#if you have enough willpower this too can be yuri | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avaruussade · 5 years ago

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Control

otayuri | E-rated | 3.5K words “Okay, I might have one. But you won’t like it.” “This isn’t about me, this is about you,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. He’s 99% sure Otabek is just playing it safe by saying that, although Yuri can’t help wondering what could be so bad even he wouldn’t like it - he thinks everything can be enjoyable if Otabek is involved. They exit the park and start heading towards Otabek’s apartment until the silence between them is broken again. “I want to tie you up.” Read on AO3

“What’s your secret sexual fantasy?” They’re in the middle of their evening jog, and Yuri had hoped his inquiry would take Otabek by surprise and change something in his usually serious expression (or maybe even make him stumble a little). However, all he gets is a questioning raise of eyebrows. “That’s sudden.” “No, it’s not. We’ve been dating for three years and we haven’t had this conversation yet, so I’d say it’s about time,” Yuri says as they enter Almaty Central Park. The temperatures had been steadily dropping in the past few weeks, and the park is mostly empty when they jog past one of its beautiful fountains and follow a path lined with tall trees. “It’s also your birthday in two days, and I suck at giving presents.” That pulls a small laugh out of Otabek, the sound of it making Yuri smile. The competitive season had just started a few weeks ago, and since Yuri had basically used his entire summer flying between Russia and Japan for practice, he had decided to come to Kazakhstan to spend some time with Otabek instead of going home after his first competition of the season. He knows they only have a limited amount of time together before both of them have to get back into their own home rinks, but he’s going to enjoy these few days - especially because Otabek’s birthday is just around the corner.

“I don’t have one,” Otabek says, answering Yuri’s original question. “Don’t lie.” “I’m not lying, though.” “I know you are,” Yuri says, shooting an amused look at Otabek when they jog through the park. “You can tell me! I won’t judge you or anything.” For a moment Otabek says nothing, and Yuri doesn’t pressure him. In their years of friendship and romantic relationship Yuri has learned there are different kinds of silences when it comes to Otabek: the comfortable one where neither of them has to say anything; the heavy one that mostly appears when Yuri lets his anger boil over (which doesn’t happen that often anymore); and the one where Otabek needs time to either think or gather enough courage to say something. The last one is the most excruciating one for Yuri, but in the end it’s always worth the wait. “Okay, I might have one. But you won’t like it.” “This isn’t about me, this is about you,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. He’s 99% sure Otabek is just playing it safe by saying that, although Yuri can’t help wondering what could be so bad even he wouldn’t like it - he thinks everything can be enjoyable if Otabek is involved. They exit the park and start heading towards Otabek’s apartment until the silence between them is broken again. “I want to tie you up.” There’s a subtle stumble in Yuri’s step, but he manages to hide it. “Okay.” “Okay.” “Why?” “You said you wouldn’t judge me.” “I’m not judging you.” “I said you wouldn’t like it,” Otabek says to defend himself, turning his back to Yuri as he unlocks the door to his apartment building. The tips of his ears are red, but Yuri isn’t sure if it’s a result of their run or because the topic of their conversation makes him slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t say I don’t like it, I’m just… surprised.” “Does the thought make you uncomfortable?” Otabek asks when they start climbing up the stairs. Yuri’s legs are already trembling, but he’s not going to say anything because Otabek isn’t showing any signs of exhaustion. “Why would it?” “Well, you… you like to be in control.” “Are you calling me some kind of control freak?” They’ve finally reached the right floor, and Yuri has to stop at the top of the stairs to give his legs a little break. Otabek is already at the other end of the corridor, unlocking the door to his apartment. “No! That’s not what I meant.” Otabek watches Yuri stagger into his apartment and fall onto the floor, unlacing his shoes. “I meant what I said. You want to be in control of things in your life, like when it comes to skating or anything else you do. And… kind of in the bedroom too.” Yuri gives Otabek a hard, doubtful look, but he can’t deny what Otabek is saying. It’s true that he wants to have control over his surroundings, because that’s how he learned to survive when he was younger. Back then he didn’t know how to deal with all his negative feelings and thoughts, so he started controlling everything he could: how his body moved on and off the ice, how he interacted with other people, and how the world saw him. He has since learned not to hide behind overflowing confidence and arrogant attitude, but finding himself in situations where he simply can’t take over and be in control makes him anxious. Yuri knows this, and a part of him is angry that Otabek knows this too. “Does it bother you? Me being controlling in bed,” Yuri asks, finally standing up. He’s feeling a lot less exhausted, and he definitely needs a shower. Otabek is already a step ahead of him, pulling his shirt off while he disappears into the bathroom. Yuri follows him, freeing his hair from its ponytail and combing through it with his fingers. “I didn’t say you’re controlling in bed, you just want to be able to take control over the situation if needed,” Otabek says, meeting Yuri’s eyes through the bathroom mirror. There’s softness in his gaze when he brushes his fingertips against the back of Yuri’s hand. “If that makes sense.” “It doesn’t, really,” Yuri deadpans, both of them knowing he actually does understand what Otabek is trying to say; he just doesn’t want to admit it. Otabek gives him a small smile when they get into the shower, and Yuri has a hard time pretending he’s still offended by getting called out. “I’ll think about it.” “You don’t have to do it if the thought makes you uncomfortable.” “I’ll still think about it. It’s your birthday, after all.” Otabek seals the deal with a kiss, and deep down Yuri already knows what his decision will be. -- It’s very typical for Otabek to be romantic in the most casual, mundane ways: he never buys Yuri flowers nor writes him long, sickly sweet text messages (because he knows Yuri would hate both of those), but he remembers Yuri’s favorite coffee order and gets them tickets to a Disney movie screening whenever a new film comes out. He calls Yuri ‘darling’ and kisses the blush on his face afterwards, and he would never cross Yuri’s boundaries. So, even though he’s lying on Otabek’s bed in nothing but his underwear and has his hands tied together, a part of Yuri feels safe. The other part is absolutely terrified. “It’s not too tight, is it?” “Isn’t that kind of the point? It being painful.” “No,” Otabek says. His tone isn’t sharp or ridiculing, but there’s a small frown on his face. “I know you’re not into that.” Yuri can’t deny being surprised when Otabek finally answered his question about sexual fantasies the other day, but after thinking it through, Yuri came to the conclusion that he should get out of his own comfort zone more often. Yuri knows nothing will change the fact that he absolutely hates not being in control of basically everything in his life, but he’s also aware he has to challenge the uneasy feeling of losing that control if he wants to grow out of his negative thinking patterns. He also got a little bit offended when Otabek implicated he’s a control freak, and although Yuri tries hard not to do things just to prove someone wrong, sometimes he just can’t help it. He’s kind of having second thoughts about his decision, but it is Otabek’s birthday and when Yuri had told him earlier they could try whatever he wants, the lust-filled flash of excitement that visited Otabek’s face made the back of Yuri’s neck hot in the most pleasant way possible. Otabek runs a hand through his hair as he sits between Yuri’s legs, meeting his eyes. His shirt is already accompanying Yuri’s clothes on the floor, and the grey sweatpants he has on are hanging low on his hips. He draws invisible circles on the side of Yuri’s right knee, the touch igniting sparks somewhere deep in the bottom of Yuri’s stomach. “Okay?” Otabek’s voice is deep and steady, and suddenly Yuri’s mouth feel dry. “Okay.” Their safeword is axel. Yuri isn’t sure is he going to need it. The kiss Otabek places on Yuri’s lips is gentle and soft, and Yuri’s immediate response is to slide his hands into Otabek’s hair and pull him closer. He tries to act on his instinct, but Otabek is faster, pressing Yuri’s tied hands against the mattress. “Don’t make me regret not tying you down,” Otabek says against Yuri’s lips, his voice low and pupils blown. It pulls a helpless whine and a curse out of Yuri. “No touching.” “No touching,” Yuri repeats quickly to confirm he’s understood. Otabek kisses him again, but it’s totally different this time: he runs the tip of his tongue over the seam of Yuri’s lips before slipping past it, a small sigh of pleasure filling the air. Yuri grinds hips hips shamelessly against Otabek’s knee placed between his legs, the breathy laugh Otabek lets out feeling like electricity in his veins. Otabek is smiling when he kisses Yuri’s neck, teasing him with a gentle scrape of teeth before licking over his pulse point. He travels down on Yuri’s chest with confidence, enjoying how Yuri’s body responses to his touches. By the time Otabek’s lips reach the waistband of Yuri’s underwear they’re both breathing heavily, anticipation hanging heavy between them. It takes all of Yuri’s willpower to keep his hands pressed against the mattress over his head when Otabek mouths the outline of his half-hard cock through his underwear and places a string of kisses on his inner thighs. Yuri follows Otabek’s every movement carefully as he takes off the last piece of clothing Yuri has on and reaches for the bottle of lube standing on their bedside table. He gives Yuri another kiss before settling back between his legs, gently guiding them more apart. A wave of pleasure travels through Yuri as Otabek runs his fingertips up on the underside of his dick before stroking him slowly. Otabek kisses him again and smiles against his lips when a brush of his thumb over Yuri’s hole pulls a quiet moan out of him. He leaves feather-light kisses on Yuri’s neck and teases him with his fingers, circling his hole with lube-covered fingers, careful not to push one past his rim despite Yuri’s needy whines. Otabek sits back and Yuri can’t tear his eyes away from him: his shoulders are relaxed, and although there’s a slight blush on his face, his overall expression is calm and collected. He looks comfortable and in control, and the sight turns Yuri on more than he ever expected. He’s breathless, and when Otabek meets his eyes and finally pushes a finger inside him, Yuri finds himself gasping loudly. The sound creates a small, teasing smirk on Otabek’s face and Yuri has to close his eyes to keep himself mentally together. He tries to focus on keeping his breathing stable and how the slow movements of Otabek’s fingers in and out of him create sparks of pleasure inside him. He rolls his hips to get Otabek’s fingertips brush against the spot that makes him see stars without fail, and that’s when Otabek pulls his fingers out of him. “Eager.” “I’m ready.” “I know you are.” Otabek’s tone is unwavering yet gentle, but the small smirk is still dancing on his lips. Yuri kind of wants to kick him. “You don’t have to tease me like that.” “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” Yuri doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer, and Otabek doesn’t wait for him to say anything. He pushes two fingers inside Yuri and curls them just enough to reach his prostate. Yuri throws his head back against the mattress and curses under his breath, and Otabek goes back to slowly fingering him open. It takes less than a minute for Yuri to grow impatient again, and after a few needy whines Otabek fastens his pace but makes sure to avoid the spot Yuri wants him to touch more than anything. The annoyance makes Yuri’s toes curl, and right when he’s about to complain, Otabek’s fingertips brush briefly over his prostate again. By now Yuri knows it’s not an accident: they’ve done this so many times Otabek knows exactly what to do and how to move to make Yuri feel good. He comes to the conclusion that Otabek’s plan is to tease him until he’s going crazy, and then some more. But Yuri doesn’t call him out or tell him that’s not something he agreed on, because Otabek is looking at him with dark eyes, mouth slightly open and a hard-on straining against the material of his sweatpants. It makes Yuri’s head spin, a wave of pleasure shooting through his body every time Otabek decides to press his fingers deeper inside. Yuri’s dick is already leaking with pre-cum when Otabek takes off his pants and gives himself a few firm strokes, his deep sigh of relief making Yuri whine. He’s itching to touch Otabek: run his hands over his chest, climb onto his lap and ride his cock until they’re both gasping for air. Yuri knows he’s already extremely close to the edge, and he has to clench his hands into fists when Otabek continues his teasing by pushing into him excruciatingly slowly. They moan in unison when Otabek is in to the hilt, his hands gripping Yuri’s hips to keep both of them still. Yuri’s mind feels hazy, his breathing getting heavier when Otabek settles into a steady pace with his thrusts. His orgasm builds up, heat pooling in the bottom of his stomach, and he can’t help himself - he tries to wrap his fingers around his cock to relieve himself, but Otabek moves faster. He stills and pins Yuri’s hands above his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the groan of frustration Yuri lets out. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he says, only slightly out of breath. “For fuck’s sake, Beka-” “No touching. You promised me.” Yuri isn’t sure is the pout on his face more angry or pleading, but Otabek dismisses it easily with a quick kiss. He lets go of Yuri’s wrists but doesn’t turn his eyes away, hard gaze with blown-out pupils wordlessly telling Yuri to behave himself. Yuri obeys, but only because the peak of his pleasure got cut off, and he can still feel it bubble just under the surface, ready to take over him. He gives a nod of agreement and Otabek treats him with a roll of his hips, his cock sliding deeper into Yuri in one fluid motion. It doesn’t take long until both of them are chasing after their releases again, Otabek’s pace picking up as Yuri moans under him. He crosses his legs behind Otabek’s back to keep him close, and his brain is ready to short-circuit as he gets closer and closer to the edge. And then Otabek pulls out. Yuri gasps in shock, his mind unable to register anything for a brief moment. When he manages to gather his thoughts, he feels nothing but utter disbelief, his denied orgasm still tingling in the tips of his fingers. “You fucker,” Yuri says, and Otabek places a hot kiss on his neck as an apology. “I was so close.” “Me too.” Once again Yuri isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets Otabek press kisses on his neck and down his chest, them stirring awake the pleasant heat in the bottom of his stomach. Yuri welcomes the feeling and allows it to wrap around him, his nails painfully digging in the skin of his palms when Otabek slides into him, the moan he tries to bite back almost sending Yuri over the edge. Otabek’s thrusts get sharp and fast until he slows down, rolling his hips in an angle that makes Yuri squirm and whine helplessly. His orgasm builds up, prickling electricity travelling through his veins and igniting fires in his every cell, and when it’s ready to take over Yuri’s body, Otabek stills. It leaves Yuri gasping for air, and when it happens for the third time, Yuri doesn’t care what he might have promised. He knows that a light brush of fingertips over his dick would be enough and he tries to relieve himself, but Otabek is there to guide his hands away before he even gets close. This time Yuri fights back, kicking with his feet and pulling his hands to himself. When the first tears of frustration roll on his cheeks, Yuri considers using the safeword. “Beka, please.” Yuri absolutely hates begging for anything, but it feels like his every nerve is oversensitive and close to exhaustion. Otabek kisses his tears away, holding his arms still. “You’re doing so well, darling.” “I hate you.” “I know,” Otabek laughs, but Yuri finds nothing funny in the situation. His head is cloudy with all the pent-up pleasure and he feels like he has lost the last remains of control over his body. Otabek holds his tied hands above his head and kisses him, rocking his hips in a way that makes every rational thought disappear from Yuri’s mind: all he feels, hears and sees is just Otabek and his desperate need to come. Otabek angles his thrusts just right to hit Yuri’s prostate over and over again, and Yuri finds himself pleading for permission, even his own words not making any sense to him. He’s somehow keeping himself together until Otabek is kissing his neck again, whispering his name against his skin. Yuri’s orgasm hits him almost violently, his mind turning into crackling static. His back arches up and his senses turn dull, and he barely registers Otabek pulling their bodies close to each other as he comes inside him. Yuri’s eyelids feel heavy, and his body is still far from recovered when Otabek shifts on the bed and slides two fingers inside him. “No, no, no,” Yuri says on an instinct, writhing in the sheets. They both know that’s not the safeword. His body is unsure how to react to the press of Otabek’s fingers, the overstimulation making him feel feverish. He’s trembling but still leaning into Otabek’s touch, wordlessly asking him to get deeper and drive both of them mad once more. “Fuck, Yura,” Otabek nearly moans, his fingertips reaching the already abused spot inside Yuri. Hot tears burn Yuri’s eyes but he barely notices them, flood of pleasure hitting through him and wiping every sensible thought out of his head. He rides Otabek’s fingers until he’s unable to feel or hear anything and he’s repeating his boyfriend’s name over and over again, his body shivering with aftershocks. Yuri is still seeing stars behind his eyelids when Otabek dries his lingering tears and undoes the restraints around his wrists, gently guiding his arms down before getting up. Yuri listens to the bathroom tap running, his thoughts slowly coming back together. He forces his eyes open when Otabek sits down next to him and brushes a wild strand of hair out of his face. “Everything alright?” Otabek asks, his voice a tiny bit hoarse. Yuri opens his mouth to say something, but forming words turns out to be way harder than he expected. He closes his mouth and nods instead. Otabek kisses his forehead before pressing a warm towel over each of his wrists, faded-pink marks going around them. Yuri lets Otabek clean them up and accepts the glass of water given to him, exhaustion making his every move slow and languid. He’s happy when Otabek gets back into the bed and throws the covers over them, and he’s free to curl up next to him. Yuri’s every muscle aches, especially in his arms, but it’s a different kind of pain than what he gets after countless hours of training: it makes him drowsy and satisfied in a way nothing else can. “I think I fucking blacked out,” Yuri says after a moment of silence, and Otabek huffs a laugh into his hair. “So you liked it?” Yuri doesn’t reply instantly, because he’s not completely sure did he like it. At first he was uncomfortable with the thought, but he can’t deny enjoying the way Otabek carried everything out. It’s clear to him that Otabek knows he’s not ready to do everything again soon, but to his own horror Yuri realizes that maybe in the end it wasn’t that bad to lose all control and be completely at the mercy of Otabek. “Yeah,” he finally says, reaching up to press a kiss on Otabek’s jawline. “I liked it.”

#fanfiction #otayuri

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cheerysmores · 6 years ago

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I’m faraway stuck here

Previous part HERE

Getting his things to his new place doesn’t take as long as Yuuri first thought.

It starts out slowly: dropping off his spare gym bag when coming home from the rink, packing some old out of season clothes from the very back of his closet, boxing all the little trinkets he hastily threw into a suitcase while nervously staring at his one way plane ticket to St.Petersburg. They’re all things he theoretically doesn’t really need. Things he can live without should he choose to back out, choose to stay.

More than once he wavers on his decision. Packing some more of his clothes, he stops when his fingers brush the worn softness of an old red sweater. It takes him a second to realise that it isn’t his, that it’s the first piece of clothing he ever borrowed from Victor when he’d seen it mistakenly folded at the end of his bed. He stops himself as he goes to bury his face in the thick material, but the ghost of an old smell still brushes past his nose as he pulls it away. He recognises the cool scent of the ocean. Images of warm breezes and warmer smiles splash through his mind in dappled watercolours as he remembers quickly tugging it over his head on the last day of summer when the orange of the sunset had just started to sink below the horizon. He also remembers what happens after, the firmness of another hand in his, pulling him into the soft foam of the shallows as a dozen messy kisses were scattered like rose petals across his cheeks.

He stuffs it back into Victors side of the closet and quickly slams the door.

Like sand slipping through an hourglass, slowly more and more of his belongings make their way to the small apartment in a mess of disorganised piles. Each new box he carries through the door, carries a little piece of his heart with it. The sound of packing tape ripping is what he imagines his soul breaking might sound like as well.

He knows the route by heart. It’s much further away from the rink then he would have liked, but right now, this is all he can afford. Some shitty one bed with a cold breeze and colder looks in the eyes of the other tenants in a neighbourhood that almost scares him when he walks through it at night.

But doesn’t scare him as much as what he thinks might happen if he stays.

Part of him is almost glad he’s so far away, that they’re coming from opposite directions to train, that he can’t just accidentally end back at his old place when running.

