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Just a Little Prick

Chapter Text

As he buckled himself into the passenger seat of his friend’s Chevrolet Camaro, Otabek Altin worried that he was too kind.

“I’m getting a tattoo,” JJ had announced that morning. “But my girlfriend won’t go with me,” he mourned. “Will you come with me?”

See, JJ worked at the same club that Otabek held frequent DJ spots. He was known for being ‘kind of a massive dick,’ and had managed to ostracize himself from most of the waitresses, and even most of his fellow bartenders. Otabek, unfortunately, was too polite to, in better words, tell him to go fuck off.

Even though he’d stolen his haircut.

So when JJ came at him with a pout and sad eyes, Otabek found himself between a rock and a hard place. Sure, JJ was insufferable, but Otabek had always held a soft spot for stray dogs. He hoped that he was earning karma points with some kind of deity. He wasn’t even going to think about the reason for the forced JJ time. Who needed an escort to the tattoo parlor? What was he there for?

He realized as the pair pulled up to JJ’s choice of tattoo shop, that he was there to be a hand-holder.


Ever full of confidence, JJ launched out of the vehicle and beelined toward the door. Lowkey embarrassed to be associated with him, Otabek meandered after him, taking his time, checking out the shops on either side of the strip mall. He paused as he opened the door, realizing by the decal on the door that the place was called ‘eros + agape body arts.’ That hadn’t been what he had been expecting.

“Welcome!” The counter boy greeted them enthusiastically, giving a little wave. “I’m Phichit! What can I help you with?”

JJ approached the counter boldly, placing his hands on the glass jewelry case. “I have an appointment with Yuri. Name’s JJ.”

The dark-haired boy, Phichit, clicked around on the computer before nodding. “Okay! And looks like we got your, er, design in the email with your consent forms. Let me go ahead and just print out that stencil for him and copy yor ID. Have a seat!”

As they settled down on the plush leather couch, JJ turned to his captive audience with excitement. “Man, this is the place if you want a tattoo. Nobody else is even close.” He patted his knees to give himself an outlet for his energy.

Otabek hummed. The place looked well put-together. He’d passed it on his way to work sometimes, but never had any reason to give it a second thought. The name was interesting, and it looked busy, but that was about it. The interior was lavishly decorated, though something in Otabek’s mind equated the style to that of a Victorian brothel. It must have been the merlot and cream paint job and ornate mahogany doors.

While they waited, Otabek found himself bored of browsing his phone, and stood up to stretch his legs. A portfolio book sat invitingly on top of the jewelry counter. Otabek picked it up and brought it back to the couch, flipping through with mild interest.

On the cover was a picture of, he assumed, the staff. There was a silver-haired man draping himself over a younger looking male of Asian descent. The counter boy, Phichit, waved enthusiastically at the camera, while a young-looking blonde… woman.. looked like she would rather be anywhere else.

The first artist’s name was Victor. The first page featured a short biography, which Otabek didn’t bother to read, and a picture of the silver-haired man wiping ink off of a tattoo in progress. As he flipped through, Otabek admired the lavish detail in Victor’s work. It was exquisite, but entirely too much for his own taste.

The second artist’s name was Yuuri. Was that who would have the… pleasure.. Of spending time with JJ? He was happy-looking, and his style seemed a lot more elegant and minimalistic than Victor’s. He featured a lot of lettering, a lot of crisp, clean lines.

The next portfolio featured Yurio, who Otabek had previously mistaken as female. The picture was not flattering, a scowl of annoyance, green eyes glaring daggers at the cameraman, most of his face hidden by a surgical mask. To Otabek, who hadn’t seen tattoos past the occasional butterfly, tribal armband, or occasional generic sleeve or quote, he didn’t realize what could be done with ink on skin. Yurio’s style was New School and vibrant, with bold use of color.

“I didn’t realize you could make tattoos look like watercolor,” he thought out loud. Phichit grinned.

“Yeah, our Yurio is good at that kind of thing.”

Much to his surprise, he realized as he kept flipping that Phichit wasn’t just a receptionist, but was the shop’s body piercer. He flipped through a couple of nostril and intricate ear piercings before slamming the book shut to avoid letting JJ see the pair of breasts that Phichit had adorned.

He didn’t need to be having an even weirder moment with JJ than he already was. As he stood to put the book back, he heard a door creak open, and the telltale sound of heels on the hardwood floor.

The client came out first, a happy young woman with red hair and an even redder rose wrapped in saran wrap on her bicep. “Thank you again, Yurio~!” she cooed.

“Try not to pick at this one, huh, Mila?” came the irritated reply. “At least, don’t complain about loss of color if you do. And if you do lose color, lie about who did the ink.”

From one of the private procedure rooms came the most beautiful creature Otabek Altin had ever laid eyes on. He was blonde and tall, high-heeled black boots only adding to his height. That picture in the book must have been old-- that was certainly Yurio, but he looked much different. He had a dancer’s body, with a long torso, legs that went on for miles, and ankles so thin that Otabek was willing to bet he could wrap his hands around them and his fingers would touch. His black skinny jeans were ripped and ink-stained. The tank top he wore was far too loose on him, littered with cuts in the fabric and graffiti-like text over the front of the garment. A red and black plaid button-up was literally falling off of him, leaving one shoulder bare.

Otabek tried his hardest not to stare as Yurio slipped a piece of paper to Phichit. Phichit took it and proceeded to process the girl’s payment.

Yurio pulled out his phone, and after a few taps of the screen, managed to shove it back into his impossibly tight back pocket.


Wait. Otabek looked at his ‘companion,’ who seemed just as confused.

Didn’t he have an appointment with Yuuri?

“Uh, you don’t look like Yuuri,” JJ pointed out.

A blonde brow rose in irritation. “My name is Yuri.”

“The book says--”

“The book can fuck itself. Do you want ink, or not?”

That shut JJ up. Yuri gave a smirk that said to Otabek, ‘that’s what I fucking thought.’ He turned on his heels and led the trio back to his room. It was cozy, featuring a leather reclining chair in the center, and a leopard printed rolling stool tucked in a corner for the time being. Otabek sat himself awkwardly on a plastic chair off to the side.

“You’re moral support?” Yurio-- Yuri-- teased lightly, picking up on Otabek’s obvious displacement. Otabek shrugged.

Yuri hummed, and opened the door in response to a brisk knock. Otabek could see Phichit’s hand as he handed Yuri what appeared to be a piece of paper. Yuri looked it over, brows scrunched. “This is your design?” He turned to JJ with a bewildered look before realizing that the man was already shirtless and reclining in the chair.

“Right here. Left pec,” he insisted. Yuri turned the stencil so that Otabek could see, too.

It was an ornate, over-the-top crown, with ‘JJ’ inside.

“Fuck me,” Otabek grumbled in second-hand embarrassment, burying his face in his hands.

“What? It’s cool,” JJ retorted.

“It’s your world, I just live in it,” Otabek sighed, leaning back and asking the gods for strength.

Yuri just shrugged and pulled his stool up to JJ’s side. He placed the stencil on the counter, washing his hands before grabbing skin cleaner and a razor. Since JJ had so kindly-- he guessed-- removed his shirt, he simply went to work cleaning the area and running the razor over the skin to rid it of any stray hairs that JJ might have missed during his monthly chest-waxing sessions.

From this angle, Otabek got his first real, good look at the artist. As fair as he was in body, he was even fairer in face. Blonde hair curled loosely just past his shoulders, thrown into a messy half-bun. His lips seemed to have frozen into a pout, his nose upturned and decorated with an ornate gold stud. Though his features were sharp and his mouth looked capable of spitting venom, it was his eyes that sent a chill down Otabek’s spine.

Those were the eyes of a soldier.

He’d been so engrossed in the way JJ’s artist looked that he hadn’t noticed as he got up to grab a bottle of something called ‘Stencil Stuff’ and the paper containing the atrocious, yet extremely expected design. JJ hissed as Yuri squirted some of the liquid onto his chest.

“Cold!” he whined.

“Baby,” Yuri teased, carefully placing the stencil face-down on the man’s pectoral muscle. “Go look at in the mirror,” he waved, lifting the paper. JJ jumped up and looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the door.

“Otabek. This looks so badass!” he gushed. Otabek managed to tear his eyes off of Yuri long enough to.. Er, admire JJ’s chest.

“You still have to get it tattooed on. It won’t be badass until then.”

‘Otabek,’ Yuri mouthed to himself, as if trying to place the origin of the name.

JJ let out a ‘pfft’ and waved him off. He knew that. Duh. Of course he did. He went back to the chair and sat down while Yuri washed up and retrieved a pair of gloves and what Otabek assumed to be tattoo machine parts from the autoclave in the corner. It took him just a moment to get set up, and in no time, he was snapping on gloves and covering most of his pretty face with a disposable mask.

Wiggling in his seat, the owner-to-be of a new tattoo looked at his artist. “So, buddy, how much is this really going to hurt?”

“Less than a golf driver to the face, I think.”

JJ gulped.

“Last chance to back out.”

“As if! King JJ doesn’t quit-- OW!” he cried.

Yuri tugged the mask away from his mouth. “I just turned the machine on!”

“Yeah, well, it startled me.”

‘Some king,’ Yuri thought to himself as he cracked his neck, getting back into position. If Victor hadn’t just talked to him about being a dick to customers, he would have probably vocalized his thoughts. That poor guy’s friend.

The process started and Otabek could see JJ’s jaw clench as he turned away from the artist currently stabbing him repeatedly with a needle. In his defense, he’d picked a hard spot. Some of the details on the crown would end up dangerously close to the collarbone. Otabek didn’t know much about tattoos, but he did know that bony areas would hurt more. It was only logical, there was less padding.. Though JJ would surely profess that he was roughly zero percent body fat.

It wasn’t going to be a long, drawn out process, Yuri was sure. It was a straightforward, lick-and-stick design. The client was your average frat boy who’d aged past being charming, and was just a big, douchey baby. He saw it all the time. But his friend, he was interesting. Not just because he was attractive-- though he certainly was cuter than his buddy-- but that name, that accent.. Maybe..

A ty govorish' po-Russki?” he muttered. If Otabek didn’t understand him, he could just say that he was mumbling to himself.


Yuri smirked. “I knew it. The accent, the name. I knew you were Russian.”

“Kazakh,” came the correction, a little less gentle than Otabek had meant. It was a long story, better found in a history book than a tattoo shop.

Yuri hummed. Still. They had something in common. If they wanted, they could slip into their native tongue without their little buddy being any wiser. So that was exactly what Yuri did.

“Is he your brother?” Yuri asked, Russian rolling naturally off of his tongue. “You look alike.”

“No,” Otabek rolled his eyes, cringing internally. “He’s my coworker. He didn’t have anyone else to come with him.” His own grasp of the Russian language was fine. He was fluent enough, but he preferred to speak Kazakh or English. However, he could see in the artist’s exposed eyes that speaking his native language was a comfort he didn’t often indulge in. Otabek wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Yuri snorted. “I wonder why.” He wheeled his stool closer to JJ’s head. “What do you do?”

“I’m a DJ,” Otabek explained. “He’s a bartender.”

A DJ, huh? Was there money in that? Yuri wanted to ask, but then remembered how pissed off he’d gotten when people asked him the same thing when he was an apprentice. Besides, Otabek seemed well-dressed. His jeans were well-fitting, his boots were real leather, as was the jacket he wore. The olive shirt under the jacket looked like that super soft material that Yuri had never been able to find for himself-- only on the chests of attractive, muscular men. Were those dog tags tucked into his shirt..?

Yuri Plisetsky saw, and Yuri Plisetsky wanted.

Too bad the shirtless man in his chair wasn’t likely to be perfectly fine with his tattoo artist crawling into his buddy’s lap. He seemed awfully straight. So did Otabek, if he was being honest, but that had never stopped Yuri from trying his hand in the past.

When Yuri was done and JJ was sufficiently close to tears, the artist took the time to clean off the area and slather on some ointment. He gave JJ sufficient time to take selfies and admire himself in the mirror before taping on some plastic wrap.

“Take the wrap off after four hours. Wash it with soap and water, then put some Aquaphor on it. Phichit will give you some,” he stated, removing his mask and gloves. “It’s not lube, so don’t lay it on thick.”

Otabek choked.

“Use the ointment for two or three days, then switch to mild lotion. It will peel. Some of the shit that comes off will be black. Don’t scrub, don’t pick, or I will tell you that you deserve every bit of lost ink.” Yuri crossed his arms. “No swimming, no hot tubs, no sun without sunblock. I don’t care if you forget every other inch of skin, but make sure that’s covered.” He gestured at the man’s chest. “Got it.”

JJ shifted from foot to foot. “Uh, yeah.”

Not convinced, Yuri handed over a pamphlet.

“Come in if you have questions. You can go to the counter. Someone should be there. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Otabek followed JJ, looking back over his shoulder to see Yuri throwing away his disposable equipment and throw some equipment into the autoclave.

Phichit wasn’t at the counter. The door to the piercing room was open, and Otabek could see him changing a girl’s earring.

Instead, Victor was taking a break by the jewelry case. “Hello!” he greeted jovially, smile bright and heart-shaped. “Did Yuri take good care of you?”

“Hell yeah! Look at this!” JJ yanked his shirt-- which Otabek had made sure to watch him put back on, knowing he wouldn’t be inclined to-- to the side.

“Oh! How.. unique,” Victor praised hesitantly, head cocked to the side.

Yuri emerged from the room a moment later, a few cards in his hand. One was handed to Victor, another to JJ. The one in Victor’s hand was pricing information and which products he recommended for aftercare, and the one given to JJ was just his business card…

..And it was covered in tigers.

Victor rung JJ up while Yuri took a second to stretch. Otabek tried to keep his gaze away as the artist brought his hands over his head and gave an involuntary whimper as he rose to his toes, already-revealing top riding up his stomach, revealing a few.. Were those snowflakes?

Otabek wanted to see just how far those snowflakes went, but realized that his ride was halfway out the door.

“Nice to meet you,” he bid a quick farewell in Russian.

He barely felt it as the last card in Yuri’s hand was slipped into his back pocket, and was certainly unable to mentally process the action, let alone respond.

As Yuri rubbed his hands together, making his way back to his room, Victor whistled.

“I saw that,” Victor teased in sing-song.

“You didn’t see shit, old man.”

Victor watched the two men get into their car. “Mmhm. That certainly wasn’t just an excuse to touch a butt.”

Yuri huffed. “I’m going to go clean my tubes,” he yelled, heels heavy on the floor as he stormed back to his workspace.


Otabek didn’t have the courage to reach into his back pocket until after JJ had dropped him off. Hell, it wasn’t until he was getting ready to step out of his jeans for bed did he slip his hand down his backside and retrieve the card. It was just a business card, just like the one he’d given JJ. But this one had a phone number written in Sharpie, as well as a sentence scribbled in Cyrillic.

‘You’ve seen what my hands can do. Let’s see yours.’


Otabek placed the card beside where he’d left his phone to charge. He would text him. Everything in his logical mind was telling him not to, but that teasing glimpse of snowflakes on those thin hips had been burned into his memory. He wanted to see how far they went, wanted to see them disappear under his hands, under his lips.

He had something to take care of before he did something he regretted.

First, he tried willing away the tent in his boxers, discarding the garment and replacing them with soft lounge pants. He tried brushing his teeth-- after all, how could someone find arousal in tooth-brushing? No use.

Finally, he fell onto his bed, shirtless and still obsessing over those goddamn hips. ‘Never text horny,’ as his friend, Chris would always say. So he finally gave in, reaching into his sleeping pants and giving himself a few tugs.

Embarrassingly, that was all it took. He thrust into his hand only a couple of times, barely able to yank his pants down to avoid a laundry nightmare, spilling instead all over his bare abdomen and chest like an overexcited teenager.

Panting, Otabek wiped himself off with a tissue from the box on his nightstand. He was sure he missed a few drops on his chest, but couldn’t care less as he threw the used tissue in the general direction of the garbage can. His eyes felt heavy, soothed by the quick-but-intense orgasm he’d just indulged in. But before he went to sleep…

He yanked the charging cord out of his iPhone’s lightning port and grabbed the card. He typed in the number, pleased to see it turn blue as he began to type. It would curb his anxiety, being able to see if his message had been read.

O: is this yuri?

Almost instantly, the message was marked ‘read,’ and a grey box with three dots popped up on the bottom of the screen. Did he have no life?

Y: depends, is this otabek? [sly emoji]

O: it is.

Y: so, what do you think of my proposal?


Otabek swallowed.

O: Club Hurricane. I start at 9pm.

Y: i’ll be there.

Otabek stared at his phone. What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Me too?’ Duh. ‘Can’t wait’? Wasn’t that too forward?

Fuck it.

O: looking forward to it.

Y: i know you are. [wink emoji] сладких снов~

He managed to put his phone down before rolling into his pillow in embarrassment. He wasn’t going to survive until the next evening. There was no way.

Chapter Text

When he woke up that morning, Yuri found himself in the best mood he’d been in for weeks. The barista at the Starbucks next to the shop had messed up his order-- though not irreparably-- and he’d still smiled at the son of a bitch. He couldn’t help himself! He found himself inspired enough to even bust out some custom designs that he’d been asked to draw up.

“This is almost freaky,” Phichit muttered to Victor as they gathered around to watch Yuri draw on the floor of his work room. He had his back to them, hunched over a sketch pad, one pen in his mouth, another in his hand.

“Is he sick?” Yuuri wondered aloud, hiding a giggle behind his hand.

“Our Yurio is dying~,” Victor mourned, pulling Yuuri in close and fake-crying into his shirt. Victor’s personality was just as overdramatic as his artwork.

The trio had to duck as, without even looking, Yuri lobbed the pen in his hand in the general direction of their heads. Without missing a beat, he took the other out of his mouth and continued his sketch.

“Losers,” he muttered. “Don’t you all have people to stab?”

Yuuri cringed a little bit. “That’s a.. Pretty crude way to put it.”

“But accurate,” Phichit pointed out. Gasp. “So that’s why he likes it so much!”

“I’m using this pen,” Yuri warned. “Next is the shoe, and I’m wearing Doc Martens.”

The audience dispersed. It was still weird, seeing Yuri with so much drive. Normally, he worked on his sketches last-minute. They were always high quality, but if they were inspired.. Those were going to be some very happy clients.

Victor knew what this was all about, and honestly, he was glad to see Yuri with a little bit of a flame under his ass. He was a good kid, and he deserved to enjoy the crush he had on that Kazakh man from the day before. Because, no matter how big a game he talked, Yuri was just that-- a kid. Sure, if he was being technical, in the eyes of the law, he was an adult, but what nineteen, almost twenty year-old had their life all figured out? Yuri always tried so hard to be grown-up, to brush everything off, to be ‘cool.’ That wasn’t a way to live, in Victor’s eyes, and he hoped that going to see the guy he seemed so excited about would give him a chance to just relax and have some fun.

Because damn, did that boy need to get laid.


To say that Otabek was nervous would be an understatement. He was terrified. After all, he’d seen Yuri at his craft. He’d seen how talented he was, from the samples in the book to the final product on JJ’s chest-- which, while the design made his eye twitch, it was executed beautifully. Those who didn’t know JJ would compliment it, he was sure. Everyone else would just roll their eyes.

But what would Yuri think of him? Would Yuri think that his fingers were just as skilled on the mixer as his were with a tattoo gun? Would he think that he looked just as sexy in his headphones as Yuri did in a surgical mask and black rubber gloves?

One thing he did know was that he was going to spend most of his day working on this playlist.

Sure, he had a good reputation in the industry. He wouldn’t still be working at his age if he didn’t. Not that twenty-seven was old, but people were more likely to tolerate a toddler slapping his hands on a mixer and hoping to make something good than a grown man. He was expected to know what he was doing. And he did. But the simple fact that Yuri was going to be there had him anxious and doubting himself.

The vibration of his phone wasn’t helping anything.

Y: what should i wear?

Otabek groaned. What he wanted Yuri to wear, and what was socially acceptable for Yuri to wear were on complete opposite sides of the venn diagram. How forward could he be? He didn’t want to assume that this was a date. This was just Yuri coming to evaluate his talents. Though, if Yuri liked what he saw and what he heard, if he was lucky--

Stop. Don’t assume, Altin.

O: something you can dance in.
O: my last name is altin, by the way. if the bouncer gives you shit, drop my name.


Yuri started cleaning up the shop at seven. It was a little early, but not to the point where he’d lose any significant amount of money if a walk-in wandered by. He told Victor that he was going to the club where Otabek worked, and the silver-haired pain in the ass wouldn’t leave him alone all damn day.

“Otabek, huh? That’s a strong, handsome name,” he teased. “Ah, to be young again! What does he do?” he asked, hovering over Yuri’s shoulder as he restocked green soap and put some new boxes of gloves into his cabinet.

“He’s a DJ. Are you going to stop being weird now? Go be creepy with your husband, he loves that shit.”

“But I can bother Yuuri any time! This is special!” Victor gasped. “What will you wear?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Nothing. I’m walking into the club butt-ass naked.”

“Butt-ass,” Victor repeated, voice full of wonder and intrigue. He’d marvel over that beautiful turn of phrase later. “Well, it would get the point across.”

Yuri slammed the cabinet shut. “He said something danceable. So I’m wearing those Louboutin slip-ons with the leopard print and the spikes on the toe with the tightest pair of leather pants I can squeeze my perfect ass into, with that one tanktop with the sequins and the back cut out.” He had barely paused to breathe.

Phichit looked up from the counter. “....The slip-ons with the hoeing tank?” He tsked.

“What? They’re comfortable and fashionable as hell!”

“Not with that outfit! And you don’t wear Louboutins because they’re comfortable!” Phichit cried.

Yuri threw his hands in the air. “What do you suggest, then?”

“The Louboutin boots with the chain.”

“....You’re just jealous you don’t have toe-spike shoes.”

Phichit stared at Yuri, mouth opened, and did the universal gesture of ‘Are you going to do something about him?’

Yuuri poked his head out of his workroom. “Phichit’s right. I know the leopard ones are your favourite, but the boots would go better.

Victor leaned forward. “The toe spikes are for round two. Lock him in with the chain boots.”

Yuri looked at his coworkers one by one. “I hate all of you,” he stated, as if it was the very first time he’d ever said such a thing. “Fine. Fine . I’ll wear the boots. But if I walk, not limp out of this night, I’m blaming every single one of you.”

Phichit shook his head. “All I’m saying is that, if you’re going to break out the hoeing tank and the leather ass-pants, you can’t wear a sneaker.”

Yuri brushed them off and grabbed his keys from his work room. He trudged toward the door, only to be stopped by Victor.

“One last thing. Wear your hair neat. He’ll love tousling and messing it up.”

Yuri stopped to point at each of the sinners in the building. “You are all nasty.” He slammed the door shut, trudging off to his car and practically falling into the driver’s seat, muttering angry words in Russian, English, and the little bits of Japanese he’d picked up from Yuuri.

Phichit leaned on the counter and sighed. “I hope they get married…”


Yuri might have talked a big game at the shop, but who was walking out in the boots with the chain draped over the ankle, and had his hair straightened with a single braid keeping his bangs out of his face? Not that he would ever admit that Victor and Phichit were right-- the spiky toe shoes just didn’t go with the outfit, and he just happened to want to wear his hair straight and tidy.

Besides, what was he getting all worked up over, anywho? Otabek was clearly a good person. After all, he’d supported that douche through his first tattoo. He was a good person. One with patience. And good people with patience didn’t have rough, hot sex with men they barely knew.

He knew better than to bring his car. Sure, the bouncer at the door would cover his hands in black X marks, hoping to ban him from the bar. It wasn’t going to work. It never did. Yuri Plisetsky was a skilled underaged drinker. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted. So he slid out of the Uber with a stretch as he tried to tuck his phone into his back pocket.

...It wouldn’t fit.

He hadn’t thought that part through. Sure, he was a guy, and the pockets in his clothes were normally big enough to hold a week’s worth of groceries, but he had to sacrifice function for fashion’s sake.

If he got out of that night with his wallet and his phone still on his person, it would be a goddamn miracle.

It was 8:50 by the time Yuri made his way past the bouncer, who, predictably, had inked massive black Xs on each hand. It’d take weeks for the stains to lift from his pale skin. He sauntered into the club, hips swaying and stride exuding confidence as he made his way to the bar. He’d always heard the phrase ‘walk with murder on your mind,’ and Yuri had always found it to work for him. He smirked to himself as a larger, fuckboy-looking guy dove out of his way so that he could sit at the bar.


Despite his better instincts, Yuri turned, uninterested toward the voice.

“Hello, JJ,” he deadpanned. “Uh, just a rum and Coke, please.”

“No way, buddy! Can’t fool me,” he boasted, gesturing at the black marks on Yuri’s hand. Of course JJ would be the one bartender in the city to give a shit.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Just a Coke, then.”

“One Coke for the baby, coming right up!”

“You cried during your tattoo.”

JJ paled and turned, wordlessly placing the glass of plain, boring Coke in front of the blonde at the bar, eyes full of that pleading, helpless ‘don’t tell the guys’ look. He’d even put a cherry in the glass.

Hm. Acceptable.

A girl squeezed between Yuri and the next nameless patron, ordering herself a Sex on the Beach. While JJ had his pretentious back turned, Yuri slipped her a wad of cash.

“Oh, sir? Can I also get a shot of Zaya?”

“Sure thing, pretty lady!” JJ poured a shot of rum before turning to make the more involved drink.

Before anybody could notice, Yuri tipped the shot into his Coke, mixing it lazily by dunking the cherry in a couple of times.

“Spasibo,” he threw toward the girl.

“Oh, bless you!” she responded, bowing her head and throwing cash onto the bar and hopping off with her mixed drink before Yuri had the chance to process what had just happened.

From where he sat, Yuri had a decent view of the stage. Otabek wasn’t up there yet, but a blonde-ish guy with pornesque facial hair was entertaining the crowd. Boring. He leaned his head on his hand, sipping lazily at his drink, staring off at the countless bottles of alcohol. He didn’t even notice the change in lighting, the fade of the music. It wasn’t until he heard Otabek’s deep, gravely voice that he turned toward the stage, lifting the straw right out of his drink, crushing the plastic between his teeth.

If he was being perfectly honest, Yuri had no idea what being a DJ entailed, other than looking hot as fuck on stage and playing music. He didn’t really know what to look for as far as talent went. What kind of talent could possibly be needed to play Top 40 in a room full of millennials?

Though, he had to give it to Otabek. He commanded that stage like nothing he’d ever seen before.

It was hot.

Yuri spun on his stool, holding his glass in his hands, green eyes wide with interest as he watched the man.. Twist knobs, flip switches. It sounded good, though Yuri was no musician. He liked to dance, though, and the beat reverberating through the floor and into his body made him want to do just that.

So he-- stupidly-- chugged the rest of his drink. He bit the fruit off of the cherry, leaving JJ an empty glass of ice and a singular red stem to clean up.

Though he felt like a dime-a-dozen nightclub goer at that point in time, Yuri was determined to make sure Otabek knew that he was there. He grabbed onto the nearest guy that he’d caught staring either at his ass or the open back of the top he wore-- either was acceptable-- and dragged him closer to the stage. The nameless, faceless man ran his hands up Yuri’s torso, but Yuri wasn’t paying attention to him. He kept his eyes on Otabek, never stilling his hips.

It might have been the influence of the alcohol, but the longer Yuri was on the floor, the more he could feel the music. It felt like sex, from the the slow, teasing build to the frantic drive toward the end of the mix. Frustration bottled up in Yuri as the music slowed.

“DROP THE BASS, ASSHOLE!” he screamed toward the stage.

Otabek identified the owner of the voice with a smirk, and did exactly as he was bid to do.

There it was. It was like the orgasm that Yuri had been clawing for. Not an actual orgasm, mind you-- he had finally gotten a look at the guy grinding on his ass, and he so wasn’t his type. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one to notice. Otabek was most definitely staring right at him, and was that jealousy in his eyes?


By the time Otabek switched off with another performer, Yuri was exhausted. He brushed his hair back into place with his fingers, trying to encourage the sweat dampening his roots to dry. He adjusted his shirt, which the handsy man had tangled to all hell. Said handsy man had tried really hard to take him home with him, an attempt that Yuri thwarted with an ‘I’m sorry, I’m much too sober for that,’ and flashing the X marks on his hands.

He returned to the bar, panting just a little bit, flushed like he’d just engaged in a satisfying fuck. JJ slid him an orange juice, which he convinced a nearby frat boy to dump a shot of vodka into. Hey, it was a good system, and he was going to stick with what worked.

His heart damn near stopped in his chest as he felt a large, calloused hand on his exposed back.


Yuri let out a breath. “Jesus, Otabek, that’s a good way to get yourself punched.”

Otabek chuckled, taking the free seat beside the blonde. “Sorry.” Pause. “Are you drinking juice?”

“What about it?” Yuri replied defensively, taking a sip through his straw.

Brown eyes narrowed in on the bold sharpie marks on those pale, beautiful hands. A chill ran up Otabek’s spine. Age hadn’t come up. Yuri was employed at a tattoo shop, and he quite clearly had tattoos, so he had been sure he was at least eighteen. The thought that Yuri could be under twenty-one had never even crossed his mind.

Yuri traced Otabek’s gaze back to his hands and rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m nineteen. I’m legal, just not enough to drink.”


God, he felt old.

“I’m.. twenty six,” Otabek replied dumbly, not knowing what else to say. Yuri chuckled.


“...What did you think of it?”

Yuri looked at his cup. “Uh, it’s.. Orange juice?”

“I mean the show.”

Oh! Duh. Yuri leaned his elbows on his knees. “It was sex. It was like the hottest fuck of your life.”

Otabek blinked. He wanted to ask what Yuri meant, but didn’t even get the chance before the subject was changed.

“It’s midnight. Are you off work now?”


“Can we take this to my place? It’s hard enough to hear myself think.” He brushed his hair behind his ear.

Another nod, though he hesitated. Yuri was being bold. Could he try to match..?

“Mine’s closer.”

Yuri’s grin could light up the club. “Fuck yeah. Let’s go!” He grabbed his phone and wobbled just a little as he stood. Otabek reached a hand out, stabilizing him with a hold on his shoulder.

“Yuri.. was there alcohol in that drink?” he asked. “...Did JJ really give you liquor?”

“Not on purpose.” Yuri winked, but his face dropped at Otabek’s disapproving glance. “What, you think I would have danced with that guy sober for as long as I did?” he rolled his eyes.

Otabek kept his hand on Yuri’s shoulder, keeping him steady with a supportive hand. “You looked good out there.”

Pfft. “Fifteen years of ballet doesn’t really translate well in that environment. I looked like a flailing moose.”

Otabek shrugged. “At least you were a sexy moose.”

Yuri paused. How could he keep such a straight face? It wasn’t until Otabek noticed the confusion on his face that he cracked a little smile, sliding his hand down to the small of Yuri’s back. The feeling of soft, bare skin under his fingers made him turn away, lest Yuri catch the blush on his cheeks.


“Hell yeah.”

Yuri had expected that the would stop off at McDonald’s or something. Instead, Otabek led him straight to his apartment. He even stepped back, opening the door and letting Yuri in first. Yuri plopped down on the floor by the door, taking the time to pry off his boots. Otabek kicked off the sleek black Air Jordans he had been wearing, and helped Yuri up from the floor.

“Quesadillas?” Otabek offered, headed in the direction of the kitchen. Yuri hummed, dragging a finger across Otabek’s shoulderblades.

“I can think of something tastier,” he purred.

Otabek swallowed thickly, allowing himself to be backed up against the wall. From his limited time with Yuri, he could tell that the boy wasn’t one to pussyfoot around. He got what he wanted. And what he wanted was a taste of the broad-shouldered man whose apartment he was standing barefoot in.

Yuri’s hands came to the navy blue shirt that the older man was wearing, and he grinned in satisfaction as he felt the fabric under his hands. Yes. It was that super soft guy t-shirt material. He stepped closer and buried his nose into it, allowing Otabek’s hands to roam down the back of his tank top.

“Bedroom,” Otabek insisted, holding Yuri’s waist tight. Yuri wrapped his arm around Otabek’s neck with a grin before turning, letting his ass graze the man’s crotch before he started down the hallway. Otabek almost forgot to follow, too busy staring at the curve of Yuri’s ass in those sinful leather pants. He finally caught up, and stepped over the threshold just in time for Yuri to take him by the shirt and push him down onto his Queen-sized bed. He landed with an ‘umph,’ scooting closer to the pillows while Yuri crawled on top of him.

Having had his share of casual sex, Otabek knew what he was getting into. But never before had he been so excited. Yuri was, by far, the most beautiful man he’d had in his bed. He slid his hands down Yuri’s backside before coming back up, reveling in the way the man’s skin felt under his fingertips. He took a moment, though, looking over his face and stroking those silky blonde locks.

“Can I kiss you?”

Yuri lowered his body, hands on Otabek’s shoulders. “Fuck yeah.”

They came together in a kiss that could tear apart the space-time continuum. Otabek growled into Yuri’s mouth, sucking on the blonde’s tongue and tugging needily at the hem of Yuri’s top, if it could be called such. Yuri broke the kiss with a bite to Otabek’s bottom lip, rising enough from where he sat in the older man’s lap to turn his back to him. Otabek’s brow furrowed as he caught sight of.. What was that under Yuri’s shirt? Yuri held his arms above his head, glancing back at his partner for the night.


Curious, Otabek slid the shirt up and off of Yuri’s back. He tossed the garment toward the door and held Yuri’s hips steady as his hand came up to rub over the ink between his shoulder blades.

It was the most beautiful, realistic tattoo of a tiger he had seen in his life. Hell, it was the most beautiful tattoo he’d seen, period. The amount of time needed to complete the piece was unimaginable, let alone the price. Yuri hissed as he felt his hair pushed aside and a kiss pressed to the tiger’s paw, open-mouthed and wet. He lolled his head back, allowing Otabek to kiss up his throat.

“A-ah,” he moaned, green eyes fluttering shut.

“Feels good?” Otabek purred into his ear, making Yuri shiver and his back arch. He turned with a snarl, dismounting the DJ’s lap and stalking up beside him on all fours. His fingers disappeared under Otabek’s shirt, prompting the man to discard it as quickly as he could. Otabek was clearly no stranger to the gym, Yuri realized, unable to resist pawing at his firm chest and abs. He laid beside him, letting Otabek roll in for a kiss while a Sharpie-stained hand inched closer and closer to the waistband of his jeans.

But as the beautiful boy beside him opened his fly and reached inside, he grabbed his wrist out of reflex.


“Huh?” But Yuri did as told. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong, when Otabek kissed him.

“Before we go any further.. You don’t have to do this. If.. for any reason.. You want to stop, or take it slower..  It’s okay.”

Yuri raised a brow. “I’m nineteen, not sixteen. This isn’t my first time. Not by a long shot.” With Otabek’s grip relaxing, he slid his palm over the bulge in his pants. “And I’m well aware that you’re packing heat,” he pointed out, gripping the outline of the shaft through his jeans.

Otabek let his head fall back with a groan. Yuri maneuvered into a better position, kissing down the dark line of thick hair under his partner’s navel. He sucked gently on the skin covering his hip as he worked at opening the stubborn jeans covering the cock of a more-than-promising size that he was more than excited to have a taste of.

Freeing the button with a triumphant ‘heh,’ he slid his hand inside, past the jeans and the boxers underneath. He held the dick firmly in his hand while Otabek helped, lifting his hips and pushing the garments to his knees.


Yuri paused, hand tight around Otabek’s member as his aroused brain tried to process the sight in front of him.



“And you’re--”

“I know.”


There was a lot to process in that moment. The cock in his hand was larger than most, but that had been something he’d braced for. It was thick and, if he was being honest, very attractive as far as penises went. Being in the States for so long had changed his expectations, though, and he hadn’t been prepared to see the loose foreskin covering the already-leaking head.

And he really wasn’t expecting the piercing.

Prince Albert . That was what Phichit had called that particular style. He was always talking about how pleasurable they were for the owner and their partner, but hadn’t seen one outside of the piercing room. Well, Yuri decided, as he gently coaxed the head of the thoroughly impressive cock in his hand out of the foreskin, that he was going to make sure he reported every single detail back to Phichit. Because that was what friends did.

“Does it.. Need special treatment?” he asked, thumbing at the bottom ball situated just where the glans met the shaft. The top ball rested at the slit, and had a silly little white jewel set inside.

“No,” Otabek breathed, rubbing Yuri’s arm in encouragement. “Just do what you’re doing, it feels-- nnh,” he groaned, head lolling as Yuri licked over the head of his cock.

Giving head was one of Yuri’s favourite things in the world. He liked being in that position of power. Not many saw it as such-- after all, he would have been the one on his knees-- but he knew that was the case. He was completely in control of Otabek’s pleasure. If he wanted him to come, he knew tricks to get him off faster. If he wanted him to fist the sheets and snarl in frustration, he knew how to tease.

“Mmm,” Yuri moaned, running a flat tongue across the head. He swirled it around, making sure to hold eye contact. That was making it so much hotter for Otabek, having that green-eyed beauty look up at him, cat-eye eyeliner blurred slightly by the formation of reflex tears as Otabek felt one of the balls of his piercing hit Yuri’s throat. He choked slightly but didn’t seem phased, and the vocalization sent electricity up Otabek’s spine.

Right when Yuri had started establishing a rhythm and Otabek felt his orgasm stirring in his belly, Yuri pulled off with a lewd lick to the tip. But before Otabek could voice his frustration, Yuri crawled up and kissed him.

