Otabek & Yuri (Backdate to December)
Dec. 13th, 2017 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainRewriting history, a montage of the Grand Prix Final, in which Otabek and Yuri placed silver and gold.
The flight was uneventful, but a lot easier than most trans-Atlantic ones, since Yuri had Beka with him. They lifted the middle arm, and Yuri curled up with his head in Beka's lap and napped half the time. If Beka's coach had any complaints, too bad.
When they arrived at the hotel, the buzz of the crowd hit them before they got out of the van. Skaters, coaches, families, friends, fans, tons of people swarmed around the hotel downtown Barcelona, chattering in a mixture of Spanish and every other language known to humanity. Yuri let his sunglasses fall over his eyes and walked side-by-side with Beka, rolling one of his bags behind him. He'd let someone else take care of the rest. That was what coaches were for. Well, partly.
Of course, Yakov was in the lobby with Mila. Mila waved and grinned at him. Yuri rolled his eyes behind his shades, but was happy to see her again. Even if it'd only been a week, and he'd been beaten by JJ. "Here we go..." he muttered to Beka.
Beka bumped his shoulder against Yuri's and their fingers brushed briefly. He'd spent half the flight drowsing, the other half petting Yuri's hair while he slept. His muscles might be cramped from small seats, but he was mellow from snuggling their way across the ocean.
"Let the old guy know you're here in one piece," Otabek suggested. The hint of a smile curved his lips. "If you can get away later, dinner?"
Yuri nodded. "Definitely. I'm not eating with him and that old hag of an ex wife." The hag had choreographed his free skate, but that was no reason to pretend she wasn't a hag. "And Mila will only want to complain about boys. And interrogate me about you."
“Stay strong.” Otabek glanced to see if there were many people watching them. The crowd seemed reasonably busy, no direct stares he could spot. He lifted Yuri’s hand and brushed a quick kiss against the back of his knuckles. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”
Yuri's shades could only partly hide the semi-mesmerized way he looked in Otabek's eyes before nodding and hesitantly taking back his hands. He turned toward Yakov. Mila was still waving. Yuri sighed.
Otabek slipped away. Yuri was halfway to his coach when a familiar voice commented, “So is that how you’re taking out the competition these days, Princess?”
JJ reclined against the wall, two sets of luggage at his feet. Isabella’s coat was draped over the handle of her suitcase, but JJ’s fiancé was missing in action.
"Shut it, dickhead." Yuri whirled on him, glaring from behind his shades. "You're mad because your princess left you? Did she finally get tired of standing around a moron?"
JJ gestured at the queue to the ladies room. “My Queen has needs to attend to. Long flight.” He smiled and gave Yuri a knowing look. “So, you and Beks?”
"Beks? Ugh." Actually, it was cute, and Yuri hated JJ calling Otabek anything remotely cute. Gross. "Don't act like you know anything, douchebag. Just get ready for a humiliating defeat. From both of us."
JJ grinned that megawatt smile and waggled a finger at Yuri. “Maybe we’ll all share the podium, but don’t expect an easy win.” Slyly he added. “Maybe I’m the real challenge this week. Shame his old shirts don’t fit me anymore. Missed my photo op.”
Yuri glared so hard. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, idiot?"
Rewinding the statement in his head, JJ could see how that may come off as a challenge for Otabek, not the gold metal. The words were out, so no taking them back. Classic JJ, he plowed forward instead. “Saw you blowing up the internet. It’s cute. Usually Otabek hates distractions. You the new guy dragging him out and making him look beyond the ice?”
Yuri had no idea what JJ was even talking about, anymore. He was so angry he was just seeing red, and all this idiot's words were coming out in random order, as far as he could tell. Blind rage. It was a thing. "No one drags Beka anywhere. He does what he wants. And he wants to kick your ass in this final. He can't be distracted from that, and don't forget it, moron!"
JJ held up his hands. “Hey. Calm down, Ice Kitten. No need to burn up.”
"Fuck you," Yuri muttered under his breath, even as Yakov called to him. Again. "I'm coming, old man! Stop your shouting!" he hollered in Russian. Then he turned back to JJ, shot him the dirtiest look in his arsenal, and turned on his heel to head to his old coach. "Fuck you sideways. In the ear."
***
Otabek knocked on the door to Yuri’s suite, wondering if someone from his team was going to answer or if he’d be lucky enough to catch Yuri alone.
Yuri opened the door almost immediately, looking his usual faintly disgruntled self, but smiled when he saw who it was. "Dinner?" he asked. He glanced over his shoulder to where Mila was talking on the phone with some boy or another, way too loud, making an annoyed face. She couldn't do that in her own room? Ugh.
“Want to sneak out?” Otabek suggested. The city was beautiful, and there was no reason to stay locked up in the hotel.
Yuri nodded, and then ran back into his own room. He emerged in a hoodie, without saying a word to anyone--not that Mila noticed--and slipped out into the hall with Otabek. "There must be a back exit, right?"
Otabek reached to carefully pull Yuri’s hoodie up and then tucked his hair back beneath the hoodie. He glanced down the empty hallway and leaned to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Yeah, let’s find it.”
It didn’t take too long before they figured it out and were spit into a back alley. Yuri grimaced, pulling his hood up right to cover his telltale hair. “I guess the bike would be a dead giveaway. We should walk.”
“Best bet,” Otabek agreed. “We can work on our disguises next time if we bump into anyone.” He walked close to Yuri, narrowly stopping from slipping an arm around his waist. “I’m starving.”
"Too hungry for disguises," Yuri agreed, bumping his shoulder into Beka's arm, since grabbing it would only draw attention. "It's stupid, having to hide. Why can't people let us eat in peace." But the complaint was half-hearted. Yuri was glad for the fans... just not for the panic they induced in him.
Otabek smiled at him fondly. “We’ll find somewhere low key. Hopefully that will thwart anyone.”
"Does it ever annoy you?" Yuri asked abruptly. "That with me it's even harder than it would be on your own? To just--do things?"
