arcsinx-writes

[arcsinx-writes]

Arranged Marriage AU

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics (not explored), mpreg, arranged married, mentions of sex without vivid descriptions.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing, my lord?"

"No, that's all," Yuri said. The servant bowed and left the room with a pile of folded sheets. Yuri heard the soft click of the door and bent his head to stare at the baby sleeping on her crib. She was so small and precious that Yuri felt most of the time overwhelmed by her sheer helplessness. The palace's physician had assured him it was normal to feel like that in the first months, even more so towards a firstborn.  

Yuri watched as the baby breathed peacefully, resting his chin on his hand. He'd named her Neva.  

Her birth had been mighty difficult. Out of all the emperor's consorts Yuri had to be the one who'd needed more than four midwives for a royal birth. They said his biology didn't help and the statement brought angry tears to Yuri's eyes.

In his land, Yuri was considered too young to be married, but when his kingdom found itself weakened and his parents needed the neighboring empire's help on the borders, alliances had been rushed up.  

Though their neighbor's polygamous tradition was considered disgusting and appalling among Yuri's folk, the young prince had quickly found himself engaged to Emperor Otabek of the South, just freshly after completing his seventeenth spring. Yuri's mother had insisted the nuptials were to be held in a year's time, when Yuri would've completed eighteen, but her protests turned futile when a powerful attack from the east forced their army to retreat, losing them two islands and part of the coast side territory. In the very night those news were received, Yuri's things were packed and he'd travelled eight days until reaching the bright citadel of Verny.  

The wedding was brief but the weight of it hung heavy on Yuri's shoulders. Part of the empire's court was present, but other than Victor, his kingdom's ambassador on the southern warm lands, none of the people in attendance were known to him, and that included his husband.  

The Emperor wasn't cruel as his mother told him he was meant to be. He was silent and stoic, but treated Yuri with the utmost respect, which only served to infuriate his blond consort even more. Yuri had come prepared to fight tooth and nail against a barbaric tyrant but instead found a young man with a heavy sense of duty that had, for Yuri's comfort, suggested to consummate their wedding when Yuri was considered ready by his own standards. Yuri had denied it. He hated pity when it came his way, and if Otabek's past wives had married him and held their nuptials at the same night, surely Yuri could do the same.

The ordeal was painful, but not unpleasant. Otabek didn't shrink back from his duty, and paused when Yuri winced but resumed as soon as he felt right to. His face, once impassive and neutral, changed during sex, and Yuri felt somehow emboldened for being the one delivering such pleasure to have an unmovable man breaking character. He learned to enjoy the time he spent with his husband, despite what his mother had previewed for his future. If he hadn't, Yuri wouldn't have found himself with child merely four moons after his wedding.  

At the news, Victor had offered him his congratulations and Otabek presented him with a whole new wing of the palace for him to make use of. Hope was that it was a boy, for Otabek already had one heir in the form of a five-year old boy from his first marriage, but a second in line would appease the empire.  

Otabek was away visiting their second capital city when Yuri went into labor. He thought he would die. He spent close to two days sweating and bleeding out on the sheets, a pain so strong he felt his spine was being crushed. The palace grew restless with his screams and the midwives, numerous as they were, frantic. When the baby finally pushed past him it cried and wiggled, a blood red thing. It was a girl. Victor watched him from the doorway, smile rigidly in place.  

Yuri had lost too much blood and had to stay in bed for two moons before he was deemed healthy enough by the royal physician. Neva was now fat and sleepy. The servants and the maidens sent to help him praised his daughter for her quietness, deeming him lucky.  

Yuri doesn't really know what to do with her. She cries sometimes and he needs to feed her. His breast aches. Yuri sighs and moves to his writing table. There's parchment and some ink poised on it and Yuri takes the feather in hand to begin a letter to his mother. Their correspondence had increased in volume since the late days of Yuri's pregnancy. Yuri had sent her a sketch of her granddaughter along with the news of her birth and his mother had answered back in kind, proud but also visibly shaken that her son had produced a child when he was, by her view, still so young himself.  

Yuri's father had also sent him a congratulating letter, thanking him for completing his duty. He'd hinted heavily that now Otabek's army was legitimately obligated to assist their lines on the war, as their family was joined by blood. Yuri wondered if that was all he ever wanted in the first place.  

He writes his mother about the weather in Verny: sunny during the day but the wind here picks up when the sun sets. He pauses before writing about his daughter, and in the end, says he's glad she's happy and that Neva was growing out fine. Yuri thinks twice before explaining that Otabek was away since before the birth, but that that was normal since the country was so extensive. His mother wrote small critiques on his husband every other letter or so.  

Yuri tries not to think too much on it but the truth is that he was the first of the consorts not to have the emperor present to his firstborn birth, and even after two moons Otabek hadn't made an appearance. Certainly, the news had already reached the country's people. Otabek had to know it already. Maybe he found it unimportant as Yuri had given him another daughter and not the boy he had been hoping for.

Yuri puts the feather back in place and finds himself dismayed at the sound of his daughter's whines. She squirms in her crib, little brow furrowing and mouth twisting as she wakes up. She opens her eyes now. They're blue, just as his mother said Yuri's had been when he was a baby.  

Neva had taken so long to open her eyes that Yuri had grown desperate. The physician chuckled at him and said some babies took a while to do that. Yuri, in his ignorance, thought babies were born clean and bright, eyes wide open. It's a little shameful to think back on it but then again Yuri had no means to know such things as he wasn't schooled in child-rearing. The rest of Otabek's consorts were taught since they were young enough to understand that they would one day have sex with the emperor and produce him a child. Whereas Yuri grew up thinking he would one day run a kingdom.

He doesn't resent his parents, not now anyway. It was already done with. And Otabek's empire had to be ten times the size and importance of his own kingdom. He hadn't come out losing, per see, though the outcome was far from what he had imagined.

Neva doesn't really have a reason to be awake, she just kicks her legs around and stares up at Yuri when he goes see to her. "Hi," he murmurs, touching the delicate tip of her nose with his fingertip. Her face scrunches up like she's about to sneeze and Yuri laughs, withdrawing his finger.