Victor’s place he mentally corrects himself.

It bites whenever he thinks like that. Deep down he knows that once it was his place too. That for a while, even just a short while, they had a life here- together. He also knows that that safety and warmth haven’t been present between those four walls for what feels like an eternity at this point, it’s no longer the environment to nurture life and love.

It’s that thought that has him collecting the remnants of his livelihood and hiding them between four flimsy cardboard sides.

He knows he’s being a coward, finding the cheapest place he could in secret, packing when Victor isn’t home, keeping his words short and robotic at the rink. He wants to say that this is wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this, but he just can’t. He knows this is what he needs to try and set his mind in some kind of order. Every time he thinks of stopping, the same cold sharp reasoning screams loudly in his mind.

He’s tried everything to fix this, tried time and time again to get Victor to talk to him, tried with all the warmth he could to break through the chilled wall of silence the other man had erected between them and at this point… frankly he’s just sick of being the only one putting in any effort to try and salvage whatever they are.

He knows he isn’t stupid. He can see Victor is hurting, that something is wearing down his spirit until all the brightness of his inspiration had dulled like stone tossed about in a stormy ocean, but nothing he had been doing had helped.

Until Victor has the willpower to actually tell him what’s wrong, there’s nothing else he can do to try and cement the cracks between them.

And he certainly doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that it was starting to feel like the other man just doesn’t care anymore.

And so the last of his things get carefully wrapped and slowly driven over to his new place.

He thinks about telling Yuri. Despite the sharpness that characterises the teenagers tongue, Yuuri knows that he cares, knows that he’s basically family at this point. Knows that this is hurting him too. He mocked and rolled his eyes whenever Victor and him were more than a little affectionate, but it was nothing compared to the quiver of fear Yuuri can see flash in his eyes as the indifference between Victor and everyone around him grew.

Unlike himself, Yuuri isn’t sure if yuri actually knows how to be silent. He’d asked about it, hanging around after training and pointedly asking “what the hell is with you and the old man?” Yuuri didn’t have the energy to try and paint a rosier picture.

“He’s hurting. He’s hurting about something and he won’t tell me what,” he’d replied, trying to get round him so he could pick up the keys to his new apartment.

“It’s hurting you too isn’t it.” It’s not a question.

Yuri’s words had caught him slightly off guard. He knew he hasn’t been hiding his feelings that well at the rink, everytime Victor had given a less than enthusiastic comment, his whispered curses hadn’t been subtle, but Yuri wasn’t someone he expected to comment.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried and tried and tried and he just won’t- talk to me.” The words were gushing past his lips before he could stop himself, the fact that someone was finally acknowledging this breaking the lock he’d put around all this. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropped from Yuri’s. “I’ve tried to help but it’s like he won’t let me.”

“So don’t then.” He held up a hand when Yuuri’s eyes had shot back up in surprise. “Look, I want him to go back to his normal oh-my-god-will-you-stop-talking-for-five-seconds self as much as you. He’s useless to everyone here right now.” Yuri folded his arms and leaned forward a little, tone hushed. “But if he’s not going to take the help he’s freely being given by those who care, take it away and see what he does then.”

“It sounds so harsh when you put it like that.”

The teenager just shrugged at the comment. “Put yourself first for once. Believe it or not, you’re not here solely because of him.” He took another step forward, the blade of his expression suddenly softer. “It’s because you fought to be better.”

For the first time in weeks, Yuuri felt the smallest sliver of hope break through the thick bricks of doubt in his mind. He’d actually smiled as he started walking again, Yuri keeping up as he went. “I never expected to hear that from you.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll skate over your throat.” The words were blunt, but Yuuri could hear the slight playfulness behind them. “But I don’t think being around him is good for you right now.”

They’d continued the rest of the walk to Yuri’s place in a comfortable silence until he started to wave the younger man off.

“Hey, Yurio.” He’d stuffed a small piece of paper in his hand before he could question. “It’s my new address. I’m moving in next week.”

It had felt good to do that. Finally telling someone about everything that was playing on his mind, giving him the push to finish what he started.

There’s just one last thing he needs to do. Something that he knows is going to hurt more than the thousand heartbreaks he’s felt splinter in his chest every time he’d been swatted down when he tried to reach out.

He has to tell Victor.

He wants to be surprised that Victor hasn’t mentioned Yuuri’s disappearing things but with how much he’s been sleepwalking through his days like a zombie and collapsing in the guest room when getting home late that he really isn’t.

It’s almost a relief, but it still hurts just that little bit more. How his things, his life can just vanish from the place they both called home and it not feel any emptier.

It’s the purpled dusk of a steely March evening when Yuuri finally gathers his courage.

He sits on the very edge of the sofa, wringing his hands together until his skin aches as he stares at the front door. The last box of his possessions are open at his feet. His skates are deliberately placed on top, next to his olympic jacket which is carefully pressed and folded. He hopes the image alone will be enough to convey what’s happening when Victor walks through the door.

He’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. He’s had weeks to think about how Victor might react to the news, had more than a dozen sleepless night to play out every scenario in his head, but even now he knows that the minute he sees the realisation dawn in Victor’s eyes that all his words will most likely disintegrate in his mouth.

But still, he can’t run from this. Even if Victor might want to.

Every minute feels like it’s being dragged through syrup as it passes. The light fades ever so slowly through the window until the shifting shadows gradually engulf the room in an unkind darkness. Yuuri uncrosses his legs and shifts on the couch as he watches the clock in the corner tick from nine to ten to eleven, the worry in his gut only pulsing more strongly as each hour passes.

It’s past midnight when he finally breaks.

Either Victor was pushing himself at stupid hours of the night, or he somehow knew what was coming, either way Yuuri is done hanging on for him. In any situation.

Exhaling slowly, he grabs a notepad from across the table and just starts writing. Everything he wanted to say for the past few weeks feels like it’s bleeding from his pen as he writes. All his anger, his love and his hurt spills onto the paper like the flow of so many of his tears as he goes, not stopping until everything he ever thought about the whole situation is stabbed into the pad in messy black and white.

Ripping the sheets from the notebook, he feels some of the weight also rip out from his chest as he throws the pen across the room. He doesn’t reread it, just turns the paper over and rubs his temples.

It’s not the closure he wanted. But it’s done. If Victor reads it, then he’ll finally know exactly what he’s doing to himself. To both of them.

It’s the final thing he’s going to do for Victor. At least until he deigns to reach out to him for once.

He knows he’s being bitter. Knows that if at last years GPF he could see what he was doing now, he’d scream that that wasn’t him. That he could never do that to Victor. That he’d find a way to make it work, yelling and crying that Victor would never do that to him.

He fights the ghostly burn of old tears at the thought.

He’d tried staying and it had done nothing. Maybe space was the only thing left that could heal the chilled air between them. It’s all he has left to try at this point.

He leaves a letter left folded on top of the coffee table as he leans down to pick up the box at his feet.

He feels his body lock up a little as the ring on his finger glints softly in the low light.

It’s the one thing he’d refused to pack, refused to put away despite the fact it felt like it was getting heavier and heavier with the weight of old memories as each day passed. He twists it on his finger until the gold burns his skin raw as he stares at the paper in front of him. Eventually he takes it off and lets the warmed metal sits in the palm, the warped view of his own eyes staring back at him on the mirrored surface.

He dreams about the day he bought it almost nightly, vividly reliving the nervous buzz in his stomach as he slid the matching band onto Victor’s finger while the cold December air bit into his cheeks. When he’d passed his credit card across the counter, he really hadn’t known exactly what he wanted, just that he needed to do something to show how much Victor’s support and love really meant to him.

Things he hasn’t felt for what feels like a lifetime at this point.

He feels something catch in his throat when he spins the ring between his fingers and catches the half snowflake still intricately etched inside. If there was one thing that kept him wavering it was how he knows Victor still has his on. He’d seen him twisting and rubbing it whenever the stress got too much, sometimes pressing the metal against his forehead like it could somehow draw out pain if he tried hard enough.

The rings were two halves. Two puzzle pieces made to be together. Golden wedding rings he’d bought in the hope he could hold onto the similarly golden joy that burst through his mind every time Victor took his hand.

They aren’t memories he’s willing to cut off just yet.

He puts it back on, carefully placing his keys to this apartment by the note instead.

Shutting the door behind him, he’s surprised by how easy it is to walk away now, even with the weight of their commitment still burning prominently and solid on his finger.

He’ll have to face Victor at the rink at some point, have to face whatever it is he might say, but that can wait for another time. He has a few days rest now, maybe he can use the time to figure out a new future.

Five World Championships was what he promised. It might be time to carve out a more realistic goal. One for both of them.

Collapsing into the single cot in his new place, he sleeps with his phone upturned by his face. He knows Victor probably won’t reach out immediately, maybe won’t even notice that he isn’t there when he finally comes home, but that doesn’t stop him turning up the ringer to full volume.

Just in case.

AO3

#yuri on ice #yoi #victuuri #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #angst #my writing #I'm sorry

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sneezehq · 7 years ago

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I request a trans Yuri sick fic (feel free to reject) Suppose Viktor had to do a thing and Yurio was stuck with Yuuri for some reason. Yurio thinks he has a simple stomach bug (some emeto pls) but later escalates into ending up to be something hospital-level serious. And Yuuri takes him. Only to find out via hospital records that biologically, Yurio is actually a girl. Not that it makes Yuuri feel any different toward Yurio. -Homura (sorry if that made no sense. English isn't my main language)

Your English is great! This is my first time trying to write a trans character, so I hope I did a good job! Please don’t crucify me if I made a mistake; gentle criticism is okay. Enjoy!

Day 26: Say It Ain’t So, Doc!

“Now, you two don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone,” Victor says lightly. He’s traveling to Moscow for a meeting with some sponsors, leaving Yuuri and Yuri to fend for themselves. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Without looking up from his game, Yuri responds, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want to anything you would do, either. Remember that time you and Chris decided to go caroling in the middle of July?”

“We were drunk!” Victor protests, his voice going an octave higher. “Anyway, the point is, you two have fun while I’m gone, but not too much fun, okay?”

He gives Yuuri a peck on the cheek and attempts to hug Yuri goodbye, but the teenager dodges out of the way just in time, rolling his green eyes in annoyance. “Bye! See you in three days!”

“Goodbye, Victor!” Yuuri calls after him before the door shuts. Yuri waves halfheartedly before stalking off to his room, muttering under his breath about how sappy those two are and how disgusting it is. Yuuri just assumes that he’s in a bad mood today.

Truthfully, Yuri hasn’t been feeling very well at all since he woke up. He’s nauseous and his stomach has been cramping all morning-it’s either some sort of a mild stomach bug or a sign of his period coming soon (joy!). Either way, hopefully some sleep will help. He’ll probably wake up in the morning feeling way better.

It only takes a few hours to realize how horribly wrong he is.

Yuri is jolted awake out of a dead sleep by a feeling of overwhelming nausea. He scrambles out of bed, his limbs tangling in the sheets as he attempts to make a mad dash to the bathroom. He doesn’t make it to the toilet in time; instead, he hunches over the sink as his entire frame trembles with a deep gag. Within seconds of being awake he’s heaving up what seems like an endless stream of bile.

He retches and gags for what seems like an eternity before he’s finally empty, reduced to painful dry heaves that scrape out his throat and make his eyes water. His knees buckle and send him crashing to the floor-he can feel cold sweat trickling down his neck as he attempts to get his breathing under control.

The cramping is worse than before; a sharp pain that feels like knives are stabbing into the lower right side of his stomach. He’s aware that something is really wrong, and that he should definitely call for help, but he doesn’t have the energy or the strength to try. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall and breathes shakily, trying to make the pain go away through sheer willpower.

Yuuri can’t believe that it took less than 24 hours for something to go horribly wrong.

A sensation similar to icy fingers making their way up and down his spine has him sitting bolt upright in bed. He squints at the clock, confused when it reads 3:13 AM. Why is he even awake?

There’s an uneasy feeling deep in his gut; something is horribly wrong. Yuuri moves without making any conscious decision about where to go, making his way down the hallway and into the shared bathroom. His unease gets stronger as he pushes open the door. It’s unlocked.

Inside, Yuri is sprawled out on the floor, curled into the fetal position, unconscious, his face pinched with pain. His face is deathly pale and there are dried tear tracks on his face. Yuuri freezes, horrified, until a weak, pained groan from Yuri sets him into action.

Somehow he manages to find his phone and call an ambulance. While he relays the situation to the emergency center, he threads his fingers through Yuri’s hair, squeezing the younger skater’s hand occasionally. Yuri doesn’t respond except to occasionally shift his position or let out a moan of pain.

The ride to the hospital is a blur; Yuuri doesn’t remember much from it besides the original diagnosis of “appendicitis” and the call to the hospital to prep for surgery.

When they arrive at the hospital, Yuri is whisked away for surgery and Yuuri is sent to wait in the waiting room and given a pile of paperwork to fill out. He’s never been so grateful for his Russian lessons that he took in college as he does his best to provide the requested information and sign off wherever signatures are required. One thing is bothering him, though.

“Why does it say that Yuri is female on his medical records?” Yuuri asks the desk attendant, frowning and squinting at the aforementioned files.

She takes the paper and takes a look for herself. “Yuri Plisetsky, is it?” Yuuri nods. “Yes, we’ve been meaning to correct that, but the paperwork must not have gone through yet. I’ll let them know about that,” she says, jotting a note down on a slip of paper. “Is that all?” she asks, looking at Yuuri expectantly.

He hastily nods and steps back to his mountain of forms, hastily scribbling down the last few bits of information that he needed. It makes sense, in a way; Yuri’s resistance to being seen as cute or beautiful, his reluctance to go in the public baths in Hasetsu, and his insistence on being called Yuri instead of Yurio. He feels a pang of guilt and makes a note to himself to only call Yuri by his given name since it bothers him so much. No more Yurio.

After finishing the rest of the paperwork, Yuuri waits around for another hour before a nurse comes out to talk to him. “The surgery was a success,” she announces. “Yuri is in stable condition and resting. He’s doing much better now, and he should be able to go home in a few days.”

“That’s good to hear,” Yuuri sighs in relief. “Can I see him?”

“Of course. I’ll show you to his room. He should be waking up soon.”

Sure enough, within minutes of arriving at Yuri’s hospital room, the teenager is stirring awake with a groan. His green eyes flicker open slowly, darting around the room before finding Yuri. “’m in a hospital?” he asks groggily. Yuuri nods, and he groans in response.

“You were very sick. I called an ambulance and they found that you had appendicitis, and they took you to the hospital to have it removed.”

“I hate hospitals,” Yuri mutters petulantly, sounding a bit more awake now. “When can I get out of this place?” he demands, folding his arms carefully across his chest to avoid tugging on the IV.

“Well the surgery went well and I got all the paperwork filled out, so as long as you rest,” Yuuri explains, emphasizing the word rest. “You should be able to go home in a few days.”

Yuri lets out a huff of displeasure at the “few days” part, but then his eyes widen at something else that Yuuri said. “Y-you filled out my paperwork?” he asks, sounding uncertain.

“I did,” Yuuri says, looking Yuri right in the eyes. This changes nothing, he tries to communicate silently. I still see you the exact same way. “Now, you’d better get some rest. I told Victor about what happened, and he’s going to come home soon as he can. He’s been very worried about his son, you know.” This time, Yuuri puts special emphasis on the word son, hoping that he can get the message across. Judging by the way Yuri’s face softens slightly, he thinks that Yuri got it. “He keeps texting me for updates.”

“That geezer is not my father,” Yuri complains, a hint of a smile forming on his lips before he ducks behind his long blonde bangs, embarrassed. “And I’m bored! Can’t I at least watch TV or something?”

Yuri is going to be just fine.

#sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #emetephobia tw #hospital mention #trans yuri plisetsky #yuuri on ice #yuri plisetsky #yuuri katsuki #fanfic #my writing

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rainbowravioli · 7 years ago

Text

I Awoke and Found You There

For a long time, Yuri dreamt only of a simple path. In the endless possibilities of the Fade, he would only come to find a long and narrow road, with little else but blurry pillars floating above in a soot-grey sky above. The Black City hung amidst the smog, always in the corner of his vision, try as he might to avoid it, readjusting his dwarven-made spectacles, knowing full well it made no difference in this place. That it was the one constant in the Fade was an early lesson in the Circle, but it made him shudder all the same. The jagged black symbol of all arrogance, of reaching too far, always curled Yuri’s stomach.

His magic and willpower were strong; strong enough, at least, to pass his Harrowing early and in record time. Walking along that road, knowing how the dream would end before his vision could create anything else, demons would lurk, but never did anything more. They came, drawn by his power, but would keep to edge of the drab vista he kept painting for himself, waiting for a chance to strike. They waited for a spike of fear to rip through the canvas, or a moment of doubt to spill the solidity of the dreamscape, but they never came, and they were forced to keep to the sidelines. The road he walked in the Fade, as plain and endless as it was, remained solid.

One night he dreamt that same dream, painted that same road in his small space of the Fade. The demons lurked from beyond, as they always did, but their sight was blinded by a new creature. A silvery ball of light swerved along the road, and with its brightness, scared the demons away like sunlight scaring cockroaches from their hiding place. Yuri’s eyes widened and his bottom lip dropped, but he swallowed the gasp forming in his throat. He knew from feel alone it was no demon, but as First Enchanter Celestino taught, it was never wise to show any base emotions to any creature in the Fade.

It was a curious creature, bouncing and swirling about like a firefly on a sweet summer breeze. It flew around Yuri’s head, tiny twinkles and whirring whistles as it moved. It circled his head and around his shoulders, as if studying him. As if it was as intrigued by Yuri’s existence as he was of it.

“Oh, hello there,” he said, unable to completely withhold his fascination. “Where did you come from?”

Yuri clamped on his lip, fighting the urge to smile, knowing even positive emotions could lead to danger in the Fade. And this was an unknown variable in his sanctuary of habitual practice, of calm study. Safety and certainty in the Fade was a show of his hard work, even if it did not look like much.

The ball of light fluttered away, spilling flashes over the path, exposing new openings, shedding clarity onto the narrow road.

“Hey, wait!” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yuri reached out to the ball of light and quickly retracted. A thousand possibilities played in his head, none of which ended well for him. But he watched it fly further away, clearing a wider expanse around it, like a shooting star igniting an entire night sky.

It was too energetic to be a wisp, a corpse of a demon wafting through the Fade like dead fish in the sea, waiting to become the salt it began from. But there was little other possibility, too simple to be a fully realized spirit or demon. He contemplated this, following its sparkling trail until it stopped.

The vista changed around the light. The simply yet sturdy backdrop Yuri had painted for himself dripped away, leaving a clean valley. The pillars and BlackCity remained, but their edges softened, not so massive and daunting and unreachable. It was as if this whole world where there, underneath the images Yuri dreamt, waiting to be unearthed.

***

Pale light slipped through the holes in the thicket of leaves up above. A scattering trail of dim sunlight lead the carriage through the forest, guiding the mages to their destination. Yuri bent his neck and closed his eyes, feeling the faint rays ghost over his face. His large elven ears twitched in the breeze. In a moment of serenity, it was only him and these gentle feelings; as close as one could get to being in the Fade, in the physical world.

He was quickly tugged back into the real world by a small weight pressed in his lap. Yuri looked down and found a nug, bristly and balmy pink, curling himself between his legs.

“Aww, he likes you,” Phichit laughed, holding a second nug, and a third, smaller nug napping in the scoop of his robe’s hood.

“Get comfortable, little guy,” said Yuri, scratching its bald head. “It’s going to be a long trip.”

“You don’t seem all that excited to go.”

Yuri looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. “Are you honestly excited to go to Tevinter?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being quizzical with those things,” Pichit giggled, tilting Yuri’s spectacles. “But no, Tevinter itself does not thrill me. But Enchanter Celestino says it’s the only place mages of our talent can come to our potential.”

“But it’s…it’s so…”

“I know,” the nug in Phichit’s hood awoke and started flicking the back of his elven ears. “It’s not forever.”

“Right. Education now, political upheaval later.”

“That’s not what I meant, but I support you.”

The forest cleared, bunches of trees grew fewer, scattered across wide hills. The sun came into its full power, beaming upon both mages as they sat on the back of the carriage. Pichit’s nugs squinted and squealed against the light, retreating to the shade of the inside.

“Did you finish that letter to your family?”

“Yes, but…” Yuri sighed. “I told them not to bother writing back. It’s not like I get to see them much, even in Starkhaven. It’d be too sad.”

“You shouldn’t shut them out completely. Better estranged than strangers, I should think. I don’t get to see my parents much, but they sent me these nugs from the farm, and I know they still care.”

“I never even know what to tell them. They don’t understand magic, I think they’re afraid of it.”

“I get it. That’s why I want to learn as much as I can, and teach people magic isn’t anything to be feared. That’s my dream.”

“But we’re going to–”

“I know! I’m just trying to… remember that dream, to help me get through this.”

“Makes sense.”

The two mages fumbled in their seats, feeling every friction beneath. The carriage wheels bumped against rocks, and the road became rougher. The air, once muddled of grass and dirt, became sharp and clean. A faint expanse of mountains followed the carriage at their side, covered in sheets of clouds.

“Did you have that dream again?”

“Not recently, no. I’ve tried, but it’s not something I can control.”

“You’re so lucky! I would love to encounter a spirit. You sure it didn’t say or do anything to you?”

“I don’t really remember. I can’t even be certain it was a spirit, I didn’t get the chance to study it. Just that… there was a lot of dark, and it felt…heavy, the way dreams usually go. Sometimes I wake up in a sweat. But I found this… this thing. Or I guess it found me, and I felt… lighter.”

“Ooh!” Pichit clasped his hands together. “I think it was a Spirit of Hope, then, to guide you in this uncertain time!”

“Hmm,” Yuri mumbled, breathing in the air deeply before letting it out in a deep sigh. “I think I like that idea. Though I wish it could have given me a more literal message. I don’t know what’s going to happen in Tevinter.”

“Or maybe it was another mage crossing the Fade, telling you it’ll be all right.”

“I doubt anyone would go through that kind of trouble just to be nice to me.”

“That’s just not true! Maybe it was me, but I think I’d remember something like that.”

Yuri chuckled, forced and dry. “I appreciate the thought.”

“You know what I heard,” said Pichit. “A powerful mage from the White Spire is going there, too. A Dreamer!”

Yuri’s listless face tensed at the word, eyes widened, staring at his friend. “Are you serious?”

“Celestino wasn’t sure, it’s just a rumor. But can you imagine? Being able to go to the Fade at will? Just like that?”

“They’re extremely rare,” said Yuri. “Sometimes my dreams would feel so real I thought maybe I was one, but I don’t have any control over it. I hope it’s true. I wonder what such a person is like. Do you think they could teach it, even partly? Then maybe…well…” Yuri slumped, the momentum of the sudden fantasy escaping his body, as quickly as it came. “No, that’s silly. It’s not like I can be taught to… fling myself into the Fade to find something.”

“You never know,” said Pichit as he pat Yuri’s back. “They’re rare, like you said. Who knows what they’re capable of?”

***

The ether and magic of the Fade sifted around Victor like velvety smoke. A thick and billowing force so consuming, the mage practically swam in it. Victor’s dream was shaded in layers of dark wine. The Black City hovered overhead, casting a long shadow, but he gave it no mind. To him, it was little more than a source of shade for him to lounge in, as the ether numbed his body.

“I’ve never actually been to the Free Marches, now that I think of it,” he said, amused with himself. “Isn’t it silly? You live across the Minater all your life, but you never cross it. Maybe I don’t get out as much as I think I do.”

“I hear Starkhaven is particularly lovely,” said a voice. A smooth, lulling baritone. Just hearing it made Victor’s wry smile curl ever upward. “They have elegant bathhouses. You could stay as long as you want, forget all your troubles, lose yourself…”

“Ooh, and they have these little fish pies you can only get there! I’d love to try those!”

The voice chuckled, as rich as the rings of ether surrounding the mage. “You deserve all these things. You have the power, the influence. You could go anywhere, anytime you wish. Do whatever you wish.”

“I suppose,” said Victor, voice flattened, suddenly less entertained. He twirled his fingers, and the magic of the Fade stirred with his movements. “But everyone always wants something from you. They’re begging me to join one of the Fraternities. As if I’d expose myself to such a mess.”

“Lesser mages than you, hoping to cling to your greatness.”

“Some of their ideas aren’t so terrible. First Enchanter Yakov insists I be responsible, join the Aequitarians, but they’re so stiff and dull. Why would I join a group to have my voice heard, only for that voice to beg for things to be a little better?” Victor sighed, collapsing into the arms of the creature, lulled by the low muttering pulses of magic, imitating a heartbeat. “Sometimes I think the Isolationists have the right idea. Be away from everything. Everyone. Start over, one more time.”

“We could leave. No politics, no ties, no troubles…” A long finger curled under Victor’s pale, pointed chin. A man shaped creature, radiating magic, glowing purple skin, draped with gold and crowned with horns. His plush purple lips came close to Victor’s, breathing his air. “Just the two of us. Doesn’t that sound better?”

Victor closed his eyes and puckered his lips, drowning in the smoldering magic, reveling in the power he wielded and the power this creature commanded, syncing and swirling together. Then his senses surfaced and his face soured. “Wait a moment,” he said with dry suspicion. “You’re just drying to possess me!"

The man-shaped creature–the desire demon–hissed like a taunted snake, purple fire gathering at his claws. "You will submit! Is this not what you want?”

Victor sighed, eyes glazed, mouth flat. A wave of his hand, and spike of ice appeared underneath the demon. Another wave, and it grew like a wild root, weaving its way around the demons body. “What I wanted was decent conversation, but I suppose that’s asking too much.”

He snapped his fingers, and the ice shattered. The demon screamed, and its motionless body floated upward, lost in the ether. “What a pity,” he said, voice cold. “I suppose I should just wake up.”

He turned away from the mess, looking for a clearing in the now distracting charms of his dream. He parted the curtains of maroon ether, fanning it away like smoke. It cleared, but a little golden spark remained. A tiny star hovering above his hands.

“Oh,” said Victor. As a Dreamer, he became less surprised by the infinite possibilities of the Fade, even with his will and ability to mold pieces of it. Yet he was taken aback by the sudden appearance of a golden sprite in the sleepy, simmering dreamscape he had sculpted for himself. “You don’t look like anything I’d dream up, and you weren’t here before. Where did you come from?”

As if to answer, the spark floated out of his hands and drifted away. Curious, Victor followed. It swerved around the floating pillars and red spike that jutted from the ground, as if playing. Despite its size, its shine was bright against the dim shades of red and wine. Victor fixed his glassy eyes on it, entranced by its spritely bounces and twinkling turns. It leapt into the fog of ether, piercing through until it dissipated. Before Victor could wonder where it was leaping to, his foot found a gap in the island and his leg twisted. He tumbled down a slope, to the center of a chasm.

When he hoisted himself to his knees, he found the heavy reads and curtains of ether were cleared, and a tinge of green was creeping into sight. The spark had stopped, and all around it, the Fade reshaped. It transformed the small piece it had in a way Victor never thought to. Red rock melted to water and grass, softly blowing against pittering winds. Victor could feel water on the blades between his fingers. The Black City was distant, a speck in a cloudless sky. Victor could even smell a clean, crisp scent, like spring air filling his lungs, tingling his skin, like he was truly awake.

***

Victor eyed over First Enchanter Yakov’s letter one more time, the dry ink stroked with anger and promises of regret, before happily crumpling it and jamming into his pocket. He glided through the jammed streets of Minrathous as if he were the only one in the whole city. The crashes of waves and sea air were distant and muddled with clamors of people, but he breathed it in, chest heaving with excitement, wide nostrils filtering out the deep-settled decay. He leapt up onto a towering staircase, jutting towers and stacked archways following him as far as their magically sustained stature could take them. Halfway up, he heard a man give stern, throaty instructions. When he reached the top, he found what looked to be an Enchanter instructing two weary elven mages. Without another thought, he inserted himself into the lecture.

“Well, this place is just the worst,” he boomed, immediately getting the attention of all three mages. “And that’s something, coming from someone who lives in Val Royeaux. But…”

One of the elven mages, with short black hair and strange glass spectacles over his eyes that could not conceal his stare, gave a curious tilt. He returned the look with a wink and a smile. “But something brought me here. It came to me in a dream and led me far from home. I wonder what it is, and where it will take us?”

#yuri on ice #victuuri #dragon age #crossover #gifts #♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥ ♥#AAAAAAAAAAH #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #CROSSOVER OF MY DREAMS #BUT NOW I WANT TO READ AN ENTIRE NOVEL OF THIS #THANK YOU KATE #submission

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faeyuri · 7 years ago

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31 or 36 for victurio ;)

send me a pairing and a number and i'll write you a drabble

“I wish I could hate you.” The words spill from his lips, dripping off Yuri’s tongue as if the sound of each syllable could kill a man. Viktor’s back is once again towards him feet stalling just shy of the exit of the locker room they both currently resided in. “...Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so damn bad every time you fucking lie to me! I don’t understand, why am I not enough--why do you need him? Viktor, you can’t honestly think…”

“Yuri, shut up. I don’t need to explain myself to a child.”

A punch to the gut would have hurt worse and the elder of the two knew that very well. If there was anything that Yuri hated, it was being compared to kid. Perhaps fifteen was young but age was nothing but a number and maturity was a state of mind. Gritting blunt ivories down, a fist slams outward and into the nearby locker out of sheer frustration. “A child? Is that how we are truly going to play this game? If you honestly see me as a fucking kid, then you are more disgusting than I thought. I bet the media...no, I bet Piggy would love hearing about how his beloved Viktor likes fucking around with the feelings of a god damned ‘child’. Should I also tell him about how your lips taste when you have had one too many shots of vodka and find yourself crawling into my bed, or maybe he’d like to know how your hands feel when they grip my a--”

“Enough! Yuri, I said enough!” His body has swiveled around armani shoes carrying his larger body closer to the blond, a firm hand reaching upwards and gripping the pudge of Yuri’s pale cheeks, squeezing with a firmness that screamed ‘listen to me’. “This is why I cannot do this anymore, using the past against me--bringing things up and holding them over my head in a poor attempt to blackmail me. This is why I call you a child, because you still hold on to petty tactics to get what you want.” His hold trembles, narrowed blues burning holes through that of jade, wavering green. “You will get the program I promised you but after that do not expect anything. Yuuri is who I have chosen and you need to find the willpower to accept it.”

Silence fills the room, the buzz of florescent lights the only sound left as the larger hands are slapped away, the young skater turning and jerking up his sports bag. “I take it back, I can and I do hate you.” Lies, he’s lying to himself--but he hopes it stings, Yuri hopes he can’t hear how his own voice tries to betray or how his eyes are glimmering with diamond-like tears he wouldn’t shed as he storms out, the swaying door still rocking back and forth behind him as he bolts from Hasetsu. He should have let him go to begin with, stayed in Russia and said fuck it all...but how could he? Not when every emotion within his heart had been strung along all for that of some drunk Japanese loser who smells like the ass end of a hog.

But...that’s okay, because he will regret this. Gold will never be theirs as he lives and breathes, they’ll never pry it from his cold dead hands, and Viktor can choke over how every record he has ever broken is surpassed by him by the ‘child’ whose heart he cracked in half.

#vikturio #ahahahahahah kill me #it didn't help that I was writing this while listening to Pretty When You Cry by Lana Del Rey #here take my heart #answered;#shut up kayla;#my writing;#sluttyuri

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itbeajen · 7 years ago

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Agape [5] | Yuri Plisetsky | Witch!AU

Witch!AU Warning: Character Death I can finally bring this back now

Something is wrong. Ela stopped in his tracks, his head raised back towards the clearing before the lake. You followed his gaze, but a flurry of snow met your view and you asked, "What is it? Can you tell?"

Ela's eyes flashed momentarily and he took a whiff of the air, Two Witch Hunters.. and a Cultist. He growled, No... not a cultist. Someone has attempted to mimic your traces.

"Me?" you responded, eyes wide in fear. He nods and muttered, I will take you to the lake, but I'll go back to check. But for now... He pauses and lets loose a sound breaking howl. The snow stopped momentarily, as though relenting to the power that Ela hones within him and a chorus of responses raises in the forest. Various creatures appear before you and Ela, and your eyes widened upon realizing each and every one of them were all enchanted.

As this generation's protector, I shall ask you all of one thing. Ela lowly growled, he takes another whiff of the air and he shakes his muzzle, as though dispelling it. Do not let them taint our sanctuary any further. Do not allow them to hurt those dear to us any further. And most importantly, Ela glances back at you and he howled, Let us fulfill the prophecy we have protected since the beginning of our time.

There was a chorus of agreement as each animal supported Ela's short speech. With commands being scattered throughout the ranks, they all split up, forming interspecies groups or same species groups. They scattered and you mumbled, "You're pretty cool when you can be, Ela."

Why thanks Mistress! Ela made a sound akin to laughter and then paused and hummed, Wait, are you saying I'm not cool normally? That's rude, Mistress!

"That is not Soleil," Otabek noted as he dodged yet another eruption of ice. Him and Yuri were back in the edge of the forests and Yuri narrowed his eyes, "It sure smells like her." Otabek raised an eyebrow, "And you would know?" "Look, witches have a distinct scent, she smells like Soleil," Yuri snapped and then muttered, "This is a pain. I know we've hit her twice already in two vital spots, but she's shown no signs of slowing down." "Yura," Otabek calmly calls his name. The young blonde glances over and the former continued, "I'll play decoy." "What?! No, Beka, Chris told us to bring her back alive. You know what playing decoy means!" "I think it'll be okay," Otabek reassures him and Yuri reluctantly nods his head and growled, "But if anything happens, we're pulling you out, do you hear me?" "Of course," Otabek gives him a small smile before dashing forward. He pulls out his sword, his hand gently, yet expertly and swiftly runs over the runes on the blade. An eerie deep violet erupts from the blade as an illusion of flames and the male leaps forward, out of the protection of the forest and into the clearing. Your impersonator turned too slowly, but barely makes it in time to raise an impromptu shield before stumbling backward from the force of the impact. She gets up slowly, her head twitching slightly back and forth before another disgusting smile warps her features. "You're so mean, Atlin," her voice comes out distorted, as though coming from various different vents and she continued, "Don't you know you shouldn't be too rough when playing with girls?" She raises her hand, and the snow and ice follows her each and every command, striking, piercing, and blinding the Witch Hunter. But Otabek manages to dodge them all, swiftly reading each spike in magic intensity and pinpointing their location, allowing him to dodge them expertly. He parries one particular strike before breaking through it. But he noticed something was off. Yura was right about the scent, but this magic intensity isn't strong enough to be [F/N]'s... Otabek flips away before swiftly pulling out a dagger. He mutters a quick enchantment before accurately aiming it at your impersonator. He hears a guttural cry erupt from your throat as the dagger seeps into it. It cries out in pain and Yuri smirked. Good job, Beka. Now for the finishing blow. Yuri takes aim with his sniper rifle, and as soon as he locked on he muttered, "Discutio1!" He flinches at the ricochet of the shot and Otabek raises his arm to block the impact of snow and storm as the bullet pierces through. The screams that filled the air makes him flinch, but it doesn't register to him that part of the screams were coming from him until he hears Yuri's panicked voice. "BEKA!!!" Otabek glances down, his eyes widening in shock and horror when he sees an open gash and streams of blood slowly leaving him. Your impersonator is nothing, but an empty shell as it stumbled towards him and it muttered, "If.. I die... I will bring.. you with me," it smiled and howled in maniacal laughter, "The Sorcerer shall rise, and you.." it points a shaky finger at Yuri, "And you shall come to realize what true horror is." It falls into snow, and slowly dissipates into nothing but black and purple smoke. Yuri stumbles forward before breaking into a sprint, Otabek's name leaving his lips in horror as his best friend almost slumps forward. "Beka! BEKA!" Yuri's holding onto him and Otabek coughed, blood leaving his lips as he presses weakly against his gaping wound. "Yuratchka.." his voice was weak, and Otabek doesn't remember the last time he ever felt so lifeless. He tries to look at Yuri, but he can't see past the watery veil before him. His best friend looked like nothing more than a blur of blonde with two sparkling gems. "I.. am sorry." "No," Yuri sobbed, "Don't you fucking dare, Beka. WE MADE A PROMISE!" Otabek weakly smiled, "It seems as though... I broke one, and kept the other." "What are you talking about?!" Yuri cried out in pain as he slowly watched his best friend lose life by the second. Yuri places his hand over Otabek's, a futile attempt to stop the blood from leaving its host. Otabek sighed, "Do you remember.. [F/N]?" "This isn't the time for that Beka! We need to get you back to town. I need to- We- I can't let you- YOU'RE NOT LEAVING US, DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Yuri shouted and Otabek softly muttered, "She would be sad.. to see us like this." Yuri's tears streamed down his face and slowly fall onto Otabek's. The older male gently smiled and admitted, "I always wanted us... to reunite again," he coughed, and Yuri shakes his head, "Don't. Beka, save your strength, please." "Under better circumstances," Otabek sighed as he feels your presence slowly approaching. I suppose the rumors are true that when you lose the ability of certain senses, the remaining ones are heightened. Yuri chokes back a sob and mumbled, "Don't leave." Otabek winced as he tries to speak, and with whatever willpower he has left he muttered, "Yura... [F/N] is still alive." Yuri's eyes opened in a flash, wide and shaking with disbelief, "What are you-" "You need to remember," Otabek shuddered, and struggled, "You need to remember. Try to... And please, forgive her." "For.. give... her?" Yuri manages to choke out and he weakly cried, "I don't understand. Are you saying Soleil is [F/N]? We just killed her, and she- to you- How the fuck am I-" None of his questions are answered though as he feels Otabek growing weaker and weaker in his arms. Yuri held him closer and sobbed, "Beka, you can't leave me. What am I supposed to tell Katsudon and Chris?! What am I supposed to say to-" "Yuri.." Otabek gives him a weak smile and with his free hand, gently touches the pendant that dangled around his neck. "If only I was able to keep that promise with you." "OTABEK ATLIN," Yuri's voice rose, the anguish was unheard and Otabek weakly manages to shake his head, "Stop this never ending nightmare." "How- Beka," Yuri finally succumbed to his rising emotions, the tears that he tried to hold back freely flowing and he muttered, "How do you expect me to do any of this? I don't even remember why anymore..." "You.. will," Otabek softly whispered, his voice leaving him as his strength is slowly drained, "Just please.. when you come across [F/N], and please.. forgive her." "Be...ka?" Yuri asked hesitantly as he finally opened his eyes to look at his dear friend. The warm brown orbs that were once filled with mirth and life were dull and empty now. His arms laid limp beside him and his head lolled back in Yuri's arms. The blonde hesitantly closed his friend's eyelids, bringing him to peace before gently settling him into the snow. His entire body shook as sob after sob racked his entire being. There is a soft padding of feet and Ela appears in his smaller form, and he skids to a stop upon seeing the two Witch Hunters. Yuri doesn't even notice the wolf and Ela sat there, far from them. Otabek Atlin was a true warrior, Ela let out a small howl, surprising Yuri. The blonde weakly grabbed his gun and Ela swished his tail, I am not your enemy, Yuri Plisetsky, descendant of the Hunter from the tales of the old. "You..." Yuri's voice cracked, "What are you?" How does he know? I am but a mere wolf, and, of course, the Mistress' humble servant. What will you do now, Yuri Plisetsky? Ela asked. His ear twitched forward slightly, Depending on his answer, I will decide whether or not to comply to the Mistress' wishes... but she purposely asked for me to help them, but... Ela's arctic blue orbs landed on Otabek and he feels remorse shake his small figure. I had told Mistress I would help them... and yet, I was not fast enough. Even though she had already predicted that there would be a loss of a life... Yuri roughly wipes his tears away and he muttered, "I am going to defeat the Sorcerer. With or without the help of that blasted White Witch." I don't need Soleil. I'll defeat the Sorcerer. I'll find [F/N]. Is that so? Ela almost growled at the way Yuri had referred to you, but he refrains from doing so and muttered, Cheeky brat. Yuri immediately glared at the wolf and hissed, "What was that?" I said you're a cheeky brat. Ela flicked his tail as he warily watched Yuri lower into a fighting stance, You're a few hundred years too early to challenge me. You don't even know how to use your pendant. For. Shame. Yuri glanced down at his pendant, a part of it was slightly more vibrant now. Sparks and flashes of blue swirled in the dull sea, and he narrowed his eyes at it. But before he can question it, the wolf breaks his concentration as it glances over to Otabek and muttered, What will you do with him? "He- Beka, is.." Yuri couldn't respond. I can't leave Beka here... but if I don't go, will I lose the opportunity? What if this is the chance for me to stop the Sorcerer? Yuri's grip on his gun tightened and he shut his eyes. But I can't leave Beka here, if something happens... What am I supposed to do? Make up your mind already, Ela sighed as he sat down on his haunches. The shade of blue of Ela's eyes made Yuri frown and he muttered to himself, "Why do your eyes feel so familiar?" Hey hey, I've never met you, so I wouldn't know. But I take whatever eye color my Mistress has, so whatever. Ela barked and then scratched his ear, You should make up your mind though. Or you'll lose time. He's right. Yuri frowned. This blasted mutt is right. But... I can't take Beka to safety and- Just leave him to me, the wolf grunted. Ela made a soft howl, almost as though he was softly cooing, and from the woods appears an enchanted polar bear with its cubs. Yuri is immediately on guard and Ela rumbled, They will see to it that your friend is protected until you come back. You have our words as the guardians of this forest. Now then... will you accept my offering of help or will you flounder your way to victory? Yuri took one last glance at Otabek before gently taking his best friend's sword and sheathing it. He expertly attaches it to his own belt before nodding at the limp form. I'll be back Beka... and hopefully I'll end it. This war. Yuri turns away, tears still pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he roughly wipes it away before nodding at the canine. Ela reverts to his original form, now much larger and big enough for Yuri to ride on. He approaches the blonde and lowers his haunches, I will take you to where the Sorcerer is sealed, but from that point onward, only the two of you shall be able to control your fates. Ela makes a huff when Yuri gets on and mutters, And this is why I dislike giving rides to males. You're all too heavy.