Otabek reached down, brushing his thumb along Yuri’s wrist. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
Yuri smiled, realizing belatedly that was exactly what he'd wanted to hear, even if he hadn't known it when he'd asked. He grabbed for Otabek's hand after all. If someone took a picture, he didn't care.
***
Otabek sat close to Yuri in the stands as the Short Program started for the day. They were both slated to go last, so there was time to watch a couple of routines. JJ had the first skate of the day. Before he even came out on the ice Otabek could feel Yuri vibrating with unbridled rage. While Otabek didn't care about the looks they were getting due to Yuri's verbal vitriol, he did glance over and ask, "Why do you let him get to you so badly? He's an ass. But the more attention you give him, the more he'll rile you up."
Yuri made a horrible face and kicked his feet up on the chair in front of him, planting his sneakers between two of his Russian teammates--who gave him a dirty look. He was trying to look casual, but he was still vibrating. He muttered, gaze fixed to stupid JJ and his stupid parents. God, they made him even more irritating. "What am I supposed to do, not stick up for myself? When he's swaggering around like a giant dildo and calling you 'Beks'?"
Otabek hadn’t heard that nickname out loud in a while. He slid a hand discretely onto Yuri’s leg, a steady pressure to still the tremor in his muscle. “You don’t need to prove anything, Yura,” he said softly. “Jean’s the one on the outside now. That attitude is pushing everyone away, except Bella. You know you’re better than him.”
Yuri stuck out his chin and sat even straighter. The hand on his leg helped. "It's still fucking annoying. Watching him strut like a rooster. Look at that."
The crowd erupted in cheers as JJ LeRoy took to the ice, crossing himself like a weirdo Catholic.
He leaned against Yuri, shoulder to shoulder as they watched. He dropped his voice, barely audible over the crowd, “He hasn’t gotten laid since he pledged himself to Bella. That’s why he’s cranked to 11. Severe overcompensation.”
Yuri snorted, somewhat placated, and leaned in too. "That explains a lot. What's with that face he's making?"
And then the music started--and JJ didn't.
Otabek stilled as he watched JJ’s expression. Normally JJ projected a crazy, confident persona, but Otabek remembered the guy that taught him his quad. When he was alone, he could beat himself up over his work. He never let the world see it, but in that moment there he was. “Shit,” Otabek said. Was JJ about to have a panic attack on the ice?
Yuri frowned and leaned forward. What was this idiot doing?
JJ shook himself and started skating, but he looked stiff, jerky. Had someone slipped an antidote to "cocky prick" syndrome into his Gatorade? "What is he doing?"
“Fucking up,” Otabek said softly. “At least he started. Maybe he’ll get through it.”
Yuri leaned forward, elbows on thighs, brow furrowed. JJ went in for a jump... and it became a single. “Shit...”
Otabek muttered softly, “Oh man.” This was about to be an event to remember.
They both sat in horrified silence as JJ made mistake after mistake--it all added up to a total meltdown on the ice. In front of the world. Yuri wanted to gloat internally, but even he was too caught up in it, just watching. When it was finally over, he finally let out the breath he'd been holding and said, "That fucking moron." He didn't want to beat JJ because he was a fuck up! He wanted to beat him at his best! Dammit!
Otabek settled a hand Yuri’s leg, squeezing softly. “That’s going to hurt. I can’t believe that happened, today of all days. He’s going to wreck himself.”
"Asshole," Yuri grumped, though his gaze was still fixed to JJ, almost looking worried. "I wanted to wreck him."
Otabek had to wonder if he'd pull through for tomorrow, or if this was it for JJ's season. There was no way he could come all the way back, but if he was still a mess tomorrow... Otabek leaned against Yuri again. "I don't need to see Giacommeti again. Want to go warm up?"
Yuri wrinkled up his nose at the mention of Giacometti and nodded. He wanted to shake this off--this weird thing he was feeling after watching JJ suck. He had a fucking gold medal to win.
Otabek took his hand, squeezing briefly, before pulling away and standing.
Yuri stood after him and started for the door. He needed to get his head right, and there wasn't much time. "C'mon, Beka."
***
A world record was just the beginning. Unfortunately, it also meant that sneaking through the hotel while being Yuri Plisetsky was totally fucking difficult. Yuri waited impatiently for his teammates to go to dinner, bouncing from foot to foot and listening through the door as they yammered and gossiped about the day’s short programs: JJ’s epic fail, Sara Crispino’s epic awesome, Yuri breaking Victor’s record.
God, why did they have to talk so much? Just go eat, already!
Finally, they left, and Yuri made his way into the hall, pulling his black hood as far down over his face as he could to hide his identity. Once or twice it looked like someone might try to talk to him, and Yuri turned and waited in some alcove until it was safe to get past. Then, after what felt like a fucking year later, he finally slipped the keycard into Beka’s door and felt it click open.
Quietly, Yuri entered. And there he was, now changed out of his freakishly cute Kazakh outfit and standing shirtless, back to the door, looking at his phone or something.
Yuri let the door click shut behind him, and before Beka could turn all the way around, he threw himself at Otabek. Beka caught him, of course, but Yuri’s momentum sent them straight onto the bed.
Otabek knew that Yuri was coming over as soon as he was free, but waiting was taking forever. He'd stretched, showered, made more excuses to his coach about why he was staying in tonight, and was about to pull the footage of Yuri's short program up again to watch when the door clicked open and he was tackled. The phone clattered to the floor, abandoned on the carpet. Otabek pulled Yuri close and kissed him.
"You are absolutely incredible," he murmured when they broke for breath.
Yuri grunted something in agreement, then re-angled himself to straddle Beka and pin him to the bed. He leaned forward, his palms flat against Otabek’s bare chest, his hair hanging in a fringe around his face. “We are incredible. I want to celebrate with something new.”
Otabek raised a brow at the proclamation. As much as he was riding the adrenaline high, he didn't want them to do anything Yuri would regret tomorrow. "What did you have in mind, Yura?"