Neva makes a gurgling sound up at him and Yuri chuckles. He's just stretching his hand out to rub the soft tuft of black hair on top of her head when there comes a knock on the door.  

"Yes?" Yuri asks.  

Instead of answering, the person at the other side of the door inches it open. It's Otabek. He inclines his head into the room and then his whole body, eyes instantly fixated on the crib. He takes slow steps towards them and Yuri straightens his position, standing awkwardly next to the crib. He'd expected a fanfare in the palace once the emperor returned, but if there was indeed such a commotion Yuri hadn't heard it. His wing was at the back of the palace anyway.  

"Yuri," Otabek whispers in a breath, but his eyes are still on Neva, who turns her eyes in his direction when Otabek comes close enough to rest his hands on the bars of her crib. "Oh, Yuri," Otabek chokes, bending on one knee next to the crib. His upper body shields the baby from Yuri's vision when he bends to marvel at her. "She is so beautiful. My daughter," he grins, "Imperial Princess Neva of the South," Otabek croons, nudging her small hand around the tip of his index finger. He kisses it and Neva makes an uncomfortable sound, pulling her arm back and kicking impatiently at the soft linens of her crib. Otabek smiles down at her before turning his gaze on Yuri.

"She has your clear eyes," Otabek says in amazement, reaching out to run his thumb down Yuri's chin. "She's beautiful, like her mother."  

Yuri feels warm at his touch, gulping when he feels like his throat is about to close off. He breaks eye contact with Otabek and clears his throat. "Do you wish to hold her?"

Otabek trains his gaze back on Neva. "Yes," he says, and bends to scoop her up. He does so carefully, bringing her closer to his chest. Yuri hadn't noticed before but Otabek still seemed to be in his travelling clothes.

"I came as fast as I reached the palace," he tells Yuri. "I'll bathe in a while, I just had to meet her," he looks down at his daughter. Neva doesn't make a sound, just wiggles and blinks blearily up at her father. Otabek seems extremely secure holding her and Yuri feels a bite of jealousy at this realization. Otabek had other children from other mothers, holding a newborn came naturally to him as he'd had more practice. Yuri himself was still afraid of picking her up; she felt small and easily breakable in his arms, her spine and neck much too soft to be real. The servants usually passed her over to him when he was already sat down to feed her. Yuri had a feeling that they talked behind his back, about how he wasn't suited for watching his own baby.  

"I'm truly sorry I couldn't make it to her birth," Otabek looks up to tell Yuri. "The physician told me you suffered a lot. Blood loss-"

"Yes," Yuri spoke up, maybe a little too harshly. He didn't like it enumerated as though Otabek pitied him. "It was quite terrible," he finishes. Yuri drops his gaze and moves to his writing table, where the letter to his mother dries under the sunlight. He folds it closed and stamps his seal on it, feeling the weight of Otabek's gaze on his shoulders.

"I wouldn't forgive myself if I'd lost you," Otabek continues. He's turned on his heels to face Yuri, still holding onto Neva.  

"But you didn't, did you?" Yuri smiles sharply. Deep down he feels like Otabek wasn't as preoccupied as he'd seemed intent on making Yuri believe. Yuri was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words and the facts laid here were quite clear: Otabek hadn't minded to return sooner to meet his daughter. But then again, what was another child among so many?  

What infuriates Yuri the most was that he'd gone through all the trouble of leaving his land, been forced into a marriage and into so many things others took years to experience, like the pain of a birth, only to end up becoming just another of Otabek's consorts who'd failed to give him a boy.  

He almost knocks over the ink pot in his sudden fury, pursing his lips together and moving brusquely to the door. The guard by his door, slouched against the wall, straightens his back at his appearance. "Have this sent to my mother," Yuri says, shoving the letter his way. He goes back inside, where Otabek still has Neva in his arms, intelligent eyes watching Yuri avidly. He's no stranger to Yuri's mood, but must sense this time the roots run deeper than mere annoyance, his lips drawn in a flat line.  

"Yuri," he speaks up, "I won't bother you with the political details of my travelling but I assure you that coming back to meet my daughter was my priority the moment the news reached me."

"And yet it took you two moons to do so," Yuri can't help himself from snapping. He doesn't know what he lets on behind those words other than what he explicitly meant, but it seems to have made something clear to Otabek.  

"I make no distinction between my children," the emperor says, quite coldly, tightening his hold on Neva.  

"Then I believe it'd have taken you as long if it was a boy." Yuri feels wise for verbalizing that quip, even more so when Otabek's expression closes off. Wordlessly, his husband sets Neva back in her crib, setting a lingering kiss to her forehead. He then walks up to Yuri, whose position as far away from the crib as possible hasn't changed.  

"We'll baptize her tomorrow. The servants should be here by morning to help you," Otabek says. Yuri wasn't even aware that baptisms were required. He's still not familiar with Otabek's religion and to be quite frank, isn't interested on learning. Much of the costumes and the lifestyle led in the palace as well as in all the empire were derived from it and Yuri found himself lost most of the times. He took to ignoring it as his small act of rebellion.  

Yuri nods tightly. He's still waiting for Otabek to react to his words, terribly expectant as to what he could say or do to Yuri. Yuri's mother said legend had it that if a consort in any way insulted or displeased the emperor they could be sentenced to a night in the dungeon.  

Otabek doesn't tell him anything else, however, simply inspecting Yuri for a few more seconds before heading to the door.  

"Wait."

Otabek turns around and Yuri avoids eye contact. "My father's war. I haven't heard any news on it." The consorts had no access to the Council and before the time he'd spent bedded, none of the counselors seemed willing to share any news with Yuri. "He mentioned you promised to send two thousand more men before the winter."

Otabek nods on his way out the door, giving a curt sigh. "I'll see to it."

[arcsinx-writes]

Playing with Fire (Otayuri AU) -

"I can't believe," Yuri grits out, "that you called me here to fucking ditch me."

"No, Yuri, of course not! You got it all wrong. I'm not ditching you," Victor corrects, lifting a finger and wiggling it in front of Yuri's face. "You push yourself too hard. Yuuri is a new face to the company. The challenge will do him well," Victor says, gesturing widely with his fork.

