Layla and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “The great Layla Hamilton actually wants to cut loose and have fun?” “Is that so odd?” “You don’t even take the day off from training for your birthday or Christmas. Face it, Layla, you’re a workaholic.” He was about to add “just like your father,” but he had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. “Well, I think we deserve a break just this once.” She stood back up and grabbed him by the wrist, giving it a tug. “Come on, let’s go.” The last thing Yuri felt like doing was going out on the town. “You go if you want.” “But my French in terrible,” Layla said, which Yuri knew was a complete lie. She spoke the language almost as well as he did. “I don’t want to run around the city by myself when I don’t know the language. Please, Yuri…” Yuri pulled himself back up to a sitting position, Layla releasing her hold on his hand. “You’ll go?” “No,” he said, getting an idea, “but we can still celebrate here.” He reached for the phone and the room service menu on the coffee table, pulling them toward him. “What are you ordering?” she asked as he dialed the number for room service. “We just ate dinner an hour ago. You can‘t possibly be hungry again.” He ignored her question. “Yes, can you send a bottle of your most expensive champagne up to our suite? Merci.” Layla frowned as he hung up the phone. “Yuri, we’re not old enough to drink.” “Not in the States, but we’re perfectly legal here,” he pointed out. “Besides, you were the one who wanted to celebrate, so what better way than with champagne?” She took a seat beside him on the couch, arms crossed over her chest. “Kalos is not going to appreciate us splurging like this…” As if he cared what Kalos thought. “If you feel so guilty about it, pay him back when we get home. It’s not like you don’t have the money to spare.” “I suppose so.” A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “That was fast,” Yuri said, getting up and answering it. “One bottle of our finest champagne, Monsieur, along with some caviar, compliments of the hotel,” the valet said, pushing the cart into the room. “Where would you like this?” “Wherever. It doesn‘t matter.” The man parked the cart in the back corner of the room and left after Yuri tipped him. Once he was gone, Yuri popped open the cork on the chilled bottle and began pouring two glasses. He carried the glasses and the bottle over to the couch, handing one flute to Layla, and sat back down beside her. “A toast to the incredible Layla Hamilon,” he said, raising his glass to Layla. She lifted her own glass as well. “And to the equally amazing Yuri Killian.” He frowned. “I’m not going to toast to that.” “Too bad,” she said, clicking their champagne flutes together before taking a sip. “Mmm, bubbly.” Layla let out a rare giggle. “I think I rather like it.” Yuri brought his glass to his lips and gulped down the entire flute in one go. He then reached for the bottle on the table, pouring himself a refill. “Hey, Yuri, slow down,” Layla said. “You’re not even enjoying the taste.” He took another swig, but left some of the drink behind. “Want some more?” he offered Layla, again reaching for the bottle. “I’m not even fini--” Yuri refilled her glass anyway, causing it to overflow and spill on her expensive-looking silk dress. “Yuri!” she exclaimed, setting her glass down on the coffee table. He laughed. “Oops, sorry!” She jumped up from the couch and grabbed a napkin from the cart, using it to try to soak up the spill. It didn’t help very much. “Oh, I’m going to take a shower!” she said, heading back toward her bedroom. “Suit yourself.” That just meant more for him. Yuri finished off the rest of his glass in one swallow. “Are you going to drink that?” he asked, referring to the glass she had left behind. “Oh, take it. I don‘t care.” ***** About an hour later, Layla returned to the common room dressed in a robe. Yuri, completely plastered, had turned on the stereo and was singing along -- badly -- to the French song playing on the radio. He held a half- drunk glass of champagne in one hand, while he used the almost empty bottle as a makeshift microphone. “Yuri, you’re drunk!” “Oh, hey, Layla,” he slurred. “Come join the party!” She marched straight over to him and snatched the bottle out of his hand. “This thing is almost empty!” she said, holding it up to the light. “How many glasses have you drank?” Yuri counted aloud on his fingers. “Four? Seven? Ten?” He shrugged, having lost count somewhere along the way, and finished off the drink in his hand. “That makes… I don’t know!” Finding himself hilarious, he laughed and held up his glass. “Fill me up, barkeep!” “I don’t think so. You’ve had more than enough.” “You’re not my mother.” “No, but I am your friend.” In order to prevent him from drinking anymore, Layla began guzzling the rest straight out of the bottle. “Hey, no fair!” In a very un-Layla-like manner, Layla wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe after finishing the bottle off. “You ordered the bottle for the both of us. I was just drinking my share.” “Never mind,” he said upon remembering that there was more booze in the minibar. He stooped down and opened it, looking over the selection. “Lessee… Oh, hey, look at all these tiny bottles!” Yuri grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and stood back up. “Here, catch!” In his inebriated state, his normally excellent aim was terrible, but Layla, who was not as buzzed, managed to catch it. Yuri popped the top off the other bottle and began chugging it down large gulps. “Yuri, stop it!” Layla said, attempting to take the bottle out of his hand. By that time, Yuri had had just about enough of her demands. If he wanted to drink until dawn, that was his damn business, not hers. “Shut up, woman,” he told her, shoving her away. “Excuse me?” Layla glared at him, poking him in the chest. “Did you just call me ‘woman’? I have a name, you know. And I don‘t appreciate being pushed around either. I‘m only trying to help.” “Oh, sorry, Mademoiselle Layla. Is that more to your liking, or would you rather be called ‘Princesse’?” He gave an exaggerated bow. “You’re mean when you’re drunk, Yuri. I don’t like it.” “Well, maybe this is who I really am. Maybe