“I want it inside me.”

Fuck yes.

Still dizzy from his abruptly abandoned orgasm, all Otabek was able to do was paw at the fly of his partner’s pants. Knowing he was going to need to take them off carefully to avoid ripping them, Yuri jumped off of the bed and opened his fly. He slid the garment down his legs, having to wiggle and hop most unsexily to force them off. Unsurprisingly, no underwear had accompanied the outfit. It wouldn’t have been physically possible. He moved to crawl back on top of Otabek, but went wide-eyed as Otabek grabbed him and switched their position.


“Shh,” Otabek purred, settling between Yuri’s easily parted legs. “I wanted to see these,”

He had been right. Dozens of little snowflakes ran down from Yuri’s hips, tapering off to his knees. Most were black, but a few cobalt blue ones found themselves livening up the piece. He thumbed over Yuri’s nipples as he admired them. He’d been obsessed with them since the night before, having seen a couple poking out from when Yuri had stretched.

“How are you so sexy?” Otabek grumbled.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Altin,” he teased, letting his hands fall above his head. “H-hey, what’re you--?”

Otabek raised Yuri’s leg and kissed his inner thigh. He worked his way up, kissing and nibbling at the skin littered in tattoos. “These are just as delicious as I thought they’d be,” he purred, teasing at his ribcage, gentle touches sending making him twitch in pleasure. He went up as far as Yuri’s nipples, giving each one a suck before working his way back down.

Yuri’s cock, while not absolutely pitiful, certainly wasn’t on the same level as Otabek’s. Therefore, it was much easier for Otabek to take into his mouth, lapping away the fluid that had gathered at the tip before holding the base and giving a few quick sucks. Yuri mewled in response, wiggling erotically on the bed. Otabek chuckled as he pulled off, responding to Yuri’s desperate gasps of “Hurry up and fuck me, you bastard.”

“There’s condoms and lube in the bottom drawer of the nightstand,” Otabek explained.

Yuri tried to reach them from where he lay, but it was proving to be just out of his reach. He rolled and managed to free himself from Otabek’s grasp, crawling closer to the nightstand on his hands and knees.

“Magnums?” Yuri scoffed. “I know you’re big, Altin, but are yo-- oooh ..” The teasing evaporated as, taking advantage of the change in position, Otabek’s tongue flicked over Yuri’s entrance.

Clutching the lube and a condom, Yuri’s top half sank onto the bed, keeping his ass in the air. While giving head was one of his favourite things to do in the bedroom, rimming was his favourite thing to receive . Entranced by the pleasure, he made no attempt to self-monitor or stifle the sounds rising from his throat-- sweet little slutty whimpers that spurred Otabek on. Yuri’s eyes closed as he buried his face in the pillow, ass thrusting back onto his partner’s tongue as it circled the entrance.

And then, it was gone.

“Did I say you could stop?” Yuri whined, turning his face so he could look back at Otabek.

“If I’m not inside of you in the next few minutes, I’m going to burst,” Otabek growled, dragging the lubricant and condom closer to him. He coated a few fingers in the gel, holding Yuri open with a thumb as he slipped his middle finger inside.

As goofy as it was, Yuri had always found this part to be the most intimate step. Sure, foreplay was nice, and if anyone had bothered to cuddle with him after, he was sure he’d have to reconsider his ranking system, but the gentle, thorough attention to his reactions and his level of readiness was something he greatly appreciated.

Though he didn’t want to dwell on it too long, he knew that he just, deep down, had a massive need for affection and intimacy, and was a total slut for being taken care of.

He whimpered needily, still just tipsy enough to not be embarrassed, as Otabek added another finger. Part of him wanted to tell him to say ‘fuck it, just fuck me already,’ but the reality was that Otabek’s dick was a major lesson in patience and believing in himself. This was going to be a goddamn religious experience if it was done right, because that cock could be nothing more than an instrument of God.

There he was-- devout Atheist Yuri Plisetsky, likening his partner’s massive member to a holy item.

It had really been far too long since he’d last gotten laid.

“Are you done back there?” he panted impatiently.

Otabek rubbed a firm ass cheek with his hand that wasn’t otherwise preoccupied. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well if you don’t stick it in me in the next hour, I’m going to die, so pick your battles,” he grumbled, clutching the pillow.

After just a couple moments of careful, slow stretching, purposefully avoiding Yuri’s prostate to keep from overstimulating him, he pulled his fingers out and wiped them carelessly on the bedsheets. “Do you mind rolling over?” Otabek asked. “I prefer having sex face-to-face.”

“Sap,” Yuri blushed, reaching for the condom. “It alright if I put it on for you?”

Otabek nodded, lying back as Yuri fumbled with the condom wrapper for a few moments. He managed to roll it on without looking like a complete dumbass, smirking triumphantly at Otabek’s successfully wrapped dick. He squirted some lube into his hand and distributed it over his partner’s cock while he considered their options for position.

“Want me to ride, or do you want to be in control?”

He took a moment to consider the options. “Ride.” He nodded. “I want you to be able to stop if you’re in any pain.”

“I’m not a china doll. I’m not going to break,” Yuri reassured, crawling into Otabek’s lap.

“Still--” Yuri silenced any protests with a kiss, taking a second to relax and get into position. Slowly, with a hand guiding it inside, he lowered himself onto Otabek, one hand curling and leaving claw marks on his chest.

“That’s it,” Otabek purred, rubbing Yuri’s hips. “Easy.. go slow.. Ah.. you feel so good, Yura..”

Yura. The nickname gave him a boost of confidence as he slid down to the base, both hands now being used to balance on Otabek’s chest. His partner took one and brought it to his lips, kissing at the palm with enough tenderness to make his heart clench.

‘Stop it, Yuri,’ he snapped at himself internally. ‘There’s no crying with a dick in your ass.’

And so, he started to move.

The hand on his hip was supportive as he began to roll his hips, but started to dig as he added a lift. Yuri brought both hands to rest on Otabek’s chest, needing the leverage, though Otabek would have been content to keep holding it all night. With Yuri’s hand taken from him, he took to rubbing a thumb over a nipple, stroking his hair out of his eyes, and caressing his face.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Otabek gasped, gritting his teeth as Yuri bottomed out particularly roughly.

For someone who always seemed so monotone, Otabek was offering high praise in the form of spoken compliments, strained growls and moans, and plentiful touches. It was if Otabek had to touch him, had to keep his eyes on him. It was making Yuri’s ego swell.

“You like it?” Yuri panted, lowering his chest to Otabek’s, changing the angle and grinding slowly. He couldn’t go any faster if he wanted to-- the new angle was more intense, and one of the balls of the piercing kept rubbing right on his fucking prostate. The pleasure made him loose, made him bold. After a few moments of the slow, rocking thrusts, he stroked the sweaty hair out of Otabek’s glazed, unfocused eyes to get his attention.

“...When were you last tested?”

Otabek, who had been rocking his hips in tandem with Yuri to get as much friction as possible, was taken aback by the question. He had to put effort into thinking, cursing those damn talented hips for making his braid fall out of his ears..

“...First of the month.”

Yuri hummed. “Clean?”


A pause. “Can I take it off?”


“The condom, I mean.” Yuri kept moving as Otabek finally seemed to realize what was happening, sliding his hands up and down Yuri’s legs. It was risky. They both knew it. Maybe it was the night, maybe it was the chemistry between them, or maybe they’d just managed to lose their fucking minds, but in that moment, neither of them cared.

“I haven’t slept with anyone in months, and I’m obviously trained in bloodborne pathogens,” Yuri whined. “I’m clean if you are, but I have got to feel that thing’s full potential.”


This was either going to be the best decision of his life, or the absolute worst.

“Fuck yeah,” Yuri hissed, gently lifting off of Otabek’s dick. He took the condom off easily, tossing it in the general direction of the trashcan. Overexcited and more than ready to feel that beautiful cock inside of him with no hindrance, he squirted some lube into his hand and crudely lathered Otabek’s dick, taking the time to tease the ball at the slit, earning a sharp, involuntary thrust of the hips.

Yuri smirked, stroking the shaft slowly. “Yeah? Bet you can’t wait to fill me up,” he purred. He crawled in between Otabek’s legs, smoothing his hands up his abdomen. “Show me what that monster can do, Beka .”

The nickname was too much for Otabek. He snarled and launched himself on top of Yuri, throwing his weight around to roll the smaller boy onto his back. He picked up a slender leg by the ankle and tossed it over his shoulder. The other was secured around his waist as he hungrily admired Yuri’s still-stretched hole.

“Do it,” Yuri snarled. “I swear to God, if you don’t put that cock in me, I’m-- fuuuuck,” he whined as Otabek slammed inside.

“You talk too much.”

“Then shut me up,” Yuri goaded, arching his chest and digging into Otabek’s back with his heel. He kicked to spur him on, rewarded with overwhelming snaps of those powerful hips.

Otabek didn’t need to be told twice. He focused all of his remaining energy into his thrusts, grunting and panting into Yuri’s ear. Yuri writhed underneath him, a mewling, lust-fueled, absolutely wrecked bundle of raw nerves.

“What, no more comments?” Otabek managed to pant into Yuri’s ear. He knew he had won when all the response Yuri was able to muster was a loud, gasping whine.

They continued at a punishing pace until Otabek’s hips started to stutter and his rhythm began to falter.

“Gonna bust?” Yuri asked, taking one of Otabek’s hands from where it fisted in the sheets, guiding it to his neglected cock. Taking the hint, Otabek stroked as well as he could at the established rhythm. He nodded with a moan, unable to think well enough to formulate words.


“Inside,” Yuri cut him off. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ” he whined desperately, canting his hips up, toes curling. It took just a few more thrusts until he was spilling in Otabek’s hand. It didn’t take much longer until Otabek reached his own end, cursing almost aggressively into Yuri’s shoulder as he filled him up, hips slowing and chest rising and falling harshly.

As they came down from their orgasms, they stared at each other, unable to believe what had just happened. It had been the best sex that either of them had ever had. Easily. Shit, it nearly brought a tear to Yuri’s eye.

Otabek brushed a thumb over Yuri’s lips before distracting him with a kiss as he pulled out. He parted long enough to watch his seed begin to drip out of the fucked-raw hole before lying down beside him. With literally all of the energy drained out of his body through his cock, Otabek only had the energy to wipe himself and Yuri down with tissues from the box on his bedside table. Showers could wait.

“...I like to snuggle after. Do you?” Otabek asked, stroking Yuri’s thoroughly wrecked hair.


Grinning to himself, Otabek helped pull Yuri to the pillows, covering their bodies with a blanket and pressing their bodies close. Yuri chose to forget the pillow, and placed his head on Otabek’s chest. The next time the Kazakh man looked at the scrawny blonde Russian in his arms, he was long asleep. He chuckled to himself, rubbing Yuri’s back before letting himself pass out, too.


For the first time in.. well.. Ever, Yuri woke up on his own, disturbed by the fact that his giant, warm pillow was stealing all of the blankets. He whined a little bit, cuddling close in hopes of repossessing some covers to warm his exposed ass.

Eventually, whining turned into an all-out war with an unconscious man, with Yuri trying to pry open his fingers and take back just a few inches of the goddamn comforter. As expected, the movements roused the blanket-napped, who blinked awake in confusion.


God, Otabek sounded cute when he was sleepy.

“..Hey.” Yuri slumped down. “You stole the--”

“...What are you still doing here?”

“--Blankets.” Yuri finished his sentence like the last puff of air from a deflated balloon. He stared at Otabek, green eyes blown wide with hurt. Given the way the previous night had gone. Yuri had really been expecting a gentle wake-up-- perhaps with blowjobs-- before getting up to cook breakfast. They’d sit together for a while, flirt, talk about work, then go their separate ways for the day. But Otabek wouldn’t even be able to stand a few minutes, and would text him as soon as he was in the parking lot, eager to plan round two.

...Instead, he was getting kicked out like a prostitute who had spent their time.

“..Take ‘em,” Yuri muttered. “Fucking asshole.” He launched out of the bed, snatching his shirt and his pants. He threw them on in the living room, wrestling the fly closed on his pants. His boots weren’t even laced when he tore the door open.

“Your dick’s weird,” he snarled, slamming the door shut behind him, pinching his hand to try to distract from the hot tears stinging at his eyes.

Stupid Yuri. The signs were there all along. He didn't want you, he wanted an easy lay.

Chapter Text

Thirty full seconds passed after Yuri slammed the door shut before Otabek could process what the hell had just happened. He fell back against the pillows, dragging his hands down his face. There was no point in running after him. Not while he was still so angry. Nobody would communicate, and it would just blow up in his face. No, he needed to give Yuri time.

He’d fucked up.

It had been a mistake. A slip of the tongue. What came out as ‘why are you still here?’ had meant to be ‘you stayed with me?’

Otabek wasn’t an idiot. He was an attractive gay man in his mid-twenties, successful in the music industry. He’d had one-night stands. Most of the guys he slept with ditched him in the middle of the night, though some just rolled their eyes at his request to spend some time cuddling in the afterglow and grabbed their clothes. However it happened, he always woke up alone. Not with Yuri, though. He’d stayed. He’d stayed, and had even wanted more time in bed with him.

And he’d fucked it all up.

As he got up to shower, he leaned against the bathroom sink and grabbed a handful of hair in his fist. He was so fucking stupid. He should have ran out after him. He should have begged him to come back, bare-assed in his apartment complex’s common area.. He should have done anything but banish him from his bed, cold, hungry, and stinking of sex. The thought churned his stomach.

‘What do I do now?’ he thought to himself as he stepped into the shower, washing the remnants of lube and semen from his stomach and his very limp dick. He couldn’t let that be the end of it. Maybe Yuri had felt it, maybe he didn’t, but Otabek sensed a great deal of chemistry between them. There was no awkwardness. It was easy, and the sex had blown his mind.

He couldn’t just let that go.

So he threw on a t-shirt, his leather jacket, and a pair of jeans, barely remembering to grab his phone and lock his apartment before taking off at a run toward his motorcycle. Having had his fill of unsafe behaviors for the week, he threw on the helmet and turned the engine over, speeding out of his spot and in the general direction of eros + agape.


The world stopped turning when Yuri Plisetsky walked into that tattoo shop. He looked like utter shit. His makeup was smeared, his hair was a mess, and he would deny the hell out of the fact that his eyes were wet and his lips were swollen from silent crying in the back seat of his Uber.

“Yuri!” Phichit gasped. Victor and Yuuri shared a look before approaching.

“Fuck off, I’m fine.”

“You are most definitely not fine ,” Victor countered. “What happened?”

Yuri smacked his hand away as he reached out to rub his shoulder. “Fuck off, Victor. Let me go set up my shit.”

“It’s your day off,” Phichit reminded.

“Then I’ll take walk-ins.”

Victor grabbed a fistful of Yuri’s shirt and sniffed him. “Not covered in semen, you’re not. Yurio, what the hell happened?”

“Forget it.”


“I said--

Yuri’s snap was cut right off as Yuuri smacked him in the back of the head, hard enough to make a ‘thunk’ on his skull. Yuri stared at him incredulously, mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry, but it had to be done.” He stepped closer. “But Victor’s right. You need to tell us what happened. Are you hurt?”

Yuri shook his head and sat on the couch. Yuuri sat beside him, a hand on his knee.

“Just my pride, or whatever,” he murmured.

“Things with the boy from the other day didn’t work out?”

Yuri blinked at him. “Nah, it was fucking perfect, that’s why I’m here in the clothes I was wearing last night, unshowered and fucking starving.” He slumped down against the couch. “Asshole gave me the best fuck of my life, actually cuddled-- and I think he played with my hair-- then kicked my ass out when I wasn’t gone when he woke up.”

Yuuri’s fist clenched. He’d always hated the dating scene for that exact reason. It was like feelings didn’t matter anymore, and with Yuri’s past.. He deserved to have a positive, affectionate interaction with another human for once in his life.

“Go home, Yuri,” Yuuri said gently, digging his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll ride home with Victor and get my car later. There should be a few loose dollars in the console, get yourself some breakfast and a hot shower, okay?”

Yuri grumbled. “You’re not my mom.”

“No, but we always take care of each other here,” Victor smiled, rubbing Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Gay,” Yuri scoffed, but took the keys and trudged out to the cute, domestic-looking powder blue Honda Civic in the parking lot that could only have possibly belonged to Yuuri.

As Yuri pulled out of the parking lot, Victor’s head cocked, a serene smile on his face.

“If that asshole shows his face in my shop, I am going to rip out his spine.”

Phichit didn’t hear the door ring at first. He was too busy taking selfies at the counter, enticing Instagrammers all over the city to come get a cool new piercing, courtesy of the awesome Phichit Chulanont!

But he most definitely saw the figure on the screen of his phone.

“Hi!” He threw his phone down. “What can I help you wi-- oh.”

Immediately, Phichit’s cute face darkened. He stood and walked out from behind the counter, boots clicking on the floor and he approached the intruder, arms crossed intimidatingly.

“Is.. Yuri here?”

Phichit dropped his arm and put a hand on his hip. “Otabek, right?” he asked. “You don’t need to know where Yuri is.” Though their builds and carriage were far different, Phichit and Otabek stood level with one another. “But no, he’s not here.”

Otabek sighed, disappointment on his face. Phichit disengaged, leaning against the jewelry case. “Why do you care, anyway? You didn’t want him there when you woke up. You just wanted to hit it and quit it.”

“...Is that what he said?”

Phichit waved his hand. “Didn’t have to. He walked his ass in here in leather pants, Louboutin boots, and the sluttiest shirt he owns, smelling like sex and orange juice. And he wasn’t doing the stride of pride.”

Otabek sat on the couch, arms hanging loose between his legs. “...I never meant to make him feel that way.”

“How else was he supposed to take it?”

“...That I was surprised that he was still there.”

Phichit didn’t notice when one of the work room doors opened. He just stepped closer to Otabek, until he caught a flash of silver hair in the reflection on a framed piece of artwork. Panic overtook him as he recalled Victor’s earlier threat. Sure, he was ride or die with the crew, but he was too young and pretty, and his eyeliner was on point that day. He would never survive prison!

“Sure! We can pierce your taint! Come o--”

“Otabek, am I right?” Victor asked calmly, a smile on his face. “Please, come with me to my work area. I’d like to talk.”

Phichit grabbed Otabek’s arm as he stood to follow. “The safeword is banana.”

What a weird little fellow.

Otabek followed Victor to the work room. There was a loveseat on the side, meant for friends and family to watch someone suffer. Victor sat and crossed his legs, inviting Otabek to sit beside him.

“Tell me your side of the story.”

Otabek sighed. Really, he didn’t want to. Not only because of the embarrassment, but the fact that all he wanted to do was set things right with Yuri. But Victor was his best shot. He probably knew where Yuri lived, and would be a powerful ally.

“English isn’t my first language,” he admitted softly. “It isn’t even my second.” He looked away. “I was surprised to see him. They never stay. Not one of them. I was beginning to think I wasn’t worthy of.. Dating someone. Being a boyfriend.” Victor could spot the blush beginning to spread over Otabek’s nose. “I wanted to ask him why he stayed.”

“But it came out wrong, didn’t it?” Victor asked.


“What did you say?”

Pause. “‘What are you still doing here?’”

Victor cringed. “I can see how that could be.. Misconstrued.”

Otabek clenched his fist. “I’m an idiot. I deserve his hatred.”

Sighing, Victor reached out to rub Otabek’s back. “Otabek. Do you have time for me to tell you about our dear little Yuri?”


“Good. Buckle up,” he winked. “Oh, where should I begin? From the start?” He paused. “Not enough time. I’ll sum it up,” he waved. “Yuri is my cousin. His grandfather, who raised him after his mother dumped him, died when Yuri was fifteen. I flew back to St. Petersburg to attend the funeral… and I couldn’t leave him there, to go into whatever Hell Russia calls a foster care system.”

Otabek listened intently.

“Yuri is.. A handful, to say the least. To keep him out of trouble, I employed him here, making him clean ink tubes, ring people up.. He liked to draw, so when he was sixteen, I started training him with the gun.” He gestured at his tattoo machine. “When he was seventeen, he came out to me. Said he’d slept with some boy from his English class. I was engaged at the time, to a man, so I figured he thought I was safe.”

He could see where this was going, and it pissed him off. He hadn’t even heard it yet.

“Well, needless to say, the boy only slept with him because he was pretty. That happened a couple more times. In fact, I don’t think our Yuri has ever even been treated to coffee.” Otabek’s heart sank as he remembered that they’d been too worked up to have dinner that night as he’d promised.

“So when he screams and snarls, just remember that. He’s so used to fighting, he’s not going to make it easy,” he winked.

Otabek thought for a moment. “I don’t want him to. I was careless,” he hissed at himself. “I’m a DJ,” he explained. “Every time I find someone, bring him out to a show.. He just wants bragging rights to my dick, or something.” He rolled his eyes. “Thinks I’ll get him free drinks, put him on stage.. Whatever. Point is.. I know what he’s feeling, and it sucks.”

Victor tapped his chin. “Well, how do you plan to fix it?” He lit up. “I know, make him a playlist, and stand outside his window when you play it! He’ll lo-- what’s that look for?” he mourned Otabek’s blank stare.

“That’s cheesy.”

“Yeah, but it’s adorable.”

Otabek looked away. “I just want to give him the date he deserves.”

Victor smiled sadly. “He’s going to kick your ass.”

“I know.”

He stood and sauntered over to his cabinet, retrieving a pen and a piece of paper. “This is Yuri’s address. Try to talk quickly so that he doesn’t have time to find a knife.”

In his heart, he knew that Victor was coming from a place of love. He was, hopefully, trying to loosen up with a laugh or two. In his mind, however, Otabek truly worried for his own safety in the hours to come.

As he walked out of Victor’s workroom, he waved a casual goodbye to Phichit. Clutching at his chest, the Thai boy stood and followed Otabek to the door.

“Good luck!” he cried. He pressed his phone to his chest as Otabek sped off on his bike. “Yuri’s so lucky! This would make a great YouTube storytime video! The clickbaity title would be all ‘HE KICKED ME OUT AFTER OUR FIRST DATE!’”

“Phichit, come inside.”

“Ah! Coming!”


Victor’s prior warnings had Otabek’s heart trying to tear a hole through his chest wall. He could barely remember the ride to the apartment complex, too busy running through the possible scenarios in his head. If Victor was a credible source in the slightest, his calculations had him suffering, at the very least, a bloody nose and a black eye. But as he dismounted his motorcycle, he realized what a small price that would be to pay.

Otabek Altin had always been a hopeless romantic. In a time of casual flings and ruthless heartbreak being vogue, he was a believer in love at first sight and fairytale happily-ever-afters. He wasn't naive enough to think that Yuri would be receptive to an immediate marriage proposal, but Otabek knew that he was different.

He couldn't just let him go.

Holding his helmet in sweaty hands covered in biker’s gloves, he let out a breath as he climbed up to the second level of the building. He located the apartment and froze, staring blankly at the muted blue door.

‘You can do this.’

Shakily, he knocked on the door.

“Door’s open,” came the response. Otabek grit his teeth and pushed it open, trying to brace for the sight ahead of him. Yuri was snuggled up on the couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows, a cat perched contentedly on his chest. He didn't even bother to look up until the fluffy beast scrambled down at the sight of the stranger.

“Good job, Katsudon,” he grumbled. “She was aslee-- you're not Katsudon.”

Yuri's green eyes were drilling holes in his skull. “No,” he breathed. “I don't know what that is.”

Pause. “...How the hell did you find out where I live? Holy shit, I need to call the cop--”

“Yuri,” Otabek interrupted. “Victor told me where you live. I wanted to see you.”

Yuri's eyes narrowed. That meddling asshole. He hated when Victor got involved in his business. It was like having an annoying cartoon parent hanging over his shoulder. He could have ranted and raved and kicked Otabek out of his apartment… but there was a larger part of him that wanted him to stay. It was the same part that had made him cry in the Uber, and when he got home. And that was the part that had him rolling into the couch, face shoved into the cushion, clutching a throw pillow to his chest.

“Just say what you want to and get out.”

As he approached, Otabek placed his helmet on the coffee table, his gloves in his pocket. He sat on the arm of the sofa, right by Yuri’s head.

“I'm sorry,” he started, looking straight ahead. “I misspoke.”

Yuri peeked up at him.

“I didn't want you to leave. I had wanted you to stay. Desperately,” he explained. “I was just shocked that you did, and I jumbled my words.”

Wordlessly, Yuri scooted down, legs hanging off of the arm of the couch, inviting Otabek to sit by his head. He took the hint, and smiled as, without even looking at him, Yuri put his head into his lap and smushed his face into his belly. He stroked his hair gently.

“You were the first one who made it through the sunrise with me,” he admitted. “Think of what I do, and the crowd I am involved with. Nobody is interested in anything more than a fling. I had hoped you would be different, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. I was happy-- the best I've felt in a while.” He rubbed Yuri's shoulder, still bare in that sinful tank top.

“...Sorry for being an asshole,” came the weak reply, muffled by Otabek’s stomach. Otabek shushed him, stroking his hair behind his ear.

“Yuri, no, I missp--”

“Shut the hell up,” he huffed. “We're both idiots. I should have let you explain before tearing off like that. Hell, if you were any other guy, I would have stolen your clothes and forced you to let me shower before I left, your comfort be damned.”

“I wish you would have,” Otabek grimaced.

Yuri sighed. “I might have.. panicked, or whatever.” He wrapped his arm around Otabek’s waist so he could hide better, and Otabek decided that he could bear the elbow digging into his thigh.

“It’s just as bad for me, you know. I just figured everyone likes sex, right? And I’m good at i--”


Yuri peeked up at him.

“Don’t go any further. You’re more than sex, Yura. You deserve a cup of coffee and a shower.” Promptly, Yuri’s face re-buried itself into his belly.

“I guess, when I heard what I was expecting, I just.. Booked it. I thought it would be better to not look like the clingy weirdo who can’t take a hint.”

Otabek sighed. The modern idea of ‘excitement isn’t sexy’ pissed him off. He didn’t want to wait to respond to a text. If he liked a boy, and the boy liked him, there shouldn’t be any socially constructed bullshit or conceptions about masculinity to keep them from expressing their affection.

“I want to make it up to you.” A hand stroked through Yuri’s hair. “Have you eaten?”

A shake of the head. “Just a granola bar.”

“Take a shower. I want to take you out for breakfast.”

Yuri glared up at him. “...Did Victor threaten you, by the way?”

“No. I want to get to know you better.”

Yuri accepted the answer with a hum, sitting up, rubbing his nose. He scooted up and sat in Otabek’s lap, tugging him down for a long and slow kiss. Otabek accepted it, eyes fluttering shut and a hand on the bare skin revealed by Yuri’s tank top.

As Yuri sauntered off to the bathroom to shower, he turned back and looked at Otabek, who seem contented enough on the couch. “...I’m not sorry I said your dick’s weird, though.”


“Because it’s fucking weird.

The door clicked behind him as he disappeared into the bathroom. His hands rose. “...Good weird, or bad weird?”

When the bathroom door opened, Otabek couldn’t help but turn and look. He had noticed that Yuri hadn’t grabbed any clothes when he went in. He emerged from the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, long hair towel dried and beginning to show waves. Yuri crooked a finger enticingly as he made his way to the bedroom.

How could he refuse?

All oxygen knocked out of his lungs, he was greeted by the sight of Yuri, naked as the day he was born, digging through his closet. Unable to help himself, Otabek reached out and smoothed a hand over his ass.

“You know, you’re the first guy that’s ever asked me out, or whatever,” Yuri shrugged, grabbing a sleeveless hoodie and a pair of jeans he knew would show off his ass just right.

Sensing the change in dynamic, Otabek gracefully slid his hand up to Yuri’s back instead. “I’d honestly prefer not to hear about anyone else you’ve been with right now,” he admitted. “It’ll only piss me off.”

Yuri smirked to himself, and let Otabek hold his waist while he wrestled the hoodie on. “Do you own underwear?” came from behind him as he bent over and wiggled into his jeans.

“I certainly don’t see someone complaining.” With an ‘accidental’ brush of Otabek’s groin, he turned and wrapped his arms around his neck. Teasing and flirting was fun, but Yuri Plisetsky was nearing Hangry territory. He needed some food in him before he could think of having anything else inside.

“Wanna take my motorcycle?” Otabek offered, picking up the helmet from the coffee table.

Yuri’s eyes went wide and shone. He nodded slowly. How did he get so lucky? Otabek was hot, talented, kind-hearted, fucked like his life depended on it, and fucking badass.

Well, he lost a few badass points when he tossed Yuri the helmet. It was a minor sacrifice, and it wasn’t like Otabek would get to see the beauty of his hair in the wind from the driver’s seat. He mounted the bike behind Otabek and held his waist, his ‘don’t-be-a-dumbass’ failsafe triggered, and he resisted the urge to reach down and see if he was still stiff. Instead, he let himself be comforted by the wind, his partner’s clean, manly scent, and the thrilling experience of riding a motorcycle through town.

The beginning of their date was spent chatting over food, learning what made each other tick. Otabek learned that Yuri really had gone through fifteen years of ballet, and had been thinking of making it his career before he found his calling in body art. Yuri learned that Otabek was about as flexible as a wooden dowel, but liked to sing as much as he liked to mix music. Yuri was a godless heathen, and Otabek was a barely-practicing Muslim. Yuri was an only child, where Otabek was in the middle of seven, four sisters and two brothers.

“You poor fuck,” Yuri deadpanned.

Otabek chuckled, seeing Yuri’s eyes on one of his pancake bites and offering it from his hand. “I had to learn to fend for myself, and to not be grossed out by tampo-- Yura, we’re in public.”

Yuri peeked up, tongue out, lapping almost pornographically at his fingers. He pulled away, rubbing nonchalantly at his neck.

“I’m done if you are.”

“Want to go back to my place?”

Yuri stood with a drawn-out stretch. He let his hand dive under his top, revealing a few inches of bare skin that he could feel Otabek’s eyes on.

“Come on, Beka,” he invited, smirking to himself as Otabek slammed a few bills on the table and got up after him.

This boy was going to kill him.


If there were such thing as a perfect day, this would be it, minus the whole ‘panicking and thinking the guy you took home doesn’t see you as anything more than a one-use sex toy’ part in the beginning. Back at Otabek’s apartment, they snuggled under a blanket while Otabek began a much-needed expansion of Yuri’s cinematic knowledge. Neither of them had wanted to part ways, so they simply didn't.

About halfway through The Princess Bride , Otabek felt a hand pawing at his crotch.

“What happened to thinking it’s weird?” he asked, breathing heavily into Yuri’s neck.

“Oh, it’s weird,” Yuri confirmed, pulling Otabek’s half-hard cock out of his jeans, giving it a few gentle strokes to liven it up. “But it’s mine.

Otabek wasn’t able to control the moan, or the sharp thrust upward of his hips.

The handjob was lazy and casual, with Yuri simply taking the time to play and experiment with what his new-- could he say boyfriend?-- liked. He knew Otabek would be too polite to tell him what he flat-out hated, and took suggestions of ‘a little slower’ and ‘fuck, right there,’ seriously. He liked that Otabek held him while he worked his cock as opposed to sitting like a limp sack of meat. The lips on his neck and the shuddering breaths and barely-there moans spurred him on, like dangling a gold medal in front of an athlete. He purred into Otabek’s ear, filling with pride as Otabek’s head lolled back, mouth open, a red blush on his cheeks.


A nod.

“Come on, baby. Show me what you’ve got.”

With a pleasure-filled snarl and hard thrusts of his hips, he came into Yuri’s hand, onto his shirt, and probably the blanket. He watched, vision blurry as Yuri licked his hand clean.

“Let’s go to bed, Beka. I’m trying to collect on a cuddle debt.”

Brow raise. “Cuddle debt?”

“You heard me.” Yuri hopped up off of the couch, and ran into the bedroom. “I’m stealing one of your shirts,” he warned.

Otabek should have been annoyed by how at-home Yuri had made himself, but it was endearing. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t wait to have a do-over for that morning.

...That was, if he didn’t have a heart attack first.

As Otabek wandered into the bedroom, stripping himself of his shirt for the night, he paused with the garment still stuck around his head. Yuri was sprawled out in the center of the bed, wearing nothing but socks and one of Otabek’s band t-shirts. The garment barely covered anything, with Yuri’s strategically crossed legs enticing in the moonlight.

“Come on, baby.”

Otabek Altin, age twenty six. Cause of death? All of the blood in his body rushing to his dick at once.

As they snuggled in the afterglow, Yuri’s head on Otabek’s chest, his finger tracing circles on his abdomen, it was quite obvious that something was bothering him. Otabek kissed the top of his head, rubbing his shoulders and getting his attention.

“What is it?”


“...I don’t want to get too heavy and ruin the mood..”

That wasn’t the correct answer. Otabek turned and switched the lamp on, sitting up and staring at the beautiful, green-eyed boy in his bed.

“What’s wrong, Yura?”

“I just..” He looked down. “What are we?”

...That was it? Not able to stop the chuckle before it left his lips, he rubbed his partner’s back.

“Don’t scare me like that, Yuratchka.” The affectionate nickname made Yuri melt. Otabek took a moment to think before lying back down. “I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

A breath left the blonde’s lips, and it was clear that he’d been holding it in. This was a big step for him. Never in a million years did he predict this-- he was in the bed of a handsome, strong Kazakh man, one who talked about feelings and would spend the day with him because he was feeling sad.

Wait, why was he crying?

“Yeah,” Yuri nodded. “Fuck yeah,” he laughed, wiping his eyes. He crawled over his new boyfriend to turn the light off, settling back down on top of Otabek’s chest, throwing his leg over his hip and trying to secure an edge of the blanket under his hip to prevent late-night cover stealing.

When Otabek would check his Instagram in the morning, he’d see a picture of Yuri smirking in the moonlight, his own darker hand visible on his partner’s much more pale chest. To followers with an eagle eye, black hair could be spotted on the pillow.

The only caption was ‘#Taken.’

Chapter Text

There was literally nothing in the world that could beat waking up next to your lover. Even if that lover had proved himself to be a dirty, dirty blanket stealer. But it was Otabek who woke first, groaning as he rolled closer to Yuri. His boyfriend was using his body heat in lieu of covers, and it made him feel guilty as he tossed the duvet over his scrawny body. It was almost ten, and Otabek was bitter that the sun wouldn't let him stay asleep. At least their schedules both ran late, with Yuri having his first appointment at 12:30 and Otabek leaving around 3:15 to get set up. It was nice to not have to rush, especially on nights that they spent together.

It hadn't taken them long to fall into a routine. They were an affectionate couple who enjoyed each other’s company, but most definitely valued their alone time. It wasn't unusual to see Yuri in Otabek’s bed a couple time a week, though if he was lucky, Otabek would show up at his apartment, seeking a bit of alone time with his boyfriend.. and his cat.

Snowball and Otabek had… a relationship, to say the least. The sassy Ragdoll cat had been aloof at first, choosing to run from the stocky, deep-voiced man who seemed to enjoy touching her owner and taking his attention away from the real star of the show. Much to her dismay, Yuri closed the door when they ‘slept,’ with the strangely short man stealing her spot on the bed. They had forgotten one time, and Otabek had to stop in the middle of a particularly rough and heavy romp in the sheets to have Yuri kick the cat out.

“She was staring at me,” he grumbled, taking Yuri back into his arms. “It was creepy.”

Yuri would protest that it was no creepier than Otabek’s childhood teddy bear staring at him with disappointed eyebrows while he was rimmed.

That particular night, though, they'd been too tired to engage in intimate activities, with Yuri kept late at the shop and Otabek having a gig run until 3am. They'd left the door open, just enough for Snowball to sneak in and out.

Not ready to wake up, Yuri snuggled into his boyfriend’s neck, trying to block the sunlight. Snowball hopped onto the bed with a little jingle of her collar’s bell. It was the inherent skill of a cat, placing their feet on pressure points and digging into the muscle and bone in the most painful way possibly.

Snowball moved slowly on purpose.

She inched her way across Otabek’s body, making him grit his teeth in agony as she crawled over him to get to Yuri. He sighed in relief as she finally stepped off of his ribcage, but the feeling was short lived as she began to meow, patting at Yuri’s face.

“Fine, fine ,” Otabek grumbled. “I'm up. You win. Leave him out of this.”

The cat followed her owner’s boyfriend reluctantly, breaking into a jog only when she heard the food dish filling. Otabek was leaned over the sink, filling up her water when he heard quiet footsteps on the hardwood behind him.

“Beka,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes. Just like always, he was clad in just one of Otabek’s t-shirts, having built up an impressive collection over the weeks they had been dating at that point. He couldn’t help it. Otabek smelled so goddamn good, like manly, expensive cologne. It was intoxicating, and Yuri wanted it on him, always. “Come back to bed, its early.”

The sight of his boyfriend, sleepy and wearing his clothes, made him melt every damn time. Otabek put the water dish down and grabbed Yuri’s waist, brushing his hair back with his fingers.

“You have to go to work soon. I'll get out of your hair.”

Yuri leaned into Otabek’s chest, arms hanging limp at his sides, just his face pressed into his boyfriend’s body keeping him upright.

“Just sleep here,” he offered. “It won't be worth it once you get showered, get dressed, and go back to your place,” he pointed out.

Otabek sighed, wrapping his arms around Yuri’s torso. “You're an angel.”

Snort. “Please.” He righted himself and scratched his tummy. “C’mon. I wanna play with your hair while you fall asleep before I have to get ready.”