Yuri stares at him, flabbergasted. His steak is running cold in front of him but Yuri doesn't find his appetite. This sudden invitation of Victor's to lunch together at this restaurant seems like a damn trap.  

Yuri has always been the star of their ballet company, or else, Victor's company, as he was the director. But then a fucking fat dancer from Japan had showed up two months ago and now Victor was saying Katsuki was 'more suited' to the leading role than Yuri, who had been rehearsing it since the beginning of the season.  

"You just say that because you're fucking him," Yuri bursts out. Some patrons look their way and give him sour looks. This is Victor's fault for always choosing these flamboyant places.  

Victor chokes on his food, primly dabbing his napkin on his lips and taking a sip of his wine. "Now, Yuri," he says, cheeks tinged pink. "That's not nice of you. I'm a professional and so is Yuuri."

Yuri rolls his eyes, brimming with fury. The food tastes bland, and the steak like a slab of rubber.  

"You've gone so long with the leading role already," Victor continues, as though any of his madness would make Yuri change his mind. "Let yourself bloom in another role," he gestures with both his hands.  

"The only thing that will bloom will be my fist on your face," Yuri threatens, but is interrupted by a clear of a throat beside them. The guy who'd led them in to their table is standing beside them, giving Yuri tiny reproachful glances.  

"Is there anything I can help you two gentlemen with?" He asks.

"No, everything is perfect, thank you," Victor smiles.  

"Actually, yes," Yuri turns to him, "this tastes like shit," he points at his food. The maître's eyes widen suspiciously, "so you can take it back."

Victor opens his mouth to excuse Yuri's behaviour but the man simply nods and takes Yuri's plate, telling him very slowly that "I'll take it back to the kitchen, sir. I'm sure our chef would be happy to prepare you another."

Yuri watches him go but it doesn't give him the satisfaction he was hoping for. Still, the food really was horrible and Yuri still wants Victor to drop dead in a ditch and never have his body found.  

"That wasn't really necessary," Victor tells him, some of the mirth gone from his face. "I'm known here, this will look bad."

"Really? How do you think it'll look on me when I call my parents and tell them I'm not on the leading role after fucking all?" Yuri snarls, taking a long gulp out of his wine. "My education was fucking expensive."

Victor rolls his eyes, humming at the flavour of his fish, with vegetables and a lot of fucking fancy shit. "You're still looking at it the wrong way. You need a different perspective."

"No, I need the leading role. It's mine!" Yuri crosses his arms, "I went to the audition, Lilia agreed, Yakov agreed, you agreed! And now you want this pig from god knows where to take my role? Absolutely fucking not."

"Yuuri is an excellent dancer, he just hasn't been given the chance you have."

Yuri sets his empty wine glass on the table, fuming. "Yuuri isn't better than me," he accuses, setting his elbow on the table and pointing a pale finger Victor's way. "He should work as hard as I do to be at my level. He's fat, for god's sake. I don't even know how you can fuck him. I bet he weighs a ton and you must have to go missionary all the time."

"Sir," the waiter comes back with a new dish for Yuri. He's red in the face, probably from hearing Yuri's crass words. Yuri takes it from his hand.  

"Thank you," Victor tells the waiter in his behalf. Yuri scowls at him until he's gone.

The food smells divine, at least, and Yuri stabs the steak, imagining it is Victor's face. "Have Lilia and Yakov even agreed to it?" He asks, not that he's considering it. Yuri has had to claw his way up to get this leading role and wasn't about to be put aside because one of his colleagues was whoring himself out to the director.  

Victor tilts his head in thought, avoiding Yuri's eyes. "They both agreed with me that maybe always being the star of the show has gotten to your head."

Yuri cocks his head incredulously. "What?!"

Victor nods. "You've grown to be a bit of a... how do they call them? Prima donna, a diva."

Yuri arches one eyebrow, gritting his teeth. "How is that?"

Victor looks pointedly down at Yuri's food, probably meaning the scandal he'd just made. Yuri rolls his eyes, bringing the steak up to his mouth. Victor stares at him expectantly, twirling his wine as Yuri chews. Yuri narrows his eyes at him and raises a hand to call the waiter.

-

Otabek was not having a good day.  

His little sister had come from Kazakhstan to spend her vacations with him, as per his mother's idea. She had woken with a cold this morning and seeing as Otabek had had to work, he had to send her away to her holiday camp along with a note to the caretaker. He made the mistake of telling his mother that and now she wouldn't stop calling. Not to mention his kitchen is always a chaos during lunch time and there's a stuck-up client complaining about his food.  

Serik, his sous-chef, tries to avoid his path as best as he can, managing the cooks and saving their skin from Otabek's mood. Otabek isn't an irate person, you see, he's usually stoic and silent to a fault. But when he's in a bad mood he becomes ten times more sombre and that's undermining.  

When the waiter comes back to the kitchen with Otabek's steak in hand Serik grimaces. Otabek is busy supervising the sauces and a herb crusted fillet but upon catching sight of the waiter he sighs.  

"It's the guy from table three again," the waiter gulps before saying. He's young here and still new to how bitchy clients can be. "He's asking you if you've ever seen a steak in your life."

Serik and the rest of the cooks look down at their counters and avoid Otabek's eyes. Otabek silently pushes Serik to his station and grabs a clean set of cutlery. He cuts the steak and eats it, dropping the cutlery on the sink and grabbing the plate.  

"Beka-" Serik says, but Otabek holds up a hand to pacify him, taking his hat off and moving past the kitchen doors.

All the patrons turn to look when he exits the kitchen in his uniform and apron, but Otabek keeps his eyes set on table three, where he can see the silver head belonging to that pompous guy that came here often. He had never complained about Otabek's food before but as they say, there's a time for everything. There's also a platinum blonde sitting across from him and Otabek realizes he must be the one who was trying to humiliate him inside his own kitchen. His hair is long and kept in a half bun, straight locks falling to the middle of his back. He is as thin as a beanpole, inside a leopard print jumper and leggings. He looks cold to the touch.

Otabek drops the plate in front of him, paying half a mind to the silence that has fallen around the room. The blonde pointedly turns to appraise him with raised eyebrows, green eyes raking over his frame. He bites the corner of his bottom lip thoughtfully.  

Surprisingly, it's the silver haired one who speaks up.  

"We're so sorry about this. Please forgive Yuri, he isn't feeling well today."

"Oh, fuck you, Victor," the blonde – Yuri – turns to his companion to hiss.  

Otabek holds a hand up. He's not interested in whatever is going on between them. "Sorry, but there's nothing wrong with my steak."

Yuri crosses his arms, "Sorry, but this isn't a steak."

Otabek frowns, trying to swallow past his rapidly inflating anger. "Sir," he says, setting his hands on his hips, "you're welcome to come into my kitchen and watch me prepare another steak for you."

"That won't be necessary-" Victor tries to intervene, but Yuri throws his napkin on the table and gets up.

"I would like that."

Otabek raises one eyebrow, stepping back and extending his arm to give way to him. Yuri eyes him suspiciously, but does walk ahead and in the direction of the kitchen. Otabek holds the door to him, and there's a hitch in the noise inside the kitchen when Yuri walks in followed by Otabek.  

Serik gives him a wide-eyed stare and holds up his hands in question. Otabek shakes his head and motions for Yuri to follow him. He shoves the pots away from his station and gets a fresh steak from the fridge. He shoves it under Yuri's nose, who does nothing but glance down at it and nod.  

Otabek salts the steak and sets it to grill. The client, Yuri, leans against the counter and turns his nose at the steam. "It was half raw," Yuri says, glancing at the steak.

"It is supposed to be half raw, it says in the menu" Otabek retorts, moving to the board where new orders have been attached to. "I need four main dishes and two appetizers," he shouts to the kitchen, motioning for Sara to take it. He can feel Yuri following on his heels as he goes dipping the spoons to taste the sauces.  

"I didn't want it half-raw," Yuri insists. He sounds like a bratty child, upset that he doesn't get his way.  

"Then you should have made that clear to the waiter," Otabek snaps. Yuri narrows his eyes at him, fisting his hands by his side. There's a palpable lowering on the volume of the kitchen, and Otabek sighs, shoving past Yuri to manage his steak. "Sorry," he says, turning it upside down, "I'm having a difficult day."

"Well, so do fucking I," Yuri replies harshly. "Victor wants to give what I've earned to a guy he's fucking."

Otabek frowns, dribbling sauce on Yuri's plate before settling the still sizzling steak on it. "Well, whatever it is, good luck," he hands the plate to Yuri. "Is it good enough for you, sir?"

Yuri glances at the plate and then back at Otabek, raising an eyebrow.  

"It's on the house," Otabek clarifies. Yuri takes the plate and Otabek sees him out of the kitchen.

Serik has delivered his order and sidles up to Otabek while he supervisions Sara and Emil. "What was that? He was freaking hot."

Otabek gives him a cross glance and nudges him back to his station. "Back to your business, Serik."

-

Alina is kicking some rocks in front of the camp when Otabek pulls over to pick her up. A woman with the camp's logo on her shirt steps up when he gets out of the car.  

"Mr Altin, thank you for coming. The camp's doctor saw to her and we agreed that Alina needed some rest, right sweetheart?" She beams at Alina, all the while nudging her towards her brother. Alina doesn't say anything, walking up to Otabek and getting his hand while he thanks the caretaker.  

Alina looks miserable, with a clogged nose and an incessant coughing. Otabek takes her to the hospital and has to wait two hours before a doctor comes see to her. He prescribes her a cough syrup and a couple pills should she have a fever.  

"It's best if she rests for a while, so holiday camps aren't a very good idea," he adds, giving Otabek a careful glance that has to mean he's a shitty father. Otabek doesn't say anything against that impression because he and Alina share the same surname and practically the same face, not to mention he's too tired to care.  

"I work all day long," Otabek says, folding the prescription when the doctor hands it to him.

The doctor shrugs. "Isn't there a place she can stay at? You could look into babysitters," he gets up and leaves.

Otabek sighs heavily. Alina looks up at him, wrapping her hand around his when they leave the hospital. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm already eleven," she retorts.  

"Alina, there's no way you're coming to the kitchen with me."

"Why not? I can just watch you cooking. You said you'd teach me."

"Yes, but my working kitchen is hardly the place for teaching."

Alina gives a put-upon sigh. "You can be so boring. Mom's right, you need a girlfriend."

-

Otabek ends up taking his sister to work. He can't find a babysitter or anyone to watch her and the manager says he doesn't mind if she colors inside his office. For a sick child, Alina barely looks the part, excitedly climbing up the steps to the kitchen.

At this time in the morning most of his cooks have yet to arrive, but Otabek makes sure to come in earlier to keep an eye on them and supervise the food that comes in. Alina, open-mouthed, goes from one corner to another, watching everything.  

"Alina, don't touch that," Otabek quips when she comes too close to his cutting knife.

She pouts and saunters over to him. "Can I have an apron too?"  

"No, but you should probably tie your hair if you're going to stay here."  

The caterer's van soon backs up into the alley and the men start bringing in the food. Otabek checks the vegetables for any dry leaves, the meat cuts for any excessive fat and the fruits for any mould. His cooks start filtering in, first Serik and then Sara, who gasps at Alina and calls her cute.  

"I'm Alina," she introduces herself, hopped onto the counter right next to Otabek.  

"I'm Sara, nice to meet you," Sara smiles, putting on her uniform and tying her apron around her waist. She sidles up to Otabek to whisper. "I didn't know you had a daughter."  

"She's my sister," Otabek grins.  

"Oh," Sara makes, "she looks so much like you though."

"Chef," Emil calls once entering, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the door. "There's someone outside wanting to talk to you."

"To me?" Otabek frowns, but leaves Serik to the task of managing the vegetables. "Stay here," he tells Alina, and unwraps his apron before exiting.  

