A/N: Written for Yuri Plisetsky's birthday in 2017. Songs featured: "Let Me Go" by En Vogue and "Consequence" by the Notwist (which I highly recommend you check out and listen to as you read this.
WARNING: this fic features a sixteen year old Yuri and a nineteen year old Otabek. Both are of-age in their respective countries and in the country this fic takes place in (France) and they do not engage in anything beyond kissing. If you still have a problem with that, then don't read this. I refuse to let some asshole come at me for writing an "underage" Yuri kissing someone because they didn't stay away from something they knew they didn't agree with.
Barcelona had changed Yuri Plisetsky's life.
'Course he knew that was gonna happen. It was the first Grand Prix Final of his time in the Senior Circuit, during his debut season, and he was confident enough in his programs and skills that he'd take home gold, despite going up against the smug asshole that was JJ LeRoy and the surprising talent that the Japanese Yuuri had become.
Stupid Katsudon.
But what he hadn't counted on was leaving the competition with a friend. His competitive drive and his own ego gave him a prickly personality, something he was frequently made aware of but did nothing to change. People annoyed him, pissed him off with their incessant talking and butting into his life or controlling what he was supposed to do. He tolerated Yakov and Lilia because they were his coaches and he had to. He put up with Victor Nikiforov because he'd owed him a short program routine, but didn't bother hiding his annoyance and contempt for the easy-going bastard. Everyone else he flat out hated and didn't bother to keep it a secret or play nice. If they thought he was a dick, all the better. They'd be more likely to stay away and he wouldn't have to deal with that annoying socializing bullshit.
Until he met Otabek Altin.
Or re-met, apparently.
Yuri admittedly didn't remember the summer boot camp they'd attended together, only recalling his own serious nature and his desire to be left alone. Even back then he'd been antisocial, preferring to focus on himself and his skating than making friends he thought he'd never see again. Otabek understood and more than that, accepted it, offering friendship that, for once, Yuri accepted.
When they felt the coast was clear and there was less chance of running into Yuri's army of crazed fangirls, they headed to a cafe, chatting for hours over shared memories of that summer, skating in their home rinks, stories of their families. Otabek talked about his love of motorcycles and his hobby of DJing while Yuri spoke of his cat and his own love for baking that he would deny til his last breath if Otabek told anyone else. Conversation flowed easily, non-stop, and Yuri felt as comfortable with his new friend as he did with his grandpa. He was completely relaxed, able to drop the prickly guard he usually kept up to prevent anyone from getting close, and even found himself smiling on occasion. And damn if the usually stoic Otabek wasn't smiling right back.
Their hang-out was crashed by practically every male skater at the Grand Prix Final with them—as well as two random chicks Yuri didn't know but had showed up with the other Yuuri and Victor so clearly Katsudon was to blame. Yuri spent the entire time sitting there fuming, glaring daggers at every single person at the table, only cooling his rage when he felt Otabek's knee press against his from the seat right next to him.
He ranted about his crashed hang-out the next day to the wrong person and Mila immediately began accusing him of having a crush, a fact he vehemently denied. He didn't have feelings for Otabek beyond friendship and even if he did, what did it matter? Wasn't like the Kazakh felt the same way and if the opposite was true, they lived in two totally different countries so how would that even work?
Their last night in Barcelona, Yuri and Otabek snuck out of the banquet, Yuri claiming that he didn't want to get dragged into a dance-off with stupid Katsudon again, but really just wanted more alone time with Otabek that wouldn't be interrupted by the idiots he competed against. They sat on the balcony of Yuri's room, the city below them once more, talking about everything except what the next day would bring. Yuri cursed out JJ for robbing Otabek, while Otabek praised Yuri's record breaking routine, and all the while, small smiles were on their faces. The younger boy had never felt more comfortable with someone outside his family, the pressures of skating gone, only leaving the quiet happiness of enjoying someone's company.
The sun was beginning to peek over the buildings when Otabek finally followed through on his countless claims of how he should go, after they'd exchanged info for every possible method of communication: Snapchat, Twitter, Instagram, phone, email, Skype. Promises to keep in touch were made and Yuri fell into a hug he actually wanted and liked, face buried in Otabek's chest as he inhaled the dark spice of his cologne, trying to memorize it for what he knew were lonely days ahead.
New routines were established after that. Breaks during practice were spent reply to Snaps, days off were spent texting, and every night was spent Skyping. Sometimes they didn't even talk, just sat or laid in their respective rooms, cameras still transmitting each other's image, allowing them to pretend they were actually together once more. Yuri would pet his cat and check social media as Otabek worked on his latest mix or Yuri would try to hone his baking skills as Otabek read. The young Russian craved those interactions in a way he'd never experienced, his heart fluttering in his chest in excited anticipation when time got closer to those calls, much the same way it did before competitions.
His rinkmates noticed the changes in him not long after their return from Barcelona, teasing him when they caught him on his phone, mocking his smile. Yuri would scream at them to fuck off and mind their own business but none of it ever bothered him enough to quit texting or Snapping.
In fact, their communications only grow as weeks wore on, turning into passing months. He spent half of Christmas Skyping Otabek from his grandpa's house, neither of them celebrating the holiday but using it as an excuse to talk longer than usual. On New Years Eve, Yuri snuck away from Yakov's party, hiding out in a bedroom to FaceTime Otabek and ring in midnight with him. He ignored the tightness in his chest when he heard the other party-goers cheers as the countdown reached zero, telling himself he just missed his friend and ignoring the passing fantasies over what it would be like to share that traditional kiss with Otabek.
Yet as the days ticked by, those thoughts grew in number. Soon he was spacing out during Skype calls, imagining Otabek was next to him in bed, the two of them cuddling as the DJ played his latest mash-up. FaceTime was spent staring at his lips, wondering how they would feel against his own, if they were as soft as they appeared to be. Walks around town led to him imagining Otabek by his side, fingers intertwined as Yuri showed him the sights.
It got worse when he had a competition, one Otabek didn't make, busy with his own in another part of the world. Yuri imagined the Kazakh's voice in his head, that familiar "davai!" yelled from the sidelines. And when he spotted Victor and Katsudon kissing in the back room after the Japanese Yuuri's performance, he found himself lost in the fantasy of doing just that with Otabek.
It still took Yuri a while to admit that what he was experiencing was a crush, that getting butterflies in his stomach and feeling his skin tingle when he talked to Otabek wasn't a reaction one had to a person who was just a friend. But even when he figured it out for himself, he still refused to acknowledge it out loud, screaming obscenities at Mila or Victor or whoever else had made the mistake of teasing Yuri about Otabek. Most everyone else learned to back off, but those two were relentless and more than once Yuri had hurled nearby objects at them to get them to shut the fuck up.
'Course that led to them stating that he was acting way too defensively over someone that was "just a friend" but he didn't care.
Or at least, he told himself he didn't care.