Yuri having such a doting boyfriend was beginning to have an impact on the energy of the shop, and nobody was complaining. Victor and Yuuri noticed a much more calm and complacent Yurio, one who had something to devote time to that wasn't making gagging noises and jabbing comments when they gave each other a passing smooch in the hall.

Phichit was obsessed with Otabek, thinking Yuri’s boyfriend was so cool and that he and Yuri had been made for each other. He nearly died when Otabek showed up on his motorcycle, holding a bag of Taco Bell.

“....I brought lunch for everyone.”

And Phichit Chulanont was in love.

“Ah, you're so lucky!” Phichit cried around his taco, watching as Otabek and Yuri made out in the piercing room. “Otabek, do you have any handsome, single friends to introduce me to?”

Otabek broke the kiss, making Yuri pout. “I do, as a matter of fact,” he nodded.

Phichit squealed.

“You and Yuri should come to my show tonight. I can introduce you to a few.”

A few? ” Phichit gasped. “Yuri, your boyfriend is a god.”

“I know,” he grinned up at Otabek, whose hands were beginning to roam lower. “Can I make out with him now?”

“Oh! Of course!” He closed the door.

...He opened the door. “Yuri, can I borrow your hoeing tank?”

Yuri put his leg down from where it was wrapped around Otabek’s hip. “Not a good idea. Someone got overexcited.”


“It’s your fluids on that top, Altin.”

“I'll ask Yuuri! Thanks anyway!”

Yuri cringed. Going man-hunting in Katsudon’s clothes? Disaster. Phichit wasn’t likely to pick anyone up wearing a grandpa cardigan. How Victor managed to, the would would never know.

Otabek got Yuri’s attention with a peck to the cheek. “I have to go, luchik ,” he said, throwing in the little petname as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll see you this evening?”

Yuri nodded, though he pouted as he watched his boyfriend leave. It was for the best-- his next client would be there soon, and he had to wash the taco grease off of his face.

“Yeah. See you then, uh..” His brain scrambled to remember something cute. “ Bublik .”

Cracking a smile, Otabek waved goodbye as he walked out the door. Yuri buried his head in his hands.

“...Did you just call Otabek a bagel?” Victor asked, peeking out of his work space.


So many benefits came attached to to being the DJ’s boyfriend. Not that anyone particularly knew what Yuri was to Otabek-- but he was a frequent owner of a VIP pass, though being underaged really dampened its appeal. Phichit would be able to take advantage of the perks, he noted, as the bouncer stamped his hand. Yuri held his out for the X of Shame, grumbling as he tucked his ID back into his wallet and stuck it into his pants.

Now that he’d snagged the man, he loosened up just a little on the tightness of his pants. He’d traded leather for black skinny jeans that day, and finally debuted the leopard print Louboutins with the spiked toe. The shirt he wore was sleeveless and torn to hell, distressed wording scribbled on the front. He hid it with his favourite hoodie, the black one with the leopard print and studded leather accents. Phichit had insisted on doing makeup for him, a dramatic winged eyeliner and a swipe of gold eyeshadow. The simple gold stud he had been wearing in his nostril was traded for a beautiful ring that hugged tightly to his nose. He’d even thrown on a choker, knowing that Otabek would fantasize about grabbing him by the ring mounted in the center, if he didn’t actually go through with it.

Phichit was in heaven. Though Hurricane wasn’t a gay bar, it had a good reputation within the community and a pleasant feel. He’d kept it simple, wearing a black fitted sleeveless mock-neck top with leather pants and boots with a higher heel than expected. He’d put a purple opal top on the stud through his tongue, and had worn a gold clicker in his rarely-visible septum piercing. If he ended up lucky enough, one of Otabek’s cute guy friends might get close enough to see that the bars through his nipples matched.

The bar was the first stop. Phichit ordered a few jello shots, which Yuri snuck a couple of when JJ had his back turned.

Knowing his boyfriend’s clever little underaged drinking game, Otabek found his guests at the bar.

“Hey,” Yuri greeted as Otabek sat on the stool next to him. “Miss me?” he asked, slipping into his native tongue. That was one of his favourite things about Otabek-- they could flow seamlessly from English to Russian, and not bat an eye. He slid his leg casually against his boyfriend’s, smiling at the little blush on his cheeks.

“Of course. You’re coming home with me, right?” he asked, taking the jello shot out of Yuri’s hand and downing it. Yuri nodded, pumped to spend another night with someone to hold onto. “I’ll be done at two. If you help me pack up, we’ll get out before three.”

“Sounds go--”

“JJ!” A loud voice cut through the crowd.

Where did Yuri know it from?

A redhead in a black crop-top and leather pants shoved herself between Yuri and Otabek, placing her tray down on the bar. “I ordered those drinks for table seven twenty minutes ago , JJ. Do I have to get them myself?” she huffed. “I swear-- oh, hi, Otabek!” she waved, not even seeing Yuri beside him.

“Hello, Mila--”

His sentence was cut off when the woman sat down on his lap. If he’d been able to see Yuri through her body, he would have seen the exact moment that Yuri turned into a green-eyed monster. Well, his eyes were already green. Bad analogy. But he knew it was going to put him in a bad mood, and he was right.

Lips pursed, Yuri crossed his legs. “We were having a conversation, Mila,” he pointed out.

The woman gasped. “Yuri!” She wrapped her arm around Otabek’s neck to stay balanced on his lap. That just served to piss Yuri off further.

“Otabek, you know Yuri?” she asked. “He’s a wonderful tattoo artist. One of the best. Look!” She turned, showing off the rose on her bicep. “He did this! And these!” She pulled her shirt up a little, showing off a beautiful tattoo of ballet slippers on her ribs.

“Yeah. We know each other,” he admitted. The red on Yuri’s cheeks wasn’t from alcohol.

“Oh, good! Did you get ink from him? You really should,” she urged. “Yuri, wouldn’t he look even hotter with a tattoo? Maybe a dragon?” She poked at Otabek’s chest.

And Yuri was done. “I’m gonna go dance.” He stormed away from the bar, grabbing Phichit by the hand.

Otabek watched his boyfriend go, knowing exactly what he must have been thinking. Mila sighed in relief and slipped onto the stool that Yuri had just vacated. “Ugh, my fee--”

“Please do not ever touch me without my permission again,” Otabek insisted, voice level and calm.

Mila looked taken aback. “I was just--”

“I didn’t like it, and it put Yuri in an awkward position. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, and I didn’t want to embarrass you, but I do not like to be touched.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Fair enough. I’m sorry, Otabek. I didn’t know..”

Otabek wasn’t like most guys in the industry. Honestly, Mila had probably just flirted out of habit. Otabek loved music and making people feel good, making people dance. He didn’t want women, or men, for that matter, hanging off of him at all times. He had never liked to have his ass grinded on, and he loathed casual sex.

Mila gave him an apologetic look when JJ finally loaded up her tray, picking it up and carrying it to the proper table.

Now he had an even bigger problem. Yuri was about as secure as a paper door. Even the slightest mishandling could tear him. He’d done a good job of trusting Otabek, knowing that he was surrounded by hot people, scantily clad and exposed to all sorts of drugs and alcohol. But he texted every night that they didn’t stay together, and Yuri knew he wasn’t sleeping around.

But that didn’t mean that he’d appreciated or welcomed Mila’s little advance.

Though he was confident that Yuri knew that he wasn’t doing anything with Mila, he still had to fix it before it spiraled out of control. He whipped out his phone, and sent out a damage control text.

O: ignore her. She’s like that with everyone.

Y: i know. She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me after i did those damn ballet slippers.

O: ...she kissed you?

O: … i’m jealous.

Y: well, two kisses can void one out.

O: i need to get ready, babe. I’ll see you in a bit. Take phichit backstage. Do you remember chris and seung-gil?

Y: yeah.

O: have fun.

Yuri stared at his phone. Was Otabek really trying to set his friend up with Chris ? Seung-Gil was understandable… but Chris? Nobody deserved Chris. Chris was a 70’s pornstar born in the wrong decade. But.. he was hot. Phichit would have fun.

Otabek’s texts did help diffuse his anger, but Mila’s actions weren’t exactly why he was upset. He expected women and men to flirt with Otabek, and had confidence that Otabek wouldn’t flirt back. They’d established early on that cheating was inexcusable. But what bothered Yuri was the fact that none of the other people at the club seemed to know that Otabek had a boyfriend. He wanted to be recognized. He wanted Otabek to take pride in him.

After all, Yuri Plisetsky was a goddamn catch. He deserved to be shown off.


Yuri lost track of Phichit just after one in the morning. He and Seung-Gil seemed to be hitting it off from the way they were dancing, and Yuri’d been exposed to Victor and Yuuri long enough to know that you don’t interrupt someone with sex on the brain, or you might get exposed to shit you really don’t need in your life.

He loved watching Otabek perform. He really came out of that shell of his, showing mastery of the craft and the ability to entrance a crowd. The fact that he looked hot as all hell up there on the booth didn’t help anything. Yuri danced, as he always did, but spent more time at the bar. This time, he wanted to observe. He wanted to take Otabek in as a whole. That was something he learned from Victor-- when a person is doing something they’re meant to do, and their whole soul is in it, then you can figure out all you need to know about them as a person.

His boyfriend was loving, but so painfully shy. He was gentle and such a sweetheart, but fucked him harder than he knew was possible. He had such a big family, but lived alone, away from them.


Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact that he was a motherfucking genius.

Otabek wasn’t out.

Well, maybe he wasn’t necessarily in the closet.. But he wasn’t one who screamed ‘gay!’ Yuri could admit that nobody was all that surprised when they learned about his sexuality. But Otabek, if he was honest, looked like a straight fuckboy. He probably had spent his adult life on the down-low, hence the shitty dating experiences.

Feeling smart was awesome.

It filled his heart with dread at the idea of bringing it up to Otabek. Coming out was one of those intensely personal things that didn’t need the influence of any other person. Yuri couldn’t force him, lest he lose his trust. But he needed to know the truth. He could have shoved Mila out of Otabek’s lap earlier, screaming at her to step off of his man.. But that would have pissed Otabek off on a few levels.

Otabek possessed the uncanny ability to track anyone down in a crowd. He slid a hand across Yuri’s back as he approached his side. It was a little after two. Otabek looked exhausted and sweaty, and would no doubt want a shower once they got back to his apartment.

“Ready to go, kotenok ?” he asked, taking the water bottle that Yuri offered.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”


As anticipated, Otabek headed straight to the bathroom once they were back. Yuri followed him inside, opening his fly and helping him get his shirt off. He wiggled out of his own jeans and joined him. Though the two of them were too tired to have sex at that point, Yuri couldn’t help but fondle Otabek’s soft dick gently while they stood under the spray, a sweet act that made Otabek sigh in pleasure.

Yuri toweled his hair dry, securing it into two long braids to encourage it to dry with a curl, and to keep as much of the wet, cold strands off of Otabek’s bare chest while they slept.

“Beka, baby,” Yuri began, and Otabek knew something was up. Something was always up when Yuri was so sweet.

“...Yeah?” he asked, stepping into a pair of pajama bottoms.

“....You’re not out at work, are you?”

A sigh. Otabek walked over, running his hands over Yuri’s sides. “You’re my boyfriend. That’s not going to chan--”

“So, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.”

Yuri nodded. He led his partner to the bed and climbed in, cuddling close. “‘’M not mad or anything,” he muttered against his chest. “I just wish you’d just told me that, instead of letting me figure it out,” he shrugged as best he could. “You’re always supportive of me, or whatever.. I wanna do that, too.”

Otabek closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around Yuri and holding him tight. “I’m not even out to my family,” he admitted. “It’s not that I care about people at the club finding out. It’s that I don’t want my family to find out from someone else’s mouth. I don’t know how to tell them. My mom won’t be too upset, I think.. But my dad..” he dragged his hand over his face. “He’s so old-fashioned.”

“There’s always one,” Yuri shook his head.

Suddenly, Otabek ripped his hand away from his face. “Oh, God. Yura. I’m not ashamed of you. Please don’t think tha--”

“Shut up, asshole,” Yuri said fondly, stroking his pec. “Coming out’s bullshit. But it’s your bullshit, and the fact that we touch dicks sometimes--” Pause. “--Okay, a lot. But it’s my bullshit, too, because you’re my bullshit.” Green eyes stared up into brown. “Did that make sense?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Point is, you’re my boyfriend. And I wanna do boyfriend-y things. And I don’t just mean rampant sex and making out at the shop,” he rolled his eyes. “I mean things like.. Being there, if you decide to come out to your family. And not just that. I wanna take care of you when you’re sick, or rub your back after a long day, or whatever.”

This was fucking embarrassing. He hid his face into Otabek’s chest, only to have a wet braid thrown over his back with a wet ‘slap’ and a hand cover his largest tattoo.

“You don’t know what that means to me, Yuratchka.” His voice was almost a whisper. “Thank you.”

Yuri crawled up for a kiss, and was rewarded with just that.

Having been the first up, Yuri was the first asleep. Otabek stayed up for a while, marveling at the blonde snoring and drooling on his chest, swallowed up in one of his shirts and curled up like a baby against his side.

He had to do something for him… and he had an idea.

But first, he was going to say a silent prayer for Phichit, who they had not checked on at all before leaving.

Chapter Text

Yuri was in an interesting mood as he headed to work. He didn’t like to keep secrets. It was unsettling. About two weeks had passed since Otabek had told his boyfriend that he wasn’t necessarily out of the closet. Not that it was some big, life-changing revelation, but it was something that Yuri had to remind himself of. They hadn’t slept together that night, with Yuri being overloaded with custom tattoos to work on.

That didn’t keep Otabek from texting, though.

O: my place tonight? I’m off. i wanna ask you something.

Y: why can’t you ask now?

O: too important. See you at 10.

And so, Yuri Plisetsky was doomed to suffer in anxiety all day.

Though eros + agape was a popular place, they did have downtime. Nobody, with the exception of Victor, had any appointments past seven that evening. So Yuri, Yuuri, and Phichit hung out in the piercing room, watching Phichit do inventory on his new shipment of jewelry.

Yuri had been worried about Phichit, having not even bothered to text him to make sure he was okay. But he was, whistling cheerily as he sauntered into work.

“Oh, hey,” Yuri looked up from the sketch he was working on. “I see you're.. still alive.”

Phichit beamed. “I just went to dinner with Seung-Gil. There was no death involved.”

“What, didn't have the balls to take him home and have risky, unprotected sex with his massive, pierced, uncut dick in his apartment?”

Phichit stared. “Uh. No…?” He blinked. “Wait, Yurio, does Otab--”

“Next topic!” Yuri cried, slamming his sketchbook shut.

Yuuri smiled. “I'm glad things are going so well for you two. It's about time.”

“Well, we all can't get married right out of school to a wildly successful tattoo artist,” Yuri jabbed.

“I went to college,” Yuuri blinked. “Anyway.. I like seeing everyone so happy,” he shrugged.

Happy. Hearing it made Yuri realize just how true it was. For once in his life, he was happy. There was no more scowling when he walked through the door, fewer tantrums, less screaming. He had someone who cared about him… not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He got midday Snapchats and cute text messages. Someone asked about his day, and rubbed his hands and shoulders because he thought they might get sore.

It was too fucking much.

Yuri stared blankly ahead as an idea seeded itself in his brain. He whipped his body toward Yuuri, standing quickly enough to startle.

“You got any more appointments tonight, Katsudon?”


“You do now.”

Yuri was never of the opinion that tattoos necessarily had to have meaning. He refused to etch names of boyfriends, girlfriends, or spouses into anyone's skin. But other than that, he didn't feel like anyone should have to explain their choices.

“So, what do you want?” Yuuri asked as he started gathering his supplies and a new package of needles.

“Gimmie an eagle on my forearm,” he insisted. He tore off the cuffs he wore on his arms and gestured to the area he wanted tattooed.

“Do you have a dra--”

“Freehand it. Embellish as you see fit.” An implied ‘I trust you’ hid in the words.

While everything sterilized and after he'd prepped the site, Yuuri opened a new marker and started to sketch. No artist in their right mind would just pick up a gun and start going on bare skin.

After a few minutes, a drawing of an eagle, wings outstretched, surrounded by flowers had been penned onto his arm. Peonies, he recognized.

“Why not put it up here?” Yuuri asked as he assembled his machine and prepared ink. He gestured to Yuri’s upper arm.

“I'm saving the space for a badass half-sleeve, I'm just not inspired yet,” he shrugged.

“But you're inspired for this?”

Yuri couldn't hide his grin, and hoped Yuuri wasn't looking. “Fuck yeah.”

Yuuri put on his gloves and sat down. “Ready?”

“Just start going, Yuuri, shit.”

Among them, Yuuri was best known for his light hand. Sure, Victor was light and quick, and Yuri was getting there.. but nothing compared to a tattoo by Katsudon. That had been why he'd picked him to do the snowflakes, knowing the hipbones would be hell. It was almost pleasant, the feeling of the needle on his skin.

Yuuri was concentrated while he worked, his glasses low on his nose and mask covering everything else. Not a word was shared between them, and that was how Yuri liked it. Some people liked to chitchat, liked to have their artist entertain them. Yuri held the opinion that a distraction was a distraction, and his work would suffer, even if just by a hair of a margin. Besides, people would forget where they were and would wiggle or lurch, creating an uneven or wonky line.

Phichit stood in the door and smiled. He knew what the design was for. He was sure that Yuuri did, too, but wasn't going to call him out on it.

No matter how it ended, in flames or in an eternity of bliss, Otabek had changed him. And it was stupid, getting a tattoo for your significant other. But Yuri didn't give a shit.

Yuuri knew better than to ask about the inspiration behind the design. It wasn't important, and Yurio would either bitch him out clam up. Phichit, on the other hand, had been analyzing the scenario as it unfolded before him. That was an awfully manly design for Yurio-- the flowers didn’t count, those were Yuuri’s addition. Who else was manly? Otabek!  Yuri must have been getting a tattoo for Otabek!

“I want you forever, even when we're not together,” Phichit sang lowly. “Scars on my body so I can take you wherever..”

“Shut up,” Yuri groaned.

A couple of hours and only one bathroom break later, Yuri was the proud owner of a new tattoo. The pale skin around the design was red and angry, but the actual piece was badass. Yuuri had chosen to place the bird upright, flying up Yuri’s arm toward his shoulder. The style was more new-school than anything, with Yuuri trying to emulate Yurio’s own style as best he could. With the limited space, he didn’t want too many fine details, as they would spread and blur with age. You could thicken a line up, but never thin it out. The peonies lined the piece, from wrist to elbow. They were left uncolored for the time being, with Yurio getting antzy to leave for Otabek’s.

“Badass,” he muttered, staring at it while Yuuri grabbed a length of plastic wrap.


After everybody cleaned up shop, Yuri booked it to his boyfriend’s. He couldn’t wait for Beka to see the ink, though he likely wouldn’t admit that he’d been the inspiration behind the piece for a while.

When Yuri opened the door, he could hear music down the hall. He smirked to himself, kicking off his sneakers and making his way to the bedroom. Just like Yuri, Otabek didn’t really have a day off. He was always making more mixes, experimenting with sound, oftentimes asking Yuri’s feedback.

Am I out of my head, am I out of my mind? If you only knew the bad things I like.

“Not that damn song,” Yuri groaned dramatically, coming up on Otabek from behind and wrapping his tattoo-free arm around Otabek’s shoulders.

Otabek took him by the hand and kissed his fingers. “What’s wrong with the song?”

“It’s haunting me today.” After making sure he wasn’t going to trip and die over a cord, Yuri swung around and settled in his boyfriend’s lap. He buried his face in Otabek’s neck, letting him finish up with the song he was working with. Yuri liked being around while Otabek mixed songs, just as Otabek liked watching him draw. It was that quiet sharing of space and warmth that they adored.

When Otabek went to rub Yuri’s arm, he found instead a patch of plastic wrap.


Yuri looked down. “Oh. Yeah. Katsudon gave me this today,” he shrugged, showing off the eagle.

It took Otabek’s breath away.

He wanted to ask about it. He wanted to ask why he got it, what made him want it, when he could take the wrapping off, if he planned to add color.. But Yuri beat him to the punch.

“Now tell me what you wanted to ask me,” he demanded. “I was going crazy all damn day.”

Otabek smiled to himself. He adjusted their position, rolling away from the computer so Yuri wouldn’t be smushed against the desk. He stroked his boyfriend’s hair out of his face.

“You are under no obligation to say yes,” he prefaced. “But.. my sister is getting married in Los Angeles next week. It’s going to be a kind of… family reunion.” He shrugged. “You are invited, and I’d love it if you came as my date. But, it’s a week in California, and--”

“I’m in.”

There was no hesitation. Otabek looked at him like he was crazy.

“What?” Yuri asked, brow raised. “It’s a week on the beach with my sexy as fuck boyfriend.”

“And his family,” Otabek reminded. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

Yuri waved it off. “What’s there not to be ready fo-- oh.”

He stared at Otabek. Did this mean that he planned to come out? Was he going to introduce Yuri as his ‘roommate,’ or as his actual object of romantic affection? Sure, Yuri could be nervous about ‘meeting the family’ all he wanted, but he was sure that Otabek’s anxiety would be worse. He was bringing his boyfriend of what, a month at that point? Yuri barely had a toothbrush at his place.

“It’s not me who you should be asking about being ready,” Yuri pointed out, hands resting on Otabek’s shoulders as he looked into his eyes. “Why now? Why not wait?” he asked. “We haven’t been dating long. Do you really want your parents to meet.. Me?” Green eyes wandered to the fresh tattoo on his arm.

Otabek comforted Yuri with a rub of the back, fingertips slipping under his shirt and tracing circles over the tiger between his shoulderblades. Maybe they were holding too much stock in the situation? Maybe their narrow, media-controlled perception of coming out was skewed. Maybe they could just walk in together, explain jack shit to anyone, and live their lives? People would get the hint.

Besides. It was his sister’s wedding. He would have all the grounds in the world to throw a shit fit if the event suddenly turned into criticizing him for the date he’d brought. He loved his sister, and wasn’t going to let her big day be overshadowed by his partner’s Y chromosome.

“This is going to be the only time that we’re all in one place,” he admitted. “Ayaulim is the oldest, and her wedding has been the talk of the family all year. Might as well make it worth the week.”

Okay. That had Yuri cracking a grin. “‘Congrats, sis! Hey, have you met my deviant-looking gay boyfriend?’” Otabek’s shell cracked a little, too. “Well, that settles it. When’s your flight?”

Otabek looked at him as if he was crazy. “I was going to drive. I.. don’t have money for a plane ticket.”

Yuri returned the look. “But you have money for gas, food, oil changes, hotels..?” He rolled his eyes and turned in Otabek’s lap, scooting the chair closer to the computer. He wiggled in place as he typed in trip details, causing a warning growl from the man underneath him, as well as a twitch of a jean-clad cock.

“I’m not hoofing it from New York to L.A., Altin.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you prefer red-eye, or six at night?” he asked, scrolling through the website. “Ooh, non-stop with WiFi..”

Otabek looked away. “I’d.. rather not fly.”

“Why not? I’m paying for the tickets.”


Yuri turned and looked over Otabek’s face. Then, it clicked.

“...You’re not scared of your family. You’re scared of the fucking flight.”

“...I wouldn't say I'm not anxious about my family's reaction...”

“Hah! Knew it!”

Yuri had to contain his laughter. He knew he shouldn’t. His boyfriend was human, and he had fears.. But the thought of flying on an airplane had him more worked up in the moment than admitting to his entire family that he was dating another man. It was adorable, and really took Yuri’s mind off of the reason for the trip.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he purred, taking Otabek’s hands in his. “You can hold my hand the whole time.”

“Shut up,” Otabek rolled his eyes, playfully shoving at Yuri’s chest. Yuri shoved back, pressing his boyfriend against the back of the chair.

“I think you’re forgetting who’s got you pinned, Altin.”

“And I think you’re forgetting who’s stronger.”

Lifting Yuri was as effortless as taking out the garbage. He picked Yuri up like he would a puppy, holding him under the armpits as he carried him to the bed. Giving an undignified squeal as he was tossed onto the mattress, he flailed, and managed to catch Otabek by the collar and tug him down on top of him. Being short and stocky had more benefits than being tall and lanky, but not when your weight could be used against you.

“You’re a fucking brat, Yura.” The words were snarled, and a harder-than-intended bite landed on his pale throat.

“Then make me fucking behave, Beka ,” he goaded.

From the look in Otabek’s eye, he wasn’t going to be walking away from the bed that night.


Getting time off from work had been effortless. All that Yuri had to do was scoot some appointments and update Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and Twitter. A week was short notice, but his clients were cool with it, for the most part. The ones who weren’t? Well, those lucky bastards got reduced-price time with either Yuuri or Victor.

The Russo-Japanese power couple professed their sorrow at Yuri’s departure on Thursday night. Phichit cried. He was going to miss his clubbing partner. They weren’t actually flying out until around six o’clock Friday night, but Yuri had taken Friday off so that he could pack and catch Otabek’s last show at Hurricane before it was time to head out.

Phichit asked if seeing Otabek perform over and over was boring to Yuri. After all, a DJ could only do so much from his booth. He just played the music. Well, Yuri saw more than that. He saw a boy enjoying himself, letting go and showing the world a part of him that seldom left the club. It turned Yuri on to no end. As sappy as it was, seeing Otabek happy made him happy, and boy did Otabek look hot as hell on that stage.

Phichit had been joining him every night, and almost for the same reason. He’d taken a liking to Seung-Gil, one of the boys who worked lighting and sound for the club. He and Otabek worked closely, and Otabek had suggested that Phichit’s loud personality might compliment Seung-Gil’s quiet demeanor.

“Works for us,” he had shrugged, wrapping his arm around Yuri’s shoulders as they watched Phichit force Seung-Gil into taking an adorable selfie.

He couldn’t tell what it was, but Yuri was in a hell of a feisty mood that evening. Maybe it was the nerves from the upcoming trip building up, or the fact that he hadn’t gotten properly laid in a few days because they’d been too tired to do much more than fall into bed and pass right out. He just had so much goddamn mischievous energy that night, and needed an outlet before he exploded.

The very first time he’d seen Otabek on that stage, he’d fantasized about how hot it would be to crawl up there and do something dumb as shit, like sucking Otabek’s cock right under that booth.

And that day, he was just stupid enough to do it.

It was risky. It was risky in a lot of damn ways. Sneaking under the booth would be tough, but doable. Sneaking out would be tougher. Then there were the variables attached to Otabek’s reaction. There was a good chance that the feeling of hands at his fly might trigger a well-deserved, but most unsexy kick to the jaw. Sure, Otabek would feel bad as hell and ice it after, Yuri was trying to keep his face as bruise-free as possible. Then, assuming Otabek accepted the blowjob without causing a scene, could he stay quiet? When they fucked back at the apartment, Otabek was loud as hell, letting out tons of those manly, breathy whispers of ‘fuck’ and ‘yeah’ and snarling his name. But he knew that he’d grown up with tons of siblings, so he’d had to have learned to masturbate quietly and have silent orgasms.

This night was either going to end with Yuri having any remaining sense fucked loose from his brain, or with him being carried out of the club in handcuffs.

Either way, the plane ride was going to be uncomfortable.

Yuri decided that if he was going to go through with this, he needed to do it while he still had the nerve and a little bit of alcohol in his system. So he made his way backstage, flashing the little ID card that Otabek had made for him so that he could chill out in relative quiet if he wanted to. Knowing that Otabek would have to go to the bathroom soon from the way he guzzled water constantly, he hid behind some equipment, watching as his boyfriend put on a playlist and scampered off stage for a few minutes.

There was his chance. Quickly, and without anyone seeing, he scrambled to crawl under the booth. It was surprisingly spacious under there, with Yuri having enough room to stretch his legs and not strain his neck. He needed to hang out there more often, you know, bring a book.. But having Otabek’s cock in his face all night might prove to be too much temptation, and he really didn’t need to try his luck too hard.

When Otabek returned, Yuri gave him a couple minutes to settle back into what he was doing.

“You all ready for this?” Otabek called into the crowd, cheering and screaming rising from the audience in response. Yuri snorted to himself. Sure. He was ready. But what about Otabek?


Yuri sat back on his knees, splaying his shins just a little bit so that he could put most of his weight on his rear. He didn’t want to tire out too quickly. Not wanting to get kicked immediately in the face, he smoothed his hand up Otabek’s thigh to give him some warning. He could feel the jump, and the volume of the music surged a few decibels before Otabek was able to move the slider back into the proper position.

‘Yura,’ he mouthed, giving him a stern, confused scowl. It almost manage to dissuade him from his plans.. But Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t a quitter, and there was most definitely a little bit of excitement in his eyes. If Otabek didn’t want it, he’d stop, but the fact that he hadn’t stepped away completely gave him encouragement.

So he pressed a finger teasingly to his own lips, locking his eyes on his boyfriend’s. He brought his hand to Otabek’s crotch, rubbing it through his loose jeans and grinned in triumph as he felt the shaft beginning to harden.

And no kicks to the face. Awesome.

He could see the conflict in Otabek’s body language. It hadn’t been something he’d planned on, and Otabek didn’t want to risk becoming known as the DJ who got head from his boyfriend on stage. But this was hot. It was so hot, he found himself widening his stance to give stability in preparation for Yuri’s movements.

Daringly, Yuri unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. He reached in and maneuvered around Otabek’s boxers, reaching his cock and coaxing it into open air. He tugged it gently, encouraging his boyfriend to step closer so that his belly was flush with the edge of the booth, not wanting anyone to catch even a glimpse of the base of his shaft. Otabek cooperated, a hand dropping briefly to stroke the blonde mop of hair on Yuri’s head as he leaned forward to tease just the slit with his tongue.

As the weeks progressed, Yuri had found himself becoming obsessed with Otabek’s cock. It was perfect. It had taken some getting used to, with Yuri having a little bit of trouble giving head without clacking his teeth on the metal balls at the top of his dick and on the underside. He learned how to play with the piercing-- what made Otabek clench his jaw in discomfort and what made him let it drop in indescribable pleasure.

Yuri’s fingers grabbed onto the fabric of Otabek’s jeans, taking him in as deeply as he could. This was going to be over quick. Otabek was already leaking on his tongue, thrusting gently into his mouth under the guise of rocking to the beat. Green eyes locked onto Otabek’s face, filling with pride as he noticed the blush on his cheeks and sweat on his brow. He was proud of how quiet his boyfriend was being, and he didn’t think that anyone who couldn’t actually see his dick in Yuri’s mouth would be able to tell what was happening. He was unaffected, other than that little blush.

Normally, Yuri had plenty of warning before Otabek came in his mouth. This time, Yuri had just taken him to the damn near back of his throat when he felt the twitch and rush of fluid coating his throat and tongue. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes as he tried his damnedest to not choke and cough and give himself away. Once his throat calmed down, he pulled back and established eye contact, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out the tiniest bit to show Otabek what he’d given him. After he was sure that his boyfriend had gotten a good look, Yuri swallowed and hastily tucked Otabek back into his pants.

‘Bathroom. Ten minutes,’ he mouthed, using a few seconds of darker lighting to escape.

Otabek was going to fucking destroy him.

Chapter Text

Yuri couldn’t remember how he got to the bathroom. One minute he’s tucking Otabek’s spent cock back into his jeans, and the next, he’s pressed up against the wall of a questionably clean stall in the men’s room. Otabek’s hands are on him, rough, needy, and fuckig perfect. A gasp is forced from his lips as Otabek takes a handful of his hair in his fist, jerking his head back to ravage his snow white throat with kisses.


“Shut up.” Yuri’s eyes went wide at the command.

“Excuse m-- ah!”

“You heard me,” Otabek forced him to look into his eyes. “That was fucking filthy, Yura. I can’t believe you’d pull a stunt like that.”

Yuri couldn’t speak, but he could sure as shit smirk, raising a leg and pressing it against Otabek’s hip. The challenge in his eye was igniting something inside of his normally mild-mannered boyfriend, and the reality of the situation was riveting, if not a little bit terrifying. Sure, Yuri had encouraged some rough, thorough fucks out of Otabek over the weeks, but nothing like this. Never had he made him mad like this.

He was going to have to do it more often.

Riled up though he was, Otabek was still a gentleman, taking the time to take tabs on Yuri and evaluate his condition. No matter how worked up they got, he would stop at a second’s notice if Yuri needed him to. But he had the feeling, as he turned Yuri around and forced his pants down to his knees that Yuri would kill him if he stopped.

“You need to learn some common sense,” Otabek hissed, smacking Yuri’s right ass cheek. Squeal.

They were alone in the bathroom, but that wouldn’t last long. Neither would Yuri, from the way the blonde was shaking and panting without even being touched. As he coxed Yuri’s hips closer and rubbed his back, he realized one major flaw in their plan.

“Yura.” He pat his hip. “I don’t have any lube. I’m going to have to just suck you off.”

Yuri whined. No. He didn’t want a lame-ass blowjob. He wanted that thick cock in his ass, and he wanted it now.


Remembering that he had a fairly fresh tattoo, he had a travel-size bottle of Lubriderm in his pocket.

“Will this work?” he whined, handing the bottle over after retrieving it from his pants. Otabek nodded hastily, squirting out a liberal amount and rubbing it over his fingers.

Ever the impatient brat, Yuri was wiggling and moaning, trying to get something in him, and fast. Otabek shut him up, sliding his middle finger inside first.

“Relax,” he hissed, holding the tube of lotion between his teeth as he worked Yuri’s hole with one hand, and teased a nipple through his shirt with the other. Yuri was quiet, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. Otabek’s hands were big, his fingers thick, and he always, always found his prostate in seconds. Two fingers in, and Yuri was sufficiently keyed-up, standing on his tiptoes to try to jut his ass that much further out.

Otabek loved to take his time when preparing Yuri. Foreplay was his favourite. When they were in bed, alone in one of their apartments, he worked his boyfriend until he wanted it so badly that he couldn’t breathe. But that took minimal effort this time-- his foggy brain recognized that Yuri was beginning to spit threats.

“If you don’t put your cock in me this fucking instant--

“You know, for someone who gives me shit about my cock at every opportunity, you’re a fucking slut for it.”

The fingers withdrew suddenly and Yuri gasped. He swayed his hips as Otabek wiped his fingers off with a length of toilet paper, throwing it in the general direction of the toilet. He lubed his cock with another squirt of lotion before pressing inside with little warning.

On the average day, he’d start slow, kissing Yuri’s throat and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he began to move. His thrusts would be slow, working up to the hard and gratifying pace that Yuri loved. He would get no such treatment this time. After waiting a breath to let Yuri adjust, he gave a damning snap of his hips, making Yuri cry out in surprise.

“Bek... ahhhh,” he cried, gripping the bar of the stall for dear life as Otabek set a punishing pace. The noises leaving his throat, mewls, whimpers, moans, and screams, all betrayed just how devastated Yuri was. Otabek joined him, soft grunts, growls, and strings of ‘ah’ filling the air.

Yuri’s orgasm was quick and unexpected, zapping his nerves like electricity. Otabek had barely even brought his hand around to pump him once, twice, again before he spilled on his hand, the wall, and his shirt.

“Fuuuuck, Beka,” he whined, beginning to feel oversensitive as Otabek kept going. After just a few more vicious thrusts, Yuri felt the warm rush of fluid, and felt Otabek bury his face in the back of his neck, panting through his surely intense orgasm.

They shared silence as they recovered, Yuri supporting most of his well-built boyfriend’s weight when Otabek went boneless and flopped on top of him. The afterglow was always their favourite, with Yuri normally crawling close to his boyfriend, wanting to be held and have his hair stroked like a sleepy kitten.

They didn’t have that luxury this time, though Yuri was sure that he’d earned some Grade-A snuggling for that night. Especially when he realized that Otabek had just finished inside of him.

“...We really need to invest in condoms,” Yuri muttered.

Otabek realized what he meant as he pulled out.

Oh. ” He grabbed at some toilet paper, handing it to Yuri to clean up with as best he could. “I’m sorry, kitten. I shouldn’t have filled you up like that.” He grimaced. His shift wasn’t even over. If Yuri waited for him, that would be over two hours with an ass full of cum.

The idea was hot, but impractical and uncomfortable.

“You can go back to the apartment and shower. It can’t be comfortable..”

“Yeah, it kinda sucks,” Yuri teased, taking Otabek’s keys as they were offered. He felt the tenderness behind the gesture as Otabek helped him pull up his pants and smooth his hair back into place.

Not wanting to go, but knowing he had to, Otabek drew his boyfriend close for a kiss to the lips, then the forehead. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“You better. I’m not doing all your fucking packing, Altin.”

Chuckle. “I promise, Yuratchka. I can never be away for you too long.”

Leave it to Otabek fucking Altin to fuck his boyfriend into another plane of existence in a public restroom, then leave him a pouty mess because he had to go to work.


Yuri had walked to Otabek’s apartment, his boyfriend’s Legend of Zelda lanyard wrapped around his hand. He headed straight to the bathroom to shower away evidence of their debauchery, but knew that he was going to be sore as all hell in the morning.

Though Yuri had earned a drawer in Otabek’s dresser and space in his closet, Yuri consistently stole Otabek’s clothes to sleep in. Before he started dating, he always thought that ‘boy smell’ was a myth. His own clothes didn’t smell good. They just smelled like laundry detergent and tincture of green soap. But Otabek’s clothes smelled like straight-up heaven, manly and just.. Otabek-ly . He was a subscriber to the idea that boyfriend’s hoodies were the best hoodies, and he snuggled himself up in one of Otabek’s dorky video game sweatshirts. He put the hood up and let himself burrow into Otabek’s side of the bed, hugging his pillow close. He noticed a couple of blonde hairs on the pillow right beside, and the realization that he was just as much part of Otabek’s life as Otabek was in his knocked the wind out of him.