the Yuri Killian you know is just an act,” he said bitterly, and took another drink. Layla stared at him for a moment, seeming to contemplate his words, before popping off the top of her own bottle. “Oh, fine, I give up,” she said, plopping back down on the sofa and taking a swig of beer. She made a face at the taste. “Ugh, this is terrible! How can you drink this stuff?” Still, she took another sip. Yuri grinned, his former good mood restored. “Now that’s more like it!” On the radio, an upbeat song he liked started playing. He turned up the volume and began dancing around, singing along to the lyrics. Watching him from her spot on the couch, Layla rolled her eyes. “You do realize you look utterly ridiculous?” “In that case…” After finishing off the rest of his bottle, Yuri switched the stations until he found one that played American music. The song that was currently playing was an old hit from the early Nineties called “I’m Too Sexy”. Taking inspiration from the song, he began dancing provocatively for Layla and singing along to the lyrics. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirts, so sexy it hurts.”’ Layla fanned herself with her hand. “Oh, my,” she said, and took another swig of her drink. She was definitely getting tipsy. “Take it off, take it off!” Yuri was hardly one to say “no” to a beautiful woman, so he unbuttoned the front of his shirt and stripped it off, tossing it to Layla. He then began unbuckling his belt, causing a blushing Layla to cover her eyes. “Yuri, I didn’t mean it literally!” He smirked. “Oh, you know you love it,” he said, gyrating his hips in front of her. Layla couldn’t resist taking a peek through her fingers. She again started laughing, her face red as a tomato. “Stop it!” she giggled as Yuri placed his hands on the back of the couch, looming over her. “Do you really want me to stop, Layla?” he asked, staring down at her. Her laughter dying down, Layla began breathing heavily instead as Yuri brought his mouth down to hers, lightly kissing her on the lips. “Yuri?” “I’m Too Sexy” had ended, changing to a slower, more romantic ballad. Yuri straightened back up and reached for one of Layla’s hands. “Let’s dance.” Wordlessly, Layla set her almost empty beer bottle on the coffee table and allowed Yuri to pull her back up to her feet. He held her close, the two of them swaying in time to the music, and took in her freshly- showered scent. She smelled faintly of some kind of exotic flower -- a perfume that intoxicated him. “Mmm, you smell nice,” he murmured into her hair. “What is that fragrance?” “Jasmine.” “I like it,” he said, one of his hands reaching to pull down the sleeve of her robe. Layla let out a small gasp as he kissed her bared shoulder. “What are you doing?” He wasn’t even sure himself, to be honest. Though he had always found Layla attractive, when they were partnered together at Kaleido Stage, he had decided it best not to pursue her. She was an important part of his plan to get revenge on Kalos; if things soured between them, it would put the entire plot in jeopardy. Yet even with that warning echoing in the back of his mind, Yuri’s mouth found Layla’s once again. For just one night, he wanted to forget everything. Kaleido Stage, his father, Kalos, Sophie, Leon… He just wanted to feel good for a little while. Was that too much to ask? Yuri deepened the kiss, pulling Layla even closer against him. She was resistant at first, but soon she was kissing him back with equal force, running her hands through his hair. Yuri slipped his hand inside her robe and cupped her breast, causing Layla to let out a soft moan. “Wanna do it?” he asked her breathlessly. She nodded and kissed him again, the two of them fumbling to Yuri’s bedroom. Once there, Yuri untied the belt of her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Yuri sucked in a breath at the sight, taking in her full round breasts and legs that went on for miles. While Layla situated herself on the bed, he stripped off his pants and underwear and grabbed a condom from the bedside table. He then joined her on the bed, positioning himself between her spread legs. In his impaired state, Yuri wasn’t sure how long he would last, so he skipped the foreplay and went straight for the main event. Layla winced as he entered her. “Ow, Yuri, that hurts!” she said. “Be more gentle.” It occurred to him that Layla was probably a virgin. In the entire time since Yuri had met her, he had never once known her to have a boyfriend or even to go out on a date. Her training came first and foremost, to the exclusion of almost everything else. At another time, he would have taken things slow, as he had done with Sophie, but Yuri couldn’t bring himself to care much about Layla’s pleasure. He continued plowing into her until he had reached his climax. With a grunt, he came and rolled off of her, feeling no better than he had before. In fact, he felt worse, instantly regretting what they had done. Sex and booze may have allowed him forget what had happened earlier, but the effect was only temporary. Yuri brushed off Layla’s attempt to reach for him and got up to throw away his used condom. When he returned back to bed, he crawled underneath the covers and rolled over on his side, his back turned to Layla. “You can go back to your room if you want,” he told her in a low voice. “You don’t have to stay.” The mattress shifted, but rather than leaving, Layla joined him underneath the blankets and spooned against his back. She didn’t say a word as a sob shook through his body, simply holding him close. DISCLAIMER: Kaleido Star doesn’t belong to me. AUTHOR’S NOTES: Any comments and criticisms can be sent to me at ElysionDream@aol.com. The legal drinking age in France is eighteen. Officially, I believe Layla is supposed to be eighteen in canon, which would make her about fifteen during the period this story is set, but I always thought that was kind of ridiculous. Come on, Layla looks more than just two years older than Sora! I’m just not buying that. So in my head canon, Layla is twenty-one during the show and eighteen in this story. Sophie was eighteen as well at the time of her death, and Leon is in his (very) early twenties. Yuri is either nineteen or twenty in this story.