Author's Notes: I am so happy that you enjoyed the turn of events from the last update. It's always a gamble when you change the course of a relationship. Well, skating is back in session, and it's so hard to believe that summer sailed past us so soon….
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Spending All My Time With You
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Good to his word, Otabek had found that one long weekend to visit Yuri. It had to be in Moscow, and both of their coaches had agreed upon it—if the couple practiced and didn't destroy their diets in the span of 96 hours. It was so worth it.
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Otabek wanted nothing more than to wrap the Russian up in his arms the moment Yuri opened the door to his Moscow flat. He would have managed to do it too, however, his arch nemesis beat him to the punch!
The moment the Kazakh had shut the door, he released his suit case and made a grab for Yuri, but Potya—anticipating the move—jumped from the back of the couch and onto the blond's shoulder.
As Yuri moved forward, Potya watched Otabek—damn cat appeared to be smirking and probably would have flipped him off if her toes could bend in such a way.
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Otabek found himself blushing at Yuri's simple question, "You want the couch or the bedroom with me?"
Yuri's shitty grin as he awaited an answer—one he probably already knew—caused for the Kazakh to inwardly groan.
Otabek didn't know how much sleep he'd get by occupying the same bed as the Russian—not while residing in enemy territory that is. Yuri assured him that Potya loved her canned food more than him, but Otabek wasn't convinced. However, Otabek had already gone 4 weeks and 3 days, (no he hadn't been counting…much), without his boyfriend and it sounded like a suicide mission the Kazakh was willing to accept.
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He had to act quickly, for Otabek was certain that the cat would inhale her food just to spite him and then proceed to puke it up on his luggage. Therefore, leaving nothing to chance, he wrapped Yuri into his embrace and held him tightly as they stood in the bedroom.
The afternoon sunshine snuck in through the blinds and fell upon the beige carpet casting shadows across the walls. The Kazakh smiled, feeling Yuri's hands rest in between his shoulder blades and return the embrace, while Otabek was reminded of their time in Almaty.
They sat on the edge of the bed describing their current preseason schedules and the stakes being so high, putting more stress on their bodies. Both of their coaches saw potential, as their results from Worlds could attest, and they were lucky to get this weekend together.
"Was your coach pissed?"
Yuri's question made Otabek chuckle, "He wasn't impressed. I said, that I thought Sergei could help me with a piece of my choreography."
Yuri arched an eyebrow and leaned forward, "Oh? And did he buy that shit?"
The brunette frowned, "I don't think so. If anything, I think he believes I'm being a childish asshole and want to spend time with you."
The blond grinned, "That's pretty spot on, isn't it?"
"Listen you little shit," Otabek leaned forward and gently pressed his boyfriend's back against the mattress with a smirk, "it's your fault I have to work my ass off all the time just to spend time with you."
Yuri didn't look convinced, his fingers threading through his best friend's as he spoke, "My fault? You're the one who fucking confessed to me, remember?"
The brunette felt a tug at the corners of his lips as he brought his hand to cup the Russian's cheek. "Yeah, yeah…." he began with a sigh, "worse mistake of my life…"
Yuri grinned into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Otabek's shoulders.
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Otabek awoke to an empty spot next to him and frowned. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and spotted the alarm clock's red digits indicating 9:23am. It had felt good to sleep in that morning and he had really wished that the blond was next to him. The cool morning air caused goosebumps on the Kazakh's arms as he pushed the covers away.
He treaded cautiously out of the bedroom upon finding his best friend not in sight…his rival could be anywhere and in bare feet this could be dangerous. He needn't have worried though, the empty food bowl on the floor and the cat occupying the sofa, were a good indicator that she had lapsed into a food coma. If pets resembled their owners then Potya was living up to that expectation, for she looked like Yuri when he sat in the kiss and cry awaiting scores. Of course, Yuri usually managed to have his eyes open…
Speaking of Yuri, he didn't appear to be there. Otabek frowned before spotting a note on the kitchen counter.
Otaya,
Have an appointment, didn't want to wake you. I'll be back soon!