Don’t cry, you little bitch.

Nobody in his life made Yuri Plisetsky feel loved. His mother had been useless, crippled by the failure of her career. His father had never met him, leaving the moment he’d found out he’d knocked a woman up. His grandfather was the only one who had made him believe that love wasn’t a myth.. But he was dead. God had apparently decided that Yuri didn’t deserve anything good in his life. Sure, he was lucky to have Victor to take him home with him like a stray cat, teaching him a craft and exposing him to sex noises, courtesy of him and his husband. But that had been guilt.

But Otabek.. What had he done to deserve him? Otabek was loving and gentle, caring for him in a way that nobody else did. The few men he’d slept with had taken their turn and left right away. Otabek had pulled him closer. When they’d had that fight, Yuri had known what Otabek had meant by ‘what are you still doing here?’ He wasn’t dumb. If Otabek had wanted him out, he wouldn’t have held him like that. He was hearing what he’d expected to hear. It would be easier that way.

He wouldn’t get attached, wouldn’t be crying like a bitch into his boyfriend’s pillow, wearing his clothing, all because he was so fucking floored about someone treating him like he was worthy of love.

This boy, the one who he’d known for just over a month at that point, nudged his way into his heart with his fuckboy haircut, his good-smelling clothes, and his weird dick .

He’d meant to get his act together and help his boyfriend pack for their trip. But he’d chalked his emotional outburst up to having all of the sense fucked out of him and knocked right out. Otabek walked in that night to an unlocked apartment door and his boyfriend passed out on his bed. He’d be upset about the apartment being left open if the sight in front of him didn’t warm his heart.

Not bothering with a shower or pants, Otabek stripped down to his boxers, trying to slide into the bed gently and avoid waking Yuri. That had proven futile as Yuri turned and snuggled into Otabek for a second before he jerked awake, still holding the pillow.

“Shit, I forgot to pack for you!”

Otabek looked up at him with one eye open. “I packed days ago, Yura.” He gestured at the suitcase in the corner, and grunted as Yuri dropped the pillow on top of his face.

Yuri sighed and came back down, rolling into Otabek’s chest. “Ass. I would have helped..”

Otabek grinned into Yuri’s hair. “Yura. You’re bringing three suitcases. I’m sure at least one is filled with my clothes.” He poked at the hoodie. “Thief.”

Yuri curled in on himself, giving his boyfriend a glare. “They smell good. And they’re soft, or whatever.”

“...You steal my clothes because they smell good?”


Otabek smiled and sat up a little bit, encouraging Yuri to lean against his side. “You’re sure you’re ready to meet my family?”

Yuri shrugged. “Not like I’m gonna be the focus. And if shit gets uncomfortable, I’m sure there’s an open bar, and nobody needs to know how old I am..”

Otabek hesitated, arm wrapping around his shoulder. “Baby.. you’ve never been to a Muslim wedding, have you?”

“No, why?”

“There’s no alcohol.”

Yuri’s face fell. He didn’t say anything, to avoid offending his boyfriend and his family, but he snuggled harder into Otabek’s neck. At least he’d avoid doing something stupid while drunk. There would be no inappropriate blowjobs or telling his lover’s mother about her precious son’s dick piercing.

“You have.. How many brothers and sisters..?”

Otabek let out a breath. “Okay. Ayaulim is the oldest, she’s thirty-one.” Yuri nodded. “Then there’s Inzhu and Zhenya. They’re twins, both are twenty-nine. Zhenya is who I’m closest to. I’m the oldest boy.” Great. So Yuri had the pressure of dating the crown prince of the Altin family. “Ah… Diana is seventeen, and Maxim is fourteen. Taras is the youngest. He’s four.”

Yuri blinked.

“...They thought they were done after Maxim.”

Yuri couldn’t help but laugh. Otabek smiled fondly, stroking Yuri’s hair.

“I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

Yuri blushed. He kissed his boyfriend’s neck and nibbled at his collarbone. “Go to sleep, you big, gay sap.”


When they woke the next morning, Yuri could tell that Otabek was on edge. He’d woken up first, running out and grabbing some McDonalds for breakfast. Yuri sipped on the mocha frappe he’d been presented with and chewed the straw as he watched his boyfriend gather their suitcases.

“Katsudon and Victor are taking us to the airport,” he reminded. “We don’t have to leave for another three hours,” he pointed out. “Chill.”

“I know, I just--”

“You’re freaking the hell out, is what you’re doing. Come here.” Yuri pat the seat beside him. Otabek obeyed, bringing his coffee over and setting it on the coffee table. Yuri grabbed him by the head and pulled him close. Otabek blinked in silence, his neck in an uncomfortable position. So he wrapped his arm around Yuri’s middle to add some support.



Yuri grinned triumphantly as Otabek broke a smile. He pulled out of Yuri’s grasp to give him a kiss, hand rubbing his side.

“You’d better make good on that promise to hold my hand.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Yuri reached down and grabbed Otabek’s hand. “Fine, fine. Eat your breakfast, baby.”

Victor picked them up a few hours later in his sparkly black BMW. Yuuri was in the passenger’s seat, but got right out to help Yuri and Otabek load the car up. One plain black suitcase, three featuring big cat prints. Hm. Which was whose?

“Three, Yurio, really?”

“One’s gonna be for the stuff I'm gonna buy there!”

“It's just California!”

But that was Yurio. He always went overboard. Even the outfit he'd picked to wear to the airport was intense. He wore the lowest cut jeans he owned, paired with a t-shirt featuring a tiger. It was slightly too short, revealing a few inches of his hips and flat belly. His hair was loose and curly, slightly messed up from where he'd been leaning on his boyfriend earlier.

“What hotel are you staying in?” Victor asked.

“Oh, no hotel,” Otabek waved his hand. “My family would get offended. We're staying at my parents’ farm.”

Yuri stared at him.



“With horses and cows and pigs?”

“Horses, goats, and chickens, actually.” He paused. “And a llama.”

His jaw was on the floor. “You never told me that you grew up on a farm!”

Shrug. “Never came up.”

Victor looked back. “How long has your family lived in the States, Otabek?” He'd always noticed that Otabek’s accent wasn't as strong as his own or Yuri’s.

“I was eight,” he admitted. “Some of my siblings haven’t gotten to see Kazakhstan yet.”

As important as his culture was to Otabek, Yuri knew how disappointing that was. Otabek was always telling him bits and pieces about his childhood-- visiting cute little cafes housed in yurts, eating horsemeat… Yuri suspected that leaving his home country had done a number on Otabek when he was young, and that was part of why he was so afraid to fly.

But, Yuri had been basically dragged to Pulkovo Airport and thrown onto a plane to LaGuardia, and he was fine with flying. Maybe Otabek was just a big, soft baby.

“I want to take them,” Otabek continued, looking out the window. “Someday. We use the language at home. I just want them to know where we came from.”

Victor nodded in agreement. “When Yuuri and I have children, we want to take them to Russia and Japan, teach them everything we can.” He sighed, consumed with the romantic daydream of their baby’s first katsudon and taste of borscht. Vodka would come later, likely a courtesy of Uncle Yurio.

“And, we’re here!” Victor pulled off at the entrance to the gate. “You two behave!” Everyone in the car knew that Yuri was the only one who the warning was aimed toward.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, yanking out a suitcase and thrusting it into Otabek’s arms.

Victor sniffled dramatically as he and Yuuri watched Otabek and Yuri disappear into the airport, occasionally bumping into one another with how close to his boyfriend Yuri wanted to walk.

“They’re so cute,” Victor wailed. Yuuri pat his head.

“And to think, about a month ago, you were threatening to tear out Otabek’s spine.”

The wailing stopped. “Oh, if he hurts Yuri, I won’t hesitate.”

Sigh. “Let’s go home, Victor.”


Maybe it was the effortless check-in process, or the fact that Yuri was by his side, but Otabek wasn’t nearly as nervous as he had been anticipating. He’d convinced himself to be prepared to be yanked to the side for a ‘random screening.’ But no such thing happened, and before he knew it, they were hanging out in the boarding lounge, Yuri playing Pokemon on his 3DS and Otabek reading a book. Yuri’s long legs were draped over his lap, and Otabek’s hand dropped down to rub at his shins.

They were getting looks, but neither one of them cared. Yuri was busy trying to catch this fucking Skitty, and Otabek was entertaining himself with Of Mice and Men .

The nerves kicked up once they were on the airplane. Seeing the tapping of feet and fingers, Yuri snatched Otabek’s hand up and held it tight. Yuri had splurged on First Class tickets, knowing that he didn’t want to be squished against the wall by some other person, and that the champagne would soothe his lover’s nerves, if need be. It was just him and Otabek in the row, which made it easy for him to comfort his boyfriend the way he saw fit without some other person having an input on the nature of their relationship.

Otabek grimaced as the plane took off, eyes and jaw clenched shut and hand tight around Yuri’s.

“Open your eyes, baby. Look at me,” Yuri invited softly. Yuri was in the window seat, and had opened the blinds completely. Reluctantly, Otabek did as he was asked, and was greeted by the sight of his beautiful boyfriend and a breathtaking view of New York City. Yuri leaned back in his seat, a triumphant grin on his face as Otabek leaned over him to get a better view. Yuri stroked his hair, and was rewarded with a kiss as he settled back into his seat.

Between the movies, food, and the nap they took, six hours went by in the blink of an eye. It was only three o’clock when they arrived, which was really gonna fuck with Yuri’s mind. Otabek was texting his family as soon as they were allowed to turn their phones back on, and Yuri sent quick texts to everyone at the shop to tell them they’d landed okay.

“My sister is here to pick us up.”

Yuri looked up at Otabek. He wanted to ask which one, but it was surely Zhenya, from the way Otabek spoke of her.

After claiming their bags, they wandered through the maze that was LAX, eventually finding their way out. Otabek searched through the crowd, and seemed to light up when he saw a particular woman in the crowd.

“Zhenya!” he called, and Yuri had to jog to keep up. The girl looked up from her phone and waved enthusiastically. She was pretty, Yuri observed. She was short and sturdy, but by no means fat. Her hair reached the middle of her back, and was pulled back in a high ponytail. Yuri saw the family resemblance in their wider, upturned noses. She didn’t have any makeup on, and wore just a plain pink t-shirt, skinny jeans, and wedge sandals.

The siblings shared words in a language that Yuri didn’t quite understand, but was ever-so-slightly familiar. He stood at the sidelines awkwardly, pulling out his phone and scrolling until he thought he heard his name, along with ‘He speaks Russian.’

“Nice to meet you!” Yuri blinked as his hand was shaken.

“Uh, you, too?” He looked at Otabek with confusion in his eyes. Otabek just smiled and rubbed his back, following as Zhenya led them out to her car.

For a woman who couldn’t stand any taller than 5’1, Zhenya had certainly bought herself a car to compensate. That Range Rover was intimidating, if nothing else. Yuri helped stuff the trunk with their belongings, and grabbed Otabek’s arm once his sister had run off to climb into the driver’s seat.

“What did you tell her?”

Otabek blinked. “That you’re my plus-one for the wedding, and that you speak Russian.”

“So she doesn’t know that we share a bed?”

“Not yet.” He reached out to stroke Yuri’s cheek. “Relax, Yura. You don’t have to do anything. You’re not on trial.” He kissed his boyfriend’s forehead. “And I’m not going to leave you to fend for yourself.”

“Better fucking not,” he grumbled, and shut the trunk.

“That being said, I never see my family. I’m going to make sure I spend quality time with them, and I’m not going to be in your lap every second of the day.” He rubbed Yuri’s back, hoping that his boyfriend knew where he was coming from.

And he did. Yuri got it, and knew that being a clingy boyfriend would make this trip less fun. But Yuri also knew that he didn’t need a damn babysitter.

That didn’t mean he liked it when Otabek got into the passenger’s seat, instead of taking the backseat with him.

The trip to the family house was another hour or so from the airport. Zhenya and Otabek spent a few minutes catching up before the girl turned back to look at Yuri, a warm smile on her face.

“How did you and Beks meet?” she asked kindly.

At least the truth wasn’t that embarrassing. “I work as a tattoo artist,” he began. “One of his coworkers came in for a tattoo. Otabek came with him, and we just..” He looked at Otabek for approval. “Became best friends, I guess.”

Zhenya smiled, turning her attention back to the road. Best friends, that was what they were going with? Please.

She was curious as to how long the pair could go without being immediately outed or have a more-than-blunt member of the family ask how long Otabek had been into dating men. Because come on, who brought their best friend to their sister’s wedding?

Zhenya started the timer in her head. Her bet was on two days.

Chapter Text

In all of his years, Yuri had never been on a farm. He found himself practically pressed against the window of Zhenya’s Range Rover as they pulled into the long driveway. Probably a dozen horses cantered along the fence, following the car. The house was enormous, which Yuri had expected, seeing as the family had seven children. A barn was just barely visible off to the side of the house, and there was most definitely a pool in the backyard.

Otabek could spend all the time he wanted with his family. All he’d have to do is leave Yuri in the pool with a cooler of beer, a few cans of SPF 100, and a couple bags of chips. He’d be fine. Just peek out the window every few hours to make sure he hadn’t sunk to the bottom.

The three emerged from the vehicle, Yuri giving a well-deserved stretch and a yawn. He could feel Otabek’s eyes on the couple of inches of belly exposed by the stretch, and he shut it right down, scampering off to grab their suitcases from the back.

“Who’s here, Zhenya?”

The girl fiddled with her keys. “Umm.. everyone?” she grinned. “You were the last one we were waiting for.”

Great. He had to say hello to everyone at once. He turned to Yuri and mimed shooting himself in the head.

Zhenya opened the front door, and their senses were assaulted by the greetings of the entire family. Yuri stepped back, watching as the attention of the group turned toward the oldest son of the Altin family.

“It’s about time you got here!” Otabek wrapped his arms around his mother, who squeezed him tight. “Oh, you are so strong now! And who is this?” she asked, holding her son close as she narrowed in on the tall, tattooed blonde boy rocking eyeliner in her foyer.

Ana , this is my best friend, Yuri.”

She ended the hug as Otabek’s father approached, giving his son a warm pat on the back.

The woman approaching Yuri was beautiful, with dark and curly hair that almost reached her shoulders. He eyes were kind and her smile was tight-lipped as she welcomed this Russian twig into her house. Yuri was easily the tallest person in the house, even in flats, with even Otabek barely able to tuck his head under his chin. Yuri had to bend at the knee to properly return the hug he was forced into. Otabek’s mother was matronly and soft, rounded and comforting. She was so much the opposite of his own mother.

Otabek’s father did not offer a hug. A handshake was offered to their guest instead, and Yuri was absolutely fine with that. It was apparent that Otabek had taken after his father, from his strong eyes to his even stronger nose. He was curious as to whether or not Otabek would be able to grow a beard to match his father’s, but he felt like the fact that Otabek so rarely had to shave answered that question for him.

“Yuri. That’s a Russian name, yes?” Yuri could feel himself being sized up. “Did you live in Russia?”

Yuri nodded once. “Yes, sir. I grew up in St. Petersburg.”


As the crowd around Otabek began to disperse, Yuri leaned in close. “...Is your dad always like that?”

“No.” A pause. “He’s not very fond of Russians.” He pat Yuri’s back. “He’ll warm up when he figures out you’re not trying to turn me into a communist, or whatever.” He waved his hand.

“You two must be hungry,” Otabek’s mother called from the kitchen. “Come, I’ll fix you lunch.”

Yuri hadn’t even noticed how empty his belly felt until food was mentioned. He followed Otabek into the dining area, where they were served goat meat sandwiches. Remembering Otabek mentioned that his family raised goats, he couldn’t help but feel like he was eating the goat equivalent to Snowball. Dipping a carrot stick into a dish of hummus, he afforded a glance his boyfriend’s way, noticing a child tugging on his pants leg.

“Hello, Taras,” Otabek smiled, pulling his little brother into his lap. “Do you remember your big brother?” The boy shook his head, but was unable to keep the grin off of his lips.

“No?” Otabek offered his brother a bite of his own carrot with a dollop of hummus. The boy took it eagerly. “That’s okay. I know it’s been a long time.” Seeing Yuri’s arm on the table, he tapped the child’s shoulder to get his attention. “Taras, what’s that on Yuri’s arm?”


“A birdie!” He got down and ran over. Yuri scooted his chair back from the table, letting Otabek’s brother get a closer look at the eagle tattoo. “It’s like the birdie on the flag!”

Otabek smiled, though it was distracted. “Sure is..”

And then it clicked. That tattoo had never really been Yuri’s style. It was a beautiful piece, but Otabek had always wondered about the significance. Why a bird? Why an eagle? Yuri always waved him off, always changed the subject. And then he realized that it was an eagle featured on the Kazakh flag.

Yuri had a piece of Otabek etched permanently into his skin, and it made his heart clench. This beautiful, bratty, absolute asshole of an angel wanted to keep a reminder of him forever. There was no ‘erase’ option for that tattoo. It was going to be with him for the rest of his life, and damn it, he wanted to cry so badly.

Good thing his little brother was there, gnawing loudly on carrot sticks to keep him grounded in reality.

Diana and Maxim, as the youngest of the children who were expected to do work, carried Otabek and Yuri’s suitcases to Otabek’s old bedroom. The guest rooms were full, so they were going to have to bunk up. Oh no. How awful. How ever would they survive?

They had arrived on Sunday, and the wedding wasn’t until the following Saturday. They were there early to mingle, to let Otabek have time with his family, to recover from jetlag, and to help prepare for the wedding.

...And to have a little bit of fun on the beach, too.

“Mom,” Otabek called, taking his little brother by the hand. “We’re going to take a walk. We’ve been sitting too long.” He brought Taras to Zhenya, who picked him up. The small boy began to whine as he realized that his brother and the boy with the cool bird tattoo were going somewhere without him.

“Feed the animals, menin ulim.”

Sigh. Of course he’d be put to work. He rolled his eyes and led Yuri out through the back door, around the pool and into the pasture. There were a bunch of horses lining the fence, and even more goats grazing happily. A couple of them looked up with interest at the appearance of the humans in their space.

“Uh, Beka,” Yuri began, uneasy. “Those are some big fucking animals, and I’m a tiny fucking Yuri .”

Otabek chuckled. “They won’t hurt you.” He looked behind him. “Watch the black goat, he looks like a dick.”

Once they were in the barn, he pulled Yuri into the feed room and shut the door. He pulled his boyfriend close and yanked him down into a kiss. He pressed Yuri against the wall, letting his hands roam as they made out.

“It hasn’t even been twenty four hours, and you’re already feeling me up?” Yuri panted, holding his boyfriend’s cheeks. “Get it together, Altin.”

“We are going to be surrounded by my family every waking moment for the next week. I’m sneaking a bite where I can.”

“I’m not fucking you in a barn and getting hay in my ass,” Yuri pointed out, hiding his grin in Otabek’s neck.

Deciding that a gentle makeout session was enough, Otabek broke away and grabbed a few buckets. He opened a trash can full of grain and scooped some into each bucket.

“Hang these in the stalls,” he insisted, smiling as Yuri picked up the buckets and looked lost, wandering through the aisle as he tried to figure out how to open the stall door. He finally got it figured out, and hung the buckets up as soon as Otabek could fill them.

Once every stall had a bucket, Otabek pulled Yuri back into the feed room. He opened the sliding barn door, and about thirteen hungry horses came trotting in, filling each stall in seconds. After walking through the aisle, he closed the doors on two of them, ushering the others out as soon as they were done eating.

“Why do these ones have to stay in?” Yuri asked, stroking the neck of a buckskin mare. Otabek grabbed a pair of bridles from the tack room.

“We’re riding them to go feed the chickens.”

“Fucking excuse me?” Yuri deadpanned.

Otabek had selected the buckskin mare for himself, and a greying bay gelding for Yuri. “This is Ted. He was my horse when I was younger. He’ll take care of you.”

“I still want to know why you think this is a good idea.”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never had a complaint about riding before, Yura.”

The blush was instantaneous. “Asshole.” He watched as Otabek easily threw on a saddle and bridled the horse. He didn’t bother putting a saddle on his own horse, choosing instead to ride with just a bridle. He handed Ted’s reins off to Yuri, instructing him to wait outside while he grabbed a bucket and a few handfuls of chicken feed.

“I still don’t know the point of all this, Beka,” Yuri grumbled as Otabek knelt beside the horse, offering his knee up as a mounting tool.

“The chicken coop is on the other end of the farm. You can walk if you want, but I’m riding. Now step up.”

Yuri huffed as he did so, plopping on Ted’s back and finding his stirrups with a struggle. Ted shifted his weight and Yuri tensed. Otabek couldn’t help but laugh.

“His speeds are slow and stop. You’re fine.” Bucket of chicken feed in-hand, Otabek mounted from the fence. Athletic though he was, the advantage of height wasn’t present. Once he was seated, Otabek turned and kicked his horse, taking off at a light trot. Yuri grumbled as Ted stepped off, following at a lazy walk.

Otabek was halfway to the chicken coop when he realized how far behind him Yuri actually was. He shook his head and easily maneuvered the mare, doubling back to give Yuri a chance to catch up.

“You weren’t kidding. I think he fell asleep for a minute back there.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Otabek laughed, shaking the bucket a bit to try to wake Ted up. “He’s gotta be thirty.” He clicked his tongue. “Come on, old man.”

“How come you gave me the old geezer, anyway?”

Brow raise. “Never been on a horse, and you want me to put you on a crazy one?” He rolled his eyes. “Besides, you’re precious cargo.”

Wanting to hide his blush, Yuri buried his face in Ted’s mane.

They made it to the chicken coop, where Yuri quickly fell in love with a group of impossibly fluffy chickens.

“I want one,” he deadpanned. Otabek chuckled and rode up beside him, offering the bucket of feed. Yuri scooped up a handful and tossed it at the chickens, grinning in satisfaction as the silly little birds pecked at the offerings.

“I don’t think your neighbors would appreciate a chicken in the apartment, luchik .”

“Who gives a fuck, these things are cool.” Balancing carefully, he rose up in the stirrups to retrieve his phone. He snapped a few pictures-- one of Otabek on his horse, one of the chickens, and a selfie featuring himself and most of Ted’s ass. He’d get a better one once he hopped off.

Otabek checked their water before emptying the bucket for the birds, and Yuri just watched, honestly surprised by this new, unseen side to his Beka.

“I can’t believe you’re a farmboy.” Yuri leaned against Ted’s neck. “DJ ALTIN, taking care of his family’s fluffy-ass chickens, riding a pretty-ass horse, playing with cute-ass goats..”

Otabek shrugged. “My family wanted to teach us the value of hard work. Unlike some.”

With a kick and a cluck, Otabek was gone. Yuri was left to process the insult, mouth dropped open.

“Otabek, you ass!” he cried. “Come on, Ted, go get ‘em!” He gave a kick, which earned him one whole step.

“Real funny, asshole,” he grumbled.


By the time Otabek and Yuri finished up in the barn, the sun was beginning to go down, and dinner was being cooked. They unclasped their hands as they walked in. Yuri’s nose was the slightest bit pink, with the moy remembering to slather his tattoo in sunscreen, but not his face. Otabek stepped right into the kitchen, asking his mother and sisters if there was anything he could do to help.

Yuri plopped down on the couch, right beside Zhenya and… one of Otabek’s sisters. He couldn’t put the names to faces just yet, but he was comfortable with Zhenya.

“Yuri is a tattoo artist,” Zhenya explained to Taras, ruffling the child’s hair. “That means he draws on people’s skin and they get to keep int forever. Maybe he’ll draw you something to color, if you ask nicely?”

Taras lit up. He crawled from Zhenya’s lap into Yuri’s. “Can you draw for me, please?”

Yuri blinked. “Uh, sure. What do you want?”

Taras considered for a moment. “Snacks!”

Zhenya laughed. “You can have him draw anything you want, and you want him to draw snacks?” She shook her head.

“Honestly?” Yuri gave her a look. “I’ve had people pay to have me draw sillier sh--stuff.” Good catch, Yuri. He took the sketchbook offered by one of the other Altin sisters and busted out several drawings-- hotdogs, hamburgers, cookies, ice cream cones, milkshakes, pizza, candy bars.. All uncolored for Taras.

Zhenya peeked over Yuri’s shoulder. “Wow, you’re really talented,” she admitted. “Do you have an Instagram or something?”

Scoff. Did Yuri Plisetsky have an Instagram? Was water wet?

“Yeah. It’s ‘yuri-plisetsky.’”

“How do you spell that?”

“Go to,” Otabek supplied from where he stood in the kitchen, helping chop onions. “Click ‘Yurio.’ It’ll bring up his portfolio.”

Oh, yeah. There were some less-than-family-appropriate pictures on his Instagram. None of them had Otabek tagged, and none of them showed his face, but if one looked closely enough, they’d have a pretty good idea of who that dark skin belonged to, or whose arm was wrapped around his waist.

Zhenya marveled over Yuri’s work while Yuri continued to draw pictures for Otabek’s youngest sibling to color. He moved to the floor, showing every step he put into drawing the soda can he was working on.

“What’s your favourite animal?” Yuri asked the little boy.

“Uh. Tigers.”

Gasp. “Mine too!” He turned and pulled his shirt up, showing the tattoo of the tiger that Victor had given him for his eighteenth birthday. The boy squealed, putting his hand over the ink.

“Wow! Cool!”

Otabek almost felt bad, interrupting the interaction between Yuri and his little brother… but he knew that they’d both be hungry. “Dinner, everyone,” he called.

Yuri stopped in the doorway to the dining room when he saw all of the food on the table. He was going to die. He was going to gain fifty pounds over the span of the next week, and die. All sorts of food was spread out in front of them. A bunch of meat dishes he didn’t recognize, bread, rice.. He was going to be very full, for a very long time.

A lot of the conversation was held in a language that was just out of Yuri’s reach. It had a familiar flow, familiar sounds.. But no matter how hard he tried, he simply didn’t understand. Otabek leaned in to translate upon occasion, and Zhenya tried to respond to questions in English, or engage Yuri in a side conversation.

Thank god for Zhenya, or this trip would be hell.

As dinner ended and everyone’s belly was full, the children who didn’t cook had to clean up. Otabek’s mother took Taras to bed, which didn’t look like an easy task, The kid had a ton of energy.

“We should really go to bed. We had a long day, and it’s already one in the morning in New York,” Otabek explained, trying to whisk Yuri into the bedroom so they could relax and have a little bit of together time.

“Where is he going to sleep?” Otabek’s father brought up.

Of course. Think fast, Beka.

“I have that futon in my room,” he remembered. “Not the most comfortable thing, but it’ll work, right, Yuri?”

“Oh, yeah. I can sleep on anything.” Including Otabek.

“Yeah. We’ll be fine. Good night,” Otabek insisted, leading Yuri to his bedroom before anyone had a chance to question them.

Zhenya just shook her head. They weren’t even trying.

Otabek’s room wasn’t what Yuri’d expected. It was covered in posters-- sports teams and rock bands. The bed was much smaller than the Queen they were used to, but a Full would work just fine. There was a guitar in the corner as well as..

“Holy shit, did you play oboe?” Yuri asked. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. “You were such a nerd!”

“Real men can play the oboe, Yuratchka. My love of music had to start from somewhere.” He sat on the bed and tugged Yuri down with him. Yuri just rolled his eyes, letting Otabek take his pants off for him. The line about them being tired wasn’t a lie. They weren’t going to fool around, just go to sleep.. But that didn’t mean that they weren’t going to enjoy each other. Otabek stripped to his boxers and did the same to Yuri, covering their bodies with the light blanket and pulling him close.

Stroking Yuri’s hair, Otabek sighed in pleasure as Yuri rested his head on his chest. “Thank you, Yura,” he sighed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind his ear. “It means a lot for you to be here.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, leaning up for a kiss. “You know I love being out of the shop, Beka. Though, I still don’t know about the whole horse thing.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Grumble. “Good night, Beka.”

“Good night, luchik .”


Jet lag was an awful thing. They’d fallen asleep together at ten, and woke at six. The house was still quiet. If Otabek’s memory served him, his parents wouldn’t wake for at least another half hour. They had time.. And Yuri looked good enough to eat, snuggling against his side and sporting that charming little sunburn.

“Morning, Yura,” he purred, kissing his way down Yuri’s throat.

Yuri responded with the tiniest little mewl, rolling to give Otabek easier access. The sound really made Otabek stir, running his fingers up and down his boyfriend’s sides. “You look so delicious,” he purred into Yuri’s neck.

“Fuck, if that means you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do you’d better hurry the fuck up,” he whispered.

“Someone’s needy.”

“Someone needs to shut up and eat my ass already.”

Fair enough. Otabek rolled his lover onto his belly, encouraging him to lift his hips a little so he could yank off his boxers. Yuri did so, holding his pillow and snuggling into it as he felt Otabek’s warm breath on his hole. Of all the things his boyfriend did to make him feel good, this was by far his favourite. It was intimate and arousing, and was something that nobody else had ever taken the time to do for him. A shuddering breath left his lips as he felt tiny little licks on his entrance, eyes closed and body relaxing. Otabek breathed slowly, calmly, taking his time and working his boyfriend up sufficiently. They didn’t have a lot of time for foreplay the way they liked it, but he knew that this would be a good enough warm-up.

“Are you ready?”

Groan. “Who said you could stop licking?”

Otabek rubbed his boyfriend’s rear. “I’m leaking all over these sheets. I’d prefer to fill you up.” He pulled his cock out of his boxers and stroked it a few times.

“Mm, okay.” Yuri rolled onto his back, wanting to see his boyfriend’s face. “But next time, you keep going until I finish.”

“As you wish,” Otabek smirked, licking a nipple as he grabbed the little bottle of travel lotion that Yuri handed him. He got to work, fingering his boyfriend as quickly as he could. Listening for footsteps, Otabek worked Yuri open, loving the way his boyfriend wriggled and gasped for him. He was trying to be quiet, whimpering and whining into Otabek’s throat instead of his normal moans and begging.

It was driving him crazy.

“Just a second, baby,” he cooed, rubbing his thumb over Yuri’s nipple. “God, you look so beautiful like this,” he praised, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheet. He coated his cock in some of the lotion before lining his leaking cock up with Yuri’s stretched entrance.

They both sighed in relief as Otabek pressed in. Yuri kept his noises to pants, whimpers, and breaths, though he wanted nothing more than to scream and beg like he did at home.

“You feel so fucking good,” Otabek groaned, lifting Yuri’s leg over his shoulder. “Such a good boy, my Yura.”

They were close. They were both so fucking close. Otabek’s concentration had broken and he wasn’t able to monitor the environment. He didn’t hear the footsteps, or the playful whispers of his siblings. He was too busy pumping his hips into his lover, indulging in an invigorating round of wake-up sex. Yuri was so sweet in the mornings, sleep making him lazy and compliant.

He had just leaned down for a tender kiss when the door opened.

Driven by biology at that point, Otabek hadn’t even noticed that their privacy had been breached. It wasn’t until Yuri chomped down on his tongue, yanked at his hair, and he heard the “Beka. Beka, baby. Stop, stop, stop..” that he even looked up… and when he did, he froze.

Mom. Dad. Zhenya. Inzhu. Ayaulim. All of the ones that were old enough to understand what was happening were there.

The deer-in-headlights look was strong from both of them. Otabek looked at Yuri for guidance, but his boyfriend had covered his face with a pillow. Suffocating was a less cruel fate than having most of Otabek’s family walk in on them in the act. Otabek moved to pull out, but Yuri squeezed his backside with one leg, keeping him inside. “Don’t move,” he hissed. That was the last thing they needed.

The door slammed shut and Otabek fell on top of his boyfriend, dread and scathing embarrassment filling his belly. Yuri sighed at his lost orgasm, and just knew that this was officially going to be the most awkward week of his life. Not only that, but there was no way that he was going to get any until they were back on the east coast. He gave him a limp, gentle pat on the back in an attempt to comfort him.

Zhenya crossed her arms. Her estimation of two days had been too generous. They had managed to out themselves-- and quite theatrically-- in record time.

“Well, that happened,” she clapped. “Breakfast, anyone?”

Chapter Text

Otabek took a moment to compose himself. He pulled out gently once the door was closed, and covered Yuri with a blanket.

“Stay here,” he insisted firmly, stroking Yuri’s cheek before he dug a pair of jeans and a shirt out of his suitcase. Yuri sat up.

“Fuck that. I’m coming with you.”  

Otabek shook his head. “No.” He buttoned the jeans and threw his shirt on. “There's going to be a lot of yelling, and a lot of words you aren't going to understand. It's better if I talk them down while you stay here.” He offered Yuri a kiss, which he took greedily.

In that moment, Yuri didn't envy his boyfriend. If it were him, he wouldn't give a damn about being walked in on. His mother wouldn't even process the events. His grandfather would have cared that his little boy was sexually active, but would have held back any disapproval for Yuri’s happiness. But Yuri didn't have any of that to worry about. It was just Otabek, who looked like he was ready to puke as he prepared to face his family.

So Yuri stood and let his hand brush Otabek’s. Otabek snatched it up and kissed his knuckles.

“What are you waiting for?” Yuri demanded. “Davai,” he waved, ushering his boyfriend out of the bedroom.

With Otabek gone, Yuri climbed into a pair of shorts and a tank top. He rested on Otabek’s side of the bed, pulled out his phone, and clicked a contact. He clicked the ‘FaceTime’ button and waited for a pickup.

“Yuri! How's Cali?”

“I'm going to die, Phichit.”

Blink. “Did you get bitten by a rattlesnake? Have Otabek suck the poison out,” he wiggles his brows.

Yuri shot up. “You don't fucking get it. His family just walked in on us. I fed them this lame-ass line about us being best friends. Best friends don't do the thing they caught us doing.”

Phichit picked up his glasses from where they sat on the jewelry counter.

“What exactly were you doing?”

“Fucking, duh.”

Nod. “Mmhm, mmhm. But we're you engaging in oral? Anal? Handies? What position?”

“Fuck’s sake, Phichit,” he snarled. “Sappy-ass missionary, okay? Happy?”

Phichit waved. “That's not nearly as bad as it could be. At least it wasn't some freaky on-the-ceiling position. Sure, you got caught porking, but the good news is, it's normal porking.”

The eye roll Yuri gave was almost painful.

“Thanks, ass. What do I do now?”

“Well, having been in this position before..” Phichit tapped his chin. “You kinda have to own it, Yurio. He can't un-fuck your ass. Trust me, I've tried.” Grin. “Just be there for him, be honest with his family. They know you're involved now, don't lie or anything. No point,” he waved. “Give him space if he wants it, hold his hand if he wants it.”

Yuri sighed. Yelling could be heard through the walls, and his mind immediately went to Taras. They'd better not wake the little kid over it. The fact that the children hadn't seen anything was comforting. That would have just been icing on the cake.

“Think he'll break up with me over this?”

Phichit leaned his head on his hand. “That sweetheart that's so into you, he brings your co-workers lunch? Please,” he scoffed. “It's not like you planned it or anything. Plus, that boy’s favorite flavor is Yuri Plisetsky. Has he said ‘I love you’ yet?”

Yuri almost dropped his phone. “Oh, no, no.”

Phichit smirked. “It's coming, Yurio. Every time I see him look at you, it's all over his face. That boy is gone with a capital G.”

If asked, he'd blame the blush on the sunburn.

“I'm gonna go, Phichit. I can’t let him suffer alone..”

“Remember-- he can’t unfuck you!”

“And he can’t un-eat me out.”


Yuri disconnected. He opened the door slowly, and stepped out into the hall…

Otabek wasn’t going to strike first. If his family was fucking normal, they’d want to pretend like they hadn’t seen anything. The subject would be dropped. There’d be no ifs, ands, buts. No parent wanted to address their child’s sexuality. But Otabek knew that his family wasn’t normal. He strode barefoot into the kitchen, scooting past Inzhu and grabbing a coffee mug from the cabinet. The girl practically dove away from her brother.

The voice in the back of his mind insisted that his family wouldn't care about his, er, strongly implied homosexuality. While he trusted the voice, he would still tread with caution. Zhenya had a degree in Gender Studies. She'd be fine. Inzhu lived in West Hollywood, and Ayaulim’s life was dedicated to being a hopeless romantic. Mother would insist that his happiness was her priority, and if he was happy with Yuri, then she was happy.

It was his very traditional father who he worried about, just the tiniest bit.

“Otabek!” He turned toward his father, the sharp tone jabbing him out of his head. “What the hell are you doing?”

Otabek held up his mug. Time for defense, Beka. “Getting a cup of coffee.”

The smartass remark just made his father angrier. “You know what I mean. Back there, with that boy. What the hell were you doing?”

Sigh. He put his mug under the stream of the Keurig, loading a pod and pressing the ‘BREW’ button while his father spoke.

“I was having sex with my boyfriend,” he deadpanned. The best defense was a good offense.

“Are you out of your--”

“--What do you want me to say?” he demanded. “You knew very well what I was doing when you saw it. I’m twenty-six. I’m young. I’m virile. I’m-- that’s not where you were going with this, was it?”

Otabek’s father lifted his head up from the wall he’d pressed it against. His mother rubbed her husband’s back. The awkwardness was palpable. No. That hadn’t been the question. Everyone knew what Otabek and Yuri had been doing. They had eyes.