Reality was that he was growing increasingly paranoid over his every move. He worried that his text read desperate, that his latest selfie Snap was too obvious, that his voice gave away his crush when he left voicemails. But Otabek never let on that he noticed anything, that anything had changed. Their interactions stayed exactly the same, which switched the target of Yuri's paranoia to the belief that Otabek didn't feel the same way. After all, the older boy didn't make anything obvious either, never giving away that he felt anything beyond friendship. That realization led to more than a few bummed out moments of laying listlessly on his bed staring at the ceiling as his thoughts spiraled downwards and he grew increasingly upset over unrequited feelings.
But then Otabek would call or text and Yuri would snap out of it, heart pounding and face-splitting grin forming as a result.
Shit suddenly wasn't so bad and Yuri figured maybe he could deal with his crush being one-way only if it meant he still had Otabek in his life.
Traditionally, skaters would fly to the host city of whatever competition two or three days before the event itself, giving them ample opportunity to adjust to the time difference and get their jetlag at least somewhat under control. There was usually a day off after traveling, time to sleep or play tourist, letting the athletes feel like normal people for once, rather than robots who only skated all the damn time.
Paris was the latest competition site, and Yuri flew out the day before his birthday, joined by Mila who was invited to the women's singles competition, along with Lilia and Yakov as their coaches and attendants. Not that they did much attending. Chances were Lilia would go off and do her snob thing in some museum and Yakov would find a bar to waste himself away in, all the while complaining that their vodka was weak when compared to that in Russia and that there was no onion to sniff to make it stronger. The second part made Yuri glad he didn't drink. That sounded disgusting.
Victor and Katsudon had also been invited, unfortunately placed in the room across the hall from Yuri, so his check-in was comprised of the overly joyous older Russian insisting the younger join them. He gave in at the promise of room service being put on Victor's account, as well as the fact that he still hadn't received word over Otabek's arrival, leaving him with nothing to do and too much time to kill.
Yuri took up the entire length of the couch, figuring if he was stuck with the disgusting thing that was Victuuri—as all the fangirls had dubbed the couple—he was gonna get the comfiest fucking seat out of it. Victor popped open the bottle of champagne that had been left for them—Yuri realizing no such bottle had been sitting in his own room—not offering any to the youngest in the room, Katsudon turning down a glass with a bright red face. Yuri figured it had to do with the Grand Prix Final banquet in which he'd gotten shitfaced then dragged Yuri into a dance-off before accosting Victor, then finally stripping and dancing around the pole like he was paid to do it.
Idiot.
Maybe not being allowed to drink was a good thing, Yuri mentally reasoned, the other Yuuri's behavior a symbol of his worst fears: he'd get totally blitzed, Otabek would show, then Yuri would practically assault him the way Katsudon had done to Victor, and he'd totally ruin the one friendship he managed to create in his nearly sixteen years on this planet.
Okay, maybe if he stretched the definition of "friendship", it would include Victor and Katsudon. He certainly didn't hate them. He respected them both, as athletes and as people. He tolerated them more than he did anyone else. Had Mila or Georgi or any of his other rinkmates requested his presence, he would've turned them down flat, even if they'd offered room service and alcohol.
But his friendship with Victor and Yuuri was totally different than that of his friendship with Otabek. If he were to lose either half of that amorphous Victuuri blob, he'd be upset but he'd get over it eventually, knowing he could find another friend, knowing he still had Otabek by his side—figuratively anyway. But if he were to lose the Kazakh skater, he'd be devastated, would fall into a deep depression he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of. His heart would be totally broken beyond repair, never to be fixed, and—holy shit, he sounded like fucking Georgi.
Yuri snapped himself out of it, shooting up to a sitting position and slipping his phone out of the pocket of his Team Russia jacket. A new text from Otabek made his heart pound and his nerves feel strangely calmed and jangled at the same time and he decided he hated having a crush. It felt like his body was out of his control and as someone who used that very thing for their vocation, it wasn't something he wanted to no longer be in charge of.
Viktor and Katsudon were on the love seat, the elder with his arm around his fiancé and asking what various items in the room were called in Japanese, eyes alight with mirth at every new word he learned. Yuri rolled his eyes at them, hating the stupid smiles they wore and the easy way they leaned against one another and how their fingers slotted together without them even realizing it was happening, light shining off their matching rings. He felt a pang in his chest that he was slowly beginning to recognize as jealousy and turned away, unlocking his screen to read the text he'd gotten.
'Bad weather. Flight delayed. Won't be in Paris til early morning. I'll call later if I can'
Shit.
Two heads snapped to him at that and he realized he'd spoken out loud. He sent a simple 'k' back as a response before locking his phone and putting it back in his pocket, scowling at the two men across from him.
"What?" he practically snarled, hating the inquisitive tilt to Victor's eyebrow and the worried pull of Katsudon's lips.
"Is everything all right?" Yuuri spoke for both of them and the younger one hissed between his teeth.
"Why do you care?" he grumbled as he got up, making his way to the mini-bar. If Victor wasn't gonna offer him any champagne, then he'd just help himself to one of those tiny bottles of alcohol instead. No need to care about making a drunken fool of himself in front of his crush if his crush wasn't there. Besides, the guy said Yuri could help himself to room service.
Victor let out a heavy sigh, shifting forward on his seat to grab the champagne out the bucket and an extra glass, giving a pointed look at the young skater. Yuuri looked torn between wanting to disapprove and knowing it was better than allowing Yuri into the hard stuff, letting out a soft sigh of his own.
"We're your friends," he stated, keeping the conversation going. "Of course we care."
Yuri flopped onto the couch with a huff, rolling his eyes once more and crossing his arms. He glared hard at the other two men, jaw grinding, refusing to give in. What was going on was his own business and they needed to keep their damn noses out of it.
But then Victor held up a half-full glass of champagne and wiggled it enticingly, clearly letting it be known it was on offer in exchange for an answer of some form.
The tiny blond glared harder, hating that he was being cornered by them and hating even more that he was considering the offer. He should just go to his own room and try to break into his own mini-bar, then yell at Yakov when the coach gave him hell for breaking the lock that had purposely been put there. Wouldn't be the first time.
But that shit took time and he wasn't in the mood for the old man's vodka induced screams so he let out a huff once more, pouting as he slumped in his seat. He could lie, he knew that much, but chances were Katsudon wouldn't believe him and then Victor would try to wheedle the truth out of him, another waste of fucking time really.
Might as well just skip five hundred steps.
"Otabek's flight was delayed. He won't be here til later. I probably won't get to see him until tomorrow," he grumbled, folding his arms even tighter. His heart felt sluggish in his chest, disappointment making him feel heavy, and he sank even further down on the couch, ass hanging off the edge of it now.
Victor and Katsudon exchanged looks, the Russian then adding more to the glass before handing it over as his fiancé gave Yuri a sympathetic smile. Assholes. He hadn't been looking for pity or sadness or any of that bullshit. All he wanted at that moment was to lock himself in his own room to mope and maybe watch the videos of Otabek's practices that the Kazakh had sent, or YouTube his performances.
His crush was out of hand, holy shit.
He snatched up the glass when it was offered, a miracle keeping any of the liquid from spilling out, and he took a deep gulp, the bubbles tickling his nose.
Yuuri opened his mouth to speak but Victor held up a hand to silence him as he leaned back to resume his previous position, fiancé tucked neatly under his arm. "It's okay, let him drink. He's sad because his boyfriend isn't here yet."
"He's not my boyfriend!" Yuri screamed on automatic, slamming his glass on the coffee table and succeeding in spilling some this time. Katsudon grimaced, staring at the offending liquid, and Victor grinned widely like the whole thing was a hilarious joke he'd been told.
"There's nothing wrong with having a boyfriend," the Russian pointed out, jostling his own male partner as back up, blue eyes alight.
A small flush spread across Yuuri's cheeks and ears and he pushed his glasses up his nose in a self-conscious manner. "I know your president isn't too approving of same sex relationships, but it really is okay," he added on to his fiancé's point, shrugging a shoulder easily.
Yuri just scowled harder, wondering how the hell the guy could be so blasé about the whole thing. Japan wasn't as homophobic as Russia, but they weren't as accepting as same sex relationships as other countries nor did they recognize gay marriage. And from what Yuri understood, the entire country had giant sticks up their ass when it came to PDA and being affectionate. Which made Katsudon's couch snuggling with Victor an eyebrow raising event.
"I know there's nothing wrong with it," Yuri damn near growled through clenched teeth, glaring at them both. He'd already had the internal crisis over what having a crush on another man meant, if he was gay or bi or just into Otabek or just curious. He'd come to the conclusion that he just didn't care, that his feelings were based on who Otabek was and that he didn't give a fuck about gender. The fact that they were both male was a total non-issue in his mind.
No, the biggest problem was whether or not Otabek returned those feelings and if it was worth the risk of confessing them.
"But I don't have a boyfriend," he concluded, much calmer and less snotty than he'd spoken all afternoon. He picked his glass back up and flopped back on the couch, slumped once more, Lilia's voice in the back of his head snapping at him in their native tongue about posture and form and blah blah blah.
Victor and Katsudon exchanged looks again, the older one raising an eyebrow as he sipped from his own glass of champagne, a wordless conversation happening that made Yuri scowl once more as he was left out of it. Stupid lovey-dovey idiots made him wanna puke. Instead he gulped more champagne and glared harder.
Yuuri sighed at whatever had just been exchanged, turning to the younger boy, sheepish look on his face as the apples of his cheeks flushed once more. "We've noticed that you've been talking to Otabek a lot," he began, low, like he was unsure about whether he was allowed to say what he was saying.
Which he totally fucking wasn't.
Yuri propped his foot on the edge of the coffee table and turned his head away, taking in the fancy cherry cabinet that most likely hid an even fancier TV inside. He absently wondered what was on, if he'd be able to find anything in English or with subtitles, his French limited to asking for directions or requesting a translator. It wasn't too late to leave, he figured, and it wouldn't be unlike him to tell people to go screw themselves then storm off mid-convo.
Except the two of them would know they'd hit the nail on the head, would know they'd gotten close to the truth. Leaving an in-progress discussion wasn't something Yuri only did when pissed; it was also a defense mechanism. He spent so much time pushing people away, determined to be left alone in his quest for greatness that he'd developed a habit of running when someone got too close to knowing the real him, the kid behind the scowls and the yells and the Ice Tiger of Russia persona.
Only one person had ever been allowed past the walls Yuri had built and he was stuck in an airport back in Almaty.
Victor, for all his flightiness and carefree attitude, was highly observant and brutally honest. He could easily see right through to the core of someone and had no issues cutting someone in order to expose it. He wasn't mean and Yuri didn't think it was on purpose, but sometimes his inability to take certain things serious meant he had no clue that some of the things he said actually hurt.
Then again, pain and humiliation were good motivators and he wouldn't put it past the guy to use them in his coaching.
Yuuri on the other hand was the quiet contemplator who over-analyzed everything and had a habit of going straight to the worst case scenario. He always seemed to be lost in his own head yet was able to pick up on tiny clues and missteps. Yuri figured it was good for analyzing video of his own performances, to see his stumbles and where the judges deducted points, but on a day to day basis, he almost seemed clueless about what was happening right in front of him. Yuri had picked up on the fact that Victor saw Katsudon as more than just a potential protege back in Hosetsu while Yuuri had fumbled all over himself to make Victor stay as his coach. It hadn't surprised Yuri that they'd wound up together but from what the Russian understood, the other man had been almost caught off guard by it all.
Idiots.
"We just," Yuuri continued, pausing and adjusting his glasses unnecessarily, more as an excuse to pause and gather his thoughts than anything. "We want you to know that it's okay if you two are more than just friends," he wrapped up, voice stronger, more sure of himself and his words.
Yuri just scoffed and turned his sneer on the other man. "I know that. But we're just friends. That's it." His chest grew tight at the admission and he refused to acknowledge how his stomach seemed to dip the same way it used to when he was told he hadn't made the cut for whatever competition in whatever city. Only instead of the disappointment festering into an anger that motivated him to train harder and do better, this feeling lingered, sitting heavy in his gut and making his skin prickle uncomfortably.
Crap. Crushes were the worst.
"Why aren't you dating?" Victor questioned in that flippant manner of his, like he couldn't understand and that the whole thing seemed so damn ridiculous that why should he be serious. "It seems like you are. You talk on the phone more than me and my Yuuri."
The other Yuri rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to ask how the hell he would know that, only to shut it. Mila was a gossiping hag always running her mouth about everyone else so chances were she'd blathered about it when Victor called to catch up or during one of his visits to St Petersburg. The two were like housewives with nothing better to do than talk shit about what they spied their neighbors doing.
"Maybe you're not together," Victor went on, swirling his hand around, still clutching his champagne glass delicately, almost absentminded in his movements. "But it seems like you want to be."
The blond spluttered and waved his arms around in complete overreaction, spilling more wine and making Katsudon grimace harder at the mess. But Yuri paid him zero attention, too busy trying to compose his face into something resembling righteous anger rather than embarrassed and busted.
"It's okay to have a crush, too," Katsudon added, apparently having recovered from whatever minor aneurysm spills gave him, and Yuri turned the force of his glare on him.
"I don't have a crush!" he yelled, denying the whole thing, sneering viciously. "Don't be fucking stupid."
The two older men exchanged yet another look, Victor flicking the fingers around his wine glass in dismissal, Katsudon sighing and shaking his head in disappointment. Yuri continued to scowl as he downed what was left of his drink, leg bouncing up and down in annoyance where his foot still rested on the edge of the table.
"We just wanted you to know that if you did have a crush on someone who happened to be the same gender as you, that it was okay and that we're here for you if you wanna talk or have questions," Yuuri stated gently, diplomatically, soft smile on his face that was reflected on his fiancé's.
Yuri felt strangely taken aback, slightly admonished, and even a little shameful for being such a dick and snapping at them—only a little though because they deserved it for prying into his personal shit. They really were just trying to be his friends, and with friendship came support, something he'd only recently learned from Otabek.
He dialed down the scowl, turning it more into an aggravated pout, rolling the stem of his now empty glass between his fingers. "Thank you. I guess," he muttered quietly before yelling once more. "But there is nothing to tell and I will slice you up with my skate if you dare say different!"
Victor laughed in amusement and Yuuri held his hands up in supplication, both playing along. Yuri helped himself to the champagne, telling himself it was to celebrate his birthday the next day, and not to be some sort of pathetic cliche drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
As tempting as that was, he didn't wanna spend his birthday hungover, wanting instead to spend the day with Otabek. He just hoped like hell he'd be able to.
Yuri once learned from a skater named Leo Whogivesashit that sixteenth birthdays were a big milestone in America. It was the year one obtained a driver's license and the freedom that piece of plastic brought with it, and that girls would have huge parties to celebrate their "Sweet Sixteenth". Yuri thought it was sexist and total bullshit, especially when he woke up the day of his own sixteenth feeling no different than he had his last day of being fifteen.
Back in Russia, turning sixteen meant you were legally able to have sex, but most people didn't care. They were already fucking other people by then so the legality of it didn't mean shit. And given the fact that Yuri was a virgin with no chance of changing that status any time soon, his birthday basically didn't mean shit except for cake and presents.
Which he'd have to wait until he got home in order to receive.
Fuck.
Whatever. There were worse things in life, he supposed.
Sitting up in bed, he shoved his covers down then kicked them away, rubbing his hands over his face repeatedly. Waking up on his birthday away from home was a lonely feeling and he felt a soul deep kind of chill as a result. He pushed it aside, told himself it would all be worth it when he hit the ice in two days for his short program, but it didn't erase the entirety of the ache he felt.
He shuffled to the bathroom, relieving his bladder and washing his hands before he dared look in the mirror. His hair was a tangled mess thanks to sleeping with it wet after his shower and he had lines on his face from his pillowcase. At least no one was around to see him, he figured, grabbing his comb and setting to work on the rat's nest on top of his head.
Twenty minutes later, his hair had been brushed and straightened and his pajamas had been swapped for a pair of black skinnies and his favorite blue hoodie. His stomach grumbled and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since the night before when he'd taken Victor up on his offer of room service, ordering the most expensive things on the menu just to fuck with him, then actually eating the chicken he'd requested along with it. Katsudon had made him eat half a large baguette on his own to soak up the champagne he'd ingested and he wondered if that was why his head didn't hurt and he didn't feel sick.
Then again, it wasn't like the drink had been all that strong or that he'd had all that much. Yuuri had turned into a total mom and wouldn't let him have more than three glasses.
Fucking hypocrite.
His stomach rumbled again and he considered room service of his own, wondering if Yakov had mentioned anything about who would be paying for it. Yuri made plenty money through sponsorships and prizes but it wouldn't be unlike the old man to force him to pay for shit himself in order to teach him a lesson in responsibility. Or maybe he'd cover the bill as a lame birthday present. If the old fart even remembered it was Yuri's birthday.
In the end, he decided not to risk it, snatching up his wallet, room key, phone, and earbuds before heading out his room. Checking his phone, he found he'd received countless messages and he scrolled through them without fully reading them, all some form of "happy birthday" from the various people in his life: his grandpa, Victor, Katsudon, Mila, Georgi, his agent, his publicist, Lilia.
He paused when he reached the elevators and the messages from Otabek, and he hit the down button as he read those over, taking his time and paying attention rather than zooming through it and skimming like he had the others.
'Finally got on flight. Leaving now.'
'Landed in Paris. You're probably asleep. I'll catch up with you later. Let me know when you want to hang out.'
'Happy birthday, Yura xx'
The last one made him freeze all over, heart pounding and skin tingling. It wasn't the first time Otabek had used the nickname on him but the "xx" at the end was definitely new. And from what he understood, that generally meant kisses.
Otabek had text him kisses for his birthday.
Unless of course it meant something difference in Kazakhstan or they were friendly kisses on the cheeks like he'd witnessed so many Europeans give each other upon greeting. There was every chance in the world that Yuri was reading too much into shit. After all, his experience with having a friend boiled down pretty much just to Otabek so that "xx" could've just been something friends send to each other. Hell, Victor was always obnoxious with his overuse of kissy-face and heart-eyes emojis. Maybe this was the same.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard section of the touch screen, wondering how to respond. Otabek had told him to say when he wanted to hang out so it wasn't totally out of nowhere to see if he wanted to grab breakfast, not to mention the fact that they'd discussed hanging out on their day off in the weeks leading up to this competition. But he had no idea if the other skater was awake or not. The guy had landed at two am and by the time he checked in and got settled into his room, he probably didn't get to bed til three. If it was Yuri, he'd still be passed out.
There was no harm in replying though. He could send a quick thanks for the birthday wish and tell Otabek to text when he woke up so they could meet somewhere and hang as planned. If the older skater was smart, he'd have his phone set to "Do Not Disturb" so one little text wouldn't bother him.
Still, Yuri got hung on that stupid little "xx" and his stomach started pulling off a quadruple flip of its own, twisting and turning and flopping all over the place. He wrapped an arm around his midsection like he could stop the weird sensations, wishing he could go back to five minutes ago when his tummy was rolling with hunger rather than the weird fluttery thing it was doing at that moment.
"Yura!" a familiar voice called out from behind and his heart pounded even faster than before. Fuck that couldn't be healthy, to feel like the organ was gonna explode any second, but he could make it stop, couldn't slow it down, especially when he turned to the one who'd tried to get his attention.
Otabek was closing a door halfway down the hall, his room next to Katsudon and Victor's, hand rising up to wave. He was dressed casually in a pair of khaki slacks and a knit sweater that looked soft as hell and Yuri wanted to bury his face in it as Otabek held him close, his cheeks burning at such a cheesy fantasy.
His legs were moving before he was even aware of it, racing towards his friend then launching himself at him. Otabek easily caught him as Yuri wrapped his arms and legs around him like a clingy octopus, his back not giving out the way his grandpa's had months prior when Yuri pulled the same move on him. Instead the older skater laughed lowly and held him up, arms enveloping him in a hug.
Otabek smelled just the way Yuri remembered, the same spice of his cologne with the added freshness of his fabric softener. He couldn't help but bury his face in the crook of his friend's neck, inhaling deeply and feeling his head spin at the scent of him. Probably not normal friend behavior but he didn't care. There was something just so right about being in Otabek's arms, about being held by him, their bodies pressed close together. He knew it was his crush talking, knew he probably wasn't in his right mind, but all those bullshit thoughts got shoved away with another hit of that intoxicating scent.
"Guess you missed me, huh?" Otabek quipped, voice light and joking in a way he only really got around Yuri.
The blond lifted his head to scowl straight in his face. "Don't be stupid," he grumbled, not wanting to admit that yeah, he missed Otabek in a way that was almost physically painful and if it were up to him, they'd never be apart again.
The Kazakh laughed through his nose, loosening his grip on the younger boy and letting him slide down to his feet. "Whatever you say, Yura," he played along, light sparkling in his dark eyes contrasting his stoic expression, the same lack of seriousness as Yuri.
Yuri rolled his eyes, shoving at Otabek playfully, frowning when he realized he had to tip his head back further to look at his face. Or maybe he was just remembering shit wrong. It had been a while. But he was pretty sure that wasn't the case, having practically memorized everything about the other boy and their interactions.
"Did you get taller?" he accused, glaring, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.
Otabek let out a thoughtful "hmm?" then shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "A little. Men in my family grow until they're twenty-one."
"What?!" Yuri screamed, forgetting they were in a hotel hallway, rooms occupied with people most likely still asleep. Not that he gave a shit. They should be awake already, the lazy assholes. "That's not fair! You're supposed to stay the same and I grow so we're the same height or I'm taller!"
Otabek just shrugged again, this time in a nonchalant manner rather than embarrassed, small smirk on his face. "I like it. I can do this." Without warning, he took hold of Yuri's arm and hauled him in close, resting his chin on top of the blond's head, moving his hands so they were loosely clasped at the small of Yuri's back.
The shorter man froze in surprise, taking a second to relish the way they pressed together and the fact that he actually perfectly fit against Otabek before pushing him away and scowling. "Don't fucking do that, asshole. I'm not your chin rest."
Otabek smirked, clearly not offended, then ruffled his hand through shaggy blond locks. "Cmon, Grumpy Cat. I'll buy you breakfast for your birthday."
Yuri glared more, fixing his hair as he turned and walked beside his friend toward the elevator. "I'm gonna buy the most expensive thing on the menu," he grumbled, fixing his part by feel alone.
The older man hit the down button, small smile on his face as he stared straight ahead, watching the doors slide open. "As you wish, Yura."
They caught up over breakfast at a nearby cafe, Otabek laughing at Yuri's impression of Yakov, Yuri laughing at stories of Otabek's younger siblings. They slipped out when his fangirls began showing outside the hotel, making sure they didn't catch sight of him.
Otabek had rented a motorcycle for his stay in Paris, along with two helmets, and Yuri didn't hesitate to climb on the back of it, arms wrapped tight around his friend's waist. He wanted to press on closer, to completely plaster his chest to Otabek's back, but was worried his feelings would be made way too obvious and that the older boy would be able to feel the way his heart was pounding at the minimal contact they had.
They drove to the typical tourist stops, checked out L'Arc de Triomphe and Place de la Bastille, drove past the Notre Dame and Sacre-Coer and Musee Montmartre, hung out on the Pont Alexandre bridge. Yuri took photos the best he could, looking forward to showing them to his grandpa next time they saw each other, the old man always enjoying the stories of his grandson's travels.
They stopped for a late lunch at another cafe, this one on the Champs-Elysées, and once again Otabek paid, letting Yuri pick their seat. The blond told himself it was just because it was his birthday, that Otabek buying his food and doing what he wanted, going where he wanted, it all meant nothing. Yet that small, pathetic part of him that held his crush kept unhelpfully chiming in with hopeful bullshit over how it was date-like behavior, that it was how people treated the person they were in a relationship with—or wanted to be in a relationship with.
Which wasn't them.
Or at least wasn't Otabek.
Yuri would love for this to be the norm, the two of them sharing meals and paying for one another, maybe even pulling out one another's chair and holding doors open, playing footsie and linking fingers. He thought of all the cheesy annoying crap Victor and Katsudon did, the easy hugs and hand holding and kisses on cheeks, and felt that pang of jealousy once again, imagining doing those same things with Otabek. He felt ridiculous for harboring such lame fantasies but it wasn't like he could help those thoughts. What he could help though was making sure that shit stayed hidden, that Otabek never found out and ended their friendship because he couldn't handle being friends with someone who wanted more than that.
Things were perfect the way they were. No need to fuck it all up.
Yuri chose a table by the window, wanting to people-watch, making snarky comments about passerbys, judging their haircuts and clothing and the amount of bags they were carrying. Otabek joined in and they began a game of choosing a random person and trying to come up with the wildest, wackiest backstory for them. Soon their food was pushed aside, forgotten, too caught up in what they saying and laughing too hard to actually eat.
Time passed by unnoticed as they sat there, plates taken away and drinks refilled. The lunch crowd thinned then disappeared, the occasional tourist and/or shopper stopping in for a drink and croissant and a chance to rest their feet for a few before continuing on. But Yuri and Otabek stayed put, conversation shifting to poking fun at their fellow competitors to skating to stories about their lives. It was like they were back in Barcelona, picking up right where they'd left off on Yuri's balcony, as though they hadn't spent the past three months or so apart. And with all the phone calls and Skype calls and text messages, maybe they hadn't.
At some point Yuri looked out the window to find Katsudon and Victor heading their way as they walked along the street, both of them with arms laden with bags and huge smiles on their faces. Yuuri spotted them in the window first and he tried for a small wave with the hand not held by Victor's, clearly attempting not to draw any attention to them. Except the Russian was being unusually focused and noticed the move anyway, head snapping to the cafe window so fast his silver hair went flying. He waved wildly and headed for the door, only to have Katsudon tug him away and push him down the street. Yuri knew it was the Japanese skater's way of giving them privacy, both of them aware that it would turn into Victor asking in a too loud voice about what was happening between Yuri and Otabek, embarrassing everyone around him with his garish invasion.
Yuuri gave him an apologetic smile as they passed the window, Victor clearly objecting and looking entirely put out as his mouth flapped about, and Yuri gave a grateful look to the shorter of the two men. Katsudon nodded in acknowledgment and the couple disappeared somewhere down the street, hitting up another store to feed Victor's lowkey shopaholicism.
Yuri turned away go find Otabek frowning out the window, dark eyes seeming to follow the other pair, confused pull to his lips. "What was that about?" he wondered aloud, switching his focus to Yuri.
The blond shrugged, grabbing his drink and sipping through the straw as an excuse not to speak. He knew exactly what it was, that Katsudon had just helped them both escape an interrogation and Yuri out of an embarrassing situation that would've made the previous night's questioning seem like nothing. Because Victor's big nose would definitely shove its way into their business and his big mouth would've blurted about how Yuri had an obvious crush and the blond would've died of embarrassment.
At least his headstone would be easy to engrave. Same date for birth and death, just change up the year.
Otabek dismissed it with a bob of his eyebrows, sipping his own drink then slipping his wallet out to leave a tip. "Ready to go?" he asked, knowing as well as Yuri that their location had been compromised. Victor would text or call or tweet about how he just spotted the pair of them at that cafe and soon their fellow skaters—or worse, Yuri's Angels—would descend upon the place.
The younger man finished off his soft drink, letting out a soft burp from the carbonation, then rose to his feet as Otabek did the same. A couple bills were left on the table and they grabbed their helmets, leaving the cafe for their next destination.
They went to the Eiffel Tower next at Yuri's request. He'd originally wanted to go through the underground catacombs but preferred doing it at night since it would be spookier, so as a time killer, they went to the most obnoxious tourist trap in the city.
The climb to the top was slow going, stuck behind a middle-aged couple clearly celebrating the fact that all their brats were off to college and they had the money to do this now, both of them huffing and puffing. Yuri gave Otabek more than a few annoyed glances along the way, knowing the two of them were in much better shape and could've made the trip in half the time. The closer they got to the top, the windier it became, so Yuri put as much of his hair up in a ponytail as possible, turning his aggravation to the few short strands that kept tickling his face.
Turns out shit had been perfectly timed. When they reached the top, they found the sun setting over the city, the sky bleeding into gorgeous shades of orange and pink and purple. It was every cheesy postcard and painting meant to emphasize the romance of Paris and Yuri found himself awe-struck by it.
He took countless pictures from every possible angle, threw on various unnecessary filters, posed in numerous selfies. He even dragged Otabek into a few, the Kazakh skater smiling as he draped an arm over his shorter friend's shoulders. Yuri also took a few of Otabek when he wasn't paying attention, chest growing tight at how beautiful the other man was.
Which, okay, that was dumb. Men couldn't be beautiful, at least that's what he'd been told growing up. But skating had changed his mind and so had Otabek, the way he leaned against the rail so casually, the simplicity of his nice clothes. The wind was blowing his black hair around but he barely noticed, only swept it back when it tickled his forehead. The setting sun was casting beautiful colors on his tan skin, creating shadows under his sharp jawline and making his cheekbones pop more. He was the handsome leading man in every stupid American movie and Yuri, for once, felt small in comparison to someone else.
He finally put his phone away and stood next to Otabek, the two of them watching as the sun got lower and the sky grew darker. Otabek pushed himself up to a straighter position, hands gripping the rail near Yuri's, staring out at the scenery below and around them. With a burst of bravery, Yuri shifted so his shoulder leaned against his taller friend's bicep, so their forearms touched, so their hands were pressed together. His cheeks felt red and he blamed it on the fact that he'd been out in the sun all day without protection, that his fair skin wasn't equipped to handle the huge amount of UV rays that fell down on Paris.
But it didn't explain away the sparks where Otabek touched him or the way it caused tingles to race all over his skin or how his heart pounded in his chest. The sensations only grew stronger when Otabek moved his pinky, rubbing it along Yuri's several times before looping both their digits together. Yuri pressed his lips together to hide the smile threatening to break out over his face, his stomach swooping and dropping and rising and tumbling and every acrobatic move he could think of.
Tucking loose hair behind his ear, he peeked out the side of his eye at Otabek to gauge his reaction. He was momentarily distracted by his profile, the jawline that could cut diamonds and the strong nose as sharp as any skate blade, eyes that weren't almond shaped but not quite round either but something in between that was even more beautiful, a rosy tint to his cheekbones that could've been explained by the setting sun but just as easily could've been something else. Yuri stopped staring at pieces and looked at the whole thing, noting a lack of expression on his face, the same serious stoicism he seemed to always wear.
Ouch.
His heart sank, stomach plummeting, at the realization that his feelings definitely weren't returned. He didn't know what holding his pinky meant to Otabek but it clearly wasn't the same as what it meant to him. God he felt fucking stupid. He'd known that more than likely his crush was one way but having it confirmed was like a roundhouse kick to the face. Suddenly he felt a little bit ashamed for having literally done those things to Katsudon if the figurative version was knocking him on his ass so bad.
He wanted to pull his hand away, to hide them in his pockets as he curled in on himself, but he also didn't wanna lose the contact he had. If this was all he was gonna get from Otabek, then he was gonna be as greedy as Yuuri with katsudon and savor every last bit of it.
The sun fully set and Paris lit up from below, living up to its nickname of The City of Lights. L'Arc de Triomphe was aglow with spotlights, cars on various roads creating colorful streaks, and buildings illuminated the place like the stars hidden in the dark sky. Yuri used the excuse of wanting more photos to slip his hand away and Otabek ducked his head, cheeks still red and its reasonings still unclear.
"Did you get my present?" Otabek questioned after several long silent minutes apart, snapping Yuri out of his photographic zone.
The blond peered around, noting a thinner crowd, the air growing colder by the minute. He shivered at the realization, wishing he'd brought a jacket, then focused back on what he'd been asked. Wracking his brain, he couldn't remember getting a gift from anyone at all, the space outside his hotel door empty when he left. He turned to find Otabek resting on the rail, hands in the pockets of his slacks, eyes focused solely on Yuri. The shorter man swallowed under the intense stare and shook his head, shoving flyaway hairs off his forehead.
"I didn't get a gift from anyone."
"Should be in your email," Otabek explained, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "I made you a playlist, included some of my own mixes."
His heart started pounding all over again, a rush of something flowing through his blood. Otabek had made him a playlist. Otabek had sifted through the hundreds of songs he admittedly had in his collection to specifically find ones he thought Yuri would like, had put them in order of what would sound best, had even included his own songs that he'd put together. And okay, those songs had probably been made long ago when he was bored or messing around, just for his own amusement and not personally for Yuri, but the blond couldn't help but feel a spark of something in his chest, dumb hope that maybe they'd been created just for him.
Phone still in hand, he pulled up his email, only to be stopped by one very important thing.
"Fuck! No signal!" he yelled, drawing the attention of a couple near him who gave him dirty looks in response before the man pulled his lady to the other side of the lookout. Whatever.
Otabek's lips twisted in a wry grin, apparently amused at the frustration Yuri was showing as he stomped around with his phone held as high as possible, trying in vain to get some sort of signal. He didn't even care about wifi at that point. He'd waste precious data. It was worth it.
"You can check it out later, it's okay," the Kazakh skater placated, still fighting a full-on grin, and Yuri turned his scowl on the guy.
Yuri huffed, locking his phone and shoving it in his back pocket. "I want to leave."
"Yura," Otabek began, pushing away from the rail and slipping his hands out his own pockets. "It's okay, really. You can—"
"I want to leave," he repeated, heading to the stairs. "I'm cold and I'm bored and I want to hear your playlist."
Otabek laughed under his breath, shaking his head in amusement as he followed. "As you wish, Yura."
His hotel room had been invaded during the time he was away.
He figured it was housekeeping or hotel management. Nothing appeared to be missing, the pajamas he'd left bundled on his bed now folded up on top of the clean sheets that'd been put on, his suitcase still spilling its contents on the floor under the window. He knew better than to travel with anything super valuable and if he did, to keep it on his person at all time. The only thing of worth that had been left behind was his laptop but a quick rifle through his messy suitcase turned up the device in its buried hiding spot.
But while nothing had been taken away, plenty had been added. Countless helium balloons featuring various "Happy Birthday" designs littered the place, a giant 1 and 6 tied to the leg of a side table, a few cat shaped ones scattered amongst the mess. Gift bags and boxes wrapped in shiny paper took over the coffee table and couches, barely leaving enough room to put their borrowed helmets down, and Yuri glanced over the tags. Victor was responsible for a few, as well as Katsudon, others coming from rinkmates, other skaters, a few fans who had found out what hotel he'd been staying at. Leopard print and tiger stripes were a prevalent theme in wrapping and he self-consciously glanced down at his sneakers, red with black cheetah spots, knowing his love for big cats was obvious as hell.
He bypassed all of them, kicking his shoes off somewhere in the direction of his suitcase, more engrossed in trying to get his phone to connect to the wifi. Finally successful, he opened his email, scrolling through until he came across the one from Otabek. He glanced at the man himself who was busy checking out the tags on the gifts, small frown on his face. Yuri wondered what he was thinking that had such a grumpy look appear, one that was so rare when the two of them hung out, then wondered further if it was any of his business, if he was allowed to ask.
Shaking the thought free, he opened Otabek's email and downloaded the attached files, setting his phone on the nightstand to do its thing.
"Make yourself at home," he told Otabek before heading to the bathroom to relieve himself, fixing his hair in a neater ponytail after washing his hands.
Yuri left the bathroom to find the main lights off and lamps on the nightstands on. Otabek was stretched out on the bed, boots and sweater gone, leaving him in soft looking socks and a well-worn dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. The blond swallowed hard at the sight, Otabek at peace with his arms folded behind his head and his shirt riding up to reveal a tiny sliver of tan skin just above his khakis. Yuri imagined trailing his fingers along it, finding out if his skin was just as warm as it looked, pushing that shirt up more to see if Otabek was as toned as he was, to see how their muscles compared. The Kazakh was built bigger, had broader shoulders and thicker arms and Yuri wondered if it meant he was built more all over, wondered how much bigger he was in other areas.
He smeared a hand down his face to wipe away the fantasy, shuffling over to the bed and nudging his friend's hip with his foot. "Move," he grumbled, frowning down at him.
"You said to make myself at home," Otabek reminded with a smirk, peering up with sparkling brown eyes.
Yuri rolled his own blue ones. "Not on my side of the bed. Now move."
The older boy did as ordered, resuming his position on the other pillow, eyes closing in peace. Yuri wanted to lay on top of him, to see if he was just as comfortable as the five-star mattress, to bury his nose in his friend's chest again and breathe in nothing but his scent. But instead, he laid alongside him, one leg propped up with his knee in the air, pulling up his music on his phone and plugging in his earbuds. Putting one in his left ear, he nudged Otabek with the other, watching as the Kazakh opened his eyes and look at it in confusion.
"You're supposed to use both," he argued, scratching at his nose. "You get the full experience that way."
Yuri shrugged it off, unbothered. "I'll use both later. Right now I wanna listen to it with you."
Otabek didn't argue further, didn't point out that they could listen together better and easier without the earbuds, just took it and put it in his own ear. Once they were both settled and hooked up, Yuri began the playlist, checking out the song titles. There were twenty songs total, half of which he didn't recognize, clearly tracks Otabek thought he would enjoy. A few were his own favorites remixed by Otabek himself, along with a few of his own mash-ups he'd wanted to share. Yuri recognized the first one as a song Otabek had been playing around with during their Skype calls that Yuri had mentioned he was liking and a small smile came to his face as he settled further into the pillow to enjoy.
He let the phone sit on his chest, arms laying by his sides, and his head lolled to the side, closer to his friend's. Otabek did the same and soon the crowns of their heads were touching, a gentle pressure that was comforting more than anything.
The Kazakh had great taste and each song seamlessly blended into the next in a gentle way. Yuri found his fingers tapping to the beat, his leg swaying back and forth in rhythm with the music, and a smile was on his face that he couldn't wipe away. Soon his pinky was hitting against something that clearly wasn't the hotel comforter but before he could pull away with an apology, Otabek was holding his hand in a way that was both gentle and firm. Yuri felt his breath get caught in his throat, skin tingling again, and his mind began racing along with the chilled trance song currently filling his left ear. Emboldened by Otabek's move, he turned his hand over and intertwined their fingers, smile growing when they were squeezed affectionately.
Fuck, maybe his feelings were returned. This wasn't normal friend behavior, there was no way. Especially not with someone as closed off and seemingly antisocial as Otabek. This was something a touchy-feely weirdo like Victor would pull off.
Yuri shifted, fidgeting on the bed until his head was resting on Otabek's shoulder and the Kazakh replied by leaning his own head right on top. The world seemed to melt away as the song slipped into another one, leaving just the two of them in the peaceful bubble they'd created, surrounded by high thread count sheets and the remix Otabek had created.
A group of female R&B singers started crooning over the beat and the chillstep tune, words Yuri vaguely recognized from a nineties song he couldn't quite place, and his heart stuttered as the words registered.
"What's it gonna be, cause I can't pretend?
Don't you wanna be, more than friends?"
Yuri's eyes popped open as wide as possible, his breathing cutting off entirely, surprise freezing his heart. The body next to his froze and grew taut right before Otabek popped up into a sitting position, slipping his hand free from Yuri's in order to prop himself up.
"Maybe listen to that one later," he suggested, voice tight, reaching over and hitting the next button.
Yuri laid there, silent and stupefied, nodding absently. Blue eyes roamed the tan face above him, noting the red flush spreading across his cheeks. It wasn't too much sun or the bite of the wind on the Eiffel Tower causing it that time, but embarrassment, and Yuri's mind began racing.
Otabek resumed his previous position and Yuri linked their hands together once more, only to find his friend's fingers were stiffer than they had been, his entire body rigid. The blond considered the cause, thought about the song that had just played speaking of a desire to be more than friends and how Otabek had specifically picked that out for him. He thought about held hands and soft smiles and how Otabek had said "as you wish" twice that day. He thought about where he'd originally heard that phrase, watching The Princess Bride with his grandpa and learning along with Buttercup that when Westley said those words, he was saying "I love you".
Maybe Otabek returning his feelings wasn't as inconceivable as he'd previously believed.
He shifted around once more as a soft indie rock song continued playing in his ears, moving his head to his pillow, facing Otabek. The Kazakh turned to him, cheeks still red, dark eyes full of uncertainty as they flicked back and forth between Yuri's blue ones. But the blond was completely and totally sure of himself, of his feelings, of his friend's feelings, the rasp of a male singer crooning in his ear.
"Never,
Leave me paralyzed, love.
Leave me hypnotized, love."
Yuri's tongue slipped out to wet his lips and he watched Otabek's eyes dip down to follow the movement, his own lips parting. The air felt heavy with anticipation and his heart was pounding with it. It was the final moments before stepping onto the ice for a competition, the excited and nerve-wracking expectation as he waited for his scores to come up.
But as much as he wanted to do it, to kiss Otabek and give in to the fantasies he'd been harboring for months now, he still wasn't entirely sure if that was even a good idea. The second their lips meet, things would change forever between them. He could still be rejected, Otabek turning him away due to his age or the distance or not wanting a relationship. They could get together then break-up and Yuri would lose not just a boyfriend but also his best friend. They could never speak again and he'd be left alone to mend his broken heart and deal with trying to readjust to a life without friendship after having lived with and enjoyed it so much.
"Fail with consequence,
Lose with eloquence,
And smile."
Fuck it, Yuri decided. He didn't win gold medals and set new records by not taking chances. With that thought in mind, he leaned over and pressed his lips to Otabek's.
The older boy's lips were soft, smooth, and sent sparks against Yuri's. He tried to press in closer only to realize that the Kazakh was frozen against him, his lips unyielding, and he opened his eyes to find wide brown ones staring at him in surprise and shock.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Okay, he'd taken a chance, yes, and clearly it wasn't paying off. If Otabek did in fact return any beyond friendship feelings, he wasn't about to act on them, and Yuri felt his heart sink in his chest. Pulling away, his face became enflamed with humiliation and he fought not to cover it with his hands, not to yell at Otabek to get out. It wasn't his fault he didn't want to kiss Yuri, wasn't his fault the Russian had just irrevocably changed their friendship forever—if they even still had a friendship.
He opened his mouth to apologize, to explain, to salvage what they had, only to be beaten by the older man giving a "sorry" of his own. A confused frown formed on Yuri's face, lips twisting in a puzzled sneer, and he just stared flabbergasted, clueless as to what his friend had to be sorry for.
"You caught me off guard," Otabek stated, sheepish look on his face, his own cheeks still ruddy. "Try again?"
Yuri nodded before he had even processed the words, a dazzling smile forming on Otabek's face before he leaned in and kissed the blond. It was even better the second time around, especially when Yuri snapped out of his daze and returned it, lips moving together slow and cautious.
They both rolled onto their sides, phone falling between them, forgotten, Yuri reaching up with his free hand to cup Otabek's face. He could feel the scratch of barely there stubble against his palm, the softness of the skin beneath, the heat of his flesh against Yuri's almost always cold fingers, and he reveled in every sensation. Otabek's own hand slid over Yuri's head, taking hold of the elastic band holding his ponytail together and sliding it off, letting his hair fall free. His fingers threaded through the loose strands, curling, sliding, playing with the blond locks and familiarizing himself with the texture of them.
The song changed once more, something trance and almost urgent, Yuri feeling the best pulse in his blood. He moved their clasped hands to lay between their hands, shifting closer, pressing the two of them together. Otabek's hand moved lower, sliding under Yuri's hoodie and resting on the small of his hand as a solid, grounding comfort, not pushing or pulling.
Yuri felt a shiver race up his spine at how warm the other man's hand was, how large, fingers splayed out. He felt small, delicate, vulnerable, when everywhere else in life he felt fierce, strong, powerful, the Ice Tiger of Russia. But he couldn't bring himself to be upset over Otabek causing this shift in self-image, instead glorying in it, wondering if he had a similar effect on the Kazakh.
Time slipped away, neither keeping track, passing by unnoticed much like it had on the Eiffel Tower, in the cafe at lunch, at the diner in Barcelona. Yuri realized he could make a dangerous habit of this, of losing himself in Otabek and letting the world spin without him aware of it, ignorant and uncaring to anything but the man against him.
They eventually pulled apart and Yuri felt himself practically beaming. Otabek's smile was soft but no less joyous, his dark eyes twinkling in the lowly lit room. Fingers ran through Yuri's hair, scratching at his scalp, and he was hit with the urge to purr just like his cat back home.
"So," Otabek began softly, the music having stopped at some point, the playlist over. "Do you want to go out with me or not?"
Yuri laughed at the other man's dorkiness, burying his face in his chest and feeling Otabek chuckle against him. An arm wrapped around him, chin resting against his head, and everything felt right. Being in Otabek's embrace felt like coming home in much the same way as visiting his grandpa or stepping onto the ice. It was where he was meant to be.
Still smiling, he ignored his burning cheeks and focused on the way Otabek's heart seemed to be pounding just as hard and just as fast as Yuri's. "I want to be your boyfriend," he admitted, shuffling even closer, shoving a leg between Otabek's.
The older man pressed a smile on top of blond hair then kissed it, holding him even tighter. "As you wish, Yura."
Otabek spent the night. They didn't do anything beyond kissing and cuddling and Yuri venturing down to grab hold of his new boyfriend's ass and getting a sleepy grumble in response, yet the entire thing was perfect. The next day they had room service breakfast in bed before heading to the open practice the media and fans could attend, both of them watching one another's routines despite having seen them countless times before during the season.
After showering in their separate rooms, Otabek returned to Yuri's with pizza in hand, the two of them chowing down on the bed. Sixteen Candles was on TV and Otabek insisted they watch for how humorous the timing was, Yuri pouting about it while opening his gifts. Countless stuffed cats littered the room, a leather jacket with leopard print on the inside a gift from Victor and matching boots from Katsudon. Otabek had also gotten him a helmet with red leopard print to use when they rode together and Yuri practically tackled him with the ferocity of his hug.
They spent the night together once more, parting after breakfast to get ready for the competition, and Yuri knew he could get used to waking up next to the other man. He also knew he would only have a couple more days of it before they headed back to their home countries but he refused to acknowledge that fact, enjoying every moment with Otabek that he could.
They cheered for one another once again and Yuri wondered how he'd gotten through his other performances without Otabek crying out "davai!" from the sidelines. The sentiment propelled him on, motivated him, and his score reflected it.
After dealing with the media and their bullshit, he changed out of his skates, team jacket on as he walked through the halls trying to find Otabek, his arm grabbed and body jerked to the side. He opened his mouth to object and threaten whoever the fuck had just grabbed him, only to be cut off by lips pressed against his and hands cupping his cheeks. He melted against his boyfriend, sinking into the kiss, hands wrapped around Otabek's wrists as his knees threatened to give out on him for reasons other than the fatigue accompanying skating.
Pulling away, he peered up to find a grin on the older man's face, Otabek rubbing their noses together affectionately, reminding Yuri how numb his had become.
"You did great, Yura," he praised lowly, thumbs warming his cheeks. "I'm proud of you."
The words heated him faster than anything else and he gave his boyfriend a quick peck on the lips, remembering back to only a few days ago when he'd fantasized about being able to do this very thing. "Thanks. You should buy me dinner for having the higher scores though," he teased with a smirk, watching Otabek roll his eyes.
"As you wish, Yura."