Yura
Otabek was certainly glad that no one could read his sappy as fuck thoughts—because Yuri leaving notes for him, had made the Kazakh feel a little too warm and fuzzy that morning. The hell was he becoming? God, hopefully not someone like Viktor or Katsuki!
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Otabek heard the click of the door handle and saw his best friend toe off his shoes before hanging up his jacket on the nearby hook. The brunette had already showered and had been quietly listening to music on his phone.
He smiled, seeing a brown paper bag in Yuri's hand as he entered the living space.
"Got breakfast," the emerald eyed teen announced, "I'll put some water on for chai."
Otabek could only imagine how many carbs were sitting in that paper bag now resting on the counter, but he smiled nonetheless and asked, "Where did you have to run off to so early?"
Yuri was filling the kettle full of water as he honestly replied, "I went to the hospital for an MRI."
"Jesus, Yura," began the brunette, who was out of his chair in an instant, and startling the Russian the next.
Yuri nearly jumped as he turned away from the stove to find his best friend taking him by the shoulders and asking, "Are you alright?"
Emerald eyes locked with almond momentarily—anyone else would have received a kick to the head—but Yuri relaxed and explained, "It was just a follow up."
"Why didn't you tell me?" His boyfriend chided with an accompanying scowl, "I would have come with you instead of fucking sleeping in."
Yuri rolled his eyes and sighed. "You'd have sat out in the waiting room while I sat in a damn box," he declared with a noncommittal shrug, "Besides, I figured you'd be tired from your flight."
Otabek's brows furrowed at the teen's explanation, "You're making me look like a shit friend, Yuri."
"You're doing it again…" the Russian observed, feeling Otabek's thumb rubbing the left side of his head. "You always rub my left side when you're overthinking shit." He was earnest in his assessment of the situation—no trace of his shitty disposition. "You kissed my head in Almaty too after we made love."
The way the blond said things so unabashedly made the Kazakh's cheeks warm in memory as Yuri continued, "Other than scarred tissue, there's no signs of any swelling so I'm still clear to skate."
Yuri heard the whispered thank God as it escaped Otabek's lips and felt an arm wrap around his waist drawing him closer towards the body of his boyfriend.
"Sergei said he'd get me a fucking helmet if that set Lilia's mind at ease for the season," the Russian informed with an exasperated sigh before arching an eyebrow, "What are you doing?"
Otabek looked dead serious, his phone in hand as he answered, "I'm going on the Internet to find you a helmet."
Yuri smacked the brunette in the shoulder and grumbled, "You're an asshole, you know that?"
The water in the kettle pinged against the metal sides as the water drew nearer to a boil, while the younger boy made a pass for the phone but Otabek managed to evade his advances.
The brunette continued typing, but the upward curl of his lips indicated he did hear Yuri's thoughts, "It'll be a custom made one with tiger stripes…just wait…"
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Otabek's body was stiff. It had been a long time since he had practiced under a Russian coach. Outside of his eyes taking in the sight of Yuri Plisetsky, Yakov's summer camp hadn't been a positive experience for the skater. The brunette watched as Sergei followed Yuri on the ice. The older Russian corrected Yuri's posture and positioning, with every lift of the arm and touch of the leg.
The Kazakh came out of a sit spin to find the Russian coach watching him with appraising eyes. "Otabek, let's warm your muscles up," kindly offered Sergei. "You're rather stiff this morning."
It didn't get better as Sergei laughed, after trying to move such a rigid mass. "Okay…on second thought," Sergei's brown eyes reflecting some understanding of the situation, "Yuri? Come over here kid!"
Yuri skated up to the pair, his hair half pulled back and emerald eyes trying to grasp the situation. "What's up?"
"I need you to go through the motions with Otabek," Sergei explained, "He's all tensed up, so I thought you can do it while I go work with another student."
"Huh?"
And with that Sergei left them to it…
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Yuri skated forwards moving through the training exercises with his best friend. His hands gently correcting incorrect posture and fingers brushing against the sensitive muscles in the Kazakh's arms.
"Why are you upset?"
His boyfriend's words made the brunette frown. "I'm not—
"You are," interjects the Russian, his emerald eyes focusing on lifting an arm and fixing the position. "You don't want to be here?"
"You know I do," affirms Otabek, his eyes lingering on Yuri's face. "It's just different."
Yuri ran his gloved hands along the Kazakh's arms, "Relax, asshole." He lifted Otabek's elbow and observed his form. "It's just us here," explained the blond, "No Viktor and Katsudon making us gag and no Mila trying to get you to go on a fucking date with her…"
Yuri seemed content as Otabek's body seemed to release its tension with a small laugh. "You know I like blonds."
The Russian smiled before voicing his thoughts, "It'd be awesome if you could train with me, but I get it. Your home is in Kazakhstan."
Otabek couldn't help but think that it would be awesome to train with Yuri; however, he worried about how their relationship would fare going from hardly seeing one another to doing so almost daily. He was thankful that Yuri understood that Kazakhstan was where he currently belonged—even if a large piece of his head and heart resided in Russia.
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Otabek had felt a little intimidated in response to all the wondering eyes from the girls at Yuri's rink. The Kazakh sighed, all Yuri's Angels in the making, he was certain. He had made the mistake of going to the side board to retrieve his water bottle which had given them the opportunity to pepper him with questions.
"How long have you known Yuri?"
"Don't you think he is amazing?"
"He is Sergei's star here at our rink."
"You're not trying to steal him from us, are you?"
With that, the brunette inhaled water down the wrong pipe and sputtered in response. Yuri conveniently skated up to him and gently slapped his back, giving the younger girls a look of confusion. With a few tee-hees escaping their lips they returned to their own routines.
Sergei's teaching method was a far cry from Yakov or Otabek's own coach—he allowed for Yuri to warm up to whichever genre of music he wanted, and it seemed to do wonders for his artistry.
The Russian coach skated toward them with a smile, "Yuri, you want to work on your free skate?"
Yuri grinned, "Should I? I mean, in front of the competition?"
Sergei seemed to take this into consideration, placing his finger to his chin in thought, "I guess that means Otabek will have to practice his." The brown eyed man seemed to have an equally shitty sense of humor as he continued, "It's only fitting that he goes first since Otabek is a guest at our rink."
Otabek sighed, feeling that Sergei and Yuri were a little too well equipped for one another.
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Otabek's free skate was something he wasn't accustomed to. Embracing artistry over technique wasn't his forte; however, he knew he had to develop a stronger skill set if he wanted to climb the ranks. Yuri had been surprised when Sergei hit the music and Tchaikovsky's Pas de Deux filled the rink's speakers.
Yuri leaned against the sideboard, his eyes taking in every movement of his best friend as Otabek moved across the ice. The blond's eyes softened, it was like the first time he had seen the Kazakh skate at the Grand Prix Final—he had been moved then too. Otabek's artistry was developing with every season, and the technical components were strong—the music peaked and Otabek landed a quad toe, triple toe. Sergei's voice gave words of support as he called out, giving suggestions on bettering those moves.
This season would be a reflection; having changed since their first meeting in Barcelona. Otabek, quietly accepting a failed past in ballet, but preserving, while Yuri continued to run toward the future.
The blond observed the difficult footwork—Otabek wasn't pulling any punches this season. Good. Because neither was he.
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Yuri's free skate selection this season would be O Fortuna composed by Carl Orff. It was a piece known for its mezzo staccato—and Otabek was both impressed and nervous for his boyfriend due to the driving nature of the music.
Yuri took the center of the rink and seemed to still his mind in anticipation of the music. Otabek watched as the Russian took flight in time with the thumping of drums as the fascinating tale of fate filled the air.
Sergei's instructions were clear yet reassuring, "Cross, jump," he articulated on the forte. "Up, tightly on the footwork! There you go!"
Otabek watched as Yuri's speed increased with the intensity of the music. Yuri had always been a fierce skater, but this year he was working to tell the tale of a soldier challenging his fate.
"Get on it!" Otabek only half listened to the Russian's words, his focus mainly on the blond.
The jumps were so tightly placed together, it left no room for mistake or the Russian would surely fall behind in the timing of the program. It was still the preseason, but Yuri Plisetsky was surely demonstrating a solid routine for the Grand Prix.
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"Yuri?" Otabek called over the noise from the shower head in the next stall.
"Yeah?" he heard the immediate response, steam wafting up between the two stalls.
"Is your grandfather still planning on ruining our diets?"
The Kazakh could hear his stall mate laugh, validating Otabek's remark.
"You'll hurt Dedushka's feelings if you don't eat his pirozhki."
"Uh huh…" the brunette didn't sound so certain, "More like it'll hurt your stomach. Not everyone can eat his weight in food and not gain a pound." He pushed his head back to rinse the shampoo in his hair and just caught the sound of the shower curtain opening.
"You don't have anything to worry about either," offhandedly remarked the Russian, his face the only thing visible in the hole now created, as he peeked in, past the shower curtain.
Otabek could feel his face flush and hoped it would be mistaken as an effect from the heat in the stall but frowned as he noted that his friend resembled at damn Cheshire Cat.
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They had stopped by Yuri's apartment to drop off their gear and feed Potya. The damn cat was spoiled as hell, but Otabek made good use of his time while she indulged herself in her canned food—as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and gave him a squeeze.
"You'll podium with that free skate, Otaya," informed the Russian, occupying a spot on the couch and leaning his back against his best friend.
Otabek's back was comfortable against the arm of the sofa, his arms around Yuri's waist and chin resting on the blond's shoulder. "That's the plan. Kick your ass this year at the grand prix." He watched as Yuri scrolled through his social media.
Yuri turned his head and grinned, "I'll be sure to be at my best this season," he paused and gave a slight shrug, "but you're the only fucking person I'd be alright with losing to."
The brunette leaned forward and pressed his lips against his boyfriend's. It was times like these that the Kazakh felt like he had already won gold, just by having this boy in his life.
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"Otabek," greeted Nikolai Plisetsky as he took the teen's hand and gave it a friendly shake, "I hope that Yurotchka was on his best behavior when he visited last month."
The Kazakh smiled, "Yuri left such an impression, that my aje wants to adopt him," he admitted before returning the friendly gesture.
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Otabek was stuffed by the time he had finished Nikolai's amazing pirozhkis. The elderly man had been just as accommodating this time as when Otabek had visited in January, and without Yuri's advice the brunette had easily been defeated at the game of chess.
Yuri on the other hand had held out a lot longer and the game had continued for some time before Nikolai found himself at a dead end and admitted his defeat. The blond kindly pushed the last piece off the board and claimed victory before they said their goodbyes.
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The second day of warming up on the ice in Moscow had gone a lot better. Otabek's movements were more fluid and Sergei had propositioned the brunette soon after.
"You wouldn't consider moving to Moscow any time soon, would you?" Sergei asked with a sly grin.
Otabek kindly toweled the sweat from his brow and admitted, "I'm flattered, but Kazakhstan is really my home."
Sergei leaned against the backboard and sighed, "I figured you'd say that. Would you at least consider being a star in my ice show next spring? I'd love to choreograph a skate for you and Yuri."
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Otabek wasn't certain why they had returned to the rink after lunch. Everyone had already left for the day, but Yuri had been rather excited to show the Kazakh something.
Yuri's emerald eyes held that look—the one when he was busting at the seams with something exciting on his mind. It made the brunette's lips curl upward in response.
"Okay," he played along, "what did you want to show me so badly?"
Yuri had quickly laced up his skates and made his way over to the sound system in record time.
"I want to show you a skate I have been working on," remarked the blond, hooking a wire from his phone into the back of a speaker.
"Is it for an exhibition?" the Kazakh's arms were crossed in front of him as he watched the blond set everything in place.
"No," indicated Yuri as he shook his head, "it's something different. I won't perform this because it's a gift."
"Okay?"
Yet before he could question his best friend any further, he was being led back toward the ice and having a remote shoved into his hand.
"I'll tell you when, just have a seat…"
There was something different in the Russian's voice, a hidden emotion that Otabek couldn't pinpoint. However, he did as he was told and took a seat as Yuri skated to the middle of the ice. Brown eyes watched as Yuri seemed to take a deep breath and settle his mind.