“I was asking why you didn’t think to tell us that you’d taken a lover.” He stared at his son. “You think we would have barged in like that if we felt there might be the possibility that you might be... Busy with him? You think I needed to know what my son does in the night?”

Otabek sat at the dining room table and groaned, sinking down with his head on the table.

“Put a knife through my skull, Zhenya. It would be less mortifying than this conversation.”

The question didn't need to be voiced. It wasn't ‘you're gay?’ Obviously. It wasn't ‘you're having sex?’ Again, that much was obvious. The question was ‘why didn't you tell us that you were dating someone? Why did you lie?’

“You fucked up,” Zhenya shrugged, handing him his coffee.

“Zhen,” Ayaulim scolded.

“He did!” she defended. “Really, Otabek, who did you think you were fooling? Even as a kid, you never brought friends over, anything like that. So you bring someone to your sister’s wedding and expect us to believe that he’s your best friend?” She smacked him upside the head. “Beka, I could tell from the moment you looked back at him to make sure he was keeping up at the airport that you were sweet on him.” She sighed, but it was Ayaulim who slid into the seat beside her brother.

The girl pat Otabek’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him as Zhenya rolled her eyes and started breakfast. “How did you two really meet? How long have you been together? Have you moved him in?”

Otabek kept his head down. He was too embarrassed to look any of his family members in the eye. Not after what they’d all seen.

“We did actually meet at the tattoo shop. He gave me his phone number and I invited him to come see a show. We hit it off.” He ran his hand through his hair. “We’ve been dating for a month or so, and we have drawers at each other’s apartments.”  

Ayaulim sighed. “This week is just a celebration of love all the way around! Ahh, it is just all so beautiful.”

“They can keep that beauty behind a lock,” Zhenya deadpanned, waving her spatula in her brother’s direction. “That was a traumatic experience right there. I can only imagine if one of the little on--”

“--I'm going to stop you right there,” Otabek cut in, placing his head back on the table. He groaned, long and loud, with Inzhu barely able to keep a straight face.

Otabek’s mother walked behind her son, ruffled his hair, and kissed him on the crown of the skull. “Ahh, I raised idiots. Menin ulim, we love you. It will take some getting used to, seeing you with a man… but I hope he takes care of you and is as good to you as you deserve.”

He smiled softly. “He does. He is.”

Otabek's father emerged from the shadows. “My son comes home with his homosexual lover with the tattoos and the piercings. This, I can accept in time. But a Russian?”

Zhenya laughed out loud. “Because I'm sure Beks said ‘wow! How can I piss off my father the absolute most?’” Eye roll.

“Yuri’s nineteen, dad. I can guarantee that he’s never discussed cultural appropriation and erasure.”

“You never can trust-- nineteen ?”

Otabek stood. “There's my cue. Talk later?”

Ayaulim clicked her tongue and rubbed Otabek’s back. “It's okay, Beks. Even if you are a gay, lying cradle-robber.”

This was it. This was his hell. He turned to run as his entire family tugged him into an embrace. His eyes widened as he caught a flash of sleep-flattened blonde curls. No. This was the most uncool thing to ever happen to him. He couldn’t let Yuri be dragged into this. Though he knew that bringing his boyfriend to meet his family was risky, and that someone was bound to embarrass him down the line, he wanted to maintain at least a bit of his image. Otabek was a sexy DJ, worthy of frantic, filthy blowjobs under the booth and even dirtier bathroom sex. He wasn’t the oboe-playing dork whose sisters squealed over how cute his boyfriend was.

“No. Yuri. Run.”

Yuri couldn't quite hear him, so he peeked around the corner, just in time to be tackled by giggling twin girls.

Instinct took over as Yuri writhed in the hold. “Don't fight, I took Krav Maga!” Zhenya laughed. “You're really tall, though..”

Knowing that Yuri was probably asleep enough to be thinking that he was actually about to get jumped, he offered a resigned grin.

“Sorry, Yura. They’re aggressively okay with it.” He could see on his boyfriend’s face that Yuri was just as eager and ready to fight as Otabek had been. Yuri could be a real asshole, and using that side of his personality to defend Otabek wouldn’t even need nudging.

Yuri looked alarmed, ceasing his struggle with Otabek’s sisters. He looked like a wet kitten who had been pet in the wrong direction. His hair was flattened against Zhenya’s chest in the headlock “There are people that hug after walking in on--”

“--Yeah, can we never talk about that again?”

“Fuck yeah.”


After the Altins that maintained their innocence woke up and the family had breakfast, Yuri found himself to be full of nervous energy. That had been a hell of a wakeup call. The sex had been good… really good… but he hadn’t gotten to the sweet release of orgasm. He hadn’t gotten to stroke Otabek’s cheek, call him Beka, and tell him how fucking good it had felt. No, instead, he was being forced into hugs from strange women, and fielding questions about every aspect of his life.

“Welcome to having sisters,” Otabek sighed, cringing as a few squeals left his sisters’ lips when Yuri leaned against him as they sat together on the couch.

Where Otabek found it to be heart-stillingly mortifying, Yuri had always loved an audience. The suspicion that Yuri had crawled into his lap and stroked his cheek on purpose was strong. That little asshole knew exactly what he was doing. He’d picked up on the fact that the younger majority of the Altin family found the fact that Otabek was involved in a relationship to be the most adorable thing since puppies were invented.

“Would you be doing this if Yuri were a girl?” Otabek grumbled, irritation apparent on his face as Zhenya snapped a picture of the couple for her Snapchat story.

“Yup.” Shrug. “We honestly thought you’d just be alone forever, Beka. You’ve defied the odds by bringing him home.”

It was kind of true. Otabek had been a shy child. Never did he date. Never did a girl come home with him. His parents had worried. What a cute boy, but with so few friends? Too shy for his own good, too involved with that turntable and those headphones. Otabek Altin had been the boy who had sat alone at the lunch table, deaf to the world, hiding behind a book and headphones. In fact, a lover wasn’t even on the radar. Nobody wanted the shy boy. Though it was a goddamn enigma, the JJs of the world were in far higher demand.

But, just when Otabek had written himself off as a loss, Yuri Plisetsky waltzed into his life in high-heeled boots and an open red button-up. He’d thickened up his lines and brightened his colors with that expert touch of his.

Bland. Boring. Uninteresting. That was that they had called him. People asked why he became a DJ, and why on God’s green earth he let someone stab a needle through his cock. Well, the answer to the first question was easy. It was a safe space to let his personality shine and practice his hobby. Being good at it was just a perk. As for the needle? Some part of him had always thought that they were attractive, daring, and unexpected. It was an intimate surprise for his partner. Yuri in particular enjoyed it a lot, though he teased it on a near-constant basis. Otabek took pride in the way those green eyes lit up in anticipation and want every time he saw it.

It wasn’t just the dick. Yuri was always happy to see him. Beautiful smiles accompanied every unannounced visit to the shop, whether or not food was included. It was as if his presence brought Yuri peace. The conversation was always engaging, whether it was verbal or held completely in body language. Having such an intimate relationship was precious to him, and was something that Otabek had seriously doubted he’d never get. The boy in his arms had proved him wrong, and would be smug as fuck when told so.

They got each other. They were on the same wavelength. Sure, Yuri’s pitch was a few steps higher, but he thought it lended harmony to his own mellow tune.

Gently, as Yuri relaxed in his arms during a movie, he ran his fingertips down his boyfriend’s arm. Yuri upturned his forearm, exposing the mostly-healed tattoo to the air. Otabek kissed the back of his head before his jaw rested on the boy’s shoulder. He did his best to look Yuri in the eye, who met his gaze with a sultry smile. A subtle nod of the head confirmed the unvoiced question as Otabek’s rough, thick fingers traced over the outline of the eagle.

‘I love you,’ he mouthed into Yuri’s temple. Yuri could feel the movement of his lips, but heard no sound. It was for the best. They weren’t there. But one day, they’d say it out loud. Preferably with the first time not being in front of Otabek’s parents and siblings.

The tender moment was interrupted by Taras, who had decided that Yuri’s ribcage looked particularly comfortable, and had jumped up to sit on his oldest brother’s boyfriend’s tummy. The force knocked the most unsexy, unflattering noise ever from Yuri, which dissolved Taras and Otabek into laughter at his expense.



The day was filled with wedding activities, last minute clothing adjustments, food crises.. None of which were Otabek’s responsibility. Sure, he could stay nearby and help out where he could, but after that emotionally exhausting morning, all he wanted was some time out of the house.

“Yuri.” He grabbed Zhenya’s keys off the hook they hung on. “Rodeo Drive?”

Never before had Yuri Plisetsky moved so fast. Those dancer’s legs were put to work as he ran past Otabek, snatching the keys and running to the Range Rover. He clamored into the driver’s seat and honked the horn.

“DAVAI!” he screamed.

Otabek stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. “Why did I even bother asking?”

A day shopping with Yuri Plisetsky was a trial of faith and endurance. It had been a while since Otabek had said a prayer, but he was considering it by the time they loaded Yuri’s bags into the trunk. ‘Your wardrobe is outdated’ was the excuse for Yuri to drag him into every single store that sold men’s clothing or accessories. However, if that store just happened to have some high-fashion options that fit Yuri’s aesthetic and his tiny little body? Well, that was just icing on the cake.

“There goes my tip money,” Yuri sighed, cramming easily a few thousand dollars’ worth of clothes for himself and Otabek into the back of the Range Rover.

“I kept telling you not to spend money on me,” Otabek pointed out. He gasped as his boyfriend pulled him close by the belt loops.

“My boyfriend needs nice clothes. Besides, you talked me out of the Rolex.”

Otabek’s hands snaked down to squeeze Yuri’s ass. Yuri responded by wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “But that jacket you picked out for me was perfect.”

“Yeah?” Their bodies swayed, just a little bit. “You needed one. It made me uncomfortable, bringing you out on the bike in pleather.” He stroked a strand of hair out of Yuri’s eyes. “Mom’s making dinner…”

They both knew where he was going with that statement. “But you want to stay out with me, don’t you?” He’d hit the nail on the head. “Let’s go out to eat. We’ll get Mama Altin’s food all week.”

So they walked until they found a hip-looking restaurant. Otabek’s sweetness would be the death of him, with Yuri swatting at him as he opened doors and pulled out his chair. They played footsie all throughout the meal, with Otabek barely resisting leaping over the table and kissing that pout when he finally pinned Yuri’s feet down.

By the time they were done eating, the sun had set and it wouldn’t be long until Zhenya texted to make sure her car was still in one piece. Yuri wrapped an arm around Otabek as they walked, cuddling close to his boyfriend as they ate ice cream from the stand that Yuri’d had his eye on all day.


Yuri looked up at his boyfriend, tongue out as he cleaned the melted dessert off of his hand.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he asked, slurping on his hand. Otabek’s jaw clenched, just a little.

“Being obscene with that ice cream.”

Yuri lit up. “You mean, like this?” He licked up the side lewdly, then lapped at the tip. “Mmm, too bad there’s no fun piercing to play with.”

Yuri’s face fell, however, as Otabek leaned forward and bit the tip of the ice cream off.

“Hey! That’s your dick, you know!”

“I’d rather you lick the real thing.”


They were quiet for most of the ride home, with Otabek reaching out to rub Yuri’s thigh, gentle and possessive. Yuri idly considered what kind of furniture they could move to barricade the door with so that he and Otabek could enjoy a roll in the sheets that evening. He dozed off a little bit, belly full and satisfied with all of the attention he’d gotten. It wasn’t until they were almost in the driveway that Yuri afforded a peek at Instagram.

“Uh. Beka?”


Yuri turned the giant screen of his iPhone 7+ toward his boyfriend. They’d both been tagged in a picture. It had been taken earlier that day, when the pair had been snuggling on the couch. Otabek’s fingers were on Yuri’s tattoo, his lips on Yuri’s neck. The Russian boy’s green eyes were half-lidded and he was nibbling on his bottom lip.

Zhennie-bee: true love!!!! my big brother @OTABEK-ALTIN brought his boyfriend @YURI-PLISETSKY !!!! #Cute #FamilyFirst #GayBoys #TattooedBoys

Otabek processed what he was looking at, and very calmly parked the car. He helped Yuri out and cupped his cheek.

“If I kill her, tell the judge it was justified.”

Yuri blinked. “...Did you just make a joke ?”

Chapter Text

Zhenya was lucky that she was her brother’s favourite. She was also lucky that the picture of them had been so beautiful, filled with everything that Otabek loved about Yuri. He got a better look at the photo on Yuri’s phone as they walked in. It was comfortable and easy. It was so full of candid adoration…

...But he was still pissed.

“Zhenya.” Otabek’s tone was deep and dark. Zhenya peeked up from where she sat on the floor, helping Taras color some of the pictures that Yuri had drawn for him.

“Hey there, big brother,” she smiled widely, looking back at Diana and Ayaulim for help. They pretended not to see her. They knew she had done wrong, tagging their brother in a picture that effectively outed him.

Otabek’s arms crossed. “Can we talk? Alone?”

“Mmhm.” She stood and brushed her skirt off, following Otabek to his bedroom. Yuri moved to follow, but was stopped at the door. He was given a kiss on the forehead and a stroke of the arm.

“Wait outside, baby. It’ll just be a minute.”

Yuri wrinkled his nose, but knew better than to push. He huffed away as Otabek closed and locked the door. That was dirty, calling Yuri ‘baby.’ He was weak to pet names, and ‘baby’ was probably his favourite. Realizing that the conversation Otabek was about to have was a serious one, he decided against eavesdropping and instead took Zhenya’s place with Taras.

The thought that circulated his mind while Otabek was in the bedroom with his sister was, honestly, kind of sad. He missed his grandpa. He missed his grandpa so much that it felt like his heart was going to explode.

Nikolai Plisetsky would have loved Otabek. He would have taken some time to get used to the fact that his sweet little Yura was dating a big, strong man, but he would offer his grandson’s lover a taste of his pirozhki while he took the time to process it. Nikolai and Otabek would watch soccer while Yuri played Pokemon, trying to ignore the cheers and jeers. His reaction to walking in on such an eager round of lovemaking would not be so serene, but he would realize that yelling wouldn’t bring back little virgin Yuri, and would instead grill Otabek to find out if he was a good enough man.

Seeing Otabek with his family was just a bitter reminder that Yuri didn’t have anyone to show Otabek off to. He didn’t get to bring his ‘special friend’ up for dinner. He didn’t get to be all worked up over whether or not Grandpa would approve of his Beka. All he had was Victor, and Victor was married to a man. He knew Otabek.

His own coming out was irrelevant. Nobody cared.

“Yuri, sweetheart,” Otabek’s mother started softly. “Are you okay, my child?”

Startled, Yuri sat up and touched his face. Holy shit, was he crying?

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, just allergies,” he lied. “Must be the dry air or something.”

A mother could not be lied to. “Would you like to speak, away from Otabek?” she asked kindly.

Yuri couldn’t help but feel like this was a trap… but Otabek’s mom was gentle, and nice, and looked like she gave really good hugs. If he needed someone who wasn’t his grandpa or Otabek… some kind of mom figure would work.

“Is there like a.. Son’s boyfriend-mother confidentiality clause?” Yuri wondered aloud as Otabek’s mom took him up to Taras’ room. It was upstairs and away from where Otabek was reading Zhenya the riot act. She sat him down on the twin-sized bed and rubbed his back.

“Tell me everything.”

Yuri sighed. This was embarrassing. It made him feel like he was being interrogated. Really, a good snuggle up against Otabek’s side would make everything a million times better. Otabek had that power, and frankly, it creeped him out. One man shouldn’t have so much of an effect.

“I just miss my grandpa,” he shrugged, looking down at his feet. “I just.. I’ve been thinking about him since we got here, and it’s just catching up with me.”

The woman nodded in sympathy. “Is he in Russia? Where is he?”

Yuri shook his head. “He died.. Four years ago, now.”

Exhaling softly, Otabek’s mother drew her son’s boyfriend close. Yuri had been right. That was a pretty good hug right there. He returned it after a few seconds, not wanting to be the limp weirdo in a hug.

“I can only imagine how it must feel, seeing your… boyfriend with his family.” The word still sounded odd. It would take time to get used to seeing her oldest son in a relationship with a man. “Were you especially close to him?”

A nod. “He raised me. I’m here because nobody else wanted me after he died.”

“You will always have a home here,” she reassured, rubbing Yuri’s back. “I see the adoration in my son’s eyes, and it fills my heart with joy. He has such a fondness for you. In all of that boy’s years, I have never seen him so content with another person. Even his sister, he would hide from. He seems as if he always wants to be at your side.”

“Clingy sap,” Yuri sniffed, rubbing his eye.

She laughed. “I raised a good man, Yuri. He’s got strong arms, that one, and it seems to me like you fit in them just perfectly.”

Yup. This was embarrassing. At least the laughter that was a byproduct of the cheesiness was a distraction from the tears. Otabek’s mom took him back to the kitchen, where Otabek and Zhenya stood over a teapot.

Otabek blinked. “...What happened?”

“Nothing,” Yuri shrugged, then looked Otabek over. “What happened with you?

Otabek turned toward his sister. “I just had to remind someone that assuming that I was out ended up putting me in an uncomfortable position, and forced my hand.”

Zhenya was sorry that she had accidentally outed her brother, but was thrilled to know that Otabek had been ready, and felt secure enough to make his relationship with Yuri public knowledge. They were a beautiful couple.

Yuri’s followers knew that he had a boyfriend, as evidenced by the dark, huge hand and bare chest that had been in the picture he’d shared when they had first started dating. They just didn’t know what he looked like, except for those strong arms and defined abs.

“That being said…” Otabek handed his phone over to Yuri. “Find a picture of us you like, and put it on Instagram, if you want.” Yuri looked up at him in wonder.

“You mean it?”


“You’re not fucking with me?’


“Fine, fine, I got it,” he muttered. He brought the phone close, not even looking as he unlocked his own phone with his thumb and handed the device over. “You, too.”

Otabek blinked down, feeling the weight of Yuri’s larger phone in his hand. He clicked on ‘Gallery’ and began to scroll.

The picture that called out to him had been one they’d taken recently. They were in bed, with Yuri giving a playful smirk as Otabek kissed his throat. One of Otabek’s eyes was open, and he just looked so damn possessive.

The pictures Yuri had to choose from were a lot less provocative, because Otabek didn’t take many pictures that weren’t the definition of vanilla. In fact, he didn’t take many pictures. Most of the ones he had were of Yuri alone, not them together.

He almost screamed, however, as he caught sight of a selfie Otabek had taken, his boyfriend looking most unamused as Snowball curled up on his head. Yuri was in the picture, too, blonde hair covering Otabek’s bare chest.

Yuri texted the picture to himself and grinned in excitement. “That’s going to be my new phone background!”


“Shut up, I love it.”

As long as Yuri was happy. He rolled his eyes and got to work captioning his selected picture.

yuri-plisetsky: found a guy who’s obsessed with me. @otabek-altin #taken #blessed #bestboyfriendever

Yuri stared at him. “Best boyfriend ever? Give me that damn phone, you egomaniac.”


That night, Yuri was needy. Well, needier than normal. Otabek was used to pushy and demanding Yuri, the one who latched onto his arm, threw his leg over his hips, and demanded to be cuddled with. He wasn’t used to this sweet, gentle Yuri who straddled his waist as they settled down for bed, stroking his hair as they kissed. Otabek’s hands settled on Yuri’s slender thighs, fingers tightening around them as Yuri breathed out in satisfaction.

“What’s the matter, Yura?” he asked as his boyfriend lowered his chest and tucked his head under Otabek’s chin. “Still upset by what you were talking to my mom about?”

He nodded with a sigh, rolling off of Otabek and slotting himself into his side, Otabek buried his nose in his hair, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not now.”

Otabek nodded. “What can I do for you, baby?”

Yuri worried at his lip. Damn that nickname to hell. He hated how much he loved when Otabek called him something sweet. Strained whispers of ‘Yura’ and ‘Baby’ went right to his belly every damn time, making his heart flutter and his inner attention-whore scream in delight. So Yuri stood, grabbing one of the heavier suitcases and shoving it up against the door. He locked it for good measure before stalking back over to the bed. He stepped out his pants and crawled back into his lover’s lap.

“I want you.”

Otabek’s breath hitched, his hand roaming up Yuri’s side. “Even after this morning?”

“I want to fucking cum, goddammit.”

Chuckle. Otabek rubbed his thumb over Yuri’s bottom lip. “Yeah?” he peeked out of the window. “We should have just gone to the barn. It would be easier to avoid someone catching us… again.”

Yuri pouted against his lover’s thumb. “I don’t wanna fuck ,” he clarified. “I wanna.. You know. Have sex.”

It took him a minute to realize what he was saying. Yuri really was feeling needy. He didn’t want to be fucked within an inch of his life. He wanted it gentle. He wanted to feel that bond, like when they woke up too early and rolled together, spending more time kissing and groping one another than actually fucking. He wanted to be taken care of in a big, comfortable bed, not bent over in a horse stall.

The request wasn’t met with words. Instead, Otabek pulled Yuri into a kiss. It was long and slow, with Yuri enjoying the feeling of having his cheek cupped and his boyfriend’s tongue against his. Otabek sucked his bottom lip and he squealed, arching a little bit into his hold.


This would be so much better if they were at one of their apartments. They could make love until morning, unhurried and indulgent, not worried about who might barge in or hear them. Otabek would take his time, taking his Yuri apart piece by piece, filling him back in with gold. He’d litter that pale throat in love bites, soothing the marks with his tongue and admiring the bright red spots or contrast.

When they got back to New York, Otabek was going to take an extra day off. The thought of spending all day readjusting to the time difference with Yuri made his cock twitch.

“Alright, baby,” Otabek purred, stroking his lover’s hair behind his ear. “I know what you want.”

That wasn’t new, either. Otabek always knew what Yuri wanted. He had some kind of sixth sense, one that read the Russian like a good book. He had never given Yuri a bad fuck. When he wanted his tongue fucked loose, when he wanted a heart-wrenchingly tender lovemaking session, Otabek delivered.

Yuri’s clothes were soon forming a pile on the floor. They’d worked into a much easier position, with Yuri lying prone on the bed, Otabek kneeling between his spread legs. He smoothed his hand up Yuri’s stomach fondly, the bare skin soft under his fingertips. He made a detour at his nipple, thumbing over it and making Yuri squirm. Most men didn't have particularly sensitive nipples-- Otabek’s own just felt vaguely good when Yuri played with them. But Yuri seemed to love it, whimpering and writhing underneath him, threading fingers through his hair as he lowered his mouth to the little nub. One day, he'd convince Yuri to have them pierced-- the thought alone was enough to contribute to the wet spot forming in Otabek’s pants. But he'd have to do one at a time, because of Otabek didn't have at least one to play with at any given time due to healing, he'd be lost.

“Beka…” The nickname had Otabek looking up, pulling off of the nipple he'd been sucking on with a gentle ‘pop.’ Yuri tugged at his shirt and he got the memo, rolling over briefly to let Yuri rid him of his shirt and pants. As his boyfriend wrestled off his jeans with his boxers, he could see the desire light up in Yuri’s eyes. His cock bobbed as it was freed, stiff and red at the tip. His foreskin retracted nicely, though Yuri reached up to make sure it pulled away from the bottom ball of his piercing.

“Go see Phichit when we get back,” Yuri insisted, though he felt wrong mentioning his good friend during such an intimate encounter. “You need some bling for this.”

Otabek couldn't contain the laugh. “As you-- fuck,” he groaned, hands covering his face as Yuri took the head of his cock into his mouth. They each had activities that drove them absolutely up a wall with pleasure-- Yuri loved to be rimmed, and Otabek loved to get head. Yuri had taken a little time to get used to the idea of someone releasing in his mouth, but he'd grown to love it. The taste was nothing to write home about, but Otabek's reactions gave him life.

Otabek fisted the sheets as Yuri looked up at him with those beautiful green eyes of his. There had been times in the past where Otabek had been so caught off guard by that striking, affection-laced gaze that he’d come on the spot, throwing his head back and breathing through the stimulation as Yuri sucked him through orgasm. But making his lover shoot in his mouth wasn’t his immediate goal. He gave the head a short lick, from one ball of the piercing to the other before moving up Otabek’s body. His boyfriend welcomed him into his arms, panting lightly as he calmed down from his missed orgasm.

“Want me to take it out tonight?”

Yuri headbutted him lightly. “Are you kidding me?” Otabek did, upon occasion, take the piercing out. It was usually to make blowjobs easier and less gaggy for Yuri, but they forgot that a hole was a hole, leading to his release dripping from the bottom of his dick and straight onto the bed under them. He’d also removed it when Yuri was a little sore, thinking that it would be easier to take his cock without any added bulk. It was big enough.

He whined every time he saw the barbell placed aside.

“I like it,” he reassured, rubbing his thumb over the top ball. “It’s fucking awesome.” He snuggled close for a minute, stroking Otabek’s cock slowly to keep him hard, like he needed any help.

Otabek took back control of the situation, rolling on top of Yuri and reaching down to open his legs. His Yuri looked so cute, he couldn’t help but place a kiss on the inside of his knee, making Yuri blush and turn his cheek into the pillow. The bottle of lotion had been lost in the bed when they’d gotten caught not even twenty-four hours prior, but Yuri was able to feel for it and hand it up to Otabek, who was heavily distracted, running his fingers over each individual snowflake on Yuri’s hips. He barely realized why his lover was thrusting the tube into his hands, but Yuri managed to get the point across with a wiggle of the hips.

No matter how rough and ready they were at that point, working toward a raw and wild rut in the sheets, Otabek’s tone changed for this part. He prepared him thoroughly, firmly holding the belief that sex didn’t hurt. At least, not too much. One finger was never too much, so he started with two, using his clean hand to rub at the slit of Yuri’s cock as he seeked out his lips. Yuri closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply feel, too distracted to actively participate in the makeout session that Otabek had initiated. He let out a few shuddered gasps, clutching the back of Otabek’s neck and holding him close, even as he broke the drawn-out kiss.

There were signs that Otabek looked for, cues that Yuri was ready for the next step. The shuddering breaths meant that he was feeling good. The way he worried at his lip? He wanted more. But it wasn’t until Yuri was writhing and snarling and cursing at him that Otabek trusted that he was actually ready to take his cock.

“Come the fuck on , Beka,” Yuri whined, murder in those beautiful eyes. “Give it to me already.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Otabek pulled his fingers out and felt around for the tube of lotion. If they were going to keep doing this, he was really going to have to run out to the pharmacy without his family and pick up a tube of actual lube. But he didn’t dwell on it too much, coating his dick and lining up. He slid the head inside, knowing that Yuri would only grow needier and more vulgar if he didn’t, and pressed an insistent kiss to Yuri’s open mouth.

“Be quiet, Yuratchka.”

“Make me, Beka.”

There was his Yuri. Otabek kissed the juncture of his ear and jaw as he slid in further, holding Yuri’s legs up and supporting them with his arms and his strong shoulders. A rhythm was established after a few gentle rocks to ease the friction. Otabek suppressed his noises with practiced control. Yuri tired, he really did, biting his lip raw and clenching his teeth. It was quickly proving too hard, with Otabek having to stroke Yuri’s lips with his fingertips to remind him to at least try to stifle those keening whines, moans, and unsettlingly vulgar curses.

Neither of them lasted too long. They had been too worked up, too needy to want to put the effort into staving off orgasm. Yuri was first, his mind preoccupied with the sexy man on top of him, imagination running wild with what he was going to do to him the moment they landed in New York and got behind a closed door.

Otabek spilled with a snarl and deep, reflex-driven slams of the hips. He collapsed on top of his lover, who grunted and went limp under him, but accepted the weight on his chest. Once the afterglow had started to fade, Otabek pulled out gently, supporting his softened cock with a hand. He flopped down onto his back, and had no say in the matter as Yuri came close, clearly wanting to be cuddled and loved on for the rest of their time among the awake.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Otabek asked, not bothering to open his eyes. He felt warm and heavy in the aftermath of his orgasm, Yuri’s body heat only adding to his comfort. He felt his boyfriend shift, hiding his face against his neck.

“I dunno, it’s stupid.”


Yuri huffed. “I missed my grandpa, or whatever,” he muttered. “I’m just pissed he didn’t get to meet you.”

Otabek’s eyes opened. He turned, pulling Yuri into his arms and pressing their noses together. “That’s not stupid, Yura. I would have loved to meet him.” He stroked his hair, concern contorting his features as he heard a few light sniffles.

“I’m going to say something. And you can’t think I’m a fucking lunatic or something, okay?” he looked up at his boyfriend, and it broke Otabek’s heart to see green eyes welled up with tears that Yuri was too proud to cry.

“I won’t, baby.”


“I promise.”

Yuri rolled onto his back, hands covering his face. “I think-- nevermind, I can’t fucking say it.”

Gently, Otabek rubbed over Yuri’s belly, trying to soothe him before he realized that he’d just put his hand in semen. Well, he hoped that it was soothing, regardless. “You can tell me, Yuri. You’re starting to scare me,” he admitted. Yuri was acting so different, so very vulnerable. Though he knew his Yura was just a kitten with the roar of a lion, it still unsettled him to see him so prone.

Sigh. “Fine.” Yuri’s bottom lip stuck out. “I… goddammit, Otabek, I think I’m falling in love with you,” he admitted, unable to look him in the eye. “And it just pisses me the fuck off that you don’t get to meet Grandpa. He would have fucking loved you.” He was beginning to choke up. “He wouldn’t have been cool with the whole gay shit at first, and he would have lost his goddamn mind if he caught us fucking, but I know you’re the kind of person he’d think highly of and would see you as a good influence and invite you over for tea and homemade baked goods.”

Forget ‘choked up.’ Yuri was full-on ugly crying.

“And he would have told you what a good boy I am, or some sappy shit like that, and that he’s happy to see me with someone who cares enough to bring me lunch when I’m booked with appointments out my ass and who is nice to my friends.” Breathe, Yura. “And he’d really have a problem with the whole gay thing, probably make me cry or whatever, and I’d do the whole… you know, foot-stomping, shouting ‘I LOVE HIM, GRANDPA.’ But it’d be okay because you’d win him over with your stupid stoic charm.”

Yuri was crying so hard that he was babbling. Otabek sat up and pulled him close, holding his head to his chest, shushing him gently and fluffing his hair.

“It’s okay, luchik. Breathe, Yura,” he reminded, rubbing his back briskly. He took Yuri’s face in his hand, giving a sad little smile at those watery green eyes and swollen, reddened lips and nose.

After taking a moment to help Yuri calm down, he pressed a kiss to those puffy lips. “I’m falling in love with you, too, Yuratchka.”



“You don’t have to say it just because I said it.”

“I’ve been thinking it for longer.”

That answer satisfied Yuri as he settled back down, ready to be held, snuggled, and slept with. If asked in the morning, he’d just tell Otabek that his bomb dick fucked his sense loose. But he knew Otabek wouldn’t pry any more. But still, the confessions of love weighed on him, and he worried that Otabek thought he was some kind of clingy psycho boyfriend. But, to be fair, he couldn’t see the giddy, rare, stupid grin on Otabek’s face as he buried his nose into his silky blonde hair.


The pair received knowing looks from everyone at the breakfast table the next morning. Yuri had hopped off to take a shower before he was seen, knowing that most of the evidence was on his person. Otabek’s hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was in an uncharacteristically good mood as he prepared two cups of coffee.

“Someone’s… perky,” Inzhu winked. “You two walk the wild side last night?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

“Oh, Inzhu,” Zhenya scolded. “Let Otabek enjoy himself! He can do whatever he wants, given Yuri is consenting and the door is locked.”

“I thought we had agreed to let yesterday morning die?” Otabek’s dad gruffed. Otabek agreed, fixing plates for himself and for his boyfriend.

Yuri didn’t take long, not wanting to seem suspicious. He emerged with his wet hair in a bun, dressed in a white button-up and black leggings. He looked good enough to eat, and nobody missed the way Otabek’s gaze shifted downward.

“Nice butt!” Zhenya whistled.

Yuri didn’t even flinch as he smacked his own ass, staring his boyfriend’s sister down. “Fifteen years of forced ballet.”

“It looks good, Yuri!”

“Get your own boyfriend, Zhenya,” Otabek muttered. “By the way, baby. The girls are leaving us here while they do some things for the wedding,” he waved. Yuri’s eyes twinkled as he considered the possibilities, alone with Otabek, full range of his big, comfy bed…

And then, his dreams were crushed.

“You two will be watching Taras,” Otabek’s mother interjected. “If I do not get to have fun, neither do you.”

Chapter Text

Was Yuri bitter about not getting to spend all day naked with his way-too-sweet boyfriend? A little. But he guessed he would survive, distracted by how eerily good Otabek was with children. Taras had warmed up to his older brother rather promptly, showing off toys and asking if they could eat Spaghetti-Os for their lunch instead of the grilled chicken and salad that Otabek was beginning to prepare.

“Chicken’s lame,” Yuri defended, whipping out two cans of Spaghetti-Os and dumping them dramatically into a saucepan.

Otabek blinked. “This is healthier.”

Lame .”

All the signs had been there, but it was in that moment that Otabek Altin realized that he was dating a child. One who liked nasty shelf-stable pasta and playing tag through the house with his baby brother.

Otabek chuckled and put the chicken away, admitting defeat to the pair of children he was with. He smiled and stroked Yuri’s hair as he ‘cooked,’ merely stirring the food around in the pot as it warmed up. Yuri stuck his finger into the sauce and offered it to Otabek, who licked it off with a nod of… well, he wasn't going to say approval, but it was fine. He just thought it was cute how Yuri fancied himself a chef, just because he was standing in front of the oven.

“You know what my grandpa used to do when he made me something like this?” Yuri asked Taras, looking through the fridge. Aha!

“He used to put hot dogs in it,” he grinned, waving a bag of generic all-beef hot dogs in the air. Taras looked intrigued, and Yuri pulled out three hot dogs, throwing them into a pot of water to boil.

Otabek stood behind his lover after they sent Taras to wash his hands. “You know that they sell that stuff with the hot dogs already in it, right?”

“Yes,” Yuri hissed, voice kept quiet. “I'm trying to be cool Uncle Yuri, let me live.”

“Technically, you'll be cool brother-in-law Yuri.”

Let me live, Altin.

Otabek kissed his forehead and pulled him close, forcing a hug out of his ball-of-sass boyfriend. He was nibbling on his earlobe and letting his hands wander when Maxim walked in, caught like a deer in the headlights at the sight before him. His brother’s hands were roaming up Yuri’s shirt, his lips on his skin. Neither one of them made a move to pull away, choosing instead to stare at the second-youngest Altin boy.


“Mom and dad know,” Otabek blurted out. “If you skew this into more than it is, I will end you .”

The teenager put his hands in the air, calmly side-stepping to grab an apple. He backed away slowly, letting the couple see that all he'd wanted was a snack.

When Maxim was gone, Otabek sighed and put his head on Yuri’s shoulders. “We are very lucky that my family is as cool as it is.”

Yuri nodded. “Can't imagine most Muslim families are chill with their sons porking dudes.”

“...Porking? Yura, really?”

Yuri snorted. “I didn't plan that, y’know.”

“You wouldn't be so clever--ow!” Otabek rubbed his head from where Yuri had smacked it.

Taras came back and Yuri retrieved the hot dogs from the boiling water. He sliced them up and tossed them into the canned pasta, stirring to mix before pouring three bowls. Two were on the larger side, and one was tiny and sported the faces of animals.

...Yuri was a little jealous.


Otabek and Yuri spent the next several days enjoying one another. Much time was spent in the pool, with Yuri insisting that he’d get a tan in due time.

He did not.

Yuri Plistesky had managed to burn through his clothes, and it was up to Otabek to slather him with aloe and lotion. There were rings of white, unburned skin lining each of the tattoos. Yuri had followed the advice he gave to all of his clients. ‘I don’t care if you don’t put sunblock on any other part, but if you don’t put it on the ink, you deserve the result.’

“I hate you so much,” Yuri grumbled, comparing pictures of Otabek he’d taken before their trip to the man in front of him. Much more receptive to UV rays, Otabek’s skin was a good three shades darker. He wouldn’t need sunblock. He was dark and sexy, and Yuri was red and angry.

They made the most of their trip, with Otabek taking his boyfriend to the beach and smiling as he turned his nose up at the numerous boardwalk tattoo and piercing shops of questionable quality. But they’d be coming back with plenty of souvenirs, Yuri planning on decorating his work room with a few of the shells he’d collected from the shore.

Every night was spent the same. They’d go out and feed the animals, with Yuri having the confidence to ride Ted without a saddle after the second time. Not like that was a skill-- Ted still moved at his own pace. Inzhu had joined them one night so that she could check up on one of the older goats, and had snapped a few pictures of the two of them-- most notably a picture of Yuri draped sideways over Ted’s back and Otabek caught in a kissy face as he clucked to encourage Ted to at least put one hoof forward.

They had come for the wedding, but Yuri was shocked by how little time they had spent even thinking about the event. He hadn’t even met Ayaulim’s fiance yet.

When the morning of the wedding did actually come, Otabek woke him with a kiss to the temple and a soft whisper of his name. Not that he’d needed it-- the girls were loud as all hell. The bathrooms were occupied, with the exception of one, so the poor couple was forced to shower together.

Oh no. How sad. However would they live?

“Fifteen minutes, no more,” Otabek’s mother warned as she caught the couple disappearing into the bathroom with their clothes and towels. “I will be timing.”

Mom ,” Otabek whined. “We aren’t going to do anything.”