If... Yuri closed his eyes as he focused on the pendant. If that was really Soleil back there... or maybe even a part of her, doesn't that mean I'd be fighting against Soleil...? Chris said the White Witch is [F/N]... what if it's the same [F/N] that I've been searching for... Yuri grumbled as he mulled over his thoughts, But I can't remember anything... What's on your mind, kiddo? Ela barked as he continued to sprint over the the surface of the lake. Yuri frowned and muttered, "None of your business mutt. I don't- WOAH." Ela skids to a stop and growls at him, Watch your tongue you mortal. Ela's eyes flashed red momentarily, and Yuri flinched, I'm only helping you because you're the Hunter. I don't know what that entails, but Mistress has repeatedly vouched for your worth.. However, Ela drawled the last word, If I deem you unfit for your role, or a threat to my Mistress, I will end you. Is that understood? Yuri's moment of fear is assuaged, but is now replaced with anger and he growled, "Mistress this. White Witch that. Do you have any idea how much suffering that blasted legend has put me through?!" Ela watched him calmly, no surprise or emotion shown on the wolf's feature, and Yuri continued, "I've spent my entire life searching for my one friend. The one who forced me to leave her behind on the night that the Nameless Town was attacked. I don't even fucking know if she's alive or not, and when I'm suddenly assigned to a new location, guess what," Yuri pauses momentarily before he hissed, "my childhood friend shares the same damn name as the White Witch!" Yuri panted from his outburst and Ela's eyes narrowed and asked, Do you know nothing of your memory of her beside her name? "I don't!" Yuri shouted and then weakly admitted, "I don't remember anything but her name." I see. Ela thought as he picked up the pace again, this time not at break neck speed. So this is the person she was trying to protect.. Mistress erased herself from her own Hunter's memories.. I wonder why. Ela lets out a small bark, calling Yuri back to attention and asked, What will you do? If they are one and the same? "I..." Yuri hesitated and his grip on Ela's fur tightened, although the wolf doesn't notice it himself. Yuri bit his lower lip in thought. What will I do? If [F/N]'s the White Witch...? I... I don't have answers to any of the questions I need answers to. I just... wanted to save her. I just want to end this stupid war and defeat the Sorcerer. That's all I want. No correct answer, huh, Ela huffed and in what sounded like a warning growl, But I suppose I have no role in this other than to keep the Mistress safe until the correct time. I absolutely... He paused, his ears flicking slightly, All I want is the Mistress to be happy, but I suppose I would be stepping out of the line of duty. "Tell me... is your Mistress the White Witch?" Yuri hesitatingly asked. In what sounded like laughter, Yuri is shocked out of his state of hesitation and Ela responded, It doesn't matter what she is. My Mistress is just [F/N], but perhaps she is. Perhaps she isn't. For all I know, that child could be the same one you've been looking for. "[F/N]..." Yuri muttered, his grip on his pendant growing tighter. "I can only hope they're not the same." Because I'm not sure if I can control my anger towards the White Witch.. or the Sorcerer.

#jenbean writes #agape #Yuri Plisetsky #reader insert #witch au #yuri on ice

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witharthurkirkland · 8 years ago

Text

Interview Me

Summary: Yuuri Katsuki, one of the world’s top skaters is very popular with the readers of Runway, so one day the editor, Victor Nikiforov, decides to interview him for his magazine. Personally.

Part 1 of 2 of the swap of Yuuris between my fics Bad Apple and The Devil Wears Gucci, but can be read without reading either of those fics.

Read it here or on ao3.

Yuri was at the end of his rope. He went through various curses in his head, but they all fell short of expressing his frustration. Just his luck that not only was it the busiest time of the year, but Victor recently fired his second assistant, leaving him to pull the weight of two people. And now some figure skater was coming that Victor insisted on interviewing for the next issue.

A figure skater!

Yuri rubbed his temples with his fingers. It was going to be another one of those days.

The door swung open and a young man barged in. He had an attitude that could be seen a mile off. He stopped at Yuri’s desk and towered over him.

“I’m here for my interview,” he said and rolled his eyes. “Although, I’m still not sure why I bothered.”

Yuri sat up straight and gave him a withering look that was meant to show that there was no way he was going to be intimidated by a man in a leather jacket with the air of a delinquent. He was a respectable office worker and could deal with any crisis while still keeping his cool.

“If you can please wait, I will go and tell the editor you’re here.”

The skater found a wall to lean against. He smirked at Yuri. “Run along, kid.”

“I-I’m not --!” he started to protest.

“Oh, don’t get your feathers all ruffled. Just tell the organ grinder that I’m here and go finish filing your nails, or whatever it is you monkeys do around here.”

Yuri glared at him and marched into Victor’s office.

Victor Nikiforov looked up from the stack of magazines on his desk and watched Yuri walk in with an unamused expression on his face. What was it now? How could he work with these constant interruptions?

“That skater is here,” Yuri said, “the one you wanted to interview.”

Two issues ago someone ran a celebrity popularity poll to see who was the most popular one with their viewers. To everyone’s surprise, the winner was a figure skater. There was nothing left to do but to invite and interview him.

Victor decided he would conduct the interview himself.

He didn’t know anything about figure skating. He didn’t even know what this figure skater looked like. He lowered his eyes and read his name off the piece of paper on his desk provided by his assistant earlier that day.

Yuuri Katsuki.

“He can come in,” Victor said.

Yuuri walked in like he owned the place. Victor stared, unable to stop himself. It was no wonder he was so popular! He was, well, he was exactly like the old cliché: tall, dark and handsome. He had that bad boy look that, while being slightly old-fashioned, never really went out of style (at least in Victor Nikiforov’s book). If his figure skating was as good as… He stopped that thought before it could get into dangerous territory.

This was going to be a strictly professional interview.

“Good morning, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Just call me Yuuri,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Mr. Katsuki is my dad.”

“Then you can call me Victor.” He stood up and held out his hand.

Yuuri stared at it and then dropped into the chair on the other side of his desk. He raised his feet and put them on the stack of magazines Victor had been reading earlier.

Victor gave his feet a pointed look, but Yuuri didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Can you take your feet off my desk?”

“If you insist.” Yuuri lowered his feet. “Okay, what is this really about?”

“Didn’t you read the letter? I want to interview you.”

“Why?”

“You are really popular with our viewers, so we wanted to do a piece about…”

Yuuri snorted. “That’s it? Your assistant called my coach in the middle of the night, got into a big fight with him (nice one there, by the way: he’s still sulking), booked me a flight and hotel and then got me over here for an interview? And you expect me to believe that?”

“We take things seriously here at Runway.”

“That’s one way of saying it.”

“Do you agree to an interview, then?” He wasn’t going to surrender no matter what.

Yuuri reclined in the seat and put his hands behind his head. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Actually, I thought we could talk over lunch.”

The skater gave him a suspicious look. “Lunch?”

“Yes,” Victor answered. “Is there a problem?”

“No, but this is starting to sound like a date.”

“An interview over lunch sounds like a date?” It took all of Victor’s willpower to keep his voice steady, but he wasn’t going to back down no matter what.

“I’m not stupid,” the skater said and leaned forward. “I saw the way you looked at me when I came in.”

Victor cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is strictly an interview for the magazine.”

“Sure.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Fly me halfway across the globe for an interview.”

“Do you have something against interviews? Or,” Victor went on, warming up to his subject, “maybe you’re afraid that this will be a date?”

Yuuri gave him a cold look and for the first time in his life Victor was genuinely terrified. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

And Victor believed that.

Yuuri stood up. “Alright. I accept your definitely-an-interview-and-not-a-date lunch.”

“O-or,” Victor cursed himself mentally that his voice shook at just the wrong moment, “we could meet for dinner.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows.

“I have a pressing deadline and would be very grateful if we could move the interview to dinner time.”

Yuuri didn’t even stop to consider. “Only if you’re paying.”

“Of course,” Victor smiled.

Yuuri rose to his feet and left.

Victor stared after him in amazement, glad there was no one to see the expression on his face. Holy crap! What was that? Too late he realized he forgot to settle on a time and called his assistant in to sort that out.

Yuuri arrived fifteen minutes late and found Victor pretending to read a magazine to hide his embarrassment. Victor raised his eyes and his gaze swept over Yuuri. He was still wearing the same clothes as that morning, but for the first time in Victor’s life that didn’t matter.

Yuuri, on his part, was taking in Victor’s appearance. He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t have to change your clothes!”

Victor stood up and smiled in a way that always made his dates blush and stumble over their words. It didn’t even faze Yuuri. “Of course I did. Are you ready?”

“And what would you do, if I said no?”

“There’s a Wardrobe here, if you want –”

“Hell, no!” Yuuri turned away and made for the door. “I’m not a little doll for you to play dress-up with. And I’m certainly not one of your models.”

“You could be. Don’t some skaters do modelling work on the side?”

For some reason this question made Yuuri chuckle. “Oh they’re doing something on the side. I wouldn’t call it modelling, though.”

Victor nodded knowingly. It sounded like skaters led very interesting lives. Much more interesting than his, he realized with a pang and then did his best to suppress the thought.

Yuri was still at his desk when they walked past him.

“Have you found any likely candidates yet?” Victor asked, not even stopping.

“Yes, Victor,” Yuri said.

“Good. I will review them tomorrow.” He continued walking towards the elevator and Yuuri followed.

“Candidates for what?”

“I need a second assistant,” Victor told him.

“What do you need two assistants for? Do the two assistants take turns waiting on you or something?”

“There are always many errands to run.”

Yuuri snorted. “Can’t you fetch your own coffee, Princess?”

Victor gave him an affronted look. “I’m too busy.”

“So you buy yourself a slave.”

They stood in the elevator as it headed for the ground floor. Victor tried not to think about how small the elevator was.

“My assistants aren’t slaves,” Victor protested.

“That’s what you think.”

“We do a serious job here at Runway. It’s a job that a million people will kill for and everyone here knows how lucky they are to be here.”

“Living the dream? I’ve seen those neurotic anorexics of yours run around.” Yuuri snorted. “Does anyone here ever explode from the stress?”

Victor didn’t dignify that question with a response. This amused Yuuri even more.

They left the building and the cold spring air made Victor give an involuntary shudder.

“So where is this place?” Yuuri asked in a tone of voice that suggested that he didn’t actually care.

“My driver will take us.” He waved at his car.

“You’re kidding!” Yuuri burst out laughing. “Pink?”

“Do you have a problem with pink?”

“I was wrong. You’re not a princess. You’re Barbie!” He raised Victor’s hand, laying it flat over his own with the fingers splayed out so he could study them. “Look, you’ve got manicured nails,” he looked into Victor’s face, “and you’re even wearing makeup!” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not made out of plastic, are you?”

Victor snatched his hand away and straightened up indignantly. “I’ve never had plastic surgery!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Yuuri turned away and headed back for the building. “I’ll keep it in mind, though.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not riding in that!” he exclaimed, indicating the car with his thumb.

“B-but –”

“Luckily, I brought my own ride.” Yuuri pointed and Victor noticed the motorcycle standing by the road. “I left the helmets with security.”

“I-I’m not riding a motorcycle!” Victor protested. “It will mess – I-I mean: it’s not safe!”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Worried it will mess up your hair? Oh boo hoo, Princess! I’m sure you can get your stylists to run over there and fix it. Don’t you always have stylists on standby in case you break a nail, or something?”

“I’ll have you know –”

“Yes, Princess?”

Victor closed his mouth and took in the expression on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri smirked and went back inside the Elias-Clarke building.

They were on their way there when Yuuri pulled over. “Okay, I’ve had enough. Just admit it: you have no idea where it is,” he said.

Up until this point, he’d been following Victor’s instructions. It didn’t take him long to work out that they were going in circles around the same block. In fact, it took Yuuri exactly one trip around the block.

“I know where it is!” Victor argued.

“What’s it called?” Yuuri pulled out his phone.

“I said I know where it is!”

“Is it some kind of secret?” Yuuri went on, unwilling to back down.

Victor gave in and told him.

Yuuri punched the name into his phone and then stuck it in the top pocket of his jacket. A voice told him to make a U-turn and go the other way. “Ready, Princess?”

“Can you not call me that?”

“Does it offend you?”

“Yes!” Victor exclaimed. “I-I mean: no,” he corrected himself. If I say ‘yes’, then he will keep doing it to annoy me, but if I say ‘no’ maybe he’ll stop. I know how his kind thinks.

“I can keep using it, then,” Yuuri said. “Alright, hang on tight, Princess.”

Victor grabbed Yuuri around the waist, cursing everything. He felt like he could fall off any minute, no matter how tightly he hung on. Yuuri’s good looks didn’t make up for this situation in the slightest.

After several turns, just as they were getting close to their destination Yuuri chuckled.

“What so funny?” Victor demanded, certain he was going to be the butt of the joke yet again.

“We barely know each other and already you’re using this opportunity to feel me up,” Yuuri answered.

Victor slid his hands back down to Yuuri’s waist. He only wanted to find a more comfortable way to hold on to his driver.

“You don’t have to stop,” Yuuri laughed. “I was actually enjoying it.”

“I was only trying to find a more comfortable way to –” Victor protested. It was a blessing he was wearing a helmet and sitting behind Yuuri so that the skater couldn’t see the blush in his cheeks.

“Running your hands over my chest makes you more comfortable? The fashion industry is much more exciting than I thought!” He laughed again.

“I’ll have you know that the fashion industry is very interesting and important!” Victor exclaimed, feeling as if his own pride was wounded in some way.

“Oh yes: what colour will you wear today? Red or blue? If you wear the wrong colour then empires will fall! And we’ll get into another war!” Where did Yuuri get all his sarcasm from? It never seemed to run out! And Victor really wanted to make him run out.

“Fashion is an art!” Victor began. “People live their whole lives –”

“I’ll bet they do! Anyway, save your promotional speech for someone who cares: we’re there.” He went around to find a parking spot and then they both climbed off.

Yuuri carried both their helmets as they walked into the restaurant and handed it to the first member of staff he saw with a thinly veiled threat promising something unpleasant should anything happen to them. The first thing Victor did, on the other hand, when they came in was to head for a mirror to try and fix the damage the helmet had done to his hairstyle.

“No stylists on standby?” Yuuri asked. “You can use mine.” He pulled a comb out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Victor.

Victor eyed it and then Yuuri’s jelled-back hair. “I don’t need it,” he said, turning back to the mirror.

Yuuri swept one hand over his head and smirked, apparently satisfied with the results. Victor watched his reflection out of the corner of his eye as he tried to fix his own hair.

“I’m ready,” he said at last.

“Hold on.” Yuuri reached out and ruffled Victor’s hair. “Much better.” He turned around and, ignoring Victor’s exclamation, went to ask about their table.

Victor turned back to the mirror with an exasperated sigh. The conversation at the front desk carried over to him as he tried to undo the effect of Yuuri’s actions.

“Hello! I think Princess made a reservation for the two of us,” Yuuri said.

“P-princess?” a terrified-looking maître d’ spluttered out. I bet he’d never had a customer like Yuuri. The poor man probably doesn’t know what to do.

Yuuri laughed. “I meant Victor Nikiforov. He’s over there, trying to get every strand of hair in the right place.”

The maître d’ stuttered, cleared his throat and said in a voice that was shaking only a little bit, “I’ll just check – I mean, Victor Nikiforov, yes, of course! Your table is over this way!”

Victor sighed. It was no good. His hair was still all wrong.

“Come on, Princess!” Yuuri called. “Our table is ready. Don’t worry about your hair: it looks better the way it is now.”

Victor walked over in as dignified a way as he could. How do I stop him mocking me? I feel ridiculous! He took a seat at the table and tried his best to stop thinking about his messed up hair.

“Is this where you take everyone on their first date?” Yuuri asked.

“It’s classy,” Victor said defensively.

“Sure. If you’re old and rich.”

I can’t lose to him! I refuse to do it! “Fine. Where would you take someone on their first date?”

Yuuri gave this question some consideration. “Depends on who they are, I suppose. Someone like you I’d take to a burger joint with the greasiest food in the shadiest part of town.” Victor shuddered. “You would eat with the commoners there, the peasants.” Yuuri leaned forward against the table. “Where it’s packed with stinky, dirty people who are underfed and underpaid. This big buff guy sits down next to you and you’re sitting there trembling like… like you’re doing now, in fact, trying hard not to wet your pants and all you can think is ‘dear God, don’t let him rob or kill me’.”

Victor’s mouth hung open. “And?” he asked quietly.

“And all he wants is for you to pass the ketchup, or something.” Yuuri sat back. “He’s probably a nice guy with a wife and four kids at home.”

Victor breathed out and adjusted his tie. He brushed himself off, as if trying to get rid of the stench and dirt of that imaginary place. “And you’d take me to a place like that? Why?”

“Because you look like someone who needs to get a right smack over the ears.” Yuuri grinned. “Or just accidentally elbowed in the face.”

“Hmph!” Victor straightened up. “Well, I don’t think… That’s not appealing at all.”

“Oh really? I’m sure you’ll be over the moon when your date whisks you away somewhere clean, or just into the fresh air.” Yuuri leaned forward again. “And I’ll just bet there’ll be some hot, steamy sex to follow.”

Victor’s face turned red and he coughed nervously. He pulled out his signature handkerchief, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I-I don’t think…”

“And I expect a rich bastard like you has a really odd kink.” Yuuri studied Victor thoughtfully. “Definitely, because where’s the fun in doing things the normal way?”

Victor tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. His heart was beating fast. He’d never been talked to this way before! “And then what?”

“Oh,” Yuuri waved his hand dismissively. “I expect that you’ll wake up the morning after all flustered because your hair is a mess and you’re not dressed as fashionably as the night before (or just not dressed at all, ha), or…” Yuuri paused. There was a dark smile on his face.

“Or?” Victor whispered.

“Or your date woke up before you and walked out on your selfish –”

“May I take your order?” the waiter cut in with impeccable timing.

Victor pretended to study the menu with a serious expression on his face. “I’ll have you know,” he said to Yuuri, “that my dates have always been satisfied with me.”

“Have they? Or were they too terrified of you to say anything?”

“Should I come back?” the waiter asked, visibly uncomfortable with being an accidental witness to their conversation.

“No,” Victor said. “I’m ready to order. I always know what I want.”

Yuuri picked up a fork and fiddled with it absent-mindedly. “When was the last time someone said ‘no’ to you, Princess?”

“Everyone always does what I tell them,” he retorted. It wasn’t strictly true, but arguments with Yakov that ended in Victor winning didn’t count.

“That long, huh?”

The waiter looked ready to make a run for it.

Victor smiled politely at him. “We’ll take the –”

“No,” Yuuri interrupted. “Do you serve steak or is that too fancy for a stuck up place like this?”

The waiter eyed him as if he’d been personally offended. “Of course!”

“I’ll have it rare and the Princess here will…” Yuuri paused and studied Victor, “…take it medium done.”

“Yuuri –” Victor began.

“Well done, then. Do you think you can manage that?”

The waiter nodded, took their menus and left.

“When was the last time someone said ‘no’ to you?” Yuuri repeated his question.

Victor smiled. “Ten seconds ago.” He reached out and took Yuuri’s hand with both of his. He hesitated for only a second before raising it to his lips. He was determined to have the last word. He’d get a blush out of Yuuri before the evening was done!

“A bit old fashioned, don’t you think?” Yuuri pulled his hand away just as the waiter showed up with the breadbasket.

Yuuri watched Victor take a piece of bread, cover it with butter and put it in his mouth. Under the table he reached out with his foot and slid it up against Victor’s.

Victor choked on his bread. Yuuri burst out laughing.

“A-are you trying to…” Victor stammered out and then coughed and coughed until he managed to clear his throat. “What was that?”

“Just trying to demonstrate something more modern. I forgot this was an interview and not a date.” Yuuri cast a look around the room and returned his attention to Victor. “Are you going to publish all of this in your magazine?”

Victor realized he’d let himself get carried away and completely forgot about the reason for their meeting. “R-right. I have a few questions here.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his inside pocket. Yuri had prepared them for him earlier.

Yuuri snatched it out of his hand and studied it. “Just as I thought: really standard stuff. Do you ever get tired of being so boring and predictable?”

He folded the paper up and stuck it in his own pocket.

Victor suppressed the urge to demand that Yuuri gave the paper back. What was the first question on the list? Oh, yes. “How did you get into figure skating?”

“An angel descended from the skies and said ‘don’t be an idiot. Don’t go into the fashion industry. They’re all blockheads. Go become a chef.’ So I became a figure skater.”

Victor gave an exasperated sigh. “You agreed to an interview. Can you answer my questions seriously?”

“All of these questions,” Yuuri pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it in front of Victor’s face, “can be answered with a simple Google search.” He handed the paper back to Victor. “I thought you’d ask me something more interesting.”

Victor imagined writing the article. I dined with Yuuri Katsuki, the living legend of figure skating, and got to know the man as he really is. He doesn’t tolerate nonsense and is always straightforward and honest to the point of sounding harsh. Yuuri Katsuki would hate an article written like that. Maybe he’d write it after all.

“Normally I’d hold someone like you hostage for money,” Yuuri said, “and milk you for every penny you own.” He shrugged. “I know I’m a bastard, but,” he leaned forward again, “at least I’m not a slave driver and I don’t pretend that I’m doing everyone a great service by existing, or hide terrible things behind polite terms.”

Victor calmed himself by imaging what else he could put in the article. He lowered his eyes and stared at his fingers. The expressions on Yuuri’s face were making it hard to focus on any one thought for a long time.

“It’s lucky for you I have a weakness for beautiful things.” Yuuri rested his chin on his hand and there was that smirk again. “And that includes editors with sticks up their backsides.”

Victor said nothing. What could he say to a remark like that?

The waiter came to his rescue by arriving with their food. He placed one plate in front of Victor and the second one – in front of Yuuri.

Yuuri laughed, taking in the small steak in the middle of the big plate. “What’s this? Did they run out of steak? Or is this the last steak left on Earth?”

Victor said nothing. Obviously Yuuri knew nothing about food served in fashionable restaurants. He picked up his fork and knife and cut a piece off.

Yuuri swung out his arm and knocked the fork out of Victor’s hand. “Don’t touch it!” He grabbed the waiter by the wrist. “What is that smell?”

“Sir! What are you talking about?” The waiter’s eyes were rolling around in their sockets in alarm.

“Smell these steaks. What do they smell like?”

“Really, sir…” Yuuri squeezed the waiter’s hand. “Please, sir, it’s…”

“Well?”

“Poison.” The waiter admitted and squeezed his eyes shut.

Yuuri whipped a gun out of his pocket and shot the waiter. Then he jumped out of his seat and grabbed Victor’s arm. “Take your things and let’s go!”

“You killed him!”

“He was going to kill us! Come on, let’s go!”

Victor snatched up his things and the two of them ran. Yuuri had enough presence of mind to retrieve their helmets before they were out on the street and back on the motorcycle.

“Ready?”

“You killed him! You actually killed him! Why do you have a gun?” Too late Victor realized that maybe the correct course of action was to run away from Yuuri, instead of running with him.

“Give the boy a prize. Yes, excellent observation skills, Sherlock Holmes. Now get on the bike and let’s go!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Victor backed away.

Yuuri sighed. “Fine. Go back in there. I’m sure dying from a bullet is better than dying from poison and since I just made that choice for both of us, bullets is what they’re going to try next.”

There were screams coming inside the restaurant. Victor rushed to Yuuri’s side. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Yuuri got on the bike and Victor climbed on behind him.

“You’re taking all this in your stride,” Victor noticed. “Are people always trying to kill you? And who were they?”

“Yes. And no I don’t always know who is behind it.” Yuuri put his helmet on. “Shockingly when people are shooting at me I don’t have time to stop and ask for their business cards. Tell you what, Princess, next time someone shoots at us you can ask for their business card.” He grabbed the handles of his bike and added, “Hold on tight.”

Victor clung on as they sped off. Yuuri made several sharp turns and ran a few red lights. Oh my God! He’s going over the speed limit! We’re going to die! I can’t believe it! I’m going to die on a motorcycle!

“Where is your castle, Princess?” Yuuri asked.

“What? …Fifth Avenue.” He was too terrified to be able to remember his exact address. Any longer on the bike and he would probably forget what his name was.

“Of course it is.”

They went for another hour. Yuuri doubled back several times, but no one seemed to be chasing them. He turned onto Fifth Avenue and narrowly avoided an expensive car.

Finally Yuuri stopped, but Victor felt like they were still going. The world was still flashing by and going around. It felt like… “I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster,” he mumbled, pulling his helmet off and begging the world to stop spinning.

“That was nothing,” Yuuri said, pulling off his own helmet. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he turned around and kissed him. Victor felt Yuuri’s tongue in his mouth and put one hand on Yuuri’s shoulder to steady himself.

Yuuri was right: that motorcycle ride had been nothing. His head was really spinning now, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

He broke the kiss and smiled as if it was no big deal, as if he was used to handsome men taking him around town on their motorcycles and leaving tastes of themselves in his mouth. “Do you kiss everyone on your first date?”

“I thought this was an interview and not a date.”

Victor climbed off the motorcycle and tried to laugh it off. “You’re right. It was an interview. Not a date.” Something inside him protested at this, but he ignored it. He focused on not falling over instead, still feeling slightly dizzy after the ride.

Yuuri took the helmet out of Victor’s hands. “Call me sometime. If you can find room in that busy schedule of yours.” There was that smirk on his face again. “And maybe I’ll take you on an actual date.”

Victor put his hands in his pockets. “I might,” he said and tried not to think about Yuuri’s description of a date.

Yuuri reached out and snatched the handkerchief Victor kept in his breast pocket. He wiped his face with it and tossed it back to Victor who struggled to catch it before it could fall on the ground. “See you around, Princess!” he exclaimed and put his helmet back on.

With a loud revving noise he was off, leaving Victor to stare after him. “See you… around.”

He held the handkerchief to his face, taking in the smell that lingered there. Maybe he should look into figure skating. He’d always thought it was an interesting sport. He would need to get Yuri to find out when the next competition was and buy him tickets.

Satisfied with that, he tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and headed home.

#fanfiction #yuri on ice #Interview Me #The Devil Wears Gucci #Bad Apple #crossover #Yuri Katsuki #Victor Nikiforov #so I appreciate that a crossover between two fics will only make sense to about three people but I still think it's funny on its own

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yuriyuu · 8 years ago

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Guilty

Yuri doesn’t always know what to do when someone’s upset, but he tries his best.

Pairing: JJ x Yuri

(I asked @otabekismybff to give me a short prompt bc I felt like writing but didn’t feel like working on my current projects, and it turned into this 1.5k monster. The prompt was similar to “JJ is upset and Yuri tries to comfort him but fails.”

(read on AO3)

JJ doesn’t mope. He gets irritable, he gets panic attacks, he gets loud, he gets needy, but JJ doesn’t mope, at least not that Yuri’s ever seen. So quite frankly, when JJ comes home to their shared apartment and holes himself away in their bedroom with nary a single word, Yuri is more than a little worried. But he figures, maybe what JJ needs is space. Yuri cannot count the number of times he’s barricaded himself in the bedroom and left poor JJ to fend for himself. As unusual as it is for JJ to willingly isolate himself from others, stranger things have happened during their time together. So he swallows his worry and waits for JJ to come seek him out.

Hours pass, and dinner time is lurking around the corner. There’s still no sign of JJ leaving their room, and Yuri wonders if he should go and get him at this point. By now, JJ should either be raging about what’s bothering him, or they should be participating in consolation snuggles, or perhaps both at the same time since the two of them seem to have a penchant for angry cuddles. Why is he shutting him out like this? Did he do something wrong? At any rate, he’s getting hungry and a lonely childhood full of absentee parental figures makes him resent the idea of eating alone, so into the lion’s den he goes.

Yuri knocks once. No response. Yuri knocks again. No response. He huffs slightly before letting himself in. JJ is currently a curled up lump under the blankets on his side of the bed. Yuri makes his way over, taking care not to step on any of their dirty clothes strewn across the floor all while making a mental note that maybe they should have a laundry date soon. He kneels down beside him and peels back the covers JJ is hiding himself under.

“Hey...I’m getting hungry. What do you want--” Yuri stops mid sentence when he catches sight of JJ’s red, puffy eyes, “Holy shit, were you crying this entire time?”

“Are you serious? Are you fucking serious right now?” JJ’s voice drips venom as he bolts up. The look of shock, confusion, and hurt on Yuri’s face makes him want to laugh in disgust. “If you hadn’t been ignoring me all afternoon you would have known I was upset!”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” Yuri says defensively, “You usually don’t mope around the house, and when you locked yourself in the room I thought you wanted to be left alone! I was trying to give you space!”

JJ narrows his eyes. “You thought I was moping? I feel the worst I have in years and you call it moping?! I can’t believe you.” He’s absolutely livid right now.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” Yuri’s voice is but a whisper, and while he tries to mask the hurt in his voice, he fails. JJ catches onto it immediately.

“You didn’t even look at me when I came home. Why the fuck would I want to spill my goddamn heart out to someone who can’t even be bothered to ask me how my day was? Hell, the only reason you came in to check on me is because you’re hungry.”

He’s so livid he doesn’t even care about the fresh tears forming in his eyes.

The tears forming in JJ’s eyes don’t go unnoticed by Yuri. He reaches out to to gently put his hand on JJ’s shoulder, and flinches when JJ slaps it away.

“Don’t.”

Tension crackles between them like wayward electricity. They both avert each other’s eyes, and neither of them are willing to say anything for reasons of their own.

It’s Yuri who decides to break the silence. “What do you want me to do?” He asks. His voice is soft, full of genuine care and concern, and if JJ weren’t so pissed off at him, he would pull Yuri down into the sheets with him and sob into his shoulder.

But he is pissed off at Yuri, and the last thing he wants to do is be anywhere near him, much less sob into his shoulder as Yuri holds him in his arms.

“Just leave. You’ve done enough,” is all he says before turns his back toward Yuri and retreats under the covers.

He hears the door open and close without a single word or protest from Yuri. He thought he’d be relieved once Yuri left, but the fact Yuri can’t even be bothered to argue back with him and fight his way by his side leaves him feeling even more upset.

Yuri throws himself down onto the couch and quietly groans into a pillow. A million scenarios play through his head, each one more dramatic than the last. What if he had been more attentive? What if he had said something like he originally wanted to? Why on earth did he think JJ, JJ of all people, would want space? Had he really given JJ such a cold shoulder when he came home this afternoon? Did he really leave JJ crying alone in their bedroom for hours? The guilt gnaws on his bones like a dog chewing a brand new rawhide.

And even still, instead of attempting to win his way back into his boyfriend’s good grace, he’s laying on the couch throwing himself his own personal pity party. Maybe JJ wasn’t moping earlier, but Yuri sure is now and it’s making him feel like an even bigger piece of shit.

Comforting people had never been his strong point, and he thinks back to all the times his grandpa had tried to comfort him with simple words of encouragement and freshly prepared food. Perhaps if things were especially bad, a special blend of tea. JJ might not want to be within a thousand feet of him right now, but at the very least Yuri could leave a cup of warm tea on his nightstand. So Yuri sighs, picks himself up off the couch, and drags himself into the kitchen to prepare JJ some tea.

When the water boils, at first he goes to reach for one his own teas. His expensive, high quality teas imported straight from Russia. But he hesitates for a moment, and instead chooses to brew a bag of the cheap tea JJ prefers from the grocery store. While JJ deserves nothing but the finest and most expensive teas, the cheap gross shit is what makes him happiest. It wounds Yuri’s pride to brew his boyfriend such bad tea, but if the cheap gross shit from the grocery store is what makes him happiest, then so be it.

He even throws extra cream in it, just like JJ likes it.

This time, Yuri doesn’t bother knocking on their door before entering.

“Hey, I uh...made you some tea,” Yuri says to JJ, who is still hiding under the covers. “Don’t worry, I promise it’s not one of mine. I’ll leave it on the nightstand for you, okay? I’ll uh, be in the living room if you wanna talk or something. I’m sorry and I love you. Hope you feel better soon.” Yuri feels a lump forming his in his throat as he tells this to JJ. It feels awkward and out of character for him, and it takes all of his willpower for him not to cut off his apology prematurely and make a run for it.

Before Yuri can leave, he hears JJ say, “Wait.”

Yuri turns around, heart beating rapidly in his chest. JJ’s sitting up, out from under the covers, and looking straight at him.

“Is this...guilt tea because you feel guilty?”

Fuck. Had he done the wrong thing again? His eyes dart toward JJ’s face to gauge his response.

JJ doesn’t look pissed off anymore, in fact he’s...smiling? Yuri is so utterly confused right now.

“Wow, you must really feel bad if you aren’t even gonna roll your eyes at my pun.”

The tension melts from Yuri’s face. “Oh fuck you,” he says, but he’s now smiling too.

“Come here,” JJ says, motioning with his hands.

Yuri does. He crawls on the bed next to JJ, and JJ immediately throws his arms around Yuri, pulling them close together.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier, forgive me?”

“Of course. How can I not? I even made you your shitty grocery store tea to earn your forgiveness.”

JJ leans in and kisses Yuri’s forehead. “I know, how can I not forgive you after that?”

“Gross. Just hurry up and drink your shitty tea before it gets cold. You know how I feel about cold tea.”

“Hey, let’s go get dinner after I finish drinking my shitty tea. Crying all day made me hungry, and I’m sure you’re still hungry because you refuse to eat without me.”

Yuri laces their hands together, and cuddles up against JJ’s body, leaning his head in the crook of JJ’s neck. “Sounds like a plan. Just next time you feel this bad and you think I’m ignoring you, please come talk to me, okay? I promise I was really just trying to give you space. I’m sorry for being an asshole earlier.”

In between sips of tea, JJ gives Yuri’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know. And I’m sorry for taking it the wrong way and yelling at you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too”

#pliroy #jjyuri #yuri plisetsky #jean jacques leroy #yuri on ice #my writing #i literally wrote this entire fanfic around that one single pun #why am i like this

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kumikirin · 8 years ago

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Close your eyes (and I’ll kiss you)

Otayuri Week 2017, Day 4: Domestic or Long Distance

Long distance relationships are never easy, ask Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin about it. But they’ve learned to make the best out of their situation, and they manage to keep it together while waiting for the next time they’re able to see, hold and kiss each other.

Or: the lives of Yuri and Otabek as a long-distance couple, and their strategies to survive the long months between one visit and the next.

Warning(s): Brief mentions of blood (just a couple accidental cuts). Non-explicit sex. A little Hurt/Comfort, a lot of fluff bc it’s me.

Notes: Yes, the title comes from the song All My Loving, by The Beatles. It's perfect for this fic, leave me alone. Prepare for the cheesiest thing ever. Cross-posted in AO3! Beta-ed by the lovely @dinxyjinxy who totally saved me and I’ll be forever thankful, tysm again! ♥ ♥ ♥

“It’s not too late, you can still go back home with me,” Yuri mutters, grabbing onto Otabek’s sleeve, “You know grandpa wouldn’t have a problem if you suddenly decided to stay with us for a month or a year or forever.”

Otabek can’t help the half smile that tugs at the right corner of his mouth at Yuri’s words. It’s always like this when they have to part, they never want to and one of them —usually Yuri— ends up saying something along those lines. It’s some kind of hopeful attempt to keep the other close, and even if it never works and they really don’t expect it to, they keep on trying, in a sort of joking-but-not-really kind of way. Like they hope this time they will be able to make it happen. Deep down, really, they know that when the time comes for one to leave it’s because it’s absolutely necessary, as they always make sure to make the most out of every opportunity they get to be together.

No matter who says it, though, it’s always Otabek’s duty to keep both their feet on the ground. Yuri’s way more clingy than he makes it appear to stranger’s eyes, and always hesitates when Otabek lets his guard down enough for those words to get past his lips.

“You know I can’t, Yura,” he says, so soft it’s almost a whisper, and Yuri barely catches it over all the chatting and the announcements made through the speakers of Sheremetyevo airport. He doesn’t have to hear it, though, to know what Otabek is saying.

“I know,” he answers, voice low and clearly decayed, but eyes soft and loving fixed on his boyfriend. He smiles that small, downhearted smile reserved for every time they have to say their goodbyes, and Otabek’s heart twists inside his chest.

He can’t help but grab him by the arm and pull him in for a rib-crushing, already longing hug. Yuri immediately wraps his arms around him too, fingers grabbing onto the fabric on his back and pressing their chests together, face going straight to hide on the curve of Otabek’s neck. Otabek nuzzles his hair, breathing in the citric scent of his lover’s shampoo. His hair must smell the same, since they showered together this morning. They stand there by the windows in front of Otabek’s boarding gate, pressed hard against each other, trying to mold their bodies together as much as they can so they don’t forget how it feels during the long months to come. Trying to breath this scent glued to both their bodies, which is the result of being so close the smell of Yuri’s cologne and Otabek’s aftershave have mixed together to create something new, something theirs. They’re aware they keep like that for minutes, but it feels like it’s never enough, and both tense up when the voice coming through the speakers announces the last calling for Otabek’s flight.

“That’s yours,” Yuri mutters after a couple of seconds without them giving any indication of letting go.

Otabek hums and nods, but doesn’t acknowledge it further. He just wants a moment, just a couple more seconds.

They break away just enough to look at each other, hands sliding softly along waists and hips and arms in long caresses. Yuri presses his chest on Otabek’s as their gazes lock, and waits until Otabek carefully pushes his bangs aside to reveal that eye that’s always hidden behind a blond curtain, before leaning up to kiss him. Otabek meets him halfway, leaning down a bit because, no matter how much Yuri’s grown, he’s never managed to top him.

The kiss is longing, deep and a little bit desperate. He’s sure it takes all of Yuri’s willpower to break it, pushing back enough for them to not fall into the temptation of locking lips again.

“You have to go,” Yuri says, voice slightly strained from fighting his true wishes in favor of doing what’s required of him as a responsible adult. Which is letting go of his boyfriend.

Otabek does his part and steps back, grasping his travel bag firmly to find strength somewhere, but keeps looking Yuri in the eye.

“I’ll call you when I land,” he says, because he doesn't want to say ‘goodbye’.

Yuri nods, and stays there with his feet firmly glued to the floor. Otabek knows he won’t go until he sees his back disappear through the door. He himself never leaves the airport until Yuri’s plane takes off.

Finally, Otabek turns around and starts walking to the boarding zone, but after only a few steps Yuri’s voice stops him.

“Wait, Beka!”

He looks back immediately, unlike when he has to turn back to walk away from him.

Yuri’s eyes lock with his the second Otabek turns, and stay fixed there. He looks like he’s trying to get something off his mouth and it’s taking him all he’s got. His lips move, trying to form words, but nothing coherent comes out.

Otabek smiles. This, too, happens every time.

“I’ll miss you too, kitten,” he smiles fondly, and after a moment Yuri returns the smile, a little apologetically but also happy he’s been, once again, understood.

“Go away,” he says with no bite at all, as loving as he can ever be, and the last thing Otabek sees before walking through the doors is his smile.

Yuri stays there for as long as it takes Otabek to text him.

Beka: Already seated. There’s a kid kicking my seat from behind. It’s going to be a long flight.

Yuri chuckles and quickly types back.

You: tell the parents, don't be a pussy

Beka: I’m respectful.

You: the kid isn’t. kick back

Beka: You’re going to get me arrested someday, Yura.

Yuri smiles and shakes his head softly, eyes never leaving the screen. A “...” sign appears, indicating Otabek’s writing.

Beka: I have to turn off the phone. Call you when I get to Almaty.

A short pause.

Beka: I love you, Yura.

You: i love u too, beka. have a nice flight

He sighs, pockets his phone and unglues his back from the wall, starting to walk in the general direction of the exit.

They’ve been dating for almost three years now, but they could never get used to saying goodbye.

True to his words, Otabek calls him right after getting a hold of his suitcase. Yuri can tell he’s still inside the airport and they talk until the moment he gets to his apartment. It’s late, though, around three in the morning in Almaty since they had booked the latest flight they could. Thus, they have to end the call too soon for their liking, since they need to sleep and Yuri has stubbornly stayed awake waiting to hear the ringtone set specifically for his boyfriend. It’s not that late in Moscow, but he has to go back to St. Petersburg soon and that means going back to waking up almost at the crack of dawn to exercise, no possibility of staying up late and sleeping in the next morning, so he needs a good sleep schedule.

Saying goodnight through the phone definitely isn't the same as being able to say it against each other’s skin, but it's the closest thing they have right now and they make do with that.

Yuri wakes up alone in his bed for the first time in a month. He can't help the tears that well up in his eyes at the realization that, fuck , his yearly month-long vacation with his boyfriend is over and there’s an, at least, four months path before they see each other again. It’s awful to be suddenly so alone and the longing, sadness and emptiness comes all crashing down on him, making his chest ache so much it's hard to breathe.

Yuri hugs tightly the pillow Otabek had been using. It smells like him, and that makes it better and worse at the same time. The first morning without him, as he does every time, Yuri lets the emotions take over.

Back in Almaty, Otabek clutches a black t-shirt against his chest, one that Yuri had claimed as his for as long as they were together and smells like the unique scent of the blond’s skin mixed with the soap he uses to wash clothes, and with his eyes closed tightly he tries to pretend he’s still in Moscow, lazing around in bed with his lover.

• •

They need to be in contact, crave the artificial but welcomed closeness they get from texting and calling and Skyping, and for that very reason there’s an unspoken pact between them: never go to sleep without a call, never start the day without a message. It’s very rare of them to not fulfill that silent promise, as there can be days they hardly have time to text at other times, not to mention call, and in the busy lifestyle they have days can easily grow into weeks.

True to their unending devotion for each other, they fall back into the habit as soon as they're separated. It makes it easier for them to sleep, and they feel better after sending a good morning text or, occasionally, making a morning call, sometimes even Skype. They’re well past the ‘don’t look at me when I just woke up’ phase, and Yuri feels especially proud of himself the days he manages to wake Otabek up with a call, since it’s usually the other way around.

It goes without saying that they can text and call whenever, and the other will answer or pick up if he’s available.

“Are you in bed already?” Yuri asks, sitting cross-legged on his bed with Chopa, his cat, sprawled all over the sheets right in front of him as he pets her.

“I’m putting on my shirt, then I’ll get in bed, ” Otabek sounds a little far away, and Yuri guesses he must have activated the hands-free speaker. Since he lives alone, Otabek doesn’t tell him when he does that at home. It’s not like anyone else will hear, unlike in Yuri’s case, for he hasn’t been able to move from Lilia’s home to his own, though he hopes he will soon.

“You don’t wear a shirt to sleep, you liar,” Yuri accuses, but he knows his tone betrays the amused half smile on his lips.

“I do, it’s just with you that I don’t. Because you won’t let me,” Otabek seems to find the accusation quite funny too.

There’s a pause filled with the rustle of fabric, and while Yuri waits, Chopa turns around and exposes her belly in a playful manner. Yuri looks at her and arches an eyebrow, not really trusting her, but finally lowers his hand to tentatively touch her. He gets attacked the moment his hand comes in contact with her fur.

“Ah, you little bitch!” he curses, flicking Chopa on the head and taking his hand closer to his eyes so he can inspect the damage. The cat tries to snatch his hand again, but finding herself unable to reach it she proceeds to attack his knee and then run away.

“What happened ?” Otabek’s voice comes from the other side of the line, “Chopa? ”

“Yeah,” Yuri waits a moment and clicks his tongue when the scratch on his hand starts turning red. First it’s a thin line, then the blood starts overflowing to form small dark droplets, one of which threatens to fall soon. Yuri holds his hand still as he looks around for his cat, “The little shit suddenly turned all sugar-high on me, attacked my hand and ran off. I’ll go wash the scratch, wait a minute.”

“Go,” Otabek says after a second, and Yuri knows he nodded before saying anything and then realized he couldn’t see him, “I’ll wait in bed. ”

Yuri smiles at those words. It sounds like they’re going to sleep together.

He leaves the phone on his bed and makes a swift run for the bathroom standing on the balls of his feet. The wound is nothing too deep, so just washing and pressing a towel for a couple of seconds is enough to leave just the clean scratch forming a pink-ish line on his skin. He hurries back to his room.

When he comes back, however, instead of finding his phone still laying on his bed he’s welcomed by the sight of Chopa viciously attacking one of his leopard-printed pillows, biting and holding it with her claws as her legs repeatedly kick it. His phone is screen down on the floor.

“Hey!” Yuri yells, and as soon as Chopa sees him she’s jumping off the bed and disappearing through the door. He growls out of irritation and rolls his eyes, picking up his phone and looking at the screen in search for any damage. Nothing, but his call with Beka was ended and there’s a blurry picture of Chopa on his chat with Yuuko, along with a couple of texts consisting in a series of numbers and letters. He’ll apologize later, his priorities are well organized and he needs to call his boyfriend again right now.

“Yura,” he sounds tired, voice a little raspy, and as he clears his throat Yuri knows he had fallen asleep waiting. He smiles.

“Sorry, Chopa came back while I was gone and somehow ended the call and threw my phone to the floor,” Yuri speaks softly, he doesn’t want to fully wake his boyfriend up. He’s a little tired too, after coming back to St. Petersburg almost two weeks ago he has started practising all day again, so he understands and wants him to rest.

“Ah, so that was it,” Yuri can hear some more rustling and he guesses Otabek’s turning to find a more comfortable spot in bed. He always lays in some uncomfortable way when he’s tired but doesn’t want to fall asleep, and he always does anyway. “ I heard some rustling, she was probably attacking it. ”

“I don’t even know why she hates my phone so much,” Yuri walks back to the door and his fingers linger over the light switch, “Lights off?”

Otabek hums from the other side.

“Mine are already, just the lamp on the nightstand is on,” Yuri hears him move again. He’s trying to stay awake.

Yuri flicks the lights off and goes back to the large bed, flopping down on it and tugging the sheets over his body. He turns to his side.

“Turn it off, already,” he says, hugging one of his many extra pillows and pressing his chin over it, “I know you fell asleep waiting for me, and you know I know, so let’s skip the show and do this.”

Otabek groans softly. It’s kind of funny, Yuri thinks at that, how half of Otabek’s way of communicating is through body language and hums and groans, and how he’s came to understand his manners.

“I’m sorry,” he finally apologizes, and behind his voice there’s the distinct sound of the light switch being pressed, “I wanted to talk to you too, but today was busy.”

Yuri huffs and his legs find their way around the long pillow, pressing it closer against his body.

“Don’t be an idiot, Beka. It’s happened before, we just were busy all day and too tired to talk now,” he can’t say he’s not disappointed, because he was looking forward to their little chat before bed. Georgi had fallen face-first on the ice today and it was really funny, and Yuri himself has improved quite noticeably at performing the first half of his new SP, and he still wants to tell Otabek all that, but he’s not a selfish bastard. When he’s too tired to talk or just not in the mood, Otabek always respects it. He deserves the same. “I’ll just have twice as many things to tell you tomorrow. It can wait,” he insists, closing his eyes for a moment and picturing his boyfriend sprawled on his bed, probably laying on his stomach and with a hand under the pillow, the way he tends to sleep when he’s alone. “You can wake me up with a call tomorrow if you feel the need to make up for this, though.”

Yuri hears a short exhale from the other side of the line and knows his boyfriend is smiling in a mixture of amusement, fondness and tiredness. It makes him smile too.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Otabek finally says, voice low in a whisper that, if anything, makes the statement feel all the more intimate. Yuri knows, now, that his boyfriend is way more tired than he had initially thought, because that sentence came literally out of nowhere and that’s just how sappy Otabek turns when his brain is shutting down from tiredness but he wants to keep being awake. Knowing that, of course, doesn’t stop Yuri from turning beet red, blush creeping all the way up to his ears. That corny bastard. “I love you, Yura.”

“I love you too, idiot,” a couple of years ago he wouldn’t have been able to say that without stuttering, or say it at all, but this much time dealing with his lover’s antics and displays of affection have helped him get accustomed. Not to say that he doesn’t stutter anymore from time to time. “Good night.”

“G’night, kit,” Otabek mumbles, using that nickname that’s short for another nickname, ‘kitten’. Yuri hears those from time to time, and has come to realize Otabek uses them when he’s overwhelmed by emotion and just ‘Yura’ or ‘love’ won’t suffice to convey his feelings. He can relate to that.

He stays there, just listening intently to Otabek’s breathing until he feels the lightheadedness that comes with sleep and barely manages to press the ‘end call’ button before losing consciousness.

He’s woken up by the chorus of a Jon Bellion song that Otabek loves and Yuri’s set as his ID ringtone. He answers with a smile already seated on his lips, and from the other side the deep, soothing voice of his boyfriend hints a smile of his own.

“Good morning, Yura.”

• •

Being far away for long periods of time has lead them to develop some costumes other people wouldn’t even think about, but hey, ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’. And if they’re something, that’s desperate to feel close.

“Watch your fingers, Yura,” Otabek warns as he sneaks a glance to his computer screen, where he’s greeted by the sight of his boyfriend in a red apron, brow furrowed in concentration as he cuts the chicken breasts in strips and then those strips into cubes.

“I’m nineteen, I know how to use a knife,” he growls back, never lifting his gaze from the cutting board even when Otabek knows the glare directed to the chicken is meant for him.

Otabek smiles amusedly.

“I am aware of your age,” he says, and at that Yuri does look up, but only because he wants to kick that smile away from his face, “But you were also nineteen the last time we did this, and you had to hurry to the hospital because you nearly cut off your thumb.”

It had been a nasty accident, not as terrible as Otabek makes it sound but, Yuri has to concede, there had been a lot of blood involved. Their little cooking-together-through-Skype had been interrupted for that day and put on stand-by for a while, since Yuri had been banned from the kitchen for as long as it took for his thumb to heal properly. He had sent Beka a couple of pictures of the three stitches holding together his skin, not exactly the most romantic pics he’d ever sent him but hey, not the worst either.

“That was half a year ago,” he means to growl but Otabek can make out the pout on his lips by the tone it imprints on his voice, and can also see it even though the video isn’t exactly HD.

“Just be careful, love,” he repeats, this time softer, and Yuri still frowns but goes back to cutting the chicken in silent agreement.

They chat while they prepare the ingredients for their meal, chopping garlic and cutting parsley leaves, setting out all the spices, washing the tomatoes and putting them to boil. It’s nice for both of them to be able to share a moment like this, doing everyday things in a way that makes them feel closer. Silence takes over from time to time but it’s welcomed and easy, like when Yuri is trying to figure out where the hell Lilia hid the salt and Otabek is grating the parmesan cheese because he’s always dead set on doing it himself, unlike his boyfriend. The conversation topics change, sometimes subtly and sometimes no so much, ranging from the climate to the possible deep interpretation of one of their dreams, to the latest nail polish Yuri has bought. It’s nice.

Until they get to the part where they have to actually start cooking, and the same discussion topic arises every time without failure: Yuri’s preference to follow the recipe vs. Otabek’s tendency to deviate from it.

“Beka, it says olive oil, why the hell would you use canola instead? ” the blond protests, a black spatula on his right hand. He looks so cute with that red apron and his hair tied in a half-ponytail that Otabek gets distracted for a second.

“I like it better,” he says matter of factly, “You know I’m not a fan of olives.”

“Well, yeah, but the recipe says--”

“Yura,” Otabek interrupts him as he uncaps the canola oil. Years of being by the boy’s side, both as a friend and as a lover, have taught him the best way of bringing these useless discussions to an end. “I’m the one eating it.”

Otabek tilts the oil over the pot and Yuri’s eyes go wide.

“Don’t you da-” he starts, but the oil is already flowing and it hits the bottom of the pot with a soft metallic sound. Yuri growls, “You asshole.”

As he screws the cap back, while Yuri busies himself with his own oil and a couple of things muttered under his breath, Otabek smiles faintly and shakes his head. He finds his hot temper endearing, always has.

• •

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen this movie,” Yuri mutters before stuffing his mouth with the popcorn he made for himself.

“It’s really good,” Otabek nods from the other side of the screen, though Yuri knows he’s watching his camera to see his reactions more than he’s watching the movie.

It’s the third time Otabek’s watched it, and even though he’s said he still likes it as much as the first time there’s apparently something more appealing about the way Yuri hugs his pillow and frowns or bites his lower lip according to whatever’s happening on screen. His face has always been really expressive, especially when Otabek is involved.

“I don’t want it to end. They have to find a cure or something,” he whines, something he only allows himself to do in front of Otabek. He just hums noncommittally and keeps quiet otherwise, probably to not spoil the movie for him. Yuri’s focused on the dialogue between the two main characters, but after that scene ends he huffs and hugs his pillow closer to his face. He’s lying on his stomach on top of his bed, lights off so the only illumination Otabek gets to see his face is the brightness of the screen. This movie is touching some strings in Yuri, nothing too deep but it still makes him remember some things. “Cancer is shit,” he says. It’s just a statement, something everyone on Earth knows but he feels the need to point out.

Still, he can basically feel Otabek’s eyes glued to him even from the other side of the camera, a whole country away.

“It is,” Otabek agrees. He doesn’t bother trying to find more words because he knows Yuri doesn’t need them.

They’ve talked about this before, the multiple times they‘ve addressed the family topic. Yuri’s told him all about his mess of a family, about the unknown identity of his father, about his disappeared mother, and of course about his grandmother who died of cancer. Yuri never had the chance to meet her, since she had passed away years before he was even conceived, but Yuri is really close to his grandfather and whoever is important to Nikolai instantly turns into someone important to him. So, he remembers his grandmother, and the face he’s seen in photographs always pops up in his mind when someone mentions cancer.

A while more into the movie, Yuri deems a scene unimportant enough to speak again.

“What would you put in your bucket list if you knew you were gonna die soon?” he asks, eyes traveling to the corner of the screen where Otabek’s camera is.

“Yura, the movie,” Otabek reminds him. Yuri is well aware of his tendency to start talking during the slow parts of the movie, get wrapped up on his ideas and go back to watching when he’s missed part of the story, but he’s never had any interest to change that about himself.

“I’d like to pet a tiger, at least once,” Yuri ignores him, and Otabek sighs, “We could go to a zoo or some place where they let you pet the tigers, right?”

When Yuri sees Otabek’s fond smile, he knows he just won this battle. During the years they’ve been together, Yuri has learned Otabek has a soft spot for him acting on his most childish wishes.

“Horseback riding,” Otabek contributes, and smiles when Yuri’s eyes once again glue to the corner of the screen where his camera is. “A last holiday with my mother and sister” he adds, and Yuri nods. “Kiss the most beautiful boy in the world,” Otabek’s half-smile is playful, looking at the corner of his own screen where Yuri’s face is on display. The fucker just wants to get a reaction from him. “That being you.”

Yuri can’t help it. His response is instantaneous. Otabek’s just repeating one of the items of the bucket list from the movie, and yet Yuri can feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

“I know, you sap,” he grunts, trying to hide his face a little more behind the pillow, “Stop copying the fucking movie.”

• •

They have each other in every social net and app they use, frequently or not, so there are lots of ways for them to communicate. They mostly text, send snaps on Snapchat and, more than anything, Skype, and on the side they constantly send each other pics through Instagram. There probably isn’t a picture in Yuri’s Instagram that hasn’t been liked by Otabek.

At the beginning, Otabek must say, he wasn’t really fond of apps and social media, but with time and Yuri’s nagging he started to use them more and more, eventually even changing his cellphone for a newer model that allows him to download more things and makes his communication with Yuri all the more easier. Like, for example, having Skype on his phone while his computer is being fixed.

“Mila was talking about her new boyfriend today,” Yuri is sitting cross-legged over his bed, hair falling loosely over his shoulders and back as he brushes it. He got out of shower just ten minutes ago and Skype-called Otabek the minute he stepped out of the water so they could have at least a quick call before sleeping. Otabek still can’t take those long legs and creamy thighs out of his mind.

And the way the blue towel hung loosely around Yuri’s hips and how it, upon being untied, slipped sensually over his skin and fell to the floor.

Already past a month and a half without being able to touch Yuri, and he’s feeling it.

“Mila’s always talking about her boyfriends,” Otabek responds to Yuri’s comment, turning on his bed to lay on his back, one arm behind his head as the other holds his phone up over his face so they can see each other, “Was she complaining too much?” he asks, knowing that even a little complaining is too much on Yuri’s ears, especially coming from Mila or Georgi.

“No,” Yuri takes deep interest in brushing a particular strand of his light golden hair, and his voice says more to Otabek than what Yuri intends to convey through that one word. It sends alarms off inside the Kazakh’s head, his chest constricting in anticipation for the next sentence. “She’s pretty happy with this one. Couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful he is and how amazing it is to spend time with him.”

Ah. There it is.

“I… Yura, you know she gets like that,” Otabek turns around so he can rest with his chest and belly over the mattress, all his attention now on Yuri, whose fingers are now caressing the strands of hair as if he’s in deep thought, “She’s probably doing it to Georgi and Sara too.”

“I know that,” Yuri snaps, voice containing something that runs cold in his veins, “but…”

There’s a pause, where even Yuri’s fingers stop moving and everything sits still. Otabek waits for the words he knows won’t come out of Yuri’s mouth. He always misses him too much to handle it.

Then he sighs.

“Yura,” he calls, patient and calm, but Yuri doesn’t react, “Yura, look at me.”

It seems that Otabek’s mellow voice reaches the blond now and, just as the rodents in The Pied Piper of Hamelin couldn’t resist the music, Yuri’s unable to do anything but obey his boyfriend’s request.

His eyes tell much more than Otabek was expecting.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Beka,” Yuri’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper, and sounds wet and hurt in all the wrong ways, and damn if it doesn’t break Otabek’s heart to see him like that. “I want to kiss you. Hug you. I miss you so fucking much, Otabek Altin, what the fuck have you done to me.”

He knows he doesn’t mean it like that, but Otabek can’t help but feel responsible and he’d do anything, he’d give up skating right this second if it meant Yuri wouldn’t hurt like this. His arms tingle in an unpleasant way with the need to hold him, the constricting feeling inside his chest turns tighter and makes his throat knot painfully, especially given the fact that Yuri actually said he misses him, instead of leaving it implied for Otabek to understand, like he always does.

He hates this.

“I miss you too, Yuri,” he whispers, leaving the pet names aside for once because things just got serious. Yuri’s eyes, pixelated and far away but still unbelievably green and honest, hang onto Otabek’s with such longing it feels like they’re getting inside his body and taking his heart away like a war treasure. Otabek would be fine with giving it to him.

“I want to see you,” Yuri breathes, and it’s desperate and broken and everything Otabek wants Yuri to not be, and it irks him that they have to go through this every time, because the boy sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. “I’m just this bit away from picking up my things and taking the next flight to Almaty.”

“Yuri…” Otabek breathes. He knows he can’t do anything about it, they have scheduled times to meet and have to endure the months between the visits, and they usually can but every time one of them snaps at least once, and it’s mostly Yuri and he can’t handle it when it happens. They miss each other with the same intensity, but he’s never been one to show those things, while Yuri is pretty transparent and emotion-driven, even if he doesn’t want to be. “We just have to wait a while longer until you come visit. Just another month,” he reminds him, pleading, because the impotence he’s feeling right now is heavy and difficult to deal with. What can he say, after all? They’re not breaking up, that has been put on the table many times when the distance became too much to handle and still the one time they did it lasted less than a week and they decided to never do something that stupid again.

“Like another two months,” Yuri corrects, a heavy sigh he doesn’t want to let out weighing on his chest. “I just want to kiss you, Beka, I’m not asking for much,” and yet I can’t have it is left unsaid, but they both know that’s what he means.

“I’m sorry, Yura.”

Yuri frowns, but then looks down.

“What are you apologizing for? I’m the one who asked you out on the first place,” he reminds him, letting his hair fall in front of his face like a glowing curtain.

“Yes, I know, but--”

He can’t finish his sentence, though, because suddenly Yuri disappears from the screen, which trembles with the movement of the mattress.

“You shit! You’re a fucking demon!” Otabek hears his voice coming from the speakers of his phone.

Oh wow. Well, now he knows what happened. Or who was involved, at least.

As if on cue, a light caramel and black blur jumps on the screen and Yuri screeches .

“Get off the computer, you crazy bitch!” he yells, and through the tilted camera Otabek can see Yuri’s legs and a black, fluffy tail.

“What did she do now?”

With some more mumbled words, Chopa is left over the bed and Yuri leans towards the camera and repositions the computer where it belongs, proceeding then to hand-tame his slightly tousled hair.

“She had something stuck on her tail, and since she couldn’t get it off she started running around and jumped on me,” he huffs, but Otabek can’t help the amused chuckle that leaves his lips. “Don’t laugh, it wasn’t funny.”

“You didn’t see it from here,” he counters, and Yuri scorns. The atmosphere has lightened up significantly, but when they lock eyes once again it’s heavy and slightly uncomfortable, the need to talk about it clashing with the want to leave it there if just to avoid feeling worse.

Chopa decides to join their staring contest.

“Oh, hi princess,” he greets the pet when she suddenly appears in front of the camera, blocking Yuri’s frame with her too-fluffy fur and her big, round blue eyes. She looks wild, pupils barely a black line within all that blue, and Otabek takes a screenshot. He’s surprised to see the picture shows Chopa’s eyes almost entirely black, her pupils now dilated with barely a ring of color around them. “Wow,” he says, and effectively the camera depicts a wide-eyed Chopa looking at him.

“What-? Hey, what the hell Chopa?”

Otabek sees the fur moving up and down, his screen mostly obscured by it. He doesn’t understand a thing.

“What is she doing?” he asks, curving an eyebrow. The tenseness from before lifts, and his shoulders slump against the pillow he’s been leaning over.

“She’s licking the damn screen,” Yuri informs, and the fur covering the camera retreats. “I think she misses you too, the little bitch. You know, I was the one who adopted you when you were just a little ball of fur and fleas, you ungrateful shit. ” Otabek laughs and takes another screenshot almost in reflex at seeing his boyfriend holding Chopa from below her front legs, the cat stretched as long as she is —which, frankly, isn’t that much— and staring at the screen with pupils still blown wide. The blond is cross-legged again, looking at her with a tilted head in a position that makes his shoulder blades-long hair cover almost his entire face from Otabek’s eyes. “She looks like she’s high or something.”

“Like that time I gave her catnip?” Otabek suggests with the hint of an amused smile on his lips.

“Yeah, almost,” Yuri concedes, and then looks at him with green eyes that are shining with an entirely different emotion than a couple of minutes before. He’s smiling. Otabek thanks everything that’s holy for that cat’s antics, she’s lightened their mood a lot. “I was so worried back then when she wouldn’t move, but now it’s funny to remember.”

“You wanted to kill me for breaking your cat,” Otabek reminds him, finally earning a hearty laugh from Yuri’s side.

“She didn’t move for like an hour!” he exclaims, laughter still tinting his voice.

Otabek can’t help the smile that creeps to his lips too.

“She’s still so small, isn’t she like five years old already?” he asks when Chopa is finally put back on the mattress, and she seems to have calmed down as she lifts a black leg, sticking it up in the air and licking it, “Well, they say pets take after their owners.”

“Yea- hey!” it takes a moment for Yuri to process the teasing behind that sentence, and Chopa jumps when he slams his hand over his bed. “I grew again, I could be as tall as you by the time we meet, for your information.”

It’s Otabek’s turn to laugh, the sincere, deep rumble of his voice catching both Yuri’s and Chopa’s attention.

“Sure, Yura. Although I was talking about her flexibility too,” he says, in a peace-offering sort of way.

Yuri responds by sticking his leg up in the air like his cat.

“You might be right there,” he concedes, sided smile in place. Chopa looks at him, lowers her own leg and stares for another second before walking calmly towards the computer again, “Oh my God, she’s rubbing against the fucking screen,” Yuri rolls his eyes and slumps his shoulders dramatically, but when he reaches forward to pick her up again he ends up freezing in place. “Now she laid down right by the keyboard.”

"Do you think she wants to cuddle me?” Otabek suggests, and Yuri’s amused smile is all the answer he needs, “You can’t say you two aren’t alike.”

And the truth is, Otabek also likes cuddling with both of them. He’s glad Yuri has Chopa, so tonight he can hug her and miss him a little less. That cat has a sixth sense, she always knows when Yuri’s feeling down, and he silently thanks her for distracting them from their moping.

The next morning Yuri wakes up with a new notification on his cellphone.

otabek-altin has tagged you in a new photo. @ yuri-plisetsky ’s cat’s look when she saw me on the screen. I guess pets do take after their owners. Thanks, Chopa.

Yuri’s eyes are barely open, but he smiles softly at the caption, chest swelling with love. Indeed: thanks, Chopa.

• •

They’ve been texting through all their practice, or at least ever since Otabek first set foot on the rink today, and it’s been happening on and off since then, like a lot of times before, both of them sneaking to the side of the rink to send a quick text or sometimes pictures. A video of Otabek’s rinkmate —the only one he has— performing a jump combination and a picture of Yuri’s new pair of skates were tossed somewhere between the texts.

Thus, it’s not to say Otabek wasn’t expecting the blinking green light of his phone announcing a new message during the next hour. He just wasn’t expecting it so soon after Yuri’s break ended. Having still a couple of minutes of break himself, he opens the message immediately.

Yura: viktor n kautsdon invited me for dinner again

Yura: i swaer theyre gonna pull out the adotion papers anyday gdi

By the way Yuri’s texting, Otabek can only assume two things. One, he’s so angry he can barely type correctly, or two, he shouldn’t be typing at all. He knows the idea of having dinner with his self-proclaimed parents, no matter what Yuri wants everyone to think, isn’t that bad, so while he takes a swig of water he rushes to text him back before Yuri is discovered either by Lilia or Yakov.

You: It can’t be that bad. You could think of it as free food.

Yuri’s reply is almost instantaneous. A faint smiles attempts to tug Otabek’s lips at this.

Yura: no free fod is good enough

Yura: i hope the y keep th pda down

You: It won’t be PDA if you’re in their house.

Yura: its pda. im th public n i dont apprecate it

Well, there’s no way to fight that reasoning. Instead, he just exhales amusedly.

You: Then I guess no call tonight?

He could have asked that after they’re done with practice, since he knows Yuri’s daily schedule as well as his own and they almost always text right the moment Yuri’s practice hours end. Still, he wanted to know.

Yura: wht no. im still calling u i dont care

Otabek lets a small smile take place on his lips and softly shakes his head as he starts typing a response, but a new text from Yuri has him erasing it to type something completely different.

Yura: oh fuck Yakov sw me

Yura: gotta run

Yura: love u babe

You: If you don’t survive I’ll tell your parents you loved them dearly too.

He doesn’t get any text back from him, no “fuck u” or “forget it i dont love u anymore”, but he knows —almost four years of knowing Yuri have given him the right to use that word— that he made him smile with that sentence, or at least gave him the want to smile, whether Yuri repressed it in order to scorn at Yakov or not.

Otabek leaves his phone with the rest of his things, stands and skates back to the center of the rink for a little more practice before calling it a day, knowing that he probably won’t get another text until Yuri leaves his rink in two more hours.

Four hours later, though, he’s still waiting and already starting to get a little antsy. It’s not like Yuri to do this, he usually texts him right the moment he steps out of the rink for the final time that day and they keep talking until Otabek has to go to sleep. Sometimes they both go to bed at the same time just to feel closer. Today will be different, or so it seems since he’s staying awake waiting for Yuri to text back, no matter how tired he’ll feel tomorrow. It’s not like he can’t just go to sleep and ask what happened tomorrow, but he has the feeling that Yuri’s absence isn’t caused by Viktor and Yuuri dragging him to their house for dinner, or by low battery. He said they were still having that night call, if only to say goodnight and nothing else, and Yuri would have told him if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it.

He sends yet another text and waits, already on his third cup of tea and watching a show on his laptop just to keep his mind active and distracted, though it’s not helping that much.

Finally, he sees the screen of his phone light up with Yuri’s ID picture and he almost causes his laptop to fall to the floor as he scrambles to pick up the device and slide the answer button.

“Yura?” he asks, hopeful and relieved. “Did something happen?”

His relief doesn’t last much. Rather, it comes crashing down when he hears not Yuri’s, but Mila’s voice.

“Uh,” she hesitates, “no, sorry. It’s me, Otabek.”

“Mila,” Otabek frowns, worry slowly filling his chest, “Why are you on Yuri’s phone?”

There’s a small pause, and Otabek swears he’s going to have a heart attack if Mila doesn’t speak soon.

“Well, you see,” she starts, obviously trying to find the right words to say whatever she has to say, but then she sighs, “Okay, so, don’t panic but Yuri had an accident.”

Don’t panic, she said. Hah. Funny.

“What?” he snaps immediately, sitting even more upright than before, “What happened? Is he-?”

“He’s fine,” she cuts him, trying to calm him down, “He fell a little while before finishing practice. Pretty badly, actually, hit his head and his ankle took some damage too. He was knocked unconscious and we took him to the hospital,” she explains. Otabek’s chest feels tight, but he doesn’t speak and won’t do so until she’s finished. “They bandaged his ankle and had to glue the cut on his forehead to keep it from bleeding. The doctors are double checking for a concussion. When he woke up he asked me to pick up his phone for him and call you on my way back.”

A small silence settles in and Otabek knows that Mila’s done talking, but he takes his time to breathe again before saying anything.

“... is he really okay?” is the first thing that leaves his mouth, and frankly the only thing that matters to him right now.

He can hear Mila’s smile in her voice when she speaks next.

“Yeah, I assure you, the kitten is fine,” she’s saying it so carefree that he tells himself he has to calm down and believe her. It’s just that the fact he’s not able to be with him right now weighs heavy on him, heavier than usually. “You can trust me. The first thing he did was curse because his ankle was swollen and it hurt. Then he turned to look around, panicked and asked what time it was,” Mila narrates, and Otabek can almost picture her leaning casually against the railings of the rink. So far what she’s saying does sound like Yuri, especially the cursing part. “He didn’t even ask what happened, he just wanted to know the time because he was supposed to call you tonight, right?” Otabek nods, then hums, “He was more worried about that than about himself. Even gave me the password to unlock his phone so I could call you.”

She’s obviously still smiling and Otabek doesn’t hear teasing or mischief in her voice, but just to be sure he has to say something important.

“I know it’s probably a golden opportunity, Mila, but please don’t--”

“I won’t pry around, I swear,” she interrupts him again, and his silence apparently says a lot because she’s speaking again soon enough, “I know how long-distance relationships work, you know. And no matter how hot you are or how much blackmail I could get out of this, there are things about my friends I don’t wanna see,” she explains, and even if she’s being extremely understanding of the situation Otabek can feel the heat rising on his cheeks. “I’m not that evil.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” he clears his throat and focuses once more on the important topic, “So, you’re taking Yuri’s phone to him now?”

“Yup. But it’ll take a while until I get there and they let him go, so Yuri said you don’t need to keep awake. It’s pretty late there, isn’t it?”

Otabek looks at the time. 12:57 am.

“I’ll be awake. Tell him to call me as soon as he can, please.”

Mila laughs.

“Will do,” she says, and Otabek is prepared to hang up when her voice comes again through the line, this time softer, "Oh, and Otabek?” he answers with a hum. “He loves you.”

That takes him by surprise.

“He said that?” it’s pretty unrealistic to believe Yuri would tell her to say that to him, and if he did then Otabek knows there’s a good reason to stay awake. Yuri wouldn’t send someone to tell him that if he was in his right mind.

“No,” comes the reply. Otabek arches an eyebrow, confused, “but I know. You can tell a lot with a look at his eyes. I thought I’d tell you.”

“Oh,” Otabek eloquently says.

“You two are really lucky,” Mila almost whispers. Otabek knows he’s lucky, but he doesn’t have time to say so, “Well, I’ll tell him to call you! Bye~” she chants, and then the conversation is over.

Otabek makes sure to stay awake until he gets Yuri’s call, and by the time he plops on his bed and closes his eyes to finally sleep it’s almost three am.

He hates himself in the morning.

• •

A bored Yuri usually means an angry Yuri, and bored is all Yuri has been during the past three days. He’s forced to stay in bed until his ankle heals completely, and he’s never been good at staying still for long periods of time, unless it’s for a very good reason —like, lets say, Otabek’s there hugging him— but he’s not as stupid as to go try a jump combo and end up fucking up his ankle even worse, so he’s stuck there just kind of complaining, catching up with shows and sending multiple angry texts to his boyfriend.

Today being Sunday, Otabek’s proposed to have an all-day call, Yuri almost jumping at the prospect of having something else than angry-texting, watching some show, reading and sleeping to pass the time. They’re currently just texting, though, as Otabek was having lunch with his family and is just preparing to go back home in a few minutes.

Otabek’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he discreetly takes it out to look at the newest message while his mother and aunt are immersed in their own conversation. His little sister, ever watchful, catches him in fraganti , but just quietly smiles when he puts a finger over his lips.

Yura: im soooo bored bekaaa. how much till u get home?

He looks around to ensure no one’s looking and types a quick reply. It’s not like his family would say anything, he actually told them about the situation while they were eating, but he still doesn’t want to be disrespectful.

You: I have to do the dishes and stop by the coffee shop before getting home, so maybe an hour.

Immediately after he presses ‘send’, he looks up to find his sister staring at him with her big, dark eyes.

“Is Yuri okay?” she asks, and though she’s not a little girl anymore he still sees her as such.

“Don’t worry, he’s just bored. He’s not good at staying still for long,” he explains, but doesn’t bother to pocket his phone again as he knows he’ll be getting a new message soon.

“So you’ve said,” she puts her hands over her lap and her eyes fly up to the ceiling and then to the side, “Tell him I say hi?”

Otabek’s phone buzzes twice in his hand, and he smiles.

“Of course,” he tells her, and then looks down to read.

Yura: another hour ugh im gonna die

Yura: :(

Smilies, huh? That’s unusual.

You: I know, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be there soon. Oh, Aigerim says hi. She’s worried about you.

Aigerim, currently on her chair and balancing her legs, leans towards him as if expecting a reply from Yuri. She admired him for some time before Otabek became his friend, still admires him and wants him to like her so she tends to be extra cute and polite around him the few times they can actually meet.

Otabek puts his phone up and snaps a quick shot of the girl, quick enough that she doesn’t manage to cover her face with her forearms in time.

“Brother!” she complains, but Otabek’s already sending the picture to Yuri, and the reply is instantaneous.

Yura: that cute brat

Yura: tell her i say hi too

Yura: also that i’ll reward her if she helps me get you home quicker

Otabek sighs and shakes his head with a small, fond smile.

“Did he say something?” his sister asks, leaning over the table again.

“He says hi too,” he looks down at his phone again and shakes his head once more, “and he’s trying to bribe you into helping him. He wants me to go home faster.”

Aigerim’s attention is piqued at that.

“What does he have to offer?” she asks, leaning sideways towards him and eyeing his phone with interest. Otabek knows both their mother and aunt are watching them amusedly.

He looks at his phone again and hands it to her.

“Here, you talk to him,” the device slides over the wooden table and he stands up, “I’ll go wash the dishes meanwhile.”

Aigerim smiles, somewhere between excitement and a smirk, and eagerly takes the phone to start texting.

Two minutes later a head of braided black hair enters Otabek’s side vision, and suddenly his sister’s bumping him with her hip.

“Yuri and I came to an agreement,” she says in a businesswoman voice, rolling up the sleeves of her dress, “I’m doing the dishes now.”

Otabek smiles and leans down to take her face between his hands and give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey,” she tries to complain like the rebellious teenager she’s supposed to be, but the smile gives her away. “Go, your boyfriend started almost moping when I left him alone.”

The fact that Otabek arrives home in around half an hour is entirely thanks to his sister, and a little bit thanks to the fact the coffee shop is almost empty when he stops by.

Yura: i love your sister

Yura: also dont tell her i was coming for her 15 birthday anyway

• •

By the fifth day, Yuri’s boredom has reached unsuspected levels, and with boredom —once you’re past the anger phase— comes Yuri’s imaginative problem solving. He can get quite creative on what to do with his time.

Like, say, sending Otabek dirty texts while he’s at practice.

Otabek nervously eyes the blinking green light that indicates there’s a text waiting to be read, but he resists the temptation of opening it. Last one was a very compromising picture of Yuri and no, despite what the less than pure part of his mind says, reading those things out in public is a bad, bad idea.

His attention, of course, plummets to the floor and then a little more with every blink of the bright light dot. He suffers through it with steel determination… well, no, not really. Every now and then he can’t help but open the accumulated messages and read them one after the other, all the while trying to not get too flustered. And it’s obvious the only thing Yuri needs to keep going is the tick that gives away that Otabek is reading. Either way, it’s been five hours and he can’t take it anymore. The moment he finishes practice is the moment he finally replies before hastily taking off his skates and replacing them for shoes.

You: I’m going home.

He can practically see Yuri’s smirking.

Yura: ill be waiting

Otabek can say, with all honesty, that this was his fastest ride home.

He’s not even done climbing the stairs to his apartment and he’s already dialing Yuri’s number. He picks up right after the second tone.

“Hey, Beka,” he sounds slightly out of breath, and by what he’s supposedly been doing all this while it doesn’t surprise him. “Are you home?”

Otabek hastily fishes his keys out of his pocket and practically jumps the last steps.

“Just getting there,” he says, huffing. He just went up three sets of stairs in less than a minute.

“Already that worked up?” Yuri’s smile is painfully obvious in his voice, but he isn’t exactly trying to hide it.

“Would it be that surprising?” Otabek sticks the key in and opens the door, shutting it behind him, “I just endured the longest teasing ever.”

Yuri clicks his tongue.

“Could have been worse,” he’s clearly amused by the situation, knowing right now Otabek is nearing his limit.

Otabek doesn’t know how it could be worse, but he’s not going to challenge Yuri.

“Yura,” he breathes.

“You want me that bad?” the blond teases again.

“You’re lucky you’re not here,” is his response. He’ll leave the rest to Yuri’s imagination.

Yuri clicks his tongue again and Otabek hears fabric rustling, and he knows the blond is turning. For what he’s been telling and showing him, he’s on his bed, only the sheets covering his naked body.

“I’d rather be with you,” he says, and the truth is Otabek would also love to have him here. “I don’t mind if you break me. I even want it,” he confesses without a trace of shame, and Otabek snaps.

It’s been at least a month since they did this together, and now that they have the opportunity they’re going to take it and make it count.

The next minutes are filled with teasing, names whispered with want and suggestions that could make Christophe Giacometti blush. They can get pretty specific when the moment allows it, and they enjoy teasing each other until one of them ends up submitting and lets himself be guided through it. Hands caress their own bodies like they’d want the other to touch them, heels dig into the mattress and backs arch against sheets and pillows, and between parted lips escape hot gasps and the most sinful pleas.

They end up panting, covered in sweat but smiling, whispering ‘I love you’s’ into the sudden quietness of the line.

• •

Yuri’s time of obligatory rest is finally coming to an end in two days, and the boy is impatient to say the least, practically bouncing. All he’s been allowed to do during a whole week is stretching, banned from anything that could put strain on his ankle so it would be able to heal quicker and better, and for someone used to move practically all day every day it can be maddening to be bedridden for more than twenty-four hours. The cut on his forehead has healed too, though it’ll probably leave a small scar, and Otabek’s grateful it was just a bad fall with minor injuries and nothing more serious.

Otabek’s at the rink, as always, and he finds it strange that he hasn’t been getting text after text from an impatient and angry-because-I’m-bored Yuri, but he guesses he must be sleeping or reading or doing something else, finally taking pity on him and deciding to not distract him so much during his practice. It’s the least he should do, Otabek thinks, after the merciless teasing he was subjected to not more than two days ago.

The infamous green light is blinking when he goes to check his phone during his break, and he smiles against his water bottle before tilting it along with his head to take a sip. Then he opens the message. A picture. With a soft tap over it, it expands to occupy all the screen and the discreet smile comes back to his lips.

“the hag bought this for me so i will ‘stop sulking'", it reads. Above the caption are Mila and Yuri holding two small cups filled with ice cream, between them the pot containing the treat. He recognizes it, Mila’s homemade ice cream. She started making it herself when she grew tired of not being able to eat one of her favorite desserts because of the high sugar content, and sometimes she gifts her rinkmates with it. Otabek can see Yuri’s cup filled with mint ice cream, probably his favorite, and he suddenly craves for some. Mila makes a delicious strawberry and plum ice cream.

Otabek types a quick response and fills his mouth with water just to have something fresh to swallow.

You: Tell Mila I need to know her recipe.

• •

The first day Yuri’s back on the ice, they have a night call so he can tell Otabek about it. It ends up being a full hour of complaining about how he forgot some steps of his program and how people were eyeing him cautiously, ready to assist him if he fell again after the same jump that had sent him to the hospital a little more than a week ago. Once he complained to his heart’s content they move on to talk about their programs, the strong points and the parts they’d rather change.

The second day they talk almost exclusively about how Yuri’s muscle memory helped him a lot, because after a little practice he was able to perform just as well as he was doing before the fall, and how he finally nailed that fucking jump. He says when he perfects it he’ll ask someone to record it so Otabek can see.

The third day the talk deviates widely from skating to the package that was waiting at Otabek’s door when he came home a couple of minutes before.

“Come on, open it,” they are on videocall, so Otabek can see Yuri is sitting on his bed, cross-legged as usual and balancing impatiently, “I didn’t pay for the express shipping so you could take a week to just stare at the box.”

“We’re meeting in three weeks, you could have waited until then,” Otabek says as he watches Yuri bounce.

“I didn’t want to. Come on,” he insists. Otabek guesses he’s waited enough and rips the package open, unboxing the item.

His eyes go wide in surprise. He wasn’t expecting this.

“... you made this?” lifting his face to direct his incredulous look at his boyfriend, he asks the first thing that comes to his mind. It definitely looks handmade, and Yuri wouldn’t purchase something like this to give to him, so he’s probably right. Still, he had to ask.

“Yeah,” the blond’s smile is blinding, he’s proud of his work, and there’s reason to be.

Otabek finally picks the scarf from the box and lifts it. It smells like Yuri, like his sheets the day right after he changes them, the unique scent of his skin mixed with laundry soap.

“You’re really good,” he muses, impressed by his lover’s skill. He was told, months ago, that Yuri had learned how to knit when he was younger in hopes that would teach him to be more patient. It hadn’t, and he had stopped for years but Otabek had jokingly asked him to knit him something and Yuri had said yes. And here it is, the result of his work, a tight-knit, soft, dark green and white woolen scarf.

“Thanks,” he pushes a strand of blond hair behind his ear and tilts his head slightly. “I needed some practice before I got it right, but I had plenty of time during the week I was banned from the rink. So yeah, I wanted to give it to you now.”

“It’s really soft,” Otabek rubs his thumbs over it and then brings it to his face, rubs it on his cheek and kisses it, “Thank you.”

“Shut up, it was nothing,” Yuri waves his hand in a dismissive way, looking to the side. Otabek knows he’s embarrassed, most likely because of the kiss. He did that on purpose.

“I’ll go take a shower, I’ll be back soon,” he announces, suddenly very aware of the fact that he got out of practice a while ago and still hasn’t showered.

He doesn’t end the videocall, by now they’re too used to have it on while they walk around the house doing things, at least to feel the presence of the other. When he comes back a couple of minutes later, Yuri is very concentrated on painting his nails, back arched forward so he can easily reach his toes..

“I’m back,” he announces, proceeding to pick some clothes and then change, already getting ready for bed. Yuri stares at him for a little while and then goes back to work.

“You didn’t take long,” he mentions, focused on the small nails he’s painting. Otabek sometimes does it for him, though he’s not that good at keeping the nail polish over the actual nail.

“I have really short hair, Yura,” he notes while pulling up his pants, “You’re used to longer showers because your hair reaches your shoulder blades.”

“Point,” Yuri answers, stretching his foot to take a good look at it.

Otabek sits in front of the camera again and, for a moment, he’s just content with watching Yuri assess his work and then move on to the next nail.

“It’s been awhile since I last saw you doing that,” his voice is soft, so as to not disturb the quiet peace that has settled between them.

“That’s probably because I haven’t been doing my nails lately. It’s been like five months,” he finally looks up to look him in the eye, “Next time I can paint yours, too. You’d look great with golden nail polish,” the smirk on his lips is devilish, he’s probably joking, but Otabek would let him paint his nails if he asked.

“So you’re painting your nails gold?” he asks in return. The video isn’t that great and it’s not like the camera is zooming right on Yuri’s nails, so he can’t really tell which color he’s using. Suddenly, he remembers, “Didn’t I buy you a golden nail polish during summer?”

Yuri almost drops the brush and ends up staining his hand.

“Fuck!” he curses, scrambling to avoid the nail polish to fall all over his bed, “Beka!” he complains. Otabek just arches an eyebrow with an amused look on his face. “... fine, yes, it’s the one you bought for me. Happy?”

He smiles warmly.

“Actually yes, very much so.”

• •

Yuri’s impatient. There’s only one day left for them to meet, and he needs to talk to his boyfriend or the excitement is going to kill him. So, he does what seems logical and videocalls Otabek the moment he comes back from practice, escaping Lilia with the help of his ever loyal cat, who instantly comes to greet them upon hearing the door open and starts rubbing between her legs.

He was pretty surprised a couple of years ago, when Lilia saw Chopa for the first time and leaned down to pet her. Nowadays, it’s not unusual to walk into the living room to find Chopa resting on Lilia’s lap, probably the only moment Lilia allows her clothes to be less than perfect, with Chopa’s light caramel, white and black fur sticking to it.

Otabek picks up after a couple of tones and Yuri’s eyes go wide.

“Sorry Yura, I’m showering,” he’s holding the phone away from him so the water doesn’t reach it. Yuri wonders why did he pick up at all, he could have just called back when he stepped out of the shower, but he’s actually glad he did. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” his eyes trail over his boyfriend’s face, his black hair damp and brushed backwards, the droplets of water sliding down his naked chest. “Now, if you would just please turn the phone a little downwards…” he trails off, eyes glued to the lowest part of Otabek’s body the screen allows him to see.

Otabek just laughs that quiet laugh of his.

“Just give me five minutes and I’ll call you back”, he promises. Yuri purses his lips for a second.

“You better be naked and wet when you do or you’re not getting that birthday lap dance we were talking about”.

• •

You: getting on the plane!

Beka: I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.

You: u better be

You: i still dont know how to get to ur house on my own

Beka: Aigerim is almost jumping. She’s really excited you’re coming for her fifteen birthday party.

You: wouldnt miss it. you haven’t told her she didn’t need to do me any favor to get me to come, right?

You: because she will make me pay if she finds out

Beka: I haven’t said a thing, I swear.

You: good boy

You: gotta turn this shit off. see u soon

Beka: Have a nice flight, Yura. I love you.

• •

He makes a run for it and latches onto Otabek the moment he sees him, suitcase all but forgotten at the point where he started his race towards his boyfriend. Someone could take his damn things, he doesn’t care, he’ll buy new clothes later but he has to exploit every minute they have together, starting right now.

“Beka!” he exclaims, squeezing him between his arms and legs wrapped around him. He presses his head to the curve of his neck, where he meets soft, dark green yarn. Oh, how he’s missed his scent.

“Yura,” Otabek says in turn, less excited not because he isn’t as thrilled to see him but because he’s occupied trying to regain balance. “Yura, you’re here,” he tightens his arms around Yuri’s waist and under his thighs, pressing him against himself as much as he can, feeling his warmth and squeezing him with his fingers just to feel his body like he’s been wanting to for four months. “I missed you,” he murmurs over the skin of his neck, and of course he’d be the one to say it.

Yuri’s smile makes his face feel like the muscles of his cheeks are going to get cramped any minute. He can’t resist but to lean backwards just enough to take Otabek’s face in his hands and kiss him. It’s hasty and clumsy, like all of their first kisses, their teeth clash because they’re smiling too much and it causes them to look into each other’s eyes and laugh before trying again. This time their lips meet and mold seamlessly against each other. They’ve learned to not make the kisses too long when they’ve just met and are in public because they might not be able to stop, but that doesn’t stop them from letting the touch linger a little more than necessary.

When they part, they’re still smiling.

Yuri untangles his legs from around Otabek’s waist and he guides him down until his feet are touching the shiny floor of the airport.

“You’ve grown,” he notes, hand reaching to caress Yuri’s cheek. He can’t believe he’s finally in front of him, Yuri Plisetsky in the flesh, full resolution.

“Told ya,” he grins, head tilting a little to the side, “Maybe I’ll grow another inch and finally reach you.”

“Maybe,” Otabek murmurs, busying himself with letting his eyes wander over Yuri’s features, sharpened with age but still young-looking and incredibly beautiful, but a little obscured by the hood of his black hoodie.

The fact that he’s wearing his hood isn’t strange, he usually wears it no matter where he is, but something looks off and Otabek can’t accurately pinpoint what, until he realizes. He sees in Yuri’s eyes the exact moment he notices that Otabek knows. The blond stays still, a sly smile stretching on his lips, and lets him pull the hood down. Otabek’s eyes go wide.

“Surprise,” his grin says much more than words could ever begin to convey, as he lets Otabek’s brown eyes travel along his exposed jawline, his neck, his ears, all free from the golden locks of hair that were covering them the last time they saw each other.

Yuri’s hair is shorter than Otabek’s ever seen it. There’s still this bang that covers his right eye more often than not, but now there are strands that reach no further than Yuri’s ears, and only a couple extend long enough to barely brush the base of his neck. It’s new and refreshing and he looks so good , it suits him so well that Otabek thinks he may have just fallen in love all over again.

He has to look to the side, silently covering his lips with the back of his index finger.

Yuri’s grin is wider than ever.

“You like it”, he states. Judging by the way he’s been grinning like mad he most probably knew it even before Otabek saw him, but getting confirmation is good and he appreciates it.

“I always like you,” Otabek responds noncommittally. He never knew how much he needed short-haired Yuri until he saw it, and now he can’t get enough of it. His hands itch with the want to touch the short golden strands, and he promises to himself he’ll indulge once they get to his apartment.

There’s a moment when the only thing they do is look into each other’s eyes and smile, and then Yuri’s eyes and expression soften.

“I’m here,” he says, and Otabek barely catches it over all the chatting and the announcements made through the speakers of Almaty International Airport.

“Welcome home, Yura,” he takes his hand on his own and tugs, not needing anything else to have Yuri follow him. They pick up Yuri’s long forgotten suitcase and start walking together towards the exit.

"Come on,” he says, picking up the pace, “I’m starving and I really want to test that new mattress you were bragging about”.

Did anyone get the movie they were watching was The Bucket List? One of the characters writes “Kiss the most beautiful girl in the world” on the list, and I thought sappy Otabek would take advantage of that.

Also, Yuri’s cat name (Chopa) was taken from Yulia Lipnitskaya’s cat.

Insp for short-haired Yuri can be found in this post (first pic), with the credit to the author.

Oh and please please please, you have to listen to this audio of Yuri missing Otabek and leaving a voicemail for him, made by the wonderful, the talented, the one and only @yuratchka-speaks. When I first listened to it I felt like wow, this really complements my fic, because you’ve seen how my version of Yuri gets when he’s apart from his bf. So yeah, I had to link it here. The most precious voicemail you'll ever hear.

My favorite scene was probably the cooking-together-through-Skype, I'm a total sucker for domestic stuff. Also Chopa being a little shit and Yuri painting his nails. I loved writing this whole fic.

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