Otabek's expecting the manager or the restaurant's owner, a rich, bleach blond woman in her forties that sometimes shows up to flirt with him. He's not expecting the blond costumer from yesterday, all lean lines and tall silhouette, resting against the bar counter while checking his cell phone. His hair is untied, a lock curled behind his ear. He's in black ripped jeans and an oversized black hoodie. He glances up at Otabek when the chef comes to a stop next to him.  

"Hey, so," he begins, turning his body in Otabek's direction, "Victor made me come here apologize to you," he rolls his eyes. "Apparently, I behaved like a child."

Otabek makes an unkind hum in the back of his throat. "Victor?" He tilts his head.

"The guy from yesterday. The one I was eating with."

"Oh," Otabek nods, and there comes an uneasy silence. The barman arrives and gives the blond a good look and Otabek a respectable nod.  

"So," the blond continues, glancing away and throwing his hair over one shoulder. "Just so you would know I'm a ballet dancer."  

Otabek raises his eyebrows. "Hn."

"Victor is my company's director and our next performance will be in the Opera House," he moves to open the leopard print backpack that dangles from one of his shoulders, producing a cat-shaped wallet. Otabek finds it oddly girly for someone whose kindest words were 'hey', and the blond gives him a hard glance that is meant to dare him to comment on it.  

In that moment Alina chooses to come after her brother, eyeing the blond costumer and coming to a stop next to Otabek. "Alina, I told you to stay inside," Otabek says.

"Sara sent me to ask for you," Alina says and then curiously turns her face to the blond. "Hi, I'm Alina."

The guy gives an amused huff. "Hi, I'm Yuri," and then looks at Otabek weirdly. "I'm Yuri," he murmurs, probably realizing he hadn't cared to introduce himself earlier. He produces two tickets from his wallet and hands them to Otabek. "Victor sent you spare tickets for the performance in case of any hard feelings," he shrugs, "he probably just wants to keep a good impression because he thinks you're awesome or some shit, oh-" he pauses, glancing at Alina and then warily at Otabek. "My bad."

"It's okay," Otabek says, and Alina peers at the tickets curiously.  

"What is this?" She asks.

Yuri exchanges a look with Otabek. "Ahn, it's for my ballet performance."

"Cool," she gasps, "I do ballet too at my school."

Yuri grins and gives a small nod. "Great, so," he puts his wallet away and shifts on his feet, sighing, "you should come if you'd like," he shrugs at Otabek, "you can bring your kid or your wife."

"She's my sister," Otabek replies, "and I'm not married."

"Oh," Otabek swears he can see him blushing. Yuri glances quickly at Otabek's hands. "Anyway, you should come so Victor knows I got them delivered."

"I'll try," Otabek says. Yuri nods but pauses at the door before exiting.  

"Your food wasn't bad yesterday. I just said that because I wanted to fu-" he glances at Alina, smirking up at him next to her brother's leg. "Just wanted to annoy Victor."

"Did it work?"

"Hn?"

"Did you annoy him?"

"Yes," he shrugs.  

Otabek nods. He watches Yuri go and nudges Alina back into the kitchen. "Oh my god, Beka, he's super pretty! We have to go, we have to, please say we will."

"We will see," Otabek answers.  

Sara raises one eyebrow when he enters the kitchen, giving a small smirk. "You look flushed, who was out there?"

Otabek sighs. "The costumer from yesterday."

Sara frowns. "Which one?"

"His name is Yuri," Alina says loudly. Everyone in the kitchen turns to her. Oh, but they love a gossip. "He gave Beka tickets for his show-"

"Alina, stop, it wasn't like that-"

"He dances ballet," she twirls on a foot demonstratively.  

"Free tickets?" Serik inquires, raising his eyebrows teasingly at Otabek.

"It's not coming out for free, you know that," Sara winks in passing at the fridge.  

"Okay, enough. All of you, back to your stations," he shouts. They hand their heads and murmur a string of "Yes, chef." He walks towards Alina, who looks all too smitten for a sick child. "Alina, you go color. I'll start work in a few minutes and you can't be here."

"I'll tell mom about Yuri," she murmurs evilly.

"No, you won't," Otabek says carefully.

"Why not?" She gives him a smug smile.

"Because then I won't take you to his performance."

Alina gasps. "Foul, he gave you a spare ticket!"

"He didn't say I had to use it."

"Just you wait until I tell mom," she retorts crossly, taking her seat at the manager's desk and opening her coloring book. Otabek grins and kisses her forehead.

"Send for me if you feel anything. Okay?"

She nods. "Beka?"

"Hn?"

"Love you."

[arcsinx-writes]

#2

Otabek is the nicest friend in the damn planet. If he weren't he wouldn't be accompanying JJ shopping after a suitable gift for his girlfriend. They've rounded the shopping mall at least twice and JJ still hasn't been able to choose anything for her.  

"Why not clothes?" Otabek tries again, slowing down next to a boutique selling female clothes.  

JJ stands next to him, humming in thought. There's a pen skirt with a white blouse on the mannequin that Otabek points out. "I'm not sure," he says, pinching his chin between two fingers.

"It looks like her type of clothing," Otabek eggs on.  

"Maybe," he tilts his head, raking his eyes over the clothes. "Let's take another look around," he decides, and Otabek swallows his tedium and follows him with increasingly heavy legs.

They stop at a lingerie shop next, but after making the vendor show them every piece of underwear they have JJ decides that gifting Isabella any of that would be pushing for sex. "Not that we don't, you know," he elbows Otabek on the way out of the store.

Brilliant. Now he's going to tell Otabek everything about his sex life – which Otabek wasn't looking forward to hearing -, and then probably tease him as to when Otabek would find a girlfriend or boyfriend of his own to 'get some'.  

"Do you know her shoe number?" Otabek asks over JJ's voice as he continues on his tirade.  

"Hn, not really," JJ shrugs, eyeing the shoe store Otabek had been considering.  

They're going to be stuck here for the rest of the day, aren't they? Why today, of all the others, when all Otabek wanted was to get home to continue the remix he'd been doing?  

"Hey, check that out," JJ says, pointing at a make-up store in the distance. "Bella loves that shit. Do you think-"

"Yes," Otabek jumps at the chance to finally have JJ settling for something, "she would love it."

"Let's go inside," JJ invites, and walks ahead towards the store.  