She hummed skeptically. “Hands to yourselves.”

“That’s no fun,” Zhenya interjected, covering her head with an ornate scarf and tucking her hair away.

Otabek threw his hands into the air. “You know what? If I wanted to have sex with my boyfriend, I couldn’t because my..” he gestured at his crotch. “..Parts have retreated back into my body because of this conversation.”

His mom nodded. “My work is done.”

He groaned into his hands as Yuri dragged him into the bathroom. He couldn’t wait to get back to New York so he could feel like an actual adult. He stripped down with Yuri and stood under the spray of the water with him, letting himself relax as his boyfriend lathered up his hair with shampoo.

“We’ll be back in New York tomorrow,” Yuri pointed out. He closed his eyes as Otabek returned the favor, scrubbing his scalp with his much wider fingers.

“Thank God,” Otabek muttered. “I love my family, but there’s a reason I moved to NYC.”

Yuri chuckled. “Yeah, I bet there is.” He reached down, hands coated in soap, and played with Otabek’s mostly-limp dick. He had to focus on not getting harder, knowing that his entire family was nearby… but Yuri’s hands were so gentle, playing with his foreskin and his balls in an intimate gesture as he washed them.

They emerged wearing only pants. Otabek flipped off his sisters as they whistled at the couple, and Otabek dragged Yuri into the bedroom to dress him properly.

“I’m thinking the black shirt with the red tie?” Yuri suggested, digging through his suitcase.

“You’re going to a wedding, not a funeral.”

“So… pink tie?”

Otabek knelt at Yuri’s suitcase, looking for something colorful and modest. Though, as he picked out yet another pair of short-shorts, he realized that nothing in Yuri Plisetsky’s wardrobe fit in the middle of that Venn Diagram.

“I’ll ask Maxim if he has something you can borrow.” He stood and ran off to his brother’s room. He returned with a traditional-looking shirt, swirls of green, gold, and pink throughout. Yuri stared at it.

“What was wrong with my white button-down?”

“You ripped a button or two off, remember?”

“That was you, and you know it.”

Otabek rolled his eyes. “I just want you to fit in, Yura.”

“Yeah, what are you wearing?”

Otabek gestured at the red and silver outfit hanging on the doorknob. Yuri stared at it. “I feel so ill-prepared for what I’m about to experience.”

“My sister is marrying a former Mormon. None of us are prepared for what we’re about to experience.” He stroked Yuri’s hair. “But you’re associated with the family of the bride, so you should dress to match.”

It didn’t take them much longer to get ready once they were dressed. Being friends with Phichit had its perks, and Yuri Plisetsky could apply perfect cat-eye eyeliner-- with liquid liner-- in about ten seconds flat. He curled his hair, shaking out the ringlets as Otabek combed sprayed his own hair with wax.

“You look beautiful,” Otabek praised as his boyfriend applied a generous amount of lip balm. He grinned as Yuri huffed and offered the chapstick to him.

“I’d look better if I’d tanned instead of burning to a crisp.”

“Maybe next time, Yura.”

Dry laugh. “Speak for yourself, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy.”

“You and I both know that I cannot be called tall.”

“At least I win some things.”


The wedding itself was overwhelming. Yuri didn’t know what to do. It was the weirdest blending of a western wedding and a traditional Muslim wedding that he’d ever seen in his life. He didn’t know what was happening at any given time, and just leaned on Otabek until food was served or he was expected to dance.

That, he knew how to do.

“You know how to dance, right, Yuri?” Zhenya asked, running over to her brother’s boyfriend, pleading in her eyes. “Will you do a dance with me? Ayaulim’s husband has a really cute friend,” she whined. “Please? I know you and Otabek will just grind on one another all night.” She looked at her brother. “Let me grind on him for a bit!”


“Thanks!” She took Yuri by the hand, and dragged him to the dance floor.

Otabek didn’t mind sharing his boyfriend, but he certainly didn’t like the idea of Zhenya grinding on him. He sighed in relief as, with the next song, Yuri and Zhenya stepped into a much more appropriate Foxtrot. He joined them on the dance floor, with his mother as his partner. It didn’t long for the aforementioned friend of the groom to tap on Yuri’s shoulder, asking if he minded if he cut in.

“Go for it, buddy.” Yuri handed Zhenya off. He saw that Taras had taken his mother from Otabek, so he approached the man, running his fingertips along his back.

“Miss me?” He offered his hand, which Otabek took.

“Egomaniac,” he chuckled, pulling Yuri close.

The two boys dancing together certainly drew looks, but Yuri and Otabek didn’t care. They just danced, with Yuri expertly dodging getting his feet stepped on.

They went home, sober and well-fed. Yuri had been popular, with all of the girls wanting to dance with the cute pretty-boy who actually knew what he was doing. Otabek didn’t mind. After all, who got to rub those tired feet and pull off those fancy clothes? He stripped Yuri naked in front of him as they settled down for bed. There wouldn’t be any sex that night, but Yuri enjoyed Otabek’s eyes on him nonetheless.

“Thank you for doing this with me, Yura. I know it meant a lot to my family, getting to meet you.”

“Why?” Yuri asked, enjoying the feeling of Otabek’s bare skin under his as they snuggled, wrapped up in a thin blanket.

Otabek stroked the rapidly falling curls behind Yuri’s ear. “They always worried about me being alone. I wasn’t very social, especially when I was a teen. Moms don’t need a reason to worry about their sons, but I gave her more than enough.” He shook his head. “Your presence in my life is important to my mother, because she knows that I have a support system in NYC that’s more involved than JJ.”

Yuri paled. “...Mama Altin has met JJ?”


“Bless that woman.”


A seven o’clock flight hadn’t been well thought-out on Yuri’s end, but with Otabek’s flight anxiety, he didn’t want to fuss with any layovers or extra long flights. His eyes were bloodshot and he was ready to pass out as, at three o’clock on the dot, Zhenya called for them to get their asses in the car. He ignored the wake-up call, too involved with his life-sized flesh pillow.

“If you boys don’t hurry up, there will be no time for Starbucks at the airport.”

Fine. Play dirty like that. Yuri didn’t move until Otabek slid out from under him and dropped a shirt on his face.

Luckily for Yuri, Otabek had common sense, and had loaded their suitcases the night before. Zhenya helped them wheel them out while Yuri made sure they had everything. In record time, Yuri slid into the backseat of the Range Rover, and leaned his head against the window.

“Go to sleep, Yuratchka,” Otabek insisted.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Yuri muttered, eyes closed before Zhenya even started the engine.

Otabek spent the trip to the airport just catching up with Zhenya while Yuri napped. He missed his favourite sister all the damn time, and their monthly phone calls were never enough.

Still clueless about flying in general, Otabek woke Yuri when they were about ten minutes away, needing his lover to be at least a little bit coherent to be able to guide him through the process.

“Maybe you’ll visit more, now that you’ve flown, Beka.” She pulled her brother close. They held each other for a solid minute and a half. They parted with a shared kiss on the cheek. Zhenya then went for Yuri, pulling her brother’s much taller lover close to her chest.

“Yuri,” she began, shooing her brother away with a hand. “You are a welcome and cherished addition to Otabek’s life,” she sniffed, hugging him so tightly that they could each barely breathe. “I know it’s early, but I hope to see you by his side for years to come.” As they parted, she pulled a necklace out of her pocket. It was made of thick, tightly braided horse hair. It was fastened with a lobster closure, and featured an empty, orate silver heart-shaped locket.

“I’m sorry it’s so.. Girly,” she laughed. “But I made it for you. That’s hair from Ted’s tail,” she pointed out. “I’m sure Otabek didn’t tell you, but that horse saved Beka’s life. They’d gotten lost on the trail, when Beks was maybe… fifteen? Maybe a little less. But what happened, was Beka went back to find Inzhu’s phone. She’d dropped it, and he thought he knew the trail well enough to find the way back. He didn’t, and we lost track of him for most of the day. After a while, when you lose a trail, it just looks like trees and dirt,” she waved her hand. “Well, when mother tells this story, she says that Otabek dropped his reins, prayed, and Allah led them back home.” She stepped close to Yuri. “Do you see Beks doing that? Because I don’t.” She smiled. “Ted knew the way. All he had to do was let that horse take care of him.”

Zhenya unclasped the necklace and put it around Yuri’s neck. “He protected Otabek, and he’ll protect you, too.”

No. Yuri wasn’t crying. It was raining in the airport.

“T-Thanks, Zhenya,” he whispered, pulling her back into a hug.

“Any time, Yuri.”

As they pulled apart, Yuri fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “By the way, if I, uh, wanna call Beka something cute in Kazakh, what can I say?”

Zhenya smiled. “I think ‘zhanym’ works.”

He nodded. “Zhanym. Uh, thanks.” He flashed a smile and bid her one more wave goodbye. She had to leave, and fast, or she was going to cry like a baby in the airport.


First stop in New York City? Yuri’s apartment. It was almost weird for him, seeing Victor and Yuuri waiting for them at the airport instead of Zhenya and the other members of the Altin family. He greeted his uncle and, er, uncle-in-law with a tired wave.

“I see someone got some sun.”

“Eat dick, Victor.”

“Oh, I meant Otabek.” Victor poked Otabek’s arm. “So tan! Though.. Maybe Yurio needs some aloe...”

Yuri was going to punch him right in the heart-shaped mouth. But he had to admit, it was so nice to be able to be vulgar again. He got to be himself, not a censored ‘meet-the-parents’ version. He’d get to wear slutty clothing, watch all of the inappropriate TV he wanted, and get a fucking rimjob without his boyfriend muttering that they had to hurry up before someone heard them.

Yuri Plisetsky needed a proper fuck.

But that night, he knew that they had too much to do to spend it together. Otabek really had to work on new mixes, Yuri had a mountain of emails from people wanting custom designs, and they both had fridges stuffed with rotting food that needed replacing.

“Did you have fun?” Yuuri asked kindly. “Phichit, uh, told us what happened.” He winced, looking back at Yuri, who slammed his head against the headrest.

“Does the entire fucking world know that Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin got caught in the fucking act?”

“Everyone that matters!” Victor supplied.

When they got to Yuri’s apartment, Otabek helped him carry his suitcases up. They came together in a kiss, Otabek’s hands firm on Yuri’s waist.

“I’ll see you in a few days, okay?” Otabek promised.

“Text me when you get home.”

“I’ll text you from Victor’s car.”

Yuri sniffed. “Sappy ass.”

As Otabek was leaving, Yuri called out. “Have a safe trip or whatever, zhanym.”

The nickname made Otabek light up. Sure, the delivery hadn’t been as smooth as Yuri had wanted, but had the intended affect on his lover. Otabek returned and held him close.

“See you soon, luchik.”


A day or two was all that Yuri needed to really be back to his full strength. He was used to staying up late, so the jet lag wasn’t destroying him. For the first day or two back at the shop, he didn’t take appointments. Instead, he spent his day watching Phichit pierce and taking walk-ins. Walk-ins were always cool because they were usually quick, easy, and weird as fuck. They were girls wanting arrows on their wrists or dandelions turning into birds, and men wanting crosses and asking if he could do a full galaxy sleeve for about two hundred dollars.

The answer wasn’t always no. It was fuck no.

Wednesdays were always slow. Nobody got paid on Wednesday. Yuri laid dramatically on the couch, and Phichit scrolled through Instagram while leaning against the jewelry case.

“...Hey, Phichit?”


“...Wanna do a piercing?”

Phichit looked up. “You mean the thing I get paid to do, but haven’t been able to do all day?” he jumped up.  “What are we doing? Tongue? Navel? Conch? Tragus? Daith? Guiche? Helix? Rook?”

Yuri blinked. “I understood, like, three of those words. What’s a guiche?”

“I can, have, and will pierce a taint.”

Yuri looked unamused. “No, thanks.”

“What? Your boyfriend has a PA. You’d be united in your junk piercings!” He winked. “But really, what do you want?”

Yuri shrugged. “I mean, nipple seems cool--”

In one fluid motion, Phichit whipped out a selection of ornate straight barbells and ends to go on them.

“You’ll look best with rings, but let’s heal ‘em with barbells. You gonna do both at once, or just one?”

Yuri shrugged. “You’re the expert here.”

“Do one,” Phichit encouraged. “I typically like to do double nipples when another piercer is here with me, and it’d take Guang Hong an hour or more to get here. Nipples are so sensitive, I’ve had a ton of people wuss out on doing the second once I do the first.”

That made sense. One it was. Yuri considered the jewelry options, torn between opal bullet ends and a more involved cluster. He knew that once the fucker healed, he’d be putting all sorts of pretty shit in it. The initial jewelry was the hardest to pick.

“If you’re having a tough time, I think the peacock opals with the blue accents would be prettiest. They match your eyes.”

Yuri stared at him. “Just what I always wanted, for my nipples to match my eyes.”

Phichit laughed. “I’m just saying. Pick what you want, man, they’re your nips.”

After a few minutes of thinking, Yuri ended up going for the cluster that Phichit had pointed out. Phichit jumped and squealed, going to load everything into the autoclave.

“Fill out a form, will you, Yuri?”

“I work here.”

“Fill out the form.”

“Fine, fine, fuck,” Yuri grumbled, grabbing the clipboard and filling out a consent form. He sat in the piercing room while Phichit sterilized everything that would touch him. As the autoclave finished up Phichit washed his hands and donned his gloves.

Knowing the drill, Yuri opened his shirt. He laid back on the table, feet hanging off the end just a little.

“Pick the nipple you want and see if you can perk it up for me. Makes it easier.”

Yuri picked the left, and poked it a couple times until it stood up. Phichit wiped it off with betadine and took a toothpick dipped in gentian violet to mark where he was going to pierce. After giving Yuri the chance to approve the placement, he donned a surgical mask and traded his gloves out for sterile ones.

“Okay, let me get all lined up.” Phichit pinched his nipple in lieu of using a clamp. “You’ll feel the tip, but that’s it.”

Yuri tried to hold it in, and he couldn’t. He choked on his laughter, and Phichit followed suit. They took a minute to compose themselves before Phichit lined back up, ready to be serious this time.



“Okay. Deep breath in…” Inhale. “And out.” Phichit pushed the needle through on the exhale, which turned into a “Fuck you and your entire net worth, Phichit Chulanont.” Phichit laughed, dropping a gauze pad soaked in saline solution on Yuri’s nipple, the needle still hanging out in there. He grabbed the taper, which had the barbell screwed onto it and dipped it in a bit of lubricant before tossing aside the gauze pad and trading out the needle for the jewelry. Yuri grit his teeth as Phichit screwed on the cluster.

Phichit stood back and admired his handiwork. “Yay! Perfect, pretty nipple!” He patted at it with another saline-soaked gauze pad to clean it up and ease the pain. After a minute or two, Yuri sat up and looked at himself in the mirror.

“God, that’s badass.”

Phichit took off his gloves and mask. “You know the drill. Don’t touch it, don’t use soap, don’t put any alcohol or peroxide or whatever on it. Just rinse it off in the shower, and try not to knock it.” He shook his finger at Yuri. “And tell Otabek to keep his mouth off of it.”


“Hey. It had to be said.”

Embarrassment aside, Yuri admired the jewelry in his nipple. It looked so damn good. After he put his shirt back on and paid, he whipped out his phone.


Y: when can i see you again?

O: thursday sounds good. what’s up?

Y: got something to show you. *wink emoji*

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning had come, and Yuri was back to his regularly scheduled routine. He had a bunch of appointments lined up, and no time to even eat in the middle. If he was lucky, his four-hour sleeve would want a break or two so that he could sneak a protein bar and a handful of Phichit’s M&Ms.

He walked into the studio that morning ready to work. His hair was up in a high ponytail, and he’d even woken up enough to braid a couple of accents along the side. He’d thrown on just a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, bothering with only a pair of red Vans to add some color. The dress code for tattoo artists was pretty lax. Sure, Victor always showed up at work in a button-down, vest, and tie, but that was just Victor. He was the definition of extra.

His first stop was his work room. In his hand was the necklace that made out of horsehair that Zhenya had made for him. He had one cabinet that was glass, in which he stored a whole lotta nothing. So he unlocked it and hung it from the handle on the inside. He didn’t want to wear it-- he lost everything. So he’d keep it where he could see it all of the time. In time, he’d put pictures in the locket, but after his teary confession to Otabek, he really felt like he had to rein in the crazy. The tattoo, while it was heavily influenced by Otabek, wasn’t exactly his name plastered across his forehead. And he’d been playing with the idea of piercing his nipple-- and his tongue, for that matter-- before he’d met Otabek.

Otabek just made him feel confident and dangerous. It was intoxicating.

Not long after he arrived, so did his first client of the day. It was a girl, excited to get a tattoo dedicated to her mother. The second was a guy wanting a mandala on the back of his hand. After about ten minutes of interrogation, Yuri determined that a hand tattoo wasn’t going to ruin this guy’s life, and went through with it.

Sometimes, his role was to talk people out of stupid shit. Remember Mila? She had wanted her anniversary with her boyfriend etched into her wrist.

“You realize that if you break up, you’re gonna wanna chop off your hand, right?” he’d said.

They’d lasted a month after that.

After he and his four-hour sleeve appointment had called it a day, he walked into the lobby, rubbing his neck.

“Yuuri, have you seen my seven o’clock?” he asked. Last appointment of the day, and Yuri was more than ready to go home. He was sore. He was exhausted. He wanted to just snuggle up in bed with his cat, and if he was lucky, he’d get to see his boyfriend the next day.

They both looked as the door opened. And there, in all of his motorcycle-riding glory was Otabek. Yuri smiled, but it fell off of his face when he realized that there wasn’t even a McDonald’s bag in that gloved hand.

“Beka,” he greeted, giving his boyfriend a side-hug to avoid bumping his new piercing. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. “I’ve got one more appointment.”

“I know.” Otabek handed his helmet to Yuuri, who hung it on the coat rack. “I’m your seven o’clock.”

Yuri blinked. “You’re getting a tattoo? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me to draw it?” He looked offended. “Did someone else design it?”

Otabek hushed him with a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “I want you to pick it, Yuri. I have some ideas.. Nothing solid, but it’ll give you something to work with.”

Yuri grabbed him and sat him on the couch. “I don’t want you to do this if you’re not one hundred percent ready.” He exhaled. “I got my eagle because of you, yes, but I know what I’m doing. When a client tells me they want their boyfriend or girlfriend’s face plastered on their ass, I talk them out of it.” He looked down. “I don’t want you to do this just because I’m a tattoo artist, or that you owe me something. I want it to be something that you will be proud to wear for the rest of your life.” His voice went small. “Because if you get this tattoo lasered or covered up, I’m going to cry like a bitch.”

Otabek stroked his cheek. “I don’t want your face on my ass, Yuri. Though, it would make it more attractive.” He chuckled at the look on Yuri’s face. “You always tell me that people come in with vague ideas, and you exceed their expectation. That’s what I want. You’re just the one I trust the most to do it.”

Yuri nodded. “Well. Alright then.” He got up and retrieved a clipboard from Yuuri. He handed it to Otabek. “Fill out this form, then come back to my room.”

This was so exciting. His heart was going to break a hole in his chest. As he gathered his supplies, he ran through all of the designs that would suit Otabek. A horse? Too girly. An eagle? He didn’t want his first tattoo to be so close to Yuri’s own. A panther? Again, he didn’t want to lock Otabek in with a design that was so blatantly Yuri.

But as his boyfriend walked in and shut the door after himself, he got an idea.

Otabek sat in the chair while Yuri started getting everything ready. He pulled up his stool next to Otabek and rubbed his arm idly.

“Okay. Tell me your ideas.”

Otabek closed his eyes. “I want something I can see. I want it to be small.” He looked at Yuri. “I want to keep my first commitment small.”

“Good idea,” Yuri coughed, gesturing at his own back piece. “I was ready to kill Victor about an hour in.” Breaking all sorts of protocol because Otabek wasn’t an average client, he lifted his boyfriend’s shirt, wiggled his pants and underwear down, and laid his hand over the beginnings of the ‘v’ of his groin on his right side. “We can put it here, if you only want it to be visible sometimes..” He moved his hand to Otabek’s shoulder, right where he laid his head at night.

Otabek took his hand and slid it back to his hip. “I like there.”

Yuri tried to control his blush as he pulled over all of the products he’d use to prep the skin. “What were your ideas?”

Otabek hummed. “Something musical.” He closed his eyes. “When I was young, when I didn’t have friends, I had music.”

Well, that was vague enough to be anything.

Yuri cleansed and prepped the skin, shaving it free of the sparse black hairs that just barely entered the area that he wanted to tattoo. He popped the cap off of a new, never-before-used marker, and got to work. The design he imagined that Otabek would like was sketchy and bold, which happened to fit Yuri’s style. Yuri had been particularly loving negative space designs at that point. So he sketched on some paint splatters of varying colors. He’d keep it simple, likely on the red or black spectrum. Otabek wasn’t going to want a damn pride symbol on his groin. Instead of outlining the design, Yuri just chose to not fill in what he’d picked-- a stylized depiction of Otabek’s expensive-as-hell headphones.

Yuri sent Otabek to look at the design. “You like it?” he asked hopefully.

Otabek looked back at him and nodded. “It’s amazing, Yura. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“Then get back over here,” he waved, patting the seat. Once Otabek was lying back down, Yuri pulled his pants down further, just so he’d be more comfortable. He sprayed the sketch with some kind of setting spray, then got to work assembling his machine and gathering the ink.

“You ready?”


“You sure?”

“Yes, Yura.”

“You like the design?”


Yuri put his hands up, taking one last moment to put his mask on. “Just asking, shit,” he laughed. He got lined up… and put his foot on the pedal.

It didn’t hurt as much as Otabek had been anticipating. JJ had whined so badly about it, and he remembered the tears as Yuri went over a spot by his collar bone. It was more of an annoying pain, like a cat scratch with significant vibration. Yuri looked calm and focused, beginning with a splatter of red on the upper end of his hip.

After several minutes, Phichit knocked and let himself in. “Hey guys!” he greeted. Yuri took his foot off of the pedal and looked at his friend, who waved for him to keep going.

“I’m just ordering jewelry. Yuri mentioned you might want to change out your PA jewelry for something more bling-y?”

Otabek blinked. “Did he?” Yuri whistled innocently, outlining a drip line.

Phichit nodded. “Yeah! He said what you have is boring.” He pulled up a chair and showed Otabek his options. “You can stick with what you’ve got, kinda, and I can anodize something, give you a little pop of color down there..” He ignored the alarmed look on Otabek’s face.

“Or I can just order you some opal or gem-inlay ends…”

Yuri blinked up at Phichit. “What’s up with you and opals? They make up most of your stock.”

Phichit shrugged. “They’re popular as hell, and super pretty.” His eyes, unfortunately, wandered toward Otabek’s crotch. Seeing this, Yuri leaned with his body covering his boyfriend’s goods.

“What gauge are you?”

Otabek had to think. “Ten?”

Phichit nodded. “Makes sense, given you’re uncut and all.”

Otabek stared at Yuri. “How does he know so much about my penis?”

Yuri shrugged. “He’s a professional. He’s good at… anatomy.”

Otabek stared at his boyfriend, but closed his eyes with the twinge of pain as the needle glided over his hip bone.

“And by that, he means that he gives me sex details. It’s what friends do nowadays! I do the same for him!”

Yuri nodded. “It’s true. I know plenty about your friend Seung-gil’s dick.”

Otabek rubbed his forehead. “Lovely.”

Phichit bounded out of the room after they had decided that Phichit would order a few new bright blue opal ends in ten gauge. Yuri kept working like nothing had happened. He hadn’t just had a perfectly almost-professional conversation with his coworker about his boyfriend’s penis. Normal people had discussions like that, right?

It was well after closing when Yuri finally finished for the night. It wasn’t an overly complicated design, it just took a steady hand and imagination. He’d gone for two paint splatters, one red, the other black. The use of negative space had been a good choice, with Victor peeking his head into the room and approving of the look.

“You’re a very good artist, Yurio. Take a picture of that for your portfolio, if Otabek consents.”

Yuri had preened at the compliment, and it drove him to concentrate harder. Otabek deserved only the best, and the best was what he was getting.

After cleaning it off and applying a little bit of protective ointment, Yuri sent his boyfriend to the mirror to take a good look before he wrapped it up. He saw a hand drift toward it, and was able to snap a quick “Don’t touch it!” He stared at the piece in the mirror, loving the way it flowed with his anatomy, and would look hot as hell once it was fully healed.

“I love it.”

Yuri lit up. He got down on his knees, phone out, and snapped a few pictures. He looked over as the door opened, grabbing Otabek’s shins for support, and Otabek put a hand on his head to steady him.

Yuuri took a moment to process the scene in front of him. He laughed nervously before shutting the door slowly.

Yuri sighed, knowing exactly what it looked like. “Come on, Beka,” he groaned. “Before anyone else in this shop thinks I’m doing things to your dick.”

Otabek wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. There was one thing that was weighing on his mind.



“You said that you had something to show me.”

Yuri lit up. Duh! He’d been so engrossed with the idea that his boyfriend wanted a piece of ink from him that he’d completely forgotten about his own brand-new body modification. Trusting that everyone was out of the studio, he pushed Otabek down on the couch in the waiting area. He climbed into his lover’s lap, purposefully missing the fresh tattoo on his groin, knowing that the plastic wrap didn’t make it any less tender. He straddled his boyfriend comfortably, and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“Well? What do you think?”

Otabek was speechless. He narrowed in on the barbell through Yuri’s nipple immediately, the shine catching his eye. Knowing that, if he wanted to keep his hand, he’d better not touch the damn thing, he ran his fingers under the nipple. He couldn’t wait until Yuri let him play with it again. Weeks of fantasizing had paid off, and his little dream had come true.

“Fuck, Yura,” he groaned. “You had to do this to me on a day I have to work, didn’t you?”

Yuri smirked. “Sure did.” He gasped, however, as Otabek latched onto his unpierced nipple, sucking at it and teasing it with the tip of his tongue.

“That’s dirty, Altin,” he grumbled, throwing his head back and stroking Otabek’s hair. Otabek ignored the jab, rubbing his boyfriend’s thighs and worrying at the bud with his teeth.

“Bek… a-aah,” he whined, tugging at Otabek’s hair and succeeding in pulling him off of him. “You’d better enjoy going to work with that hard-on that’s poking me in the ass.”

Otabek groaned. He was running late as it was, there was no way he’d get to squeeze in a quickie.

“Tomorrow,” Yuri promised. “You’re off, I’m off. Let’s get off,” he winked.

Otabek’s eyes betrayed his desire. It had been days since he’d seen his boyfriend, with both of them needing to dive into work. The sex they’d had in California was rushed and results-oriented, with the goal being orgasm, not an indulgent fuck that left them reeling and breathless and simply amazed with one another. That was what Otabek wanted, and was so eager to get.

Disappointment painted his features as Yuri put his shirt back on. He ran his fingers along Otabek’s chest, eyes flicking toward the bandaged tattoo hiding under his shirt. “Keep the wrap on until you get home. Then scrub it with cold water and your fingers. Let it air dry, then put a thin layer of that stuff I left in your bathroom on it. Wear pants and a shirt to bed-- don’t give me that look, you can tug one out and then put your pants back on,” he teased, grinding against Otabek’s groin. “I don’t want to wake up to a text of ‘Help, Yura, I’m stuck to the bed.’”

Yuri bid farewell to his boyfriend with a kiss, holding him close and rubbing his back. The wild look in those eyes promised that, the next time Yuri saw him, neither of them would be walking out of the encounter without a limp. That damn nipple piercing was enough to give Otabek masturbation fuel for the next month. The little lick of the lips Yuri gave him as he stared at his as as he walked back to his motorcycle was just plain unnecessary.


Yuri woke to a text from Otabek, telling him that he was welcome over at any time. Going to Otabek’s was preferred-- Yuri’s apartment was a one bedroom unit, and Otabek’s two-bedroom had come standard with a huge whirlpool tub.. Not that Otabek could go near it while that tattoo was healing. One of the bedrooms had been converted into his studio, which was where Yuri knew he’d find him as he opened the unlocked door.

Kicking off his shoes, Yuri sauntered into the studio, wearing a skin-tight tank top and a pair of skinny jeans. His socks were covered in cats, and he made very little sound as he entered.

Otabek was in front of the microphone, a position that Yuri rarely saw him in. In fact, he’d only ever seen Otabek working the turntable or editing tracks on the computer. Had he even heard his boyfriend sing?

Yuri greeted him with a rub of the shoulder. Otabek paled, just a little, and pulled Yuri close to him by the hand.

“Uh, you might want to step outside and make lunch or something, babe. I’m working on a paid commission.. And it’s… rough.” He cleared his throat.

“And miss you sing? Which I haven’t heard at all? Please. It’s fine, Beka.”

Otabek didn’t look convinced. “Okay.. but you can’t laugh. And just remember, all I did was arrange it and make the music..” He cleared his throat and put his headphones on, clicking the ‘play’ button on his computer.

Now I rule the world and the starry sky spreading above …”

Yuri got comfortable on the floor.

The song was good. Well, rather, Otabek’s voice made it sound good. The lyrics were creepily spunky, but he hadn’t realized how awesome Beka’s singing voice actually was. He’d been entranced by the purr of his voice, so much so that he’d been completely thrown when he’d heard “ I’m the king JJ, no one defeats me. This is who I am, baby.

Yuri screamed.

He fell over, holding his stomach, and screamed with laughter. He rolled and kicked his feet, absolutely losing his damn fool mind at the song that narcissistic asshole had paid his boyfriend to put to music.

“STOP! Stop , Beka, fuck. I’m gonna pee my pants!” He brought himself to his feet and waved his hand. “Fucking shit , I’ll leave you alone to suffer in peace,” he laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Otabek took a break to compose himself and adjust a couple of levels. He was stone-faced and calm, seeing the project as a job, up until the point that he heard Yuri sing from the kitchen.

I’m the king JJ, no one defeats me. This is who I am, bab-- BEKA! WHY THE FUCK IS THIS PIECE OF SHIT CATCHY?”

Otabek smirked to himself. “Because I’m the best.”


Knowing that he wouldn’t have the ability to sing that song with a straight face with Yuri there, Otabek finished up and joined his boyfriend in the kitchen. Yuri was cutting up apples for them to have with slices of cheese. He put his head on Yuri’s shoulder, and opened his mouth to receive the apple slice topped with cheddar that Yuri offered.

“Baby,” Otabek purred into his ear, rubbing up and down his sides. “I can’t decide if I want to take you out to eat, or eat you out, then take you.”

Yuri tilted his head to the side to give Otabek better access to his throat. “I think both can be arranged, but you’d better switch the order, or I’ll be rubbing you under the table.” He arched into Otabek’s hold. “And we’ve been caught having sex enough for one month, thank you.”

Otabek allowed Yuri to twist in his grasp, watching hungrily as Yuri bit into an apple slice. Otabek leaned in for a kiss afterward, his hands finding Yuri’s ass. He pulled Yuri away from the counter, dragging him in the direction of the bedroom. He liked to think that they weren’t going to waste any time, but it was three o’clock in the afternoon on a day both of them had off, and all they had was time.

Out of instinct, if nothing else, Yuri shut the bedroom door and grabbed Otabek by the collar, tossing him onto the bed. He crawled up his body like a cat, swaying his hips and settling in his lap. Otabek stroked his hair gently, moving it out of the way of his pretty eyes, and tried his hardest to not hit that healing nipple piercing as he sat up to kiss him. Yuri always tasted sweet, like his favourite mint gum and handfuls of stolen M&Ms. He had soft, but thin lips, and a tiny, wicked tongue. He knew what that tongue was capable of, and it made his heart speed up.

When Yuri was in the mood, seldom did his eyes leave Otabek’s. He liked to monitor his lover, liked to see every expression and make sure it was all still good. It had the added benefit of being hot as fuck, and there was nothing sexier than getting good head with a pair of big, beautiful green eyes staring up at you.

And good head seemed like it was on Otabek’s agenda for the day. Especially when Yuri leaned into him and started whispering into his ear.

“I’ll bet you’re all pent up,” he breathed, bringing his hand down to rub at Otabek’s clothed cock. “Didn’t get to properly let go all week. I don’t know how you’re keeping control right now.”

“Because I know that, in just a few minutes, I’ll have you begging and screaming. Patience is a skill you lack.”

Yuri chuckled. “That’s a pretty heavy bargain, Altin,” he pointed out. “Sure you can deliver?”

“You and I both know that you’re shaking after just a few minutes of my tongue on you.” It was true. It took very little to get Yuri squirming under him. That boy was sensitive on the best of days, and when they hadn’t been able to have a truly satisfying romp? Otabek had every confidence that Yuri’s talk was bigger than his walk.

But that didn’t mean he loved the talk any less.

Not wanting to disturb the piercing, Otabek rolled Yuri onto his back gently, grabbing his hands and pinning them above his head.

“Keep them there,” he instructed distractedly, shoving Yuri’s shirt up and leaning down to kiss his belly.

Yuri wiggled. “Or what?”


“You said keep my hands here. What will you do if I don’t?” he asked, brow raised. He let out a squeal, however, as Otabek bit his ribs.

Words weren’t needed. Not with the look in Otabek’s eyes and how badly that bite had hurt. Otabek was always such a gentle lover, but when the fire was lit, Yuri knew that he was in for a treat. There would be no walking out of that bedroom. No, he was going to be rendered absolutely useless after this fuck. Good thing he’d left food out for Snowball.

A shuddering breath left Yuri’s lips as Otabek continued exploring his torso, dipping his tongue into his navel and latching onto the nipple that wasn’t out of commission. The idea to get one done at a time was smart.

With fingers working Yuri’s fly, Otabek stared up at him, acutely aware of the little whimpers coming from his lips. He wanted to point out how ironic it was that Yuri was already mewling under his touch, but he kept his mouth shut. It was too busy playing with that sweet nipple of his.

Lovebites began to darken on Yuri’s skin, from his throat to his hips. Some wouldn’t be able to be covered, but most would. Yuri didn’t mind. He wore those hickies and scratches with pride, and left them just as eagerly all over Otabek. It was reassuring. Sure, it was possessive, but so was Yuri. He’d suffered a lot, and he deserved to show off evidence of their union.

Yuri had been so engrossed in his thoughts of how he planned to show the world that he was getting the best sex of his life that he didn’t register that Otabek had slid his pants down until he felt lips close around the head of his dick. He hissed and thrust upward, Otabek making a little noise of surprise and holding his hips down. He gave Yuri a warning look before supporting his balls with his hand, hollowing his cheeks to provide as much stimulation as he could in one pass. His tongue swiped at the slit and Yuri bit down on his tongue.

“Beka,” he breathed, clenching his fists. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, stroke his cheek, cup his ears.. Everything that Otabek did for him that made him feel so appreciated. But he was also getting close, and didn’t want to ruin it by breaking the rules of their little game.

But Otabek knew that he was getting close. He knew, and that wasn’t in the plan yet. So he took his mouth off, soothing the pout on Yuri’s face with a long and hot kiss. To make it easier for those hands to stay where they belonged, Otabek gently coaxed his lover onto his belly, with Yuri propping up on a pillow to avoid any drag on his piercing. He knew what was coming, as Otabek spread his legs and eased him apart with his thumbs. That was what he’d missed the most. Sure, dick-sucking could be done in relative silence, but if that tongue had wandered to Yuri’s ass at any point during their time in the Altin family home, they would have been busted for sure.

Maybe that was why Otabek indulged, taking his time, making Yuri keen and wiggle his hips. He loved the noises that rose from that throat. Yuri looked back at him, lids fluttering and mouth slack.

“You gotta stop,” Yuri whined. “You gotta stop, or I’m gonna come,” he babbled. With a bit of a shift, Otabek brought his hand to Yuri’s nipple.

“Go on, baby.”

All it took was a couple of squeezes and a roll between his fingers, and a slow pump of his cock, and Yuri was spilling in his hand. The blonde gasped, unable to catch his breath well enough to scream, too taken aback by the unexpected orgasm. Once his piercing healed completely, he was damn sure that Otabek could get him to come from rimming and nipple play alone.

One thing that always choked him up about Otabek was how doting he was after he came. He always held him, always checked in on him, always made sure he was okay. There was no kiss that time, but Yuri knew that he’d get plenty later, especially with what he was about to do.

Yuri looked at his hands, silently asking for permission to use them. Otabek nodded, and Yuri eased him onto his back. Otabek sat against the pillows, legs open enough to give Yuri plenty of room. He crawled into the allotted space and wasted no time. Over the weeks, Yuri had become very familiar with how his boyfriend liked his blowjobs. So the ran his tongue from base to tip, pausing on the way back up on the second stroke to lap at and suck on his balls. His tongue even wandered downward, giving Otabek a taste of what Yuri loved so much.

“I can see the appeal,” Otabek breathed, allowing Yuri a little more space.

“You like it?” Yuri grinned, licking his way back up and sucking on the head of his cock. He stroked what his mouth couldn’t fit, rubbing the bottom ball on the flat of his tongue.

Otabek’s hands were never still when Yuri’s mouth was on his cock. He was always petting his hair, stroking his cheek, playing with his hair.. His fingers massaged little circles over Yuri’s scalp and temples. It was an experience that they both enjoyed.

“Baby,” he groaned, legs beginning to shake. “Fuck, Yura, I’m close,” he warned. It was a plea for Yuri to pull off, to let him keep some sanity so that he could just turn around and fuck it right out of his skull. But Yuri made no move to stop, holding Otabek’s gaze and sucking loudly on the tip.

“Yeah?” he asked, tip of the tongue teasing Otabek’s slit. “Can’t wait until you’re in my ass? I thought you were the master of patience daddy ?”

The result was instantaneous. Otabek came, and forcefully. He painted Yuri’s tongue, lips, and face with his release. Yuri stared at him, letting the semen rest on his tongue. He finally swallowed once he’d processed what the hell just happened, and a huge grin plastered itself onto his face.

“....Holy shit.”

“Shut up.”

Yuri crawled close, like an excited kitten. “Holy shit, you like when I call you daddy.” He held Otabek’s cock firmly in his hand, milking out any residual semen. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with this.” He allowed Otabek to clean his face off with a tissue.

“Oh, daddy, do you want to come in my mouth again?” he asked innocently, and his expression brightened in delight as just another droplet or two of semen coated his fingers. “Do you want to spank me and fill me up for being a bad boy, daddy?

Otabek covered his face with his hands. He’d created a monster.

Chapter Text

Months past, and Yuri and Otabek felt lucky in their relationship. No real fights, great sex, lots of opportunities to be close.. But six months in, the rug was almost pulled out from under their feet.

See, communication wasn't a strong point for either of them. Yuri had an aversion to sounding needy or crazy, and Otabek never wanted to pick at something inconsequential. Tiny annoyances built up over time-- Yuri left dishes in the sink. Otabek forgot to pick up rice for dinner. Yuri ate all of the hummus. Otabek borrowed Yuri’s car and left the tank empty and the seat pulled up.

None of it held any consequence.

That day, Yuri had barged into the studio, announcing that he'd picked up dinner. Otabek had been in the middle of working on a new mix, and would have to start completely over, Yuri’s rambling about Thai food making its way onto the recording.

“Fuck, Yura, can't you just leave me alone while I work?” He muttered under his breath.

Yuri crossed his arms, putting the food down on the desk. “You bring me food at work all the time. I thank you, not jump down your throat.”

Otabek groaned, rubbing his eyes. “You knew I was in here, why didn't you text?”

Yuri stared at him. “Because I'm in the next fucking room, watching Orange is the New Black. It's stupid to text from behind a door, and you know it.”

“...Now you're watching that without me?”

Yuri huffed, digging his food out of the bag. “No. I was going to ask you to come watch it with me while we had dinner. But now that that idea’s shot, I guess I'll go watch that new lion documentary. And after I'm done fucking myself , I'll do the fucking dishes.”

Otabek slammed his hands on the desk. “Goddammit, Yuri, I'm working! I haven't fucking left you out in the rain. You're being a fucking child.”

Yuri's jaw dropped. “Yeah? Am I?” He put his food down. “You know how many times I've put customs away so that I could spend time with you? Have you got any idea how many times I've left work early, canceled appointments, sacrificed tips for you?” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. But it wasn't going to work.

“I missed three. Fucking. Days. I missed three days at work last month because you had the flu, and you fucking needed me. And here you are, throwing a goddamn shit fit because I interrupted your jam session? Because I wanted to eat and watch TV and cuddle on the couch and get laid like a normal couple does?” He turned, and stormed out of the door.

“No. No. I'm done, Altin.”

Otabek's heart stopped in his chest. Done? There was no way he meant--?

He ripped off his headphones and ran into the bedroom, where Yuri was cleaning his clothes out of his drawers. A suitcase laid open on the bed, with Yuri shoving everything he could fit into it. He zipped it crudely, sleeves poking out of the zipper.

“Yuri, stop. Please.”

“No. Fuck you. You and your weird dick can go to hell.”

“Baby, listen to me, please. This is insane. I’m sorry--”

“--Fuck off, Otabek.”

Otabek stood in shock as Yuri yanked his key to Otabek’s apartment off of his keychain and threw it at him. Otabek’s heart shattered as he bent over and picked it up, not able to form words as Yuri threw his suitcase into the back of his car.




Going after Yuri immediately was a death sentence. So he paced in his living room, praying that Yuri would come back to him, that they'd be able to work things out. Hands jittery, he whipped out his phone, and selected a contact.


“Zhenya. It's me.”

“Beka, what happened? What's wrong?” Alarm filled the woman's voice.

“It's Yuri.” There was no point in choking back the tears. “He's gone. Zhen, I think he's gone for good.”

Zhenya gasped. “Oh, no. Beka, tell me everything,” she insisted.

When Otabek was done telling the story, he was a sobbing mess on his couch. He never cried. Not like this. He'd sniffle when a dog died in a movie, or his eyes would tear up in pain when he stubbed his toe. But he never full-out sobbed. Zhenya was silent for a minute, which did nothing to soothe Otabek’s anxiety.

“You can't let him sleep on that, Beka. And shame on both of your dumb asses for picking fights,” she scolded. “Go after him. Prepare for screaming, pack a cup, whatever you have to do. Take a minute, compose yourself, then go to him. He needs to know that you haven't abandoned him.”

Otabek sniffled. “I fucked up.”

“I know. But he did, too. This is why you talk to your partner, Beka! Those little things add up. You've heard of the straw breaking the camel’s back! Go get your man, Beks. I'm going back to bed.”

“It's five in the evening there.”

“Naps exist, Otabek.”

The line went dead and Otabek grabbed his coat. It was raining, because of course it fucking was. Leave it to Yuri Plisetsky to run out dramatically in a thunderstorm. There was no way he'd be able to take the bike. So he hoofed it, jogging his way about sixteen blocks to Yuri’s apartment.

Vaguely, he could see wet blonde hair on the body slumped against the door. The suitcase was in his lap, and he was ugly-crying into his hands. Otabek approached slowly, like he was seeking to help a wounded animal. That was, until he realized that the door didn’t have an awning to protect the boy from the cold rain.

“Yuri, what the hell are you doing?”

Yuri sniffed. He rubbed at his eyes, and looked up at Otabek, only curling up further.

“I threw the wrong key at you.”

Otabek paused. He felt the key in his pocket and sighed. Of course Yuri would do something like that in the heat of the moment. He sat down beside Yuri, offering a hug. Yuri didn’t take it, so he rested his arms on his knees.

“...I’m sorry for yelling at you, Yura.”


“Baby.. I mean it. I let the little things build up, and I stepped out of line.” He held his arm out, still inviting Yuri to come in close. “You must be freezing. Come here, kitten.”

Reluctantly, Yuri scooted close. The rain was heavy as it hit their skin, but being cuddled up to Otabek made it all somehow better. Being cuddled up to Otabek made everything better. The tears didn’t stop, even as Otabek smooched his forehead. After a second, panic lit up Yuri’s face. His features screwed up with renewed tears.

“I don’t wanna break up.”

“Neither do I.” Otabek held him tight, letting him cry all he needed. “You gave me a scare, Yuri Plisetsky. Damn near tore my heart out of my chest.”

“I got scared,” Yuri admitted. “We’ve been picking at each other more and more, and I thought it meant that you were getting bored of me, or whatever, and we were about to break up.”

Otabek held his head firmly. “Yuri. Unless I say the words ‘this isn’t working out’ or ‘I want to break up,’ I’m not even considering it as an option.” He held Yuri’s chin. “I need you to put more faith in me. I didn’t kick you out of my bed on that first night, and I wasn’t going to end our relationship over a recording.” He stroked Yuri’s wet hair. “You said it yourself. You took care of me when I got sick. You did it without complaining, even. It’s going to take more than that to lose you your spot in bed.”

Yuri smiled. Just a teeny bit.

“Can we go inside?” Yuri asked.


Yuri nodded. “I’m owed snuggling and Orange is the New Black.”

Otabek pulled Yuri’s key out of his pocket. He went to open the door… then stopped. “I’m not giving this back to you.”

Yuri stared at him. “Beka, it’s fucking freezing.”

Otabek shook his head. “I want you to move in with me.”

Yuri’s jaw almost hit the floor. Was he hearing that correctly? Otabek wanted him to move in? As in, living together? Going to bed and waking up together every night?

Seeing that bottom lip quiver again, Otabek stroked Yuri’s cheek. “Baby, baby,” he cooed. “You don’t have to. It’s just.. My lease is up in two months. I want somewhere bigger.” He paused. "And I love you."

After taking a moment to think, Yuri nodded against Otabek’s side. “But… can I have a workspace?” he asked. “Maybe not a whole room , but a desk and somewhere to set up my tablet and all that?” 

Otabek chuckled. “For you, I’ll put a cat tree up for Snowball in the bedroom.”

Yuri nodded slowly. “Okay.” He shivered hard in Otabek’s arms and Otabek realized what they were doing, standing in the rain on a Thursday evening in early September in New York City. He fumbled the door open, and stripped his soaked coat off. He pulled Yuri close and helped him out of his sopping wet clothes. He grabbed a blanket off of the back of the couch and wrapped him up in it to restore some degree of warmth.

“I love you, too.. But really, Beka,” Yuri began. “I’m going to need my key.”


It took a lot of cuddling, a lot of sweet nothings, and a hell of a lot of makeup sex, but Otabek would say that he and Yuri had successfully survived their first big fight. In the days that followed, neither wanted to leave the other’s arms. They spent a week straight together, which they hadn’t done since the trip to California. It was nice. Though they each did things that pissed the other off, there were little things that made their hearts flutter, and those were what mattered. They traded off making or picking up dinner, Yuri left a pot of coffee hot for Otabek in the late mornings, Otabek threw the comforter in the dryer to make it warm for Yuri before bed, and they had mind-numbing sex every single solitary night.

Living with Otabek full-time was going to be amazing. He was just going to have to accept the ensuing soreness as a fact of life.

About a month before Otabek’s lease ran out, they went and saw a charming little apartment in a building that was reasonably close to the tattoo shop and to the club Otabek worked at. It had two bedrooms and a den, with two bathrooms and enough kitchen space for Yuri and Otabek to both fit. The floors were wood, it seemed to hold heat, and the master bedroom had a view that wasn’t a crack den.

“The washer and dryer are here,” the representative smiled, showing off the laundry machines that were tucked away in a closet by the bathroom. “And the accent wall in the dining room can be red, gold, silver, blue, yellow, or pink.”

Otabek looked around. “It’s nice,” he shrugged, then side-eyed Yuri. His boyfriend had expensive taste, as evidenced by the Givenchy puffer vest he was wearing with Otabek’s Walmart graphic tee. “But how much is rent?”

“Four thousand, two hundred a month.”

Otabek choked. Yuri didn’t blink. “Sounds fair to me, right, Beka?”

“How much do tattoo artists make ?” Otabek hissed, smiling at the representative and excusing himself and Yuri to the bathroom. Yuri leaned against the door.

“Beka, think back. Have I ever batted an eyelash about dropping money on plane tickets, or shoes, or anything like that?”


Yuri smirked. “And you know my current place is almost three grand a month, right?”

“...Mine, too.”

“So it makes sense.” Yuri nodded. “Beka. I make eighty grand a year. Victor brings home closer to a hundred, so does Katsudon. I’ll be up there one day. That includes tips, but hey. It all counts. I get hella taxes back. Not to mention that I did get money from... you know... grandpa’s estate and when we sold his house.. Plus, I just renewed my fucking lease before you reminded me that boyfriends can live together, so I’m going to have to sublet that at a profit.”

He bit his tongue and let his hips sway as he approached, running his finger up and down Otabek’s chest. He stuck out his tongue, showing off the well-healed piercing that had been placed there by Phichit months prior. The smooth purple opal cabochon caught Otabek’s eye every damn time. It distracted him from the fact that they really should have discussed income before applying for an apartment together.

“I guess you’re just going to have to call me daddy now.”

“And I’m done.” Hands raised in surrender as he left Yuri cackling in the bathroom, he found the representative from the leasing office and nodded. “Yeah. We’ll take it.”

The woman smiled. “Excellent! Let’s get the paperwork started!”



They moved into their new apartment on Otabek’s twenty seventh birthday. Yuri had planned it that way, wanting to ‘christen’ the new space on a special day. Not only that, but he had party-goers as free labor. It was a multi-functional party, and he fully intended on having multi-functional sex.

Yuri had relinquished his apartment to a friend of Phichit’s, a cute boy named Leo who put a cross above the bed, where Yuri had put some old rock band posters. Hey, whatever-- he was charging that sucker three thousand even for rent that was two thousand, six hundred dollars. No hate, that extra four hundred a month was going to Operation: Furniture. Both Otabek and Yuri had found it to be a little strange to bring their furniture from their old places. It wasn’t Yuri’s place, or Otabek’s. It was theirs.

As a housewarming gift, Victor and Yuuri had given them a new King-sized bed, complete with the frame and mattress. The headboard was black leather and studded. It looked awesome in their new bedroom, though Otabek didn’t know how he felt about the leopard print sheets. There were some fights worth having with Yuri Plisetsky, and matters of animal print wasn’t one of them.

Phichit had come over to help unpack, but had only managed to organize Otabek and Yuri’s closets. Seung-gil was more useful, putting away their new dish sets and organizing their cookware. JJ had managed to build a coffee table completely sideways, Chris spent way too long looking at himself in the full-length mirror in the bedroom, and Yuuri had to pick up the slack and arrange the living room while Victor spent an hour arranging small kitchen appliances in a way that ‘made sense.’ The coffee maker couldn’t be too close to the fridge, that was just common sense!

Otabek and Yuri themselves were busy, unpacking the bathroom and setting up Otabek’s equipment in the den, which would be his new studio. Yuri had spent a lot of time watching and helping Otabek work on his equipment, and he knew enough to at least be useful. He’d even accompanied him on a few guest spots and traveling gigs, serving as Otabek’s little groupie. Otabek had corrected him, informing him that the proper term was ‘roadie,’ but roadies didn't get to go back to the DJ’s apartment and ride his dick well into the night, now did they?

But by the end of the day, Otabek Altin and Yuri Plisetsky could say that they officially lived together. Yuri spent about twenty minutes after everyone had left to make his rounds, showing off the apartment on FaceTime with Zhenya.

“Here’s our bedroom! Otabek vetoed cheetah print curtains, so I guess red is fine..”

Zhenya laughed. “I really like the records!” Yuri had taken some old, cheap, easy-to-find vinyl records and painted them in vivid colors, drawing on common tattoo themes. The bedroom was where they came together. It was their private space. They slept, snuggled, made love, and took each other apart in that room-- shouldn’t it have bits of both of them?

“Thanks!” Yuri beamed, flopping down onto the bed. “I had the idea the other night. I was drawing on the floor of his studio, listening to him work, and it just hit me.”

Zhenya smiled. “You two look really happy, Yuri. What did you do for his birthday?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “ Someone is getting an after-birthday present because he insisted he just wanted me for his birthday. Gay,” he scoffed. “Whatever. Yuuri baked him a cake and I’ll just, you know, give him what he wants later. But he’s still getting a present, whether he likes it or not.”

Zhenya winked. “Well, I’ll let you get back to that,” she giggled. “Tell him I love him, and we all hope to come visit soon.”

“This place is bigger than either apartment we left, but it’s not exactly a hotel,” he rolled his eyes. “Talk later, Zhen.”


Yuri stretched as he stood, rubbing his belly. He was wearing a pair of leggings and a loose, oversized blue sweater that swallowed his hands and drooped on his shoulders. He snuck into the living room to see Otabek relaxing on their couch, watching Snowball tear up and down her cat tree during a commercial break. Yuri stalked over, casually kneeling between Otabek’s knees.


“...Hey,” Otabek greeted.

Yuri grinned, rubbing Otabek’s thighs. “I think it’s time for your present.”

Otabek shifted against the back of the sofa, getting comfortable and giving Yuri more space to work with. Yuri mouthed his cock through his jeans, hands wandering to Otabek’s sides.

“Funny,” Otabek murmured as Yuri nuzzled Otabek’s balls through his jeans. “My birthday, and you’re the one getting the present.”

Yuri smirked up at him. “Yeah? This is for me?” he bit his lip. Careful fingers opened his fly and pulled out the sizeable, swollen cock in front of him

Otabek groaned. “I love hearing that pretty mouth talk dirty.”

Yuri perked up, ideas coursing through his head. “Oh yeah?” he held the base and licked up the shaft. “Guess I’m just gonna have to deliver for the birthday boy, huh?”

Otabek sighed out and let his eyes close and his head fall back as Yuri sucked his cock. That tongue piercing he’d gotten was a goddamn instrument of Satan. He’d gotten a hard-on just holding Yuri’s hand through the procedure, thinking of all the things that sinful piercing would be good for. Abstaining from kisses and oral sex for six weeks had been torture, but they’d sufficed with cheek kisses and Yuri giving almost constant access to his ass whenever Otabek wanted it. Creativity was useful on days where Yuri was too sore, trying his damnedest to spice up handjobs and experimenting with new ways to get Otabek off.

“Shit,” he gasped as Yuri circled the head with his tongue, then let the top end of the tongue piercing slide around the metal ball at his slit. Yuri had damn near killed him when they got the OK from Phichit for Yuri to give blowjobs again. The end on the piercing was smooth and fairly flat. The change in texture was stimulating, as was the way he’d use it to rub against every sensitive spot Otabek had.

The blowjob continued until Otabek started cursing, tugging Yuri’s hair and fondling his ears with a little bit less sweetness. He was getting rough, and Yuri fucking loved it. He pulled off of Otabek’s cock with a pop, climbing up his body on all fours. Otabek greeted him with a stroke of the hair, then rubbed his thumb on his bottom lip.

“Where do you wanna cum, Beka?” he asked, lapping at his thumb. “You only get one… do you want it in my mouth? On my face? Inside of me?”

“One?” he echoed. “My birthday, and I only get one orgasm?”

“I wanna play with your hair and snuggle before we fall asleep. Two, and you’re out once your head hits the pillow.”

Otabek chuckled to himself. “Alright, then, kitten.” He looked Yuri over hungrily. “Show daddy what that tight little ass can do.”

They spent their first night living together in each other's arms. The cheetah print sheets were okay, Otabek guessed, as they didn't really show any of the evidence of the night's activities. Otabek woke first, with Yuri crushing his arm and pinning it against his side. The pins and needles hurt so badly that Otabek had resigned himself to having to cut off his arm. Yuri looked so angelic in the light of the sunrise, the light cast pink from the curtains. This was his life now, and it was perfect.

Chapter Text

Otabek woke up one morning, greeted by the overbearing mid-morning sun and a cool breeze, with Yuri’s ass in his face.

Okay, so the ass was a reasonable distance away, but Otabek still had one hell of a view. Yuri was contorted into some yoga pose that Otabek himself had no chance in hell of twisting into. Yuri looked down at him from between his legs, rising with a grin.

“Someone’s awake.”

“Hell of a sight, huh?” Yuri slid down onto the mat, flexing into another position that would send Otabek to the hospital.

This yoga kick was new. With them living together, there was less of a rush for them to spend time with one another. Neither of them slept alone. They went to bed when they felt like it, confident that the other would be there when they woke. They were each other’s constant.

Yuri had taken it to the next level, forcing himself awake just after sunrise and stretching and twisting for some reason that Otabek just couldn't grasp.

“I've gotta stay flexible,” Yuri insisted. “You shouldn't complain. You benefit from this, too.”

Otabek rolled his eyes. “I don't date you for your flexibility.”

Yuri winked. “No, but it certainly makes it more fun.”

If it was fun that Yuri wanted, it was fun that Yuri would get. Ignoring the hand spread over the small of his back, he shifted away and made sure Otabek wasn’t in the way as he laid on his back and brought his feet to rest sole-down on the mat behind his head. Plow pose, it was called. Huh. Funny. Because, looking at Yuri in that pose, plowing was certainly on his mind.

No words left his lips as Otabek peeled back the blankets, unknowingly covering Snowball and hiding her from the sin he was about to commit. Yuri’s tight little shorts were already low on his hips. It didn’t take much for them to peel them away, leaving them bunched just slightly above Yuri’s knees.




“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do what I know you’re about to, assho-- ah !”

Otabek looked up from where he crouched in front of Yuri, his tongue still pressed against his lover’s entrance. Yuri bit his lip, slowly flexing his core and bringing his legs from where they stretched straight out behind his head and resting his calves on Otabek’s shoulders.

“Can’t even do yoga in my own apartment without getting my ass played with,” Yuri grumbled, ankles crossing.

Otabek moved to pull away. “Is that a complaint?”

“No, fuck you, keep eating my ass.”

Otabek hummed and resumed his affectionate attack on Yuri’s ass. Those pretty green eyes fluttered shut, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. Over the months, Otabek had experimented, testing out what made Yuri beg and scream in the bedroom. But, from tying, to spanking, to toys, nothing made Yuri as much of a needy brat as being rimmed. Their sex had become less feverish and more indulgent with the growing familiarity of each other’s bodies. Yuri took pleasure in knowing that most of Otabek’s experience with him. Sure, they’d both had sex with others in their time, but not like this. It wasn’t romantic and playful, but rather, a means to an end. This was so fucking much better.

Yuri barely registered that Otabek was jerking himself off. He could just barely see it, the sweatpants his boyfriend had worn to bed were low on his ass, just enough room for him to release his cock and start pulling on it. Normally, such an act would piss Yuri off-- the only acceptable places for Otabek to cum were his mouth, his ass, and occasionally-- his face. Anywhere else was just a damn waste. But he could let it slide this time, because that cock was red and leaking, and getting it anywhere other than where it was would mean that Otabek would have to stop. Yuri wasn’t willing to make that sacrifice.

“Shit, Beka, I’m close,” he warned, legs tightening around Otabek’s neck. Otabek’s hand sped up, and he gave a couple meaningful sucks and thrusts of his tongue. He brought his free hand up, and all it took were two or three lazy strokes of Yuri’s cock before he was spilling all over his shirt. Otabek growled against Yuri’s ass, biting at one of the cheeks as he came all over Yuri and his yoga mat.

Peeking down, Yuri made no move to lower his hips back down. He’d laid in enough of Otabek’s semen for a lifetime, and his poor yoga mat hadn’t deserved such a cruel fate. He squawked in annoyance when Otabek moved to lay him down.

“Pick me up,” he demanded. “I’m not putting my ass in jizz.”

“You sure don’t mind it in your ass,” Otabek pointed out, trying to figure out how he was going to pull this off. Yuri made it easy, letting his legs fall to wrap around his waist, his arms tight around his neck. Though it was awkward, and Otabek very nearly dropped Yuri straight into the puddle of semen they’d been trying to avoid, he managed to carry him back to the bed. Almost lovingly, he tugged Yuri’s shorts back up, and stripped him of the ruined tank top.

Always wanting to be spoiled after sex, Yuri tangled their legs together and buried his face against Otabek’s neck. Otabek pulled him closer, playing idly with a pierced nipple and smelling his hair.

Most men Otabek’s age didn’t think about what their life would be in the next five years. That wasn’t cool. It was better to live in the moment. But all Otabek could think of was spending the rest of his god-forsaken life with this beautiful asshole of a tattoo artist. This was a boy who had given him everything, from a sun-bathed apartment and good food, to ample sass and mind-numbing sex.

This was what he wanted. Forever.

Most people would think he was crazy, with the word ‘marriage’ coming to mind as Yuri dozed off in the warmth of his embrace. Of course it was insanity. Nobody moved that quickly. But Yuri was the love of his life, claws and all. That didn’t mean that he was going to run out and buy a ring that day, but he could commit a couple hundred dollars into his savings for when the time came to put on a wedding.

There was also the question of his career. Otabek had made Hurricane his primary place of employment, though he did open himself up to certain guest spots at other clubs, as well as working select parties.

He needed to better.

Not that he was ashamed of his career. He loved it, and knew that Yuri did, too. He just didn’t want to grow stagnant. Nobody spun records at fifty, with very few exceptions. He didn’t have much of a personality, so there was no chance of him joining his friend Christophe in radio. He figured that he wanted to delve into the production side of music. He’d tried his hand at it and liked it-- though JJ’s atrocity of a song was philosophically terrible, Otabek had worked miracles on the music. Even still, he could sometimes catch Yuri singing it under his breath while he washed dishes.

All he wanted to do was make Yuri proud. If he voiced that desire, Yuri would surely beat him upside the head and snap at him for being dumb. But there was no denying that his boyfriend inspired him. While Otabek mixed tracks, Yuri either worked on custom tattoo commissions, or painted. He was truly gifted, often putting his for-fun paintings up for sale in the shop when he was done. On average, they lasted a week.

Yuri didn’t know it yet, but Otabek had run him through Google. Several Russian-only sites popped up, hosting details about Yuri’s dance career as a child. Though he no longer danced competitively, choosing instead to pirouette and playfully grind his hips while Otabek worked on music, he maintained his flexibility and some skill. He was driven, and Otabek wanted so badly to show that level of dedication on his own.

The thoughts could continue to run through his head, but Otabek didn’t need the anxiety. What he needed was to settle down and join his beautiful, golden-haired boyfriend in his mid-morning snooze.


“Otabek! What’d you bring today?”

It had come to the point where Phichit banked on Otabek bringing food in for the shop every Friday evening. It was Thai that day, with separate containers for everyone. His eyes lit up as Otabek placed the bag on the glass of the jewelry counter, a ring of condensation spreading almost immediately. He made grabby hands as Otabek pulled out Phichit’s order-- the spiciest Drunken Noodles that the restaurant could produce. Victor and Yuuri would share their Thai fried rice, and Yuri would surely take his share of Otabek’s Pad See Eew. Not that they would share it, in the traditional sense.. Yuri would eat most of it, offering his lover a bite here and there. Yuuri had once asked why they didn’t just get their own orders, but it was then that they realized that Yuri just wanted to steal Otabek’s dinner. It was tastier that way!

...So, Otabek filled up mostly on rice, spring rolls, and whatever he could grab before Yuri took it.

“He’s got a pretty involved appointment right now,” Phichit offered, seeing Otabek’s eyes wander toward Yuri’s workroom. “I’d say go in and feed the boy a spring roll, but the girl’s getting her ribs done. That’s why you’re hearing the occasional scream. Plus, her shirt’s off,” he shrugged.

Otabek settled down on the couch, clutching his food. Maybe he could actually get to eat some of the food he paid for. Victor smiled and waved as he walked through the lobby, grabbing his and Yuuri’s dinner.

“Yurio doesn’t deserve someone as kind as you, Otabek,” Victor praised, running back to his room.

Phichit lit up. “Oh! Otabek! I got your order in!” he chirped, grabbing a FedEx bag and running to the piercing room. “Let me get everything sterilized, and we can swap out your dick barbell.”


After a few minutes, Phichit waved for Otabek to follow him. Instead of taking him to the piercing room straight away, he brought him to Yuri’s private room. He knocked gently, not wanting to really disturb the artist at work.

“Yurio,” Phichit started sweetly. “I’m taking Otabek to the piercing room and swapping out his PA jewelry. Please don’t jump down my throat for handling his dick. Food’s in the mini-fridge!”

Though Yuri didn’t respond with anything more than “Cool,” Otabek knew what was coursing through his head. At least Phichit hadn’t revealed that he’d picked most of the beef out and left Yuri with mostly noodles.

It really was weird, lying on Phichit’s piercing table with his dick out. It made his heart race, remembering the pain of the initial procedure. When people found out about his piercing, the first question was always ‘Didn’t that hurt?’


It was a fucking Capri Sun straw of a needle through his cock, of course it hurt.

But the fact that Phichit was a well-respected piercer, trusted by the community as well as Yuri, put him at ease. He was just changing the jewelry, not adding any new holes. Even still, he was wary of those gloved hands going anywhere near his member. Luckily for him, Phichit was good at his job. He could put anyone at ease.

“So. How’s living with Yuri?” Phichit asked, washing his hands and snapping on a pair of gloves. “He seems really happy, you know. He really likes your new place. Two bathrooms, right? That’s a rarity.”

“One and a half,” Otabek corrected. Phichit spread his supplies out in front of him, including the purple anodized barbell and the end with the purple opal with red flash. It would match the jewelry that Yuri had in his nipples at that point, though that wasn’t intentional. “...I think I wanna marry him, Phichit.”

Phichit choked on his air. “There’s something wrong with you saying that while I’m handling your dick,” he deadpanned. “But that’s awesome! When are you going to ask him?” He gasped. “Not today, I’m not dressed!”

“Not today,” Otabek reassured. “I don’t have a ring yet.” He gave Phichit a side-eye as he coated the new jewelry in a bit of lubricant. “...Do you think he’ll say yes if I do..?”

Phichit considered, unscrewing the ball of Otabek’s existing jewelry and coaxing it out. “That boy is so gone. He tries to act all tough, but he’s down for all this,” he gestured at Otabek, but realized just how terrible it looked when he was holding the man’s dick. He cleared his throat and grabbed the new barbell, easing it through the bottom hole and screwing the new end on tight.

“Better ask Yuuri and Victor for permission, though. They’ll beat your ass. He’s practically their kid.”

Right. For some reason, Otabek had thought that he’d get to skip that part of the equation by being gay. But he forgot just how protective Victor and Yuuri were of Yuri. After all, there was no misunderstanding about whether or not Otabek wanted Yuri in his bed anymore. He’d have to keep them in mind.

Otabek left the shop without seeing his boyfriend, but with a sparkly new piece of jewelry in his cock, thoughts of giving Yuri Plisetsky in his mind.

Those would be quickly thrown out once Yuri realized the state of the noodles that Otabek had left.


Days off were Yuri’s favourite. He sat on the couch, Snowball licking his hair while Otabek rested his head in his lap. They were catching up on Santa Clarita Diet-- rather, Yuri was catching up on Santa Clarita Diet, while Otabek was half-asleep, loving the way Yuri’s hand idly ran over his cheek, ear, and hair. Before dating Yuri, he never would have thought that he’d like his hair played with. Yuri was supposed to be his kitten, not the other way around. But he was a convert, sighing in pleasure as Yuri’s thumb dug firmly into his temple.

“Does that feel good?” Yuri asked, running his fingertips over the shaved part of Otabek’s undercut.

“Mmmm,” he mumbled, “Yeah. I love you.”

Otabek thought nothing of the slip, though he knew that he’d meant to say ‘I love it.’ It wasn’t like they hadn’t said it before, but it was always during big moments. It wasn’t something that they let slip so easily. But Yuri bit his lip anyway, leaning down to offer a kiss, which Otabek took. It was so easy .

Yuri had always thought that love was hard. It was supposed to be hard. It was supposed to rip your heart out of your chest, ruin your resolve. It wasn’t supposed to be so goddamn perfect. Sure, they had their scuffles and their screaming matches, but Otabek almost always conceded. It was almost as if he valued Yuri’s feelings over the need to be right, which was damn near foreign to Yuri Plisetsky. Honestly, it made him suspicious. It was too good to be true, right? Nobody except for Victor and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov had a perfect relationship.

Except for them.

Yuri stayed bent over Otabek’s head, cradling him in his arms. Otabek reached up to hold the back of his neck, giving him a rare, beautiful smile. It was official. Otabek Altin was going to kill Yuri Plisetsky. Kill him dead.

“That didn’t match, but I love you, too.”

Yuri couldn’t resist helping himself to another kiss, though the position strained his neck. Otabek sat up, hair sticking up on one side, and it was time for Yuri to be the one pampered. He crawled into Otabek’s lap, the show long forgotten as he nestled into his boyfriend’s chest.

“I’m thinking of quitting the club,” Otabek stated, stroking Yuri’s hair. Yuri pulled back and stared at him like an idiot, because only idiots considered quitting their job when they had a Yuri to support.

“....Excuse me?”

“Hear me out on this,” Otabek soothed his lover’s panic with a calm voice and gentle hands on his cheeks. “I want to produce. I don’t just want to play The Chainsmokers for wasted white girls for the rest of my life.”

“You want to be The Chainsmokers,” Yuri filled in. He nodded, trying to process what Otabek was saying. “I mean.. Yeah , that’d be cool… but we have bills , Beka,” he reminded

“I won’t quit until I have something lined up,” Otabek assured. That seemed to calm Yuri’s fears.

Yuri tucked his head under Otabek’s chin. “Don’t scare me like that,” he chided. “I thought you were just going to run out and quit like a fucking dumbass.”

Otabek chuckled. “No, baby. But… don’t be surprised if I’m spending more time in the studio.” He gestured to room down the hallway.

“You’d still better find the time to eat me out while I’m doing yoga in the morning when you’re rich and famous,” Yuri grumbled, poking at his lover’s strong chest. He knew that wouldn’t be an issue. All he had to do was give Otabek bedroom eyes and beg ‘daddy’ to come play with him.

That was his secret weapon, and it was amazing. It worked every damn time, too.

“Yura.” His tone was serious. “I don’t want to be rich and famous. I just want to earn money doing what I love. Just like you.” He leaned in. “But if that were to happen, you think I’d do anything but eat you out every morning when you’re doing yoga? That sounds like a life goal.”

Yuri smacked his chest. “Shut up and watch the show, Beka.”


It was bitterly cold one night, with Otabek having asked for Yuri’s car instead of walking to the club. Yuri himself was snuggled up in their big bed in the wee hours of the morning, Snowball curled up at his feet and serving as a big, fluffy heater. New York winters always sucked, but having someone there to keep you warm at night was unbeatable… even if, for the time being, that someone was a Ragdoll cat. He was playing Pokemon, having worked on leveling his Alolan Meowth into a Persian.

He loved its fucking dumbass face.

But even the, er, cuteness of his new Alolan Persian couldn’t distract him from the thoughts running through his head.

What was the next step?

He and Otabek had gone out on dates. Sure, they weren’t all that traditional, but they shared dinner and movies. They’d slept over. They’d fought. They’d gotten tattoos for one another-- though Yuri still wouldn’t let Otabek say that the ink on his groin was for Yuri, because getting a tattoo for your significant other was absolutely insane. They had fucked, of course. They’d moved in together.

So what was next?

...Would Otabek want to marry him?

See, Yuri needed someone to freak out to. Yuuri would be too… mature in his assessment, as would Victor. Phichit was a good choice, but he just wasn’t the perspective that Yuri wanted. So he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before finding one and hitting the ‘CALL’ button.

“Hey. Zhenya?”

The woman sounded confused. “Yuri? Is something wrong? Is Beks okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s fine. He’s at work, entertaining the sea of drunk, sex-crazed millenials. What, I can’t call to talk?”

“Well, you can… but you never have before. Something up?”

Yuri laid back against the pillows. “Just wondering… has Otabek ever said anything about, like, wanting to get married?” he asked.

Zhenya screamed.

“Shit,” Yuri barked, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Was that really fucking necessary?”

“Oh, Yuri,” Zhenya gushed. “There’s no way Otabek wouldn’t want to get married! He’d love getting a wedding, being a husband, being a father… he’s just that type of guy.” She pondered for a second. “Are you thinking of proposing?”

Yuri shrugged, though Zhenya wouldn’t be able to see it. “Not right now. But… someday, I guess. I just wanted to see if he’d ever shown an interest in the thought of it.”

Zhenya huffed. “You of all people should know how hopelessly romantic he is. He never said anything, but he used to watch romantic comedies, and he was excellent with our little siblings. But.. aren’t you still nineteen? When’s your birthday?”


“Does your mother know that you’re out?” she teased, still a little bit exasperated by the fact that her brother had gone for a guy so much younger than he was. “You’re still young. My advice is to not worry about marriage yet. He tells me all the time how much he loves you, so there’s no worrying about that.” Yuri could practically hear her smile.

“Patience, padawan.”

“....Is that Kazakh? What does that mean?”

Zhenya let out a slow breath. “I’m going to hang up the phone, Yuri. You need to go to bed or something. Also, Otabek hasn’t made you watch all fifteen thousand Star Wars movies? I’m shocked.”

What the hell did Star Wars have to do with anything? Yuri sighed and flopped down on the bed, grabbing Otabek’s pillow and holding it against his face. Though it still smelled like him, the apartment was taking on their scent, the sweet smell of their shared presence. It was getting harder for Yuri to seek out things that only carried the overtly manly scent of Otabek.

Otabek would walk in before the sun rose, greeted by the sight of his boyfriend smothering himself with his pillow, leaving nothing for him to lay his weary head on. So he’d roll his sleeping partner onto his back, letting him keep the pillow, using his plush belly instead.

Love meant sacrifice.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Yuri and Otabek had managed to make it through an entire year together, with all of the experiences that went with it.

Yuri turned twenty in March. It still wasn’t legal for him to drink, and Otabek didn’t like to encourage it, but several bottles of vodka somehow appeared on his kitchen counter, and he somehow suspected that Phichit Chulanont was responsible. He wasn’t complaining, though, as he got a lapdance for Yuri’s birthday, and the vicious hangover had meant that Yuri had wanted to stay home from work the next day and let Otabek take care of him.

Otabek’s gift to his boyfriend had been dinner at his favourite restaurant, a not-too-sweet cake from the Korean bakery down the street, and a walk down Fifth Avenue with Otabek’s credit card. Yuri entered his twenties with a full belly, arms full of shopping bags, and strong arms wrapped around his waist.

He was a smug son of a bitch, and the whole world knew it.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. They fought. Yuri had the kind of nature that didn’t let him let bygones be bygones, and he would pick an issue down to the bone. Otabek was quiet and didn’t like to engage Yuri when he threw tantrums, which only led to Yuri gnawing away at him until he finally snapped.

Some of the fights were vicious. Some of them drew tears. But nobody ever left. Sure, Otabek would banish himself to the couch some nights, but he’d always greet Yuri in the morning with a cup of coffee and a stroke of the cheek. Yuri would eventually forget what got him so worked up, and would slowly coax his way into Otabek’s lap. Apologies weren’t his strong point, but Otabek would consider it a victory when he got a ‘sorry for being an asshole’ muttered against his neck. Otabek would offer some breakfast, and the night held the promise of wickedly good make-up sex.

Their one-year anniversary came not too long after Yuri’s birthday, which really brought home the fact that Otabek really had been dating a teenager . He was newly nineteen when they had met.

Their anniversary had been a really big deal to Yuri. See, he knew that he was difficult. He knew that he was a huge pain in the ass. He never thought that he’d get such a great, supportive relationship, especially on his first real attempt at commitment. Yuri knew that there was still time to fuck everything all to hell, but that wasn’t relevant. The point was that he stayed . They’d made it through a year together. Otabek was a fucking saint on Earth.

It honestly choked Yuri up to think about how fucking inexplicably perfect he and Otabek were together. They were both Eastern European-- though Otabek was really more Asian than anything-- and both were first-generation immigrants. They spoke Russian almost exclusively at home, which was comforting and familiar for both of them. Yuri tried to speak Kazakh, picking from what he heard under Otabek’s breath and texts he sent to Zhenya asking for translations.

His loving whisper of ‘Fill my fucking gas tank up next time you borrow my car’ hadn’t been as romantic as he’d hoped.

Their styles matched, save for Yuri’s fascination with animal print, and he often found himself wearing Otabek’s tops and jackets. They were oversized and comfortable on him, pairing well with leggings or skinny jeans. It boosted his confidence, wearing his lover’s clothes-- not only did he smell extra manly, but he had a man who let him steal his clothes.

One day, Yuri had been curling his hair in the master bathroom, Otabek passing behind him every now and then as he got ready. They were just going out to some work party that Otabek had been strong-armed into going to, but Yuri was always determined to steal the show.

“I’m thinking of letting my hair even out,” Otabek sighed, running gel-coated fingers through the top of his undercut.

Yuri damn near dropped his curling iron. He released his curl calmly, whipping his head around once his iron was safely rested on the heat-resistant mat.

“Fucking excuse me ?” Yuri demanded.

Otabek tried to tease an unruly strand of hair out of his eyes. “I’m almost thirty, zhanim. I need to look like it.” He was satisfied with his work, and went to wash his hands off. “I look like a straight fuckboy.”

“Well, duh, ” Yuri rolled his eyes. “You always looked like the kind that would ask me about my day, then respond with ‘cool, dtf?’”

Otabek looked offended.

Yuri ran his fingers along the shaved, ungelled part of Otabek’s hair. “You look like you’d go up to girls and ask ‘where my hug at?’”

The offended look grew stronger.


“What?” He scratched his fingers into Otabek’s scalp. “It grew on me. I’ll miss your no-homo haircut.”

Otabek blinked.

“--Which is really funny for me to say, because there was nothing straight about you sucking my dick and fingering my ass a few minutes ago.” He shrugged, returning to his hair curling.

Otabek was going to ruin those precious curls when they got back.


Otabek’s job had always meant long hours. He spent a lot more time in the studio, trying to work toward his goal of producing, not just DJ’ing. He still made time for his Yuri, coming home earlier in the night when possible and paying some attention to him for an hour or two before scampering off to the den to make music.

That night, Yuri wasn’t having it.

It had been a week since he’d gotten any, and it was fucking unacceptable. Sure, he had to be supportive, let Otabek do what he had to do to make a name for himself. But he didn’t just want to have dinner and go to sleep. He’d gone so long without sex that he was starting to get irritated at the stupidest shit, like how the opening the freezer made him cold, or the simple fact that dishes got dirty. He wasn’t meant to survive without a good dicking at least every other day.

Otabek was in the den, having gone right to his desk to start working. He’d worn a suit that day, having to meet with some fancy label executives at a party or some shit like that. He hadn’t bothered to even loosen his tie, which tied into Yuri’s evil little plan perfectly.

So, he got dolled up himself.

He never got dolled up. Not just for sex.

And he was going to get sex, goddammit.

Yuri opened the door to Otabek’s studio gently, slowly, a hand resting on the frame. He was committed to his role, dammit, and wasn’t just going to kidnap him. Besides, he wouldn’t need to.

“Beka, I’m bored,” he sighed.

Otabek didn’t even turn around. “Why don’t you paint or something? I’ll be done in about an hour.”

Yuri pouted. “But.. I’m bored, Daddy.”

Otabek’s brain stopped in its tracks. He turned around, almost scared of what he was about to see. It wasn’t often that Yuri indulged his secret, dirty little kink. But when he did… fuck, it was always just too much.

Yuri was gorgeous, from head to toe. He always was, but he’d taken it to the next level. His hair, reaching past his shoulders now, was loose and beach-waved. Those sharp green eyes were lined in sharp black eyeliner, accented with mascara. His lips were wet and pink, and he could see the very tip of that wicked pierced tongue. He was dressed only in one of Otabek’s oversized college sweaters, the maroon color bringing out the flush of his cheeks. But what really did him in was the soft, black, utterly sinful thigh-high socks.

Otabek was stuck. He physically couldn’t stand up. Blood was filling his cock at such a rate that, if he tried, he’d only pass out. He was going to die that night, and his soul would be sent straight to the fires of hell. But it would be worth it.

Fuck, it’d be worth every second of damnation.

“Yeah?” Otabek breathed, sitting back in his chair. “Come here, baby. Come sit in Daddy’s lap.”

Yuri did as he was told, straddling Otabek’s thighs and perching on his lap. Otabek ran his hands over Yuri’s hips, looking him over hungrily.

“I want to play, Daddy,” Yuri whispered into Otabek’s ear. The older man shuddered. He stroked Yuri’s lips with his thumb, sighing in satisfaction as he felt the tip of that soft, wet little tongue against the pad.

“My poor baby. Daddy hasn’t been paying enough attention to you lately. I’m sorry, sugar,” he purred, sliding his hand up Yuri’s cheek and stroking his hair affectionately. “Don’t worry. Daddy’s going to spoil you and make it all better. Is that what you want?”

Yuri nodded.

“Daddy’s going to take his time and play with his baby right,” Otabek promised, voice gravely. “Let Daddy save his work. Go wait for me on the bed, okay?” he pat Yuri’s side, letting him get up.

“Don’t take too long, Daddy,” Yuri play-whined, making his way back to the bedroom.

Otabek had to take a moment to compose himself. He breathed deeply, saving his work on his computer and centering himself before fixing his blazer and following Yuri to the bedroom that they shared.

Yuri had kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed. He was sprawled out deliciously on the racy, leopard-print sheets. The look on Yuri’s face alone made his cock throb, and he knew that the trousers he wore would need replacing.

“Let Daddy have a peek,” Otabek breathed, settling on the bed  beside his lover and spreading his knees apart. He smirked at the black briefs containing Yuri’s cock, and pressed a hand to his lover’s bulge. Yuri hissed, hips canting up. “Such a good baby,” Otabek praised, rubbing just a few times before slipping his hands under the sweater. He pulled it off eagerly, revealing Yuri’s pale chest and belly, and cute, pink nipples.

Otabek settled in between Yuri’s legs, pressing their crotches together and rocking, just a little bit. It wasn’t enough for either of them to reach satisfaction, but enough to keep the fire burning. He tugged gently on the opal and gemstone-accented nipple rings, earning a squeal from Yuri, which he tried to cover.

“No, baby. Let me hear it. I want to hear everything.” He lowered his head to one of the nipples and teased it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth and sucking. He was rewarded with a gasp and a mewl, and wanton wiggling of Yuri’s hips. Otabek had to force them still to avoid too much stimulation. He sucked and nibbled at his nipple, earning all sorts of cries from Yuri, before popping off and assessing the damage. Seeing that the bud was swollen, red, and beginning to bruise, he switched off.

Yuri fisted his hands in his hair as Otabek moved down his body, sucking hickeys into his tummy and onto the very inside of his thigh. He licked over his brief-covered cock, only adding to the growing wet spot.

But Yuri wasn’t having it. Not yet. He fisted Otabek’s hair and writhed. “Daddy,” he gasped. “Let me lick your cock.”

Otabek wasn’t going to complain. He rolled off of the bed, standing at the side, bulge toward Yuri’s face. “Then do it, baby. Whatever you want, I’ll give you,” he purred. Yuri rolled over and pawed at Otabek’s trousers, opening his belt and his fly. It took some careful digging, but he managed to pull his cock out, the jewelry at the tip glistening with the sheer amount of precome.

Eager and ready, Yuri took the head of his lover’s cock into his mouth, using the flat on his tongue to graze over his piercing and his foreskin in one motion. He paused to tease the slit, then worked the shaft with his lips, tongue, and the top of his own piercing. Otabek groaned, head thrown back, hands in Yuri’s curls.

“That’s my Yura,” he praised. “So fucking good.. Ah.. ahhh..” He cupped Yuri’s ears gently, clenching his jaw when those pretty green eyes glanced up at him.

“You taste so good. I love it,” Yuri purred, resuming his thorough and indulgent dick sucking. He moaned through his motions, taking him in as far as he could before choking. He held the base firmly, gently massaging his balls as his mouth worked the head and shaft.

It was good. It always was, but that sinful, dirty-talking mouth indulging his deepest kink had Otabek at the edge so much faster than normal. He grit his teeth, sweat running down his brow.

“Baby. I can’t hold on,” he warned. Yuri made no move to pull away, just rested the tip of Otabek’s cock on his tongue and stroked the shaft. The resulting orgasm was stronger than normal, with Otabek’s toes curling into the flooring and no choice but to practically yell through the waves of pleasure. He shot more than he normally did, coating Yuri’s tongue, lips, nose, and chin. Some got in his hair, and he knew that Yuri would be pissed… but not yet.

Otabek calmed down from his high, taking a moment to burn the sight in front of him into his memory. Yuri looked so beautiful, resting on his knees, a hand still holding the base of Otabek’s half-hard cock in his hand. He held eye contact as he swallowed that he’d caught of his load, wanting him to see how much he enjoyed it. Otabek wiped his face off in an affectionate gesture, and kissed him passionately.

Yuri grabbed Otabek by the tie and pulled him down on top of him. “I want your cock,” he breathes against his throat. He smirked and reached down, feeling that the one orgasm hadn’t left Otabek spent. He was still hard and would be ready to go after just a little bit more play.

“Do you want to come first?”

Yuri shook his head. “I want to finish with Daddy inside me,” he insisted. Otabek snarled. He was most definitely going to die, and Yuri Plisetsky would be held liable.

“On your knees, baby. Show Daddy your hole,” he coaxed. Yuri did just that, getting comfortable on the pillows and spreading wide. He knew exactly what was coming, and let his hips sway in anticipation.

He was right. Otabek pressed his tongue to Yuri’s opening, reaching under the pillow and grabbing the lubricant they had stashed there. Otabek indulged in his baby’s favourite activity, coating his fingers with lube as he did so. He waited until Yuri was a shaking, cursing mess before taking mercy on him and giving him a finger. Not that one finger did much of anything, but Otabek’s were thick, rough, and could always hit that spot inside of him that made him scream.

Honestly, Otabek always got so worked up during this kind of play that there came a time where he was just too eager to tease any more. He prepped Yuri feverishly, groaning as his baby spouted praise and encouragement from where he lay babbling on the bed. It wasn’t until he head ‘Please, Daddy, fuck me,’ that he knew that Yuri was truly ready.

“You take Daddy’s cock so well,” Otabek sighed as he pressed in. Yuri gasped, fisting the sheets as Otabek started thrusting at a punishing pace. He took his lover from behind for a while, larger hands roaming up his smooth, pale back and tugging at his hair to earn more noises.

It didn’t take long for Otabek to realize that he wasn’t taking full advantage of those sexy-as-hell socks, and pulled out gently. Yuri whined loudly, having been so damn close to the edge. Hushing him with a kiss, Otabek manhandled his boyfriend until he was in a better position, face-up and sprawled out on the blankets in front of him. Threading their fingers together, Otabek slid back inside and started to move. One of those slender legs settled on his shoulder, and he managed to peel the sock down just a little bit and kiss and nip at the exposed skin.

Yuri’s orgasm was intense and explosive, with his release reaching his own stomach, chest, chin, and Otabek’s suit. The rhythmic clenching of his ass around Otabek’s cock brought on his second orgasm, with Otabek snarling and moaning out with the sheer pleasure of it.

It took Otabek’s soul a minute to return to his body, and when it did, he pulled out and rolled over. He realized with a grimace that the suit he was wearing would have to be soaked in holy water and burned. Yuri sure looked pleased with himself, smirking as he sat up to help his lover unbutton his shirt and take off his tie. He helped banish the cursed garments to the floor, and pulled Otabek down with him once he was fully naked. He snuggled close to his lover, rubbing the soft socks against Otabek’s legs.

“There’s a spot in hell reserved for us,” Otabek groaned, covering his face. Yuri grabbed his hand and pulled it away, nibbling his chin.

“Yeah, well, heaven sounds boring if you can’t have your brain fucked out.” He put a hand on Otabek’s cheek, forcing him to look him in the eye. “But if you ever, I mean ever, make me endure a week without sex, I’m putting on a schoolgirl outfit and calling you Daddy at the club.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Do you really want to fucking test me, Altin?”


The conversation they’d had months prior about Otabek’s career hadn’t been forgotten. Yuri encouraged Otabek to apply for jobs with record labels, radio stations, whoever. It didn’t matter. The club scene was beginning to wear on him. He was nearing thirty, in a steady relationship, and didn’t get much enjoyment out of alcohol or party drugs. Though he loved what he did, he was outgrowing the scene.

Earlier that fateful night, when Yuri had indulged the hell out of his dirty little kink, he’d been meeting with some executives at Sony for a job interview. He hadn’t wanted to tell Yuri and get him worked up…

...But there was an email in his inbox.

“...Yura!” he called. Yuri emerged from the bathroom, having taken a well-deserved shower. He limped into the studio, where Otabek sat bare-chested in a pair of lounge pants, his headphones around his neck.

“Yeah, Beka?”

Otabek swiveled toward him. “....Will you read this email for me?” he asked.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “If you’re getting emails about male enhancement, don’t click them. I can barely handle that massive thing as it is. I won’t be able to walk,” he grumbled, leaning down and placing his wet towel over Otabek’s head.

“It’s not that… baby, I was at a job interview this morning.”

“...Uh huh.”

“At Sony.”


“...Hence the suit.”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “Oh. May it rest in peace.”

“...This email’s from Sony.”

Yuri wasted no time in shoving Otabek back, clicking hastily on the email. “Let me fucking see!” he cried, kneeling in front of the screen. He took a moment to read the text, processing all of it before turning to Otabek with a somber expression.

“...On your last day of work at the club, can I punch JJ in the face?”

Otabek stared at him. “Wha..?”

“You got the job , dumbass!” he cried excitedly. He turned back to the screen. “‘Dear Mr. Altin,’” he read. “‘Blah blah blah, we are pleased to offer you the position of Mix Engineer slash Mastering Engineer, with a starting salary of ‘more than what Yuri Plisetsky makes.’”

“It doesn’t say that.”

“Might as well.” Yuri’s grin could light up New York City. “You did it , baby. But why didn't you tell me? I would have blown you for good luck.”

The look on Otabek’s face wasn’t what he’d been expecting. There was no smile. In fact, his brow furrowed and his lips pulled back, and he actually started to fucking cry.

Yuri hadn’t prepared for this.

“Beka…?” he asked, rubbing his back. “Hey, I thought you wanted this…?” he asked. “You can tell them no, y’know… and it's okay that you didn't tell me, I'm not mad..”

Otabek shook his head, instead pulling Yuri close and hiding his face in his neck. “I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be disappointed if I didn't get it." He let out a breath. "I love you, luchik,” he managed, holding him like a teddy bear.

Yuri’s features softened and he returned the hold, placing his chin on top of Otabek’s head. “I love you, too, zhanim.”

After Otabek had a second to calm down, Yuri broke the hug, smoothing his hands through Otabek’s hair. “Well. At least now we have more of an excuse to buy you new suits and grow out your fuckboy haircut.”

Otabek grumbled. “You can’t get semen all over all of my suits.”

“...I make no promises.”


Yuri huffed. “You can’t get me all on board with your stupid weird dick and your stupid weird kink and expect me to control my stupid self when you wear a stupid suit.”

“...Stupid self…?” A grin tugged at Otabek’s lips.

“Fuck you, Mr. Mix Master, I’m going to bed!”

Chapter Text

In time, the fuckboy haircut did grow out. Yuri helped it along, massaging sticky and disgusting castor oil into Otabek’s scalp while they watched TV at night. Otabek stared at himself in the mirror, truly unsure of how to even go about styling his much more full hair. Otabek had even mentioned shaving it, which had earned screams and razor confiscation from Yuri. It took Yuri, Phichit, and Google about two weeks to find something that didn't make Otabek look like a total dork, but when they did, it was worth it. Girls would stare at Otabek on the street, which would make Yuri swell with accomplishment before latching onto his boyfriend’s arm to show that he was very much taken .

Working at a record label meant a new dress code. Though it wasn’t completely necessary, Otabek let Yuri dress him in Armani, in Dolce and Gabbana, in Yves Saint Laurent. He could have gotten away with most of the clothes that he would DJ in, but where was the fun in that? He worked for a large corporation, and in Yuri’s opinion, he needed to dress like it.

“Says the boy headed to work in a hoodie and jeans,” Otabek grumbled as Yuri helped him tighten his tie. 

“I'm a tattoo artist, not about to edit a song for Beyoncé,” he countered. “Wear the cuff links.” 

Otabek sighed, but there were bigger wars to wage than fighting Yuri Plisetsky over fashion.

To give Hurricane time to locate new talent, Otabek agreed to stay on as a DJ, working just Friday and Saturday nights. Yuri didn’t like it, mostly because it cut into the time he got to spend riding his boyfriend’s massive cock and doing cute domestic stuff, like bickering over who drank the last Guinness and watching Netflix to avoid housework. But said boyfriend defended it, pointing out that the couple would be more able to support Yuri’s designer habits with the extra income.

While that was true, Otabek had an ulterior motive.

He was saving for a ring.

He was going to ask Yuri Plisetsky to marry him.


The topic of marriage wasn’t something they talked about, but was always in the very back of Otabek’s mind. Not a day went by where he didn’t watch Yuri drink his morning tea, thinking of how a wedding band would look beautiful on that thin, pale ring finger. He’d look so good in white. And, most importantly, he couldn’t wait to wake up beside Yuri Altin for the first time. 

It was time. Their relationship was strong, and they were comfortable. They talked about everything. They were each other’s favourite person. Yuri always went to work with murder in his eyes, but came home and smiled at Otabek, the son of a bitch. In the same vein, Otabek had trouble leaving a warm bed full of Yuri to go to work, and couldn’t breathe easy until he was back home. They needed one another, and Otabek was comfortable taking the next step.

Phichit’s words were stuck in his memory. He was a traditional man with traditional values. Asking Yuri’s grandfather for permission to marry his grandson would have been ideal, but he unfortunately did not have that option.

That meant that he was going to have to ask Victor and Yuuri for their blessing, and he’d have to figure out a way to do it without his prospective fiance finding out.

Knowing Victor’s loud mouth, he’d have to bribe him to stay quiet. Would coffee work, or was he going to have to buy him a new sweater vest?

Peeling himself away from Yuri on a shared morning off was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. The boy snuggled against his side and draped over him made the most pitiful whining sound that he’d heard as he slowly withdrew from under him.  He wrapped Yuri in blankets to placate him and replace the warmth he’d just lost.

“Where are you going?” came the mumble from the sea of blankets.

“To the store. Go back to sleep, luchik.”

Yuri moved to get up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “I’ll go, too.”

Otabek chuckled, sitting on the side of the bed and stroking Yuri’s hair out of his face. “Just text me a list when you wake up, okay?”

“‘M awake.”

“What’s our cat’s name?”

“Snow… flake.”

“Go back to sleep.”

Yuri didn’t fight much. During that entire exchange, he hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes. He flopped back into their bed, shoving his face into Otabek’s pillow to soothe himself with his boyfriend’s smell in his absence. Before meeting Yuri, Otabek had never paid attention to what he smelled like. But Yuri clung to his scent, filling his lungs with it at every opportunity, whether he was conscious of the choice or not. He was so attached, it was adorable. All he needed was a breath of Otabek, and he was out cold. It was heartwarming.

Yuri’s descent into the world of sleep was almost instantaneous. Otabek was able to slip out, grabbing Yuri’s car keys from the hook by the door. In the winter, Otabek didn’t bother taking his bike out of the garage, and helped himself to Yuri’s car instead. Yuri never minded, but Otabek sometimes felt bad, leaving his boyfriend with his feet and Uber for transportation. They hadn’t gotten around to getting Yuri a motorcycle license yet, though that was on the list…

“Otabek!” Phichit chirped as the bell on the door sounded. “I just got some new ends in if--”

“I’m not here for me.” Otabek shifted uncomfortably. “Are Victor and Yuuri here?”

Phichit gave him the side-eye, winged eyeliner and all. “Hmm, maybe,” he purred, leaning on the counter. “Why?”

“Not your business.”

Phichit groaned dramatically and threw his entire upper body over the plexiglass. “Come on! You can trust me!”

Otabek walked right past. “You couldn’t even wait ten minutes to tell Yuri that I was bringing him Chipotle.”


Yuuri and Victor were just getting started for the day. There were no clients yet, just the two of them helping one another get ready for their day. They were in Victor’s room, with Yuuri drawing with a tablet and Victor restocking his ink.

“Otabek, what a surprise,” Victor greeted. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I wanted to ask your permission to ask Yuri to marry me.” Otabek had never liked being anything less than direct. He asked for what he wanted.

Yuuri coughed and sputtered, but Victor didn’t even flinch.

“Of course, why even ask?” Victor smiled. Otabek blinked. That was way too easy.

“You mean--”

“If it were anyone else, I’d have a lot to consider.. Most of it being their sanity,” he deadpanned. “But, since you came around, Yuri is happy, ” he insisted, sitting on his rolling stool. “You challenge each other. He’s gotten better at his job since you came around, subsists on something other than snack cakes and juice boxes, washes his hair more often.. You’ve successfully tamed the beast.’

Otabek had never seen Yuri as a beast needing taming. He was a vulnerable, defensive, very-much-human young man. Otabek wasn’t without fault. He was no saint. He’d just found someone he could love, and somehow loved him, too.

“I think it’s great,” Yuuri’s face softened into a smile. “Yurio needs someone who can show him what it means to be loved. Someone who will stick with him and make sure he has the support he needs.” He looked Otabek in the eye. “Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Victor brushed his bangs out of his eye. “I hope our approval is sufficient in lieu of Nikolai’s. I can’t imagine the old man would be thrilled with the idea of his grandson marrying a man-- he was very traditional. But... I think he would have loved the way that you love Yuri, and he would find it in his heart to welcome you to the family.”

The reality of a marriage hit Otabek, and hard. He wasn’t just tying himself to Yuri, but giving him a huge new family. He’d have more than just Otabek. He’d also inherit a handful of sisters, a few brothers, in-laws, and.. Ted. Even if Yuri chose to keep his own surname, he’d become an Altin.

“Do you have a ring?” Victor’s question knocked Otabek out of his own head.

“Oh. Not yet.”

Victor’s eye twinkled. “I’ll be at your apartment at six. I know a guy,” he winked. “Have fun, loverboy.”


Their days off were always spent in or around the bed. Otabek came out the sore one that day. It wasn’t uncommon for Otabek to let Yuri top-- Yuri just loved bottoming so much that he could rarely bring himself to switch it up too often. They’d gotten a little too rough, and Otabek found himself taking a taxi to and from work.

Victor was waiting for him when he got home. He didn’t even make it out of the parking lot before Victor was waving him down. He ducked into the passenger side of the car, and barely had time to buckle up before they were swerving out of the complex. Years of living in New York had made Victor an impatient driver.

They arrived at the jewelry store in a suspiciously short amount of time. Victor bounced like a child, clearly more excited about the sparkly, expensive pretty things than anything else. Otabek was nervous-- he knew his taste in jewelry, but this was something that Yuri had to be happy with. It had to be something he’d wear proudly.

The pair was greeted by the tuxedo-clad man behind the counter. Otabek felt overwhelmed, sticking his hands in his pockets and slumped his shoulders. Victor took the lead, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him to the men’s rings.

“What are we looking for?” the man asked kindly.

Victor answered for him. “We’re looking for a men’s engagement ring, size six. No silver, it’ll wash him out.”

Nodding, the man directed them to an array of yellow gold, rose gold, titanium, and tungsten. Victor’s eyes went to rose gold, but Otabek was instantly attracted to one ring in particular.

It was delicate and thin, the metal a shiny black. The diamonds in the center lined the entire ring. The black color was unique, and brought out the clarity of the diamonds.

Yuri would love it.

While Victor was chatting up the sales representative about a hammered rose gold band, Otabek had made his pick. He waved the man over and pointed. With a little bit of a smile, the salesman pulled the ring out of the case, and handed the size six to Otabek.

It was heavier in his hand than he’d expected, but it was welcome. If Yuri was anything like Otabek, the weight would be a soothing reminder of the item’s presence. It looked like it would fit Yuri’s skinny finger. He tried it on his own pinky-- though his own skin tone was several shades darker, he could imagine the eye-catching contrast on his boyfriend’s brilliant white skin.

“What’s this material?”

“Tungsten,” the man replied. “It’s extremely hard. Won’t scratch or bend as easily as gold or silver might.”

It was perfect.

“I’ll take it.”

He turned to Victor, who was still gushing over miscellaneous rings. “Can’t I just remarry Yuuri with new rings?” he whined, splaying himself over the front of the glass. The salesman and Otabek just gave him a look, ending when Otabek pulled his credit card out of his wallet.


A week later, and the ring was burning a hole in Otabek’s pocket. He had to pop the question, and soon, or Yuri was going to know something was up. He’d come close, rolling the box around in the front of his leather jacket while they watched a movie one night, Yuri snuggled against his side. But, right when he was about to slide it into Yuri’s hand, Yuri climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and sliding that jacket off of his shoulders.

A proposal could wait. A horny, needy Yuri Plisetsky, could not.

Otabek came down with a terrible virus that week, immediately confined to bed. Yuri brought him tea and soup on the hour. He stayed nearby, even when his fever made every touch unbearable. This wasn’t the first time Otabek had gotten sick and been left to the mercy of nurse Yuri Plisetsky. It was easier when Yuri had been the sick one. Though he was infinitely needier, whinier, and more demanding, Otabek was more experienced with caretaking.

Yuri just tried to shove him full of food and fluids, and had taken to hiding Advil tablets in fruit to keep Otabek’s fever down.

Hey. He didn’t mean to trick Otabek into taking medicine like he did with the cat. Otabek just didn’t like to take medicine. His body worked-- he was just sick. Yuri, however, hated seeing him in pain. He didn’t want to rile Otabek up with an argument, so what was the big deal with sticking some ibuprofen into a strawberry?

The day finally came, after Otabek’s fever had broken and they had both gone back to work. It was Otabek’s day off, but not Yuri’s, and the poor thing had only a couple of appointments that day.


Y: I’m bored. *sleeping emoji* *crying emoji*

O: You have enough tattoos and piercings for right now.

Y: first of all

Y: no.

Y: second of all

Y: i sometimes get body mods when i’m NOT BORED. I PLANNED my tongue piercing.

O: and your nipples?

O: and the eagle tattoo?

Y: b l o c k e d.


Sure enough, Otabek pulled up Yuri’s Instagram.

He was blocked.

He laughed to himself, knowing the ban would only last so long. But in that moment, as he stared at the ‘No images or posts yet’ screen on his phone, he decided that this was it.

It was time.

He was going to pop the question to someone who actively had him blocked on social media.

He wasn’t crazy. Promise.

The whole ride to the tattoo shop, he couldn’t stop shaking. He hadn’t trusted himself to drive his motorcycle, and had summoned an Uber instead. The ring felt heavy and all-too-real in his hand. The driver saw the box, and gave a knowing smile as they pulled up.

“Going to get a tattoo for her?”

“Huh?” It took Otabek a second to process what the woman had said. “Oh. No. He works here.”

“He?” she brightened a little bit, maneuvering the car into a parking spot. “Well, good luck!”

He thanked her, and swallowed the lump in his throat as he walked through the door. Yuri was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through Twitter mindlessly.

“Hey.” Smooth, Otabek.

Yuri looked up. “I thought I blocked you?” There was no venom in his words. “Did you bring us some Peruvian chicken to make up for it?”

Otabek had to consciously level out his voice. “No. But I do have this.” He fell to one knee in front of his lover, the ring box open.

“I don’t want a granol-- holy motherfucking shit.”

At that point, there was no controlling the nerves. “....Is that a yes, or a no? I’ve never heard that response to a marriage proposal before.”

Green eyes were stuck on the diamond-studded black ring in front of him. When they finally turned their gaze to Otabek’s face, they were glossy with unshed tears. “You’re fucking with me, right? Like, actual, honest-to-god, not asking me to marry you right now?”

“I am not fucking with you. I am, actually, honest-to-god asking you to marry me right now.”

“And you don’t still have a fever?”

“No. No fever.”

Yuri threw his arms around Otabek, practically knocking him on his ass as he leapt off of the couch.

Phichit, who had been watching the whole time-- and secretly recording-- gasped and leaned forward. “Well? Is it a yes?”

“Yuri Petrovich Plisetsky, will you be my husband?” Otabek asked, repositioning himself and Yuri so that Yuri was sitting comfortably in his lap.

“Hell yeah,” came the sniffled response. “ Hell yeah.”

Otabek set the box on the floor, pulling the actual ring out and slipping it onto Yuri’s finger. He brings the hand to his lips and kisses it. Playfully, Yuri runs his pointer finger along Otabek’s bottom lip. He responds by taking it into his mouth and biting gently on the second knuckle. When Otabek finally looks up at the face of his new fiance, Yuri surges forward and kisses him senseless, right on the floor of a tattoo parlor, with Phichit recording every last second.



They break the news almost immediately. Within seconds, Yuri had a post up on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. The accompanying picture had been taken by Phichit, and was a shot of Otabek holding Yuri, their noses together, Yuri’s eyes closed and his grin damn near blinding. His hand was on his fiance’s bicep, ring clearly visible against the hunter green of the shirt that Otabek was wearing.

‘This is some fairytale romance bullshit. @otabek-altin asked me to marry him. Looks like someone’s gonna be a husband.’

Otabek’s post was a lot sappier.

It featured a still from the video that Phichit had shot, with Otabek slipping the ring onto Yuri’s finger. The caption read ‘Sometimes there is a rainbow after even the worst storm. @yuri-plisetsky is my rainbow. #hesaidyes’

The first comment was Yuri’s.

yuri-plisetsky : lol gay.



Otabek had to mentally prepare to explain to his parents  that he was, in fact, engaged to be married. They hadn’t seen Yuri since Ayaulim’s wedding, but they asked Otabek about him frequently. They knew that the pair was cohabiting, and from some of the more risque photos on Yuri’s Instagram, knew that they likely had a very active sex life.. Not that his family hadn’t gotten quite enough of his sex life.

It was midnight when he finally had the time to call his parents and tell them the good news. He would have called earlier, but there was a needy kitten in his lap the moment they got home, with a mouth to kiss, nipples to suck, and an ass to fuck raw. He’d actually dozed off for a bit, his softened cock still buried in Yuri’s ass, his fingers still rubbing over his nipple. He pulled out and threw on clothes, not able to speak to his Muslim parents while remaining inside of his sleeping fiance.

“Mom?” he asked as the line picked up. He’d wandered to his studio, letting Yuri sleep off the indulgent, intense, exhausting fuck they’d just had.

“Otabek!” His mom’s smile could be heard over the phone. “I was so scared you’d forgotten us!”

“Never,” he insisted, before slipping into his native tongue, for privacy and ease of communication. “Mom, I have news for you.”

“Is it good?” Mama Altin had never been one for surprises. She wanted everything spoiled for her.

He grinned. “Very.”

“Well?” She was never very patient, either.

Otabek had to take a second to calm down. “Mom. I asked Yuri to marry me.”

There was silence on the other end. He could hear breathing, so he knew he hadn’t given his mom a heart attack.

“...Mom? Are you okay?”

The response came a few beats later.

“Allah has blessed us.” He heard her voice as she brought the phone away from her mouth. “Otabek is engaged!” she called to her family. There were a few cheers and claps, and the reaction of his family warmed his heart.

“Oh, what wonderful news,” his mother sighed. “The only way this would be better is if you two could produce a grandchild for us. Perhaps Zhenya will offer her eggs. I will ask her.”

Otabek groaned. “One step at a time. I really don’t want to think about my sister’s eggs.”

His mother laughed him off. “Let mom handle it, dear.”

“Yuri’s only about to turn twenty-one…”

“And you’re practically ancient.”

Wait. How had the discussion taken such a turn. His mom was just grandbaby-crazy, and wouldn’t be satisfied until all of her children had successfully spawned seven human beings of their own. Unluckily for her, her oldest son just so happened to be engaged to be married to another man. He really hoped that her suggestion for coping wasn’t to have Zhenya or Ayaulim or Inzhu birth fourteen children instead of seven…

“Thanks, mom,” he deadpanned. “I’m going to go back to bed. I just wanted you to hear the news from me.”

“Congratulations, and sleep well,” she purred. “We’ll talk to you and your spouse-to-be tomorrow about the wedding arrangements.”

Tomorrow? “Goodnight, mom.”

He couldn’t have had better timing. As soon as the call was disconnected, he caught a glimpse of the shadow moving in the doorframe.

“Come back to bed, Daddy.”

Who was he to refuse?

Chapter Text

Otabek’s phone went off insistently at exactly five o’clock in the morning, and he could tell without picking it up who was.


“Turn that shit off,” Yuri whined loudly, clearly still asleep.


“It’s Zhenya,” Otabek sniffled, trying to focus on finding the screaming iPhone. “If I don’t answer, she’ll never fucking stop,” he grumbled, rolling over and grabbing his phone from where it charged on his nightstand. In the process of doing so, he managed to knock over a tube of well-used lubricant, and displaced the pissy feline that had been weighing down his legs. Not only that, but he had a dangerously awake fiance beside him.

He brought the phone to his ear, stroking Yuri’s hair and pulling the blankets up over his shoulders to try to coax him back to sleep. Yuri stared at him from under the fluffy, tiger print duvet cover, bright eyes narrowed and annoyed. Not only had he been torn from a pleasant dream where he got to snuggle a whole bunch of baby tigers, but his human pillow was being taken from him, and for the second night in a damn row!


While Yuri remained pissed off and bundled, Otabek took his call in the living room.


“Five in the morning. Really, Zhenya?”


“Well, I just got done playing video games, thought I’d call you before bed…”


“Get to the point.”


“Ah, sorry, sorry.” He could almost hear her waving it off. “Congratulations! I’m so excited! I knew Yuri would say yes! We talked about it a while back, and--”


“You talked about it?” Otabek stopped his sister in her train of thought.


She blinked. Not that he could see it, but Otabek knew his sister well enough to know her reactions. “Well, yeah,” she admitted. “He asked me if you would want to get married some day.”


Well, at least he wasn’t going to have to kill Victor for spilling the beans. Yuri had approached Zhenya with the topic on his own, meaning that he’d been thinking about it without Otabek’s influence. His yes had been thought out and enthusiastic, and it had fully reassured Otabek that they were ready, and not just mutually being eager and dumb. Their futures involved one another, and both of them wanted to take the next step.


Which meant that he was going to have to plan a wedding with Yuri Plisetsky.


“Zhen,” Otabek sighed. “Thank you. But really, if I don’t go back to bed, I won’t be allowed back in.”


The laugh on the other end was ominous. “Right, right. Give Yuri a G-rated kiss for me. Tell the future Mr. Altin that we love him.”




Future Mr. Altin.


Before that day, marriage had seemed like such an obscure topic. They were just a young couple, a tattoo artist and a DJ, cohabiting and having a lot of rough, kinky sex in the bed that they shared. But in just a couple of hours, they had evolved into more than that-- sharing a surname and filing joint taxes. They’d watch the world change around them. Fast forward a couple of years and they’d be sixty years old, having hot old people sex despite Yuri’s achy knees and Otabek’s bad back.


Otabek couldn’t wait.


He snuck back into their bedroom, feeling his way through the darkness, before placing his hand on the bed. He tried to sit, but jerked up out of reflex when he felt a hard mass under his butt.


“Scoot over, Yura,” he muttered, trying to shove his stubborn mule of a boyfriend back into his spot in their bed.

Muffled sass came from the pillow.

“I’m marrying this,” Otabek sighs in disbelief, before having enough of this bed commandeering, wrapping his fiance in the blankets and rolling him off to the side. He could imagine the offended look on Yuri’s face, though the darkness prevented him from being able to see it. Once there was an Otabek-sized space open on the bed, Otabek claimed it, and pulled his lover close.

“I’m keeping all the blankets.” Yuri huffed.


Otabek shrugged, rolling away from his little Russian burrito.


“I was going to give you a blowjob and cuddle you until you fell asleep, but if you don’t want it...”




“Maybe you should have led with that, asshole,” Yuri grumbled, kicking and punching his way out of his cocoon of blankets. He rolled into Otabek’s arms, finger tracing invisible patterns on his fiance’s chest, using the hand holding his engagement ring. Otabek responded by pulling Yuri close, kissing his forehead while his hands roamed downward toward his ass.


Yuri gave a soft, seductive moan, and Otabek’s mind stopped.


Yuri worked that day, but Otabek didn’t. In a rare turn of events, Otabek was still asleep when Yuri opened his eyes. He sