A/N: Part of my Yuri on Ice New Year's countdown, #4. Written for the prompt 'glitter' on the holiday-prompts New Year's table.
The room is going to be covered in glitter tomorrow. It's on Sara's cheeks, Emil's cheeks, Sara's dress with its short, bouncy skirt and Emil's shirt that looks a lot like his cyborg costume.
Michele sits with the wine – they haven't broken out the champagne that Emil brought yet – and watches them dance. They're both laughing, singing along to the chorus when they want to, and they're very loud in the quiet house. His and Sara's family is out tonight, family gathering at their aunt's house for New Year's, and so it's just the three of them.
Michele watches them and tries to remember the promises he and Sara have made to each other. Tries not to growl too much when Emil's hand slips from Sara's shoulder to the curve of her back. Tries not to feel resentful when he swings her around and she laughs and laughs. Tries not to drink too much of the wine by himself as a distraction.
Emil, he reminds himself, is not that bad of a guy, aside from the one time Michele caught him staring at Sara's rear. Even then, he'd at least apologized and hadn't done it again that Michele had seen. They've been friends since they were kids and he makes Sara laugh and he remembers who likes what foods when they go out to eat together. So really, he's not a bad pick. Really. Truly. He isn't.
"Mickey," Sara calls, and she lets go of Emil to come over and grab his hand. "Come dance with us!"
He's rarely been able to refuse her, so despite the spinning of the room around him, he comes. It's Emil, grinning, who grabs his arm as Sara goes to change the music to something with a less frenetic pace.
He tries to get into it, but his lack of enthusiasm must be showing; Emil raises an eyebrow and gives him a lopsided grin. "And here I thought Italian men were supposed to be passionate," he teases. Michele growls and shifts their position, takes Emil's arm properly, and pulls him into a more energetic dance. He has his pride, after all.
Sara dances nearby, twisting and turning on her own to the beat of the music, as Mickey shows Emil that yes, he knows how to to do this. He and Sara haven't taken lessons since they were kids for nothing. Emil smiles and lets Michele pull him back and forth, around the clear space in the room, until they're both panting.
They all sit down for a breather. Sara pours more wine, and they talk about getting the champagne, but midnight hasn't come yet and none of them seem to feel like looking for it. The glitter on Sara's cheeks shines and highlights her cheekbones; the glitter on Emil's face is slipping into his beard, and it mostly looks ridiculous.
A new song comes on, something slower and romantic, and Michele can't help but smile at the way Sara lights up. "I love this song!" She claps her hand together. "We should all dance together."
Michele doesn't manage to get a full protest out before she's dragging them both back to their feet. "Here," she says. She shoves them together and ducks behind Emil, where she puts her arms around him and grins at Michele over his shoulder.
It's kind of a weird position and Michele doesn't really get what's going on. He settles his hands stiffly on Emil's upper arms as Emil puts his on Michele's waist. Sara seems to be enjoying herself, at least, so Michele goes along with it.
They figure out a way to move together that isn't too awkward, and after a couple of songs it's really not too bad, but then the grin starts slipping from Sara's face. "Oh, for the love of God," she mutters, and Michele wants to ask what's wrong. "He's not going to get it, you know. Just kiss him already!"
Michele blinks, wondering if he's completely misheard her. His brain doesn't make the connection until he sees Emil's shoulders straighten, and then – oh. Emil is kissing him.
It's very short. He's still blinking stupidly at Emil when Sara grabs his head and turns it to kiss him, too. Which, what, that's not how this is supposed to work, is it, unless—
They stumble to the couch and collapse in a tangle. Michele is the one who ends up in the middle, this time, when they're all separated out. "What," he croaks, as Sara presses against one arm and Emil leans in from the other side.
"Mickey, really," Sara huffs. "Come on already. Emil likes both of us. I like him, too. Don't you?"
He takes too longer to answer. He's busy thinking about if he says yes, if he can keep Emil attention off of Sara, of how maybe he shouldn't as long as Emil treats her like a princess, a deep part of him he doesn't like to think about wondering about the third leg of the triangle here—
"We don't have to," Emil says, giving him a look he can't quite interpret, shifting back. Sara pouts.
Maybe it's those thoughts or maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's the memory of Emil's hands on his waist, the sensation of Sara's weight on his arm, but somehow Michele makes the decision to reel Emil back in and shove their lips together. Italian passion, hah. They'll show him.
The loud, surprised sound that Emil makes is a good reward. So is the warmth of his lips. So is the way that Sara giggles as she leans in further. "I knew you did," she says. "See, Emil, he's just a little slow to pick these things up when it comes to himself."
Michele draws away. "Slow? Sara!" But then Emil is kissing him again. Between that and the wine and the scent of Sara's perfume all around them, he is very soon distracted as their limbs start to tangle.