There's a table at the centre with eyeliners, blushes, foundations and lipsticks aligned in their slots, their colours presented from darker to lighter shades from left to right. Otabek and JJ stop in front of it and their minds draw a blank.  

"Maybe it's better-" JJ begins, but an attendant shows up at their peripheral vision.

"Can I help you?" She- Oops, he is blonde and thin, hair pulled into a high ponytail as his green eyes go from JJ to Otabek. He has some serious makeup on, not startling dark, but simple and beautiful. Cat eyes drawn on the corners of his eyes, a pale foundation to his face and a glossy looking lipstick in pale purple. He looks dashing, and Otabek avoids looking at him too much.  

"Yeah, I think my girlfriend likes makeup but never mind-" JJ starts saying.  

"What were you looking for? Lipsticks, glosses," he waves a hand down all the colours they have, "we have them in matte as well."

JJ frowns at the hundreds of products displayed. "Huh, I don't know, Beka, what do you think?" He elbows Otabek, the traitor. The attendant's eyes turn to him and Otabek gulps. He is not any more versed in this than JJ, but he does have three sisters. He tries to remember the name of anything they might have owned in makeup so he doesn't come out looking completely dumb to the cute vendor.  

"I think, maybe, eyeliners?" He tries, gaze focusing on the attendant's heavily lined eyes.  

He nods, directing them towards another section. "We have liquid eyeliners or the pencil ones. Colours go from midnight black to dark blue or purple," he shows them the gradient, a profusion of variations that astounds Otabek that had thought eyeliners to be the simplest of choices.  

The attendant blinks at them, waiting for their reaction. JJ is making a confused sound in the back of his throat, the same he made when he was faced with a difficult math question on his textbook before he convinced Otabek to explain it to him. Otabek is trying to look like he's taking it out in stride.  

"Would you like to try it on?" The attendant offers with a smirk.  

JJ makes a scandalized face. "No, but thanks, we'll take a look-"

"Okay," Otabek blurts out. Both JJ and the attendant turn to look at him. He doesn't know why he said that. Actually, he does, it's because he wants JJ to buy something here and give this blonde at least a good tip or commission for trying his luck on their sorry asses.  

"What the-" JJ turns to him to ask, but the attendant – Yuri, his nameplate says -, turns a chair around and offers the seat. They eye each other for a second before pushing the other. JJ loses and stares flabbergasted as Otabek pulls him towards the chair until he's sitting. Yuri produces a pencil sample and inches JJ's head back before applying it to his eyes.

"Relax," he admonishes JJ with a hint of irritation to his voice. He draws a straight line over JJ's eye in fast precision, pulling JJ's chin down to present him with his own reflection on the mirror.  

Otabek snorts and tries to fight back his laugh. JJ frowns at him. "What are you laughing at, bastard? This was your fault."

Yuri sighs. "How did you like it?"  

JJ opens and closes his mouth. "I- It's good, it's good. I'll take it."

"We have a new mascara too," Yuri offers, waving a black tube in front of JJ's face. He makes to open it but JJ holds up a hand.  

"It's fine. I'll take that too."

Yuri grins broadly, sending Otabek an amused glance. "If you're taking an eyeliner and mascara she'll probably like an eyeshadow too. What's her favourite colour?"

JJ looks around. "Uh- pink?"

Otabek slaps a hand to his own face and Yuri chuckles, rolling his eyes. "What is her eye colour then?"

"Blue," JJ proudly announces.  

Yuri produces a dark blue eyeshadow, taking a pencil from the stash he has stashed to his waist. He works in quick swipes, colouring JJ's eyelashes like a professional. Once he steps back JJ blinks at himself on the mirror.  

"I look like a girl," he deadpans, and bats Otabek's hand away when he tries to snap a picture of him. Yuri shrugs. "Are you sure you can take this out?"

"Yes, sir," Yuri says through gritted teeth.  

"Okay, just- Argh, I'll take all of that bullshit, you can take this out now."

Yuri nods, brushing a cotton ball drenched in lotion on JJ's eyes, who yelps and squirms underneath him. "And you?" Yuri turns to inquire Otabek. "Nothing for your girlfriend?"

"No, no girlfriend," he says and then adds in case Yuri is wondering, "or boyfriend."

Yuri does glance at him out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his lips quirking up.  

"I'm single, actually," Otabek clears his throat to emphasize. Yuri blushes.  

"Oh my god, just ask him out already," JJ calls out unhelpfully, "he's hitting on you, in case you haven't noticed," he tells Yuri.  

Otabek could die from embarrassment but Yuri chuckles and smiles at him on his way to the cashier. JJ follows begrudgingly, yelping when Otabek elbows him hard on the ribs.  

"What did you have to say that?" Otabek hisses.

"Well, you were hitting on him."

"It made him uncomfortable."

"It didn't. Bet he's dying to taste some Kazakh meat," JJ teases, laughing to himself.

The cashier rings up JJ's purchases and Yuri scribbles down something behind one of the store's cards. "I'm Yuri," he says to them, and proudly hands the card to Otabek, "and that's my number."  

Otabek quickly closes his hand around it, watching petrified as Yuri winks at him before sauntering off to attend to another client.  

"Your total is one hundred seventy, sir," the cashier chirps and JJ turns wide eyes to Otabek.

[arcsinx-writes]

#1 (Actor!Otabek and Actor!Yuri)

I saw a prompt in the otayuri tag yesterday and it gave me a lot of ideas. This is the product. I looked up but I can’t find the post again to talk to the person, but if you’ve seen it please get in contact with me. You’ll see that I changed most of it but still... Hope you like it! 

- (2519 words) -

There's a reason why Otabek doesn't do talk shows much, and the reason is pretty simple: it's because he's not talkative. He answers questions, he elaborates as much as he can, but still he feels like people were expecting more of him. That's why when his publicist talks to him about an invitation for a talk show episode, Otabek turns it down.  

"That's not very good for your image, you know," she tells Otabek. She was a nice lady on her thirties, but she still hadn't sensed that Otabek wasn't going for the international celebrity level she wanted him to become, which defeated the purpose of having a publicist at all.  

Otabek shrugs. He's been working for this tv show for the last two seasons and it got quite the attention. Otabek liked the costumes, liked the horse riding most of all, and even enjoyed sword practicing and studying the history behind his character. It was a fictional history, per see, Otabek played a warrior, the commandant of an army facing war and destruction while trying to resist barbarian invasions and political machinations at a fictional kingdom. It was one of the main roles, and his stoic façade brought the seriousness necessary to the role.  

"Other artists have accepted the invitation," his publicist continues, standing with her arms crossed beside him while they work on Otabek's makeup before they shoot the next scene. "You wouldn't be the only one there. Just laugh at the host's jokes, be sincere in your answers," she says.  

Otabek sighs. Maybe going wouldn't be such a hassle. It would get his publicist satisfied and he could get some more attention, which couldn't hurt if he was planning to audition for the leading role of that new superhero movie.  

"Fine," Otabek ends up saying, standing up in his armour. "But it'll be short, right?"

-

Otabek shouldn't have agreed to this. He's in a black suit and feels a bit out of place. The people are very nice to him and the makeup girl has given him her phone number with a wink. Otabek feels his heart racing inside his chest, waiting until the host announces him. He can hear the audience, laughing, clapping their hands and just generally making Otabek aware of their number and enthusiasm.

"Our first guest is a rising star from a tv show. He's been gaining fans with his looks and his work as a certain warrior," the host says suggestively and the audience whoops loudly, "please welcome Otabek Altin!"

Otabek steps out, the band to the side playing a catchy tune to his entrance. There are lights on him and people from the audience yelling as loud as they can. Otabek waves to them and goes to shake hands with the host, Christophe.  

Otabek takes a seat at the long couch and the audience settles down, only some shouts of his name echoing every once in a while.

Christophe smiles to the camera and takes his seat behind the desk. "Otabek," he says, "would you like something to drink? We have cognac, whisky," he offers gallantly.

"Uh, sure," Otabek says, accepting the whisky that Christophe hands him in a mug with the talk show's logo on it.  

"I think we're all wondering about the season finale of Dark Horse," Christophe begins, "your character is the commandant of an army, am I right? I think we have some pictures here." The screen behind him exhibits some stills of Otabek in his armour, Otabek gritting his teeth while striking an enemy character with his sword, Otabek shirtless washing blood from his chest after a fight, and finally Otabek in a romantic eyelock with the princess.

Otabek takes a sip of his mug while the audience goes crazy. Christophe laughs at his flushed face and Otabek smiles calmly.  

"How are you liking the show so far?" Christophe asks.

"It's very good," Otabek comments, "the crew is very attentive and they all work very hard. It's been a great experience."

"Hn," Christophe nods, making a teasing face, "can you tells us a little bit about what happens to your character?"

Otabek laughs. It's not sincere but he's an actor so he can act friendly. "No, sorry. I'm not allowed to talk about that."

"Well," Christophe claps his hands, suddenly losing interest in Otabek to turn to the camera. "Our next guest is also famous for a tv show. Check that out: he's the star of a ballet company and fights for the main role while facing envy and vengeance from his colleagues. Please welcome to the stage Yuri Plisetsky!"

Otabek claps along with the crowd when the curtains draw. A slim figure dressed in black leggings and a tiger tank dress walks in. He goes directly to the host, shaking hands with him before he stands in front of Otabek. They don't know each other, so they only exchange curious glances and a hesitant handshake.  

Yuri settles beside Otabek, blowing a kiss to the crowd that is still screaming at his appearance. He smells like wild flowers and expensive cologne and stares at Otabek out of the corner of his eye. Otabek doesn't know if it's a challenging or disgusted gaze but it's not exactly welcome. Yuri must do a good job as a bratty ballet dancer.  

Christophe seems enchanted with Yuri's presence, offering a drink that he accepts. Yuri settles his mug beside Otabek's on the coffee table and soon enough Christophe starts directing him questions.  

"How has this season been for you, Yuri?"

"It's been good, thanks," Yuri says, foot bobbing where he has his legs crossed. He's wearing high-heels.  

Otabek doesn't know what to make of him, and avoids staring, which is difficult. Yuri is, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Slightly freckled, milky white skin and slim legs. He has the fiercest green eyes Otabek has ever seen, pale eyelashes  and small features. He puts lots of girls to shame.  

As with Otabek, Christophe presents stills of Yuri on the screen behind him. In all of them Yuri is wearing long sleeved leotards in a dance studio, next to a barre in one, doing a perfect split and pirouettes. Except, of course, for the last one that shows Yuri semi-naked, draped over one of his male co-stars in a clearly sexual scene. Otabek flushes and averts his eyes, but Yuri seems unfazed.  

"You can show that but I'm not allowed to swear in this show?" He asks, and the audience laughs out loud. The host slaps his desk and bends over in laughter.

"You're right, of course," Christophe says to Yuri, "why censor this show if it's so late at night?" He asks broadly, and the audience roars in agreement. Christophe laughs some more, "Yuri," he says, and Yuri turns to him, "I must say, you look fabulous!"

The crowd claps in agreement, whistling. Yuri grins knowingly, flicking a lock of hair away from his face. "Thanks." Yuri oozes sexual appeal and Otabek feels self-conscious.  

"Now, Yuri," Christophe continues, leaning over the desk, "do you use a stunt for the most complex ballet moves or-"

"No, that's all me, including the sex scenes," Yuri reports proudly to the thundering excitement of the crowd, "I study ballet since I was young, that's why I can do that," he points at the screen where the picture of him doing a split is frozen in place. The audience claps their hands in delight at that. Otabek is impressed. "But I still have to practice a lot to get to a professional level that convinces anyone."

"Otabek," Christophe suddenly turns to him with a shit-eating grin, "what about you? You look great on those horse riding scenes."

Otabek smiles, "That's all me too. I learned something of horse riding when younger though the sword practicing was new."

Christophe gasps dramatically. "Don't you use stunts for your fighting scenes?"

Otabek shakes his head. "No, and I have the scars to prove it."

Christophe fans himself with the talk show's program. "That's so hot!"  