"Alright…" came the que, "I'm ready."
Yet Otabek wasn't—for the moment he hit the play button on the remote the speakers echoed something close to his heart.
"I'm going to play you something. I was going to save it for your birthday…hell, you might not even like it…"
Yuri had choreographed the music Otabek had played across a Skype chat while the Russian was in a coma. He watched as his best friend glided across the ice, bearing his soul with every spin and landing a jump with targeted accuracy. Otabek's breath hitched, his pulse echoing loudly in his ears, the performance was just as the brown eyed boy had envisioned when he created the piece. It reflected Yuri's understanding—it was a reciprocation of feelings.
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Yuri's chest heaves and he takes the back of his gloved hand to swipe at the sweat on his face. Otabek looks anything but stoic and it makes Yuri grin proudly as he skates up to his best friend.
"I wanted to return the favor," honestly admits the Russian, "show you that your birthday present was fucking amazing." He stops in front of the brunette and places a hand on his hip before announcing, "Happy early birthday, asshole. I'll still take you out for dinner in Finland but—
Otabek kisses him with such passion that Yuri's afraid he's going to fall over backwards, now that the adrenaline from the performance is leaving his body. His boyfriend must anticipate this, because an arm wraps securely around his waist, keeping him upright on the ice. Yuri's hands find their way to the lapels of Otabek's jacket, pulling him closer, and the Russian deepens the kiss.
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It's their last night together until Helsinki and the feeling of skin on skin and the emotions behind the actions are just like their time spent in Almaty. Yuri made sure to overfeed the Ragdoll and shut the bedroom door, when it appeared that things might take this turn. Otabek had last seen her purring and seemingly lapsing into a food coma at the foot of the couch.
Yuri's emerald eyes gaze downward at Otabek, his fingers running through dark brown hair, as he smiles. He can feel Otabek's hands on his hips, the way his thumbs draw imaginary pictures on them. More than anything, he can see his emotions reflected in almond eyes—he's safe and wanted, and he can't imagine being this close to another person.
It's not an uncomfortable silence—Otabek just seems to get him. It's kind of crazy to think that they started out as rivals, then Otabek saved his ass in Barcelona, the two became friends and now have transitioned to what? Lovers? It's not like either of them had held one before, maybe why it was more meaningful?
Everything with Otabek was, no, is amazing—from their rivalry, to their adventures, and the way Otabek readily accepts him. It doesn't require much more thought than that—Yuri's always been an actions speak louder than words kind of guy.
"I like it when you smile," whispers the Kazakh, his almond eyes intently watching the blond's face.
"It's fucking hard not to with you," observes Yuri, moving just so and listening as Otabek's breath hitches in response, from the feeling.
Yuri leans down and places a chaste kiss to his boyfriend's lips and Otabek can tell that the Russian is grinning like a damn Cheshire Cat. Not one to easily lose, the brunette easily reverses their roles and smiles as Yuri's golden hair halos around the pillow instead.
Otabek can hear his best friend laugh and call him an asshole,as he wraps his legs tightly around the older boy's waist and draws him nearer. Otabek isn't certain why he's been granted this amazing position in Yuri's life. He just knows that being with Yuri is a privilege. Every kiss, every reaction from the ways their bodies fit together in this almost natural rhythm, feels like electricity coursing through his body. Otabek never wants it to end…however…
A thump on the door.
Accompanied by the sound of scratching.
A frantic mewing.
Yuri's laughter as he says, "You're alright…"
And the sound of disbelief as the pounding from the Ragdoll—who must just be throwing her weight into the door now, just spite him—intensifies is causing for the moment to slip away.
Yuri, never one to give a half assed performance whispers something shitty into Otabek's ear. Otabek snorts and is pretty sure Yuri Plisetsky will eventually be the death of him, but as the appointed Hero of Kazakhstan, he's nothing but chivalrous.
Therefore, like a good lover he's going to finish the job, archnemesis be damned.
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Leave a review if you have a moment and I'll see you in Helsinki later this month!