“I’ve been paying attention,” Yuri said, leaning in close and rocking his hips to rub up on Beka. He bit gently at Beka’s bottom lip. “Don’t you want a blow job from a world record holder?”
Otabek groaned at the teasing grind of his hips. He caught Yuri by the hair, pulling him into a less than gentle kiss. "Only if we're talking about this record holder. Fuck. You finally caught your breath?"
“Mmm,” Yuri hummed into his lips. “I did. I’ve got it, Beka. Everything felt right today. Everything still does.” He started slipping downwards, kissing at Otabek’s neck.
"I love you," Otabek murmured in Russian. Maybe it wasn't dirty talk, but his whole body was thrumming it, and had been since Yuri killed it on the ice.
Yuri switched into Russian too. He muttered into Beka’s collar bone, “Yes, I know. It makes me stronger.” Another nip, then down further. Everything today had been in the moment, Yuri almost losing himself to it—and it was the best he’d ever felt. He didn’t mind admitting, “I love you, too.”
Otabek carded his fingers through Yuri's hair. His head tipped back, and he yielded to whatever his boyfriend wanted.
A while later, a very satisfied and smug looking Yuri flopped onto his back in Beka’s bed, eyes bright, hair awry, a huge and rare smile on his face. “Your short program costume drives me crazy. I think it’s the open shirt? Even as high as I was after I finished I was still thinking of tonight and what I wanted to do.”
Otabek chuckled, a gravelly rumble. He managed to roll on to his side and wrap an arm across Yuri's chest. "I'm glad cultural pride gets you hot and bothered. I'll keep the open shirt thing in mind next season."
“Yes,” Yuri said, a glint in his eye. “I like the pants too. They hug your ass nice. It’s even better than normal spandex somehow that they look like... those pants. Golfing pants?”
Otabek brushed a kiss over Yuri's ribs. He was too distracted to verify trouser styles.
“Mmm, that’s nice. Tickles but nice.” Yuri gave a silent giggle. “Soon I’ll be as good as you at this. Just wait.”
Otabek huffed softly, smiling against Yuri's skin. "I'm not going to object. Well. Depending on where you want to practice."
“Everywhere.” Yuri smirked. He toyed with Beka’s hair and sighed happily. “Where did you learn, anyhow?” He asked out of pure curiosity. Whoever it was, they were in Beka’s last; Yuri was secure that he was his now and his future. So who cared? It was interesting. And maybe he’d send them a thank you card someday.
His lips trailed across, settling over the steady pound of Yuri's heart. He pressed a kiss there as he considered the answer. "In Canada."
Yuri snorted out a laugh. "I don't think of Canada as very sexy." Then again, Jean-Paul was pretty hot. For a skier.
"No, but it was the first time I settled long enough to connect with anyone." He glanced up at Yuri. "You can't always have love at first sight."
Still fiddling with his hair, Yuri smirked. "No, you only need that once. Who was it?" He couldn't remember who all Beka had trained with there, apart from the obvious.
Otabek hesitated. "It's going to kill the mood," he said.
Yuri froze, fingers still in Beka's hair. Completely still. Holding his breath.
No. Fuck no. Anyone but him.
As predicted, mood effectively killed. "It really didn't mean anything," Otabek assured. "He was different when we were kids. Friendly, less of a jackass. Totally in love with Izzie, but thought she was unattainable. We pretty much killed time together, and then went different ways."
Yuri only partly heard, because that red whoosh of anger had filled his head. He pushed Otabek off and stood so fast his head spun. He wished he hadn’t asked, but was fucking glad he had. He wished he had clothes on because he felt so fucking NAKED right then.
He hated everything, and started picking up his clothes as angrily as he could. “Great. I just put something in my mouth that was already in JJ’s. That’s disgusting!”
Otabek sat upright, shoulders rigid at the comment. "Yura," he objected. "Do I mean less, because I was friends with him once? Is that all it takes?"
“What?!” Yuri whirled, holding his shirt over his junk, fuming. “Don’t talk to me about friends! You fucked that douche-bag, not me!”
"I didn't fuck him," Otabek ground out. He swung his legs off the bed, but didn't get up. He wasn't about to grab Yuri when he was lashing out. "Seriously, do you hate him more than you care about us? Because if you want to give him this," he gestured between them, "Fine. It was years ago, and it never mattered, but if hating JJ is more important than what we have then by all means, be angry."
The words struck home, but Yuri was too pissed off to process it—to even want to. It just HURT. There was this crazy pressure on his chest and the whooshing in his ears was so loud. Fuck, why did it hurt?
Yuri stumbled into his jeans, unable to find his underwear fast though, and had to be really careful not to pinch himself in the zipper because his stupid prick still wanted that stupid jerk in the stupid bed. “Don’t make me the bad guy! I don’t care if you had your dick in his bottom or his top—he’s the worst!” He didn’t even know what he was saying; he was just trying to put on his hoodie and gtfo.
Otabek took a breath. Yuri was being unreasonable, but he wasn't the bad guy. As far as Otabek was concerned, neither of them was. Feelings happened. But if Yuri let this actually ruin their relationship, then he was an idiot. This weekend was too important to skate angry. Otabek got up, risking getting kicked or scratched to pieces. He grabbed Yuri's arms, trying to still him.
"Yuri Plisetsky, I am fucking in love with you. I belong to you. There is no one else."
Once, Yuri had fallen so hard, face first into the ice, that it had knocked the wind out of him. That was all he could think of now. That and JJ winking at him, with those stupid sunglasses on top of his stupid head. And that stupid little smile, that stupid mouth that he hated even more now.
For a long moment, Yuri just stared, mouth hanging open. He ached to say he loved Beka too. He did! More than anything!
But that was why it HURT, so he hated it. He heard JJ, that total fucking failure, calling his Beka “Beks.”
Didn’t mean anything, Yuri’s little white ass. Yuri yanked away and zipped up his hoodie, then pulled up the hood and made for the door. “See you on the ice. Beks.”
The old nickname was like a slap to the face. Otabek couldn't respond. All he could do was watch Yuri walk out.
***
The morning after setting a world record in the Men's Short Program, Yuri Plisetsky woke to the certain knowledge that he had made a huge mistake.
He'd stormed into the common room of the suite last night and practically run past his teammates, then slammed his own door in Mila's face when she tried to ask him what was wrong. For the first time in a long time, he'd turned off his phone. Then thrown it across the room. Then landed face down in his bed and fumed for a good three hours before finally falling asleep.
But when Mila's knock woke him in the morning, all the anger was gone, leaving his belly and chest hollow. He tried to summon last night's righteous indignation while showering. While having breakfast. While telling Mila to leave him the hell alone while he tried to get in the zone. He tried to think about JJ and Beka together, but it... was just kind of stupid. He tried to think about JJ pissing him off, calling him "ma'am", wearing those stupid sunglasses on his head. But it didn't get the normal reaction out of him, for some reason. It was still gross to think about JJ having sex with anyone, but that was about as close as Yuri could come to being annoyed.
Suddenly, Yuri didn't care that much that it had been JJ. He only cared that Beka had looked really sincere and really hot last night, practically begging him to stay. And he should've stayed. If he had, he wouldn't feel like this right now, and this was fucking miserable.
Regretting his anger was something new. It took him all morning to realize that was even what was happening. JJ said something to him just before the six minute warm up. Yuri barely heard him, just stepped past and onto the ice. He did a few jumps. Tried to catch Beka's eye. Failed.
I ruined it. Why should he forgive me? He tried so hard. He was so beautiful. Fuck. But even those thoughts didn't stop Yuri from slipping away from his coaches once they were in the warm up room and trying to snag Beka's sleeve when no one else was looking.
Otabek couldn’t let their fight ruin his performance today. He tried to remind himself that when he woke up, feeling the empty space where Yuri should be curled against him. He couldn’t afford to fall apart on the ice. He’d travelled too far, experienced too much. Through breakfast, prep, and warm up he stayed laser focused on his on routine. If his mind wandered, he pulled it back and leaned into muscle memory. He was afraid to look at Yuri. If he was still angry, it was a distraction Otabek couldn’t afford right now.
It took the tug on his sleeve to finally catch his attention. Otabek looked up and braced himself the moment he confirmed who it was. “Yes?” he asked quietly.
"I--" Yuri stuttered for a second. "I'm sorry. Can we...?"
He let out a small breath of relief. Otabek glanced around for the clearest path to some privacy and then tipped his head for Yuri to follow.
Yuri did, glancing around to make sure no cameras were following them--or coach's eyes. Not that he cared if the world knew about them, but now he just... needed a minute. "I picked the worst time to lose my shit..." he grumbled.
“You did,” Otabek agreed firmly. There was a stairwell that lead downstairs. Otabek pushes the door open for them and then turned the corner.
Yuri let the door shut behind him and followed, proverbial tail between his legs. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he reached out and grabbed Otabek's hand.
Otabek pulled him in. “You’re an idiot.” He wrapped his arms around Yuri, hugging him close.
Yuri buried his face in Otabek's costume--too bad it wasn't the other one--and put his arms around his waist. "You were right," he mumbled into him. "It doesn't matter. I don't know what happened. I just got so angry."
Otabek tucked his face against Yuri’s hair. “If it happens again, can you try to remind yourself that you’re the most important person to me? Nothing changes that, Yura.”
Soothed by the closeness and the nickname, Yuri attempted to nod. After a moment, he pushed back just enough to look up at Otabek. “I mean, it’s not like there’s another guy I hate that you could’ve slept with, so we’re probably okay. Heh.
“But yeah. I will. I know.”
Otabek raised a hand to cup his cheek. “Dumbass,” he murmured fondly.
Yuri made a face. “You’re the one.” But there was no need to add to that thought, since now they both knew Yuri didn’t care. “Anyhow. I only care about you. That and my gold medal.” A slight smile tugged at one corner of his lip.
“You mean my gold medal.” It would be difficult to beat Yuri after yesterday’s short program, but he wasn’t giving in easy.
Yuri barked out one of his laughs, the kind it seemed even he hadn’t expected. “We’ll See.” Then Yuri took his hand and pressed Otabek’s fingers to his own lips. “I’ll skate for you.”
Otabek curled his fingers. “Yeah?” He pressed a kiss to Yuri’s forehead. “Show the world then. We make each other stronger.”
When Otabek pulled back, Yuri nodded, jaw set, eyes blazing. "Let's go win this thing."
***
They left everything on the ice. There was plenty to be said for years of technique and training. They hit every mark, but that wasn’t what elevated the free skate.
Otabek skated with purpose he’d never shown. Usually Almaty was all he held in his heart, but not today. Despite Yuri’s short program, Otabek’s score crept close to the top. Then Yuri obliterated every competitor with the final program of the day. Even fumbling a landing, he skated with impossible ferocity. The stadium erupted in cheers and screams when he broke his final pose, collapsing and panting in the ice. Otabek nearly wrapped himself in silence to stop his ears from buzzing at the volume.
It felt like his ears were still buzzing when they later climbed the podium. Or maybe that the other noise in Otabek’s head as cameras flashed and reporters and fans crowded the close. JJ managed to crawl his way up to bronze with his free skate, but neither Yuri nor Otabek were paying him much attention. After the standard pictures were snapped Otabek broke pose to look up at Yuri. He reached to touch his medal.
“Going to keep this warm for me, for next time?”
"Come and get it," Yuri said with a smirk. A million cameras flashed.
Otabek tugged and pulled him down until their foreheads touched. He wasn’t about to kiss Yuri in front of the entire world, and it wasn’t necessary when this gesture meant more.
“You can count on it.”
The flashes went insane. And Yuri stood there, smirking, his forehead pressed to Beka's. He felt JJ's eyes on them and didn't care. He felt the world's eyes on them... and he cared... he was proud.
He had everything. Now he just needed more.
The flight was uneventful, but a lot easier than most trans-Atlantic ones, since Yuri had Beka with him. They lifted the middle arm, and Yuri curled up with his head in Beka's lap and napped half the time. If Beka's coach had any complaints, too bad.
When they arrived at the hotel, the buzz of the crowd hit them before they got out of the van. Skaters, coaches, families, friends, fans, tons of people swarmed around the hotel downtown Barcelona, chattering in a mixture of Spanish and every other language known to humanity. Yuri let his sunglasses fall over his eyes and walked side-by-side with Beka, rolling one of his bags behind him. He'd let someone else take care of the rest. That was what coaches were for. Well, partly.
Of course, Yakov was in the lobby with Mila. Mila waved and grinned at him. Yuri rolled his eyes behind his shades, but was happy to see her again. Even if it'd only been a week, and he'd been beaten by JJ. "Here we go..." he muttered to Beka.
Beka bumped his shoulder against Yuri's and their fingers brushed briefly. He'd spent half the flight drowsing, the other half petting Yuri's hair while he slept. His muscles might be cramped from small seats, but he was mellow from snuggling their way across the ocean.
"Let the old guy know you're here in one piece," Otabek suggested. The hint of a smile curved his lips. "If you can get away later, dinner?"
Yuri nodded. "Definitely. I'm not eating with him and that old hag of an ex wife." The hag had choreographed his free skate, but that was no reason to pretend she wasn't a hag. "And Mila will only want to complain about boys. And interrogate me about you."
“Stay strong.” Otabek glanced to see if there were many people watching them. The crowd seemed reasonably busy, no direct stares he could spot. He lifted Yuri’s hand and brushed a quick kiss against the back of his knuckles. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”
Yuri's shades could only partly hide the semi-mesmerized way he looked in Otabek's eyes before nodding and hesitantly taking back his hands. He turned toward Yakov. Mila was still waving. Yuri sighed.
Otabek slipped away. Yuri was halfway to his coach when a familiar voice commented, “So is that how you’re taking out the competition these days, Princess?”
JJ reclined against the wall, two sets of luggage at his feet. Isabella’s coat was draped over the handle of her suitcase, but JJ’s fiancé was missing in action.
"Shut it, dickhead." Yuri whirled on him, glaring from behind his shades. "You're mad because your princess left you? Did she finally get tired of standing around a moron?"
JJ gestured at the queue to the ladies room. “My Queen has needs to attend to. Long flight.” He smiled and gave Yuri a knowing look. “So, you and Beks?”
"Beks? Ugh." Actually, it was cute, and Yuri hated JJ calling Otabek anything remotely cute. Gross. "Don't act like you know anything, douchebag. Just get ready for a humiliating defeat. From both of us."
JJ grinned that megawatt smile and waggled a finger at Yuri. “Maybe we’ll all share the podium, but don’t expect an easy win.” Slyly he added. “Maybe I’m the real challenge this week. Shame his old shirts don’t fit me anymore. Missed my photo op.”
Yuri glared so hard. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, idiot?"
Rewinding the statement in his head, JJ could see how that may come off as a challenge for Otabek, not the gold metal. The words were out, so no taking them back. Classic JJ, he plowed forward instead. “Saw you blowing up the internet. It’s cute. Usually Otabek hates distractions. You the new guy dragging him out and making him look beyond the ice?”
Yuri had no idea what JJ was even talking about, anymore. He was so angry he was just seeing red, and all this idiot's words were coming out in random order, as far as he could tell. Blind rage. It was a thing. "No one drags Beka anywhere. He does what he wants. And he wants to kick your ass in this final. He can't be distracted from that, and don't forget it, moron!"
JJ held up his hands. “Hey. Calm down, Ice Kitten. No need to burn up.”
"Fuck you," Yuri muttered under his breath, even as Yakov called to him. Again. "I'm coming, old man! Stop your shouting!" he hollered in Russian. Then he turned back to JJ, shot him the dirtiest look in his arsenal, and turned on his heel to head to his old coach. "Fuck you sideways. In the ear."
Otabek knocked on the door to Yuri’s suite, wondering if someone from his team was going to answer or if he’d be lucky enough to catch Yuri alone.
Yuri opened the door almost immediately, looking his usual faintly disgruntled self, but smiled when he saw who it was. "Dinner?" he asked. He glanced over his shoulder to where Mila was talking on the phone with some boy or another, way too loud, making an annoyed face. She couldn't do that in her own room? Ugh.
“Want to sneak out?” Otabek suggested. The city was beautiful, and there was no reason to stay locked up in the hotel.
Yuri nodded, and then ran back into his own room. He emerged in a hoodie, without saying a word to anyone--not that Mila noticed--and slipped out into the hall with Otabek. "There must be a back exit, right?"
Otabek reached to carefully pull Yuri’s hoodie up and then tucked his hair back beneath the hoodie. He glanced down the empty hallway and leaned to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Yeah, let’s find it.”
It didn’t take too long before they figured it out and were spit into a back alley. Yuri grimaced, pulling his hood up right to cover his telltale hair. “I guess the bike would be a dead giveaway. We should walk.”
“Best bet,” Otabek agreed. “We can work on our disguises next time if we bump into anyone.” He walked close to Yuri, narrowly stopping from slipping an arm around his waist. “I’m starving.”
"Too hungry for disguises," Yuri agreed, bumping his shoulder into Beka's arm, since grabbing it would only draw attention. "It's stupid, having to hide. Why can't people let us eat in peace." But the complaint was half-hearted. Yuri was glad for the fans... just not for the panic they induced in him.
Otabek smiled at him fondly. “We’ll find somewhere low key. Hopefully that will thwart anyone.”
"Does it ever annoy you?" Yuri asked abruptly. "That with me it's even harder than it would be on your own? To just--do things?"
Otabek reached down, brushing his thumb along Yuri’s wrist. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
Yuri smiled, realizing belatedly that was exactly what he'd wanted to hear, even if he hadn't known it when he'd asked. He grabbed for Otabek's hand after all. If someone took a picture, he didn't care.
Otabek sat close to Yuri in the stands as the Short Program started for the day. They were both slated to go last, so there was time to watch a couple of routines. JJ had the first skate of the day. Before he even came out on the ice Otabek could feel Yuri vibrating with unbridled rage. While Otabek didn't care about the looks they were getting due to Yuri's verbal vitriol, he did glance over and ask, "Why do you let him get to you so badly? He's an ass. But the more attention you give him, the more he'll rile you up."
Yuri made a horrible face and kicked his feet up on the chair in front of him, planting his sneakers between two of his Russian teammates--who gave him a dirty look. He was trying to look casual, but he was still vibrating. He muttered, gaze fixed to stupid JJ and his stupid parents. God, they made him even more irritating. "What am I supposed to do, not stick up for myself? When he's swaggering around like a giant dildo and calling you 'Beks'?"
Otabek hadn’t heard that nickname out loud in a while. He slid a hand discretely onto Yuri’s leg, a steady pressure to still the tremor in his muscle. “You don’t need to prove anything, Yura,” he said softly. “Jean’s the one on the outside now. That attitude is pushing everyone away, except Bella. You know you’re better than him.”
Yuri stuck out his chin and sat even straighter. The hand on his leg helped. "It's still fucking annoying. Watching him strut like a rooster. Look at that."
The crowd erupted in cheers as JJ LeRoy took to the ice, crossing himself like a weirdo Catholic.
He leaned against Yuri, shoulder to shoulder as they watched. He dropped his voice, barely audible over the crowd, “He hasn’t gotten laid since he pledged himself to Bella. That’s why he’s cranked to 11. Severe overcompensation.”
Yuri snorted, somewhat placated, and leaned in too. "That explains a lot. What's with that face he's making?"
And then the music started--and JJ didn't.
Otabek stilled as he watched JJ’s expression. Normally JJ projected a crazy, confident persona, but Otabek remembered the guy that taught him his quad. When he was alone, he could beat himself up over his work. He never let the world see it, but in that moment there he was. “Shit,” Otabek said. Was JJ about to have a panic attack on the ice?
Yuri frowned and leaned forward. What was this idiot doing?
JJ shook himself and started skating, but he looked stiff, jerky. Had someone slipped an antidote to "cocky prick" syndrome into his Gatorade? "What is he doing?"
“Fucking up,” Otabek said softly. “At least he started. Maybe he’ll get through it.”
Yuri leaned forward, elbows on thighs, brow furrowed. JJ went in for a jump... and it became a single. “Shit...”
Otabek muttered softly, “Oh man.” This was about to be an event to remember.
They both sat in horrified silence as JJ made mistake after mistake--it all added up to a total meltdown on the ice. In front of the world. Yuri wanted to gloat internally, but even he was too caught up in it, just watching. When it was finally over, he finally let out the breath he'd been holding and said, "That fucking moron." He didn't want to beat JJ because he was a fuck up! He wanted to beat him at his best! Dammit!
Otabek settled a hand Yuri’s leg, squeezing softly. “That’s going to hurt. I can’t believe that happened, today of all days. He’s going to wreck himself.”
"Asshole," Yuri grumped, though his gaze was still fixed to JJ, almost looking worried. "I wanted to wreck him."
Otabek had to wonder if he'd pull through for tomorrow, or if this was it for JJ's season. There was no way he could come all the way back, but if he was still a mess tomorrow... Otabek leaned against Yuri again. "I don't need to see Giacommeti again. Want to go warm up?"
Yuri wrinkled up his nose at the mention of Giacometti and nodded. He wanted to shake this off--this weird thing he was feeling after watching JJ suck. He had a fucking gold medal to win.
Otabek took his hand, squeezing briefly, before pulling away and standing.
Yuri stood after him and started for the door. He needed to get his head right, and there wasn't much time. "C'mon, Beka."
A world record was just the beginning. Unfortunately, it also meant that sneaking through the hotel while being Yuri Plisetsky was totally fucking difficult. Yuri waited impatiently for his teammates to go to dinner, bouncing from foot to foot and listening through the door as they yammered and gossiped about the day’s short programs: JJ’s epic fail, Sara Crispino’s epic awesome, Yuri breaking Victor’s record.
God, why did they have to talk so much? Just go eat, already!
Finally, they left, and Yuri made his way into the hall, pulling his black hood as far down over his face as he could to hide his identity. Once or twice it looked like someone might try to talk to him, and Yuri turned and waited in some alcove until it was safe to get past. Then, after what felt like a fucking year later, he finally slipped the keycard into Beka’s door and felt it click open.
Quietly, Yuri entered. And there he was, now changed out of his freakishly cute Kazakh outfit and standing shirtless, back to the door, looking at his phone or something.
Yuri let the door click shut behind him, and before Beka could turn all the way around, he threw himself at Otabek. Beka caught him, of course, but Yuri’s momentum sent them straight onto the bed.
Otabek knew that Yuri was coming over as soon as he was free, but waiting was taking forever. He'd stretched, showered, made more excuses to his coach about why he was staying in tonight, and was about to pull the footage of Yuri's short program up again to watch when the door clicked open and he was tackled. The phone clattered to the floor, abandoned on the carpet. Otabek pulled Yuri close and kissed him.
"You are absolutely incredible," he murmured when they broke for breath.
Yuri grunted something in agreement, then re-angled himself to straddle Beka and pin him to the bed. He leaned forward, his palms flat against Otabek’s bare chest, his hair hanging in a fringe around his face. “We are incredible. I want to celebrate with something new.”
Otabek raised a brow at the proclamation. As much as he was riding the adrenaline high, he didn't want them to do anything Yuri would regret tomorrow. "What did you have in mind, Yura?"
“I’ve been paying attention,” Yuri said, leaning in close and rocking his hips to rub up on Beka. He bit gently at Beka’s bottom lip. “Don’t you want a blow job from a world record holder?”
Otabek groaned at the teasing grind of his hips. He caught Yuri by the hair, pulling him into a less than gentle kiss. "Only if we're talking about this record holder. Fuck. You finally caught your breath?"
“Mmm,” Yuri hummed into his lips. “I did. I’ve got it, Beka. Everything felt right today. Everything still does.” He started slipping downwards, kissing at Otabek’s neck.
"I love you," Otabek murmured in Russian. Maybe it wasn't dirty talk, but his whole body was thrumming it, and had been since Yuri killed it on the ice.
Yuri switched into Russian too. He muttered into Beka’s collar bone, “Yes, I know. It makes me stronger.” Another nip, then down further. Everything today had been in the moment, Yuri almost losing himself to it—and it was the best he’d ever felt. He didn’t mind admitting, “I love you, too.”
Otabek carded his fingers through Yuri's hair. His head tipped back, and he yielded to whatever his boyfriend wanted.
A while later, a very satisfied and smug looking Yuri flopped onto his back in Beka’s bed, eyes bright, hair awry, a huge and rare smile on his face. “Your short program costume drives me crazy. I think it’s the open shirt? Even as high as I was after I finished I was still thinking of tonight and what I wanted to do.”
Otabek chuckled, a gravelly rumble. He managed to roll on to his side and wrap an arm across Yuri's chest. "I'm glad cultural pride gets you hot and bothered. I'll keep the open shirt thing in mind next season."
“Yes,” Yuri said, a glint in his eye. “I like the pants too. They hug your ass nice. It’s even better than normal spandex somehow that they look like... those pants. Golfing pants?”
Otabek brushed a kiss over Yuri's ribs. He was too distracted to verify trouser styles.
“Mmm, that’s nice. Tickles but nice.” Yuri gave a silent giggle. “Soon I’ll be as good as you at this. Just wait.”
Otabek huffed softly, smiling against Yuri's skin. "I'm not going to object. Well. Depending on where you want to practice."
“Everywhere.” Yuri smirked. He toyed with Beka’s hair and sighed happily. “Where did you learn, anyhow?” He asked out of pure curiosity. Whoever it was, they were in Beka’s last; Yuri was secure that he was his now and his future. So who cared? It was interesting. And maybe he’d send them a thank you card someday.
His lips trailed across, settling over the steady pound of Yuri's heart. He pressed a kiss there as he considered the answer. "In Canada."
Yuri snorted out a laugh. "I don't think of Canada as very sexy." Then again, Jean-Paul was pretty hot. For a skier.
"No, but it was the first time I settled long enough to connect with anyone." He glanced up at Yuri. "You can't always have love at first sight."
Still fiddling with his hair, Yuri smirked. "No, you only need that once. Who was it?" He couldn't remember who all Beka had trained with there, apart from the obvious.
Otabek hesitated. "It's going to kill the mood," he said.
Yuri froze, fingers still in Beka's hair. Completely still. Holding his breath.
No. Fuck no. Anyone but him.
As predicted, mood effectively killed. "It really didn't mean anything," Otabek assured. "He was different when we were kids. Friendly, less of a jackass. Totally in love with Izzie, but thought she was unattainable. We pretty much killed time together, and then went different ways."
Yuri only partly heard, because that red whoosh of anger had filled his head. He pushed Otabek off and stood so fast his head spun. He wished he hadn’t asked, but was fucking glad he had. He wished he had clothes on because he felt so fucking NAKED right then.
He hated everything, and started picking up his clothes as angrily as he could. “Great. I just put something in my mouth that was already in JJ’s. That’s disgusting!”
Otabek sat upright, shoulders rigid at the comment. "Yura," he objected. "Do I mean less, because I was friends with him once? Is that all it takes?"
“What?!” Yuri whirled, holding his shirt over his junk, fuming. “Don’t talk to me about friends! You fucked that douche-bag, not me!”
"I didn't fuck him," Otabek ground out. He swung his legs off the bed, but didn't get up. He wasn't about to grab Yuri when he was lashing out. "Seriously, do you hate him more than you care about us? Because if you want to give him this," he gestured between them, "Fine. It was years ago, and it never mattered, but if hating JJ is more important than what we have then by all means, be angry."
The words struck home, but Yuri was too pissed off to process it—to even want to. It just HURT. There was this crazy pressure on his chest and the whooshing in his ears was so loud. Fuck, why did it hurt?
Yuri stumbled into his jeans, unable to find his underwear fast though, and had to be really careful not to pinch himself in the zipper because his stupid prick still wanted that stupid jerk in the stupid bed. “Don’t make me the bad guy! I don’t care if you had your dick in his bottom or his top—he’s the worst!” He didn’t even know what he was saying; he was just trying to put on his hoodie and gtfo.
Otabek took a breath. Yuri was being unreasonable, but he wasn't the bad guy. As far as Otabek was concerned, neither of them was. Feelings happened. But if Yuri let this actually ruin their relationship, then he was an idiot. This weekend was too important to skate angry. Otabek got up, risking getting kicked or scratched to pieces. He grabbed Yuri's arms, trying to still him.
"Yuri Plisetsky, I am fucking in love with you. I belong to you. There is no one else."
Once, Yuri had fallen so hard, face first into the ice, that it had knocked the wind out of him. That was all he could think of now. That and JJ winking at him, with those stupid sunglasses on top of his stupid head. And that stupid little smile, that stupid mouth that he hated even more now.
For a long moment, Yuri just stared, mouth hanging open. He ached to say he loved Beka too. He did! More than anything!
But that was why it HURT, so he hated it. He heard JJ, that total fucking failure, calling his Beka “Beks.”
Didn’t mean anything, Yuri’s little white ass. Yuri yanked away and zipped up his hoodie, then pulled up the hood and made for the door. “See you on the ice. Beks.”
The old nickname was like a slap to the face. Otabek couldn't respond. All he could do was watch Yuri walk out.
The morning after setting a world record in the Men's Short Program, Yuri Plisetsky woke to the certain knowledge that he had made a huge mistake.
He'd stormed into the common room of the suite last night and practically run past his teammates, then slammed his own door in Mila's face when she tried to ask him what was wrong. For the first time in a long time, he'd turned off his phone. Then thrown it across the room. Then landed face down in his bed and fumed for a good three hours before finally falling asleep.
But when Mila's knock woke him in the morning, all the anger was gone, leaving his belly and chest hollow. He tried to summon last night's righteous indignation while showering. While having breakfast. While telling Mila to leave him the hell alone while he tried to get in the zone. He tried to think about JJ and Beka together, but it... was just kind of stupid. He tried to think about JJ pissing him off, calling him "ma'am", wearing those stupid sunglasses on his head. But it didn't get the normal reaction out of him, for some reason. It was still gross to think about JJ having sex with anyone, but that was about as close as Yuri could come to being annoyed.
Suddenly, Yuri didn't care that much that it had been JJ. He only cared that Beka had looked really sincere and really hot last night, practically begging him to stay. And he should've stayed. If he had, he wouldn't feel like this right now, and this was fucking miserable.
Regretting his anger was something new. It took him all morning to realize that was even what was happening. JJ said something to him just before the six minute warm up. Yuri barely heard him, just stepped past and onto the ice. He did a few jumps. Tried to catch Beka's eye. Failed.
I ruined it. Why should he forgive me? He tried so hard. He was so beautiful. Fuck. But even those thoughts didn't stop Yuri from slipping away from his coaches once they were in the warm up room and trying to snag Beka's sleeve when no one else was looking.
Otabek couldn’t let their fight ruin his performance today. He tried to remind himself that when he woke up, feeling the empty space where Yuri should be curled against him. He couldn’t afford to fall apart on the ice. He’d travelled too far, experienced too much. Through breakfast, prep, and warm up he stayed laser focused on his on routine. If his mind wandered, he pulled it back and leaned into muscle memory. He was afraid to look at Yuri. If he was still angry, it was a distraction Otabek couldn’t afford right now.
It took the tug on his sleeve to finally catch his attention. Otabek looked up and braced himself the moment he confirmed who it was. “Yes?” he asked quietly.
"I--" Yuri stuttered for a second. "I'm sorry. Can we...?"
He let out a small breath of relief. Otabek glanced around for the clearest path to some privacy and then tipped his head for Yuri to follow.
Yuri did, glancing around to make sure no cameras were following them--or coach's eyes. Not that he cared if the world knew about them, but now he just... needed a minute. "I picked the worst time to lose my shit..." he grumbled.
“You did,” Otabek agreed firmly. There was a stairwell that lead downstairs. Otabek pushes the door open for them and then turned the corner.
Yuri let the door shut behind him and followed, proverbial tail between his legs. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he reached out and grabbed Otabek's hand.
Otabek pulled him in. “You’re an idiot.” He wrapped his arms around Yuri, hugging him close.
Yuri buried his face in Otabek's costume--too bad it wasn't the other one--and put his arms around his waist. "You were right," he mumbled into him. "It doesn't matter. I don't know what happened. I just got so angry."
Otabek tucked his face against Yuri’s hair. “If it happens again, can you try to remind yourself that you’re the most important person to me? Nothing changes that, Yura.”
Soothed by the closeness and the nickname, Yuri attempted to nod. After a moment, he pushed back just enough to look up at Otabek. “I mean, it’s not like there’s another guy I hate that you could’ve slept with, so we’re probably okay. Heh.
“But yeah. I will. I know.”
Otabek raised a hand to cup his cheek. “Dumbass,” he murmured fondly.
Yuri made a face. “You’re the one.” But there was no need to add to that thought, since now they both knew Yuri didn’t care. “Anyhow. I only care about you. That and my gold medal.” A slight smile tugged at one corner of his lip.
“You mean my gold medal.” It would be difficult to beat Yuri after yesterday’s short program, but he wasn’t giving in easy.
Yuri barked out one of his laughs, the kind it seemed even he hadn’t expected. “We’ll See.” Then Yuri took his hand and pressed Otabek’s fingers to his own lips. “I’ll skate for you.”
Otabek curled his fingers. “Yeah?” He pressed a kiss to Yuri’s forehead. “Show the world then. We make each other stronger.”
When Otabek pulled back, Yuri nodded, jaw set, eyes blazing. "Let's go win this thing."
They left everything on the ice. There was plenty to be said for years of technique and training. They hit every mark, but that wasn’t what elevated the free skate.
Otabek skated with purpose he’d never shown. Usually Almaty was all he held in his heart, but not today. Despite Yuri’s short program, Otabek’s score crept close to the top. Then Yuri obliterated every competitor with the final program of the day. Even fumbling a landing, he skated with impossible ferocity. The stadium erupted in cheers and screams when he broke his final pose, collapsing and panting in the ice. Otabek nearly wrapped himself in silence to stop his ears from buzzing at the volume.
It felt like his ears were still buzzing when they later climbed the podium. Or maybe that the other noise in Otabek’s head as cameras flashed and reporters and fans crowded the close. JJ managed to crawl his way up to bronze with his free skate, but neither Yuri nor Otabek were paying him much attention. After the standard pictures were snapped Otabek broke pose to look up at Yuri. He reached to touch his medal.
“Going to keep this warm for me, for next time?”
"Come and get it," Yuri said with a smirk. A million cameras flashed.
Otabek tugged and pulled him down until their foreheads touched. He wasn’t about to kiss Yuri in front of the entire world, and it wasn’t necessary when this gesture meant more.
“You can count on it.”
The flashes went insane. And Yuri stood there, smirking, his forehead pressed to Beka's. He felt JJ's eyes on them and didn't care. He felt the world's eyes on them... and he cared... he was proud.
He had everything. Now he just needed more.
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Date: 2018-04-15 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-04-16 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-04-15 04:18 pm (UTC)This was fantastic!
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Date: 2018-04-16 12:38 am (UTC)