Otabek flushes, taking another sip of his drink.  

"It really is," Yuri emboldens, turning to appraise him. Otabek can't help meeting his eye and grinning at him. Oh, come on, at the end of the day he's just like any other man.  

Christophe chuckles, giving both of them an interesting eyeful. "Have the two of you ever met before?"

They both shake their heads, but it's Yuri that says no. "Oh, interesting!" Christophe claps his hands together. "Well, Yuri, if you're interested, Otabek is single," Christophe says mischievously.  

"I am," Yuri shrugs one shoulder, giving Otabek a devious grin over his shoulder. The audience whoops suggestively. Otabek gaps, not quite believing his ears, and Yuri breaks out laughing, supporting a hand on Otabek's knee. "Sorry," he says, and Otabek really doesn't know if he's lying or not. What the hell?  

Christophe looks like Christmas has come earlier. "Anyway, just so you know, I'm a fan of both of you guys' work, I think your characters are very captivating and deep. But, how do you feel towards them? Because I talk to lots of artists too and though there are some that always take their characters' side, there are those who agree that they are straight out bastards. Do you think your characters are straight out bastards?"

Yuri glances briefly at Otabek before speaking first. "Yes, at first. My character, Matvei, he was very," he rolls his eyes, "very boring." The audience laments, and Yuri switches his gaze to them, "Yeah, oops, it's true, sorry. But with time I got used to him. He was innocent in the beginning but then some shit happened and now he's giving as good as gets."

Christophe smiles, "what do you think made him change like that? From an innocent dancer to a wiser one?"

"At the end of the first season, of course," Yuri responds without batting an eye, "when they put glass shards inside his pointe shoes."

Christophe shrieks, holding the program close to his chest. "That scene was so awesome! He had to perform with bleeding feet."

Yuri makes a face. "Yeah, that was difficult to shoot," he says, and then looks at Otabek, who has somehow lost himself in his appreciation of Yuri's face and the way he talks.

Otabek realizes they're waiting for his answer, but he can't for the life of him remember what he was supposed to be talking about. "Sorry, what was the question?"

Yuri's grin widens knowingly, the crowd laughing uncontrollably. Christophe gives a short laugh, "I was asking how you towards your character-"

"Oh, yes," Otabek makes an effort to unglue his eyes from Yuri, turning to Christophe instead. "I really do relate to my character. He tries to keep his kingdom out of harm's way, tries to spare the lives of his men as best as he can," as he talks the screen behind Christophe plays short scenes of Otabek in his character, during battle and in court, dancing with the princess and riding a dark stallion down the rocks. "He's very loyal and very strong-"

"I can see that," Yuri pipes in beside him, watching the screen where the scene of Otabek killing several enemies is playing. The audience snickers.  

Otabek gives a small chuckle and finalizes, "And, anyway, he tries to always stay true to himself and I think that is admirable."

Christophe nods. "Now, I was thinking," he glances mischievously at the camera, poising a thoughtful finger on his chin, "since both of you said you don't use stunts for filming, could you show us your abilities live?" He prompts and the audience loves the idea, clapping and shouting. "What do you say?" He repeats, raising an eyebrow at them.  

"Okay," Otabek says, and Yuri nods.  

"Great, so," Christophe stands up from his chair to the audience's increasing agitation, "our production is getting us a pair of swords, Otabek," some people in black attire quickly step onto the stage to hand Christophe two swords made of plastic, "for safety," he clarifies, tapping the material, "these are made of plastic but I really don't doubt you can hurt me," he warns, "so, fight me." He throws one sword to Otabek, coming to a feeble fighting stance in front of the coffee table.  

Otabek can't believe he's being made to do this, but the cameras shift to include him in the shot and Otabek grabs the spare sword, getting to his feet to stand in front of Christophe.  

"Hold on," Otabek says, taking his jacket off not to hinder his movements. Yuri offers to hold it for him and Otabek accepts, getting into proper position and ignoring the whistles and cat calls from the crowd. The sword is light on his hands though, and he has to swipe it side to side to get used to its weight, tightening his hands around the hilt.  

"Okay," he says, and Christophe charges at him at once. It's over pretty quickly, since all Otabek has to do is block the attack and imprint enough force so Christophe's hold will slacken. He then just twirls the tip of his plastic sword towards the hilt to disarm him. The plastic sword barely makes a noise when it drops to the carpeted flooring but Christophe screeches in excitement.

"He's real, ladies and gentlemen," Christophe proudly announces, lifting Otabek's hand like a boxing winner, "Otabek Altin."  

Otabek smiles, handing him the plastic sword back and throwing a leg over the coffee table to get back to the couch. Yuri is eyeing him hungrily, and while Otabek takes his seat Yuri drapes his jacket over Otabek's shoulders to the teasing of the audience. "Nice match," he murmurs.

"Thanks," Otabek smirks.  

"Now, Yuri, it's your turn," Christophe says, having retaken his seat.  

Yuri sighs, toeing off his shoes to stand barefoot before the audience. He does some basic warming up and turns to Otabek. "What do you want to see?"

"Whatever you want, baby," Otabek says, only realizing what he'd truly said when the audience screams. He flushes, but Yuri smiles broadly.  

Yuri does a split mid-air, and it's perfect. The audience gives him a standing ovation and Christophe jumps from his chair to clap his hands. Yuri laughs and drops to the couch next to Otabek.

"This is it, guys! Thank you so much for watching. You can't miss Yuri Plisetsky as a ballet dancer and Otabek Altin as a warrior in shining armour! Have a good night!" Christophe says to the camera, the band playing a catchy tune while the cameras shift.  

The light from the reflectors dim and Christophe claps their backs while they go backstage. "Nice job, boys," he says, and squeezes their asses.  

"Fuck," Yuri says, slapping him on the arm. Christophe laughs and saunters off.  

Yuri glances at Otabek while Christophe's assistants help unplug their microphones from them. "Hey," Yuri says, tilting his chin Otabek's way, "you doing anything now?"  

Otabek smirks, "No. You?"

Yuri shakes his head, flicking a lock of hair from his face. "No," and then, without any hesitation, "my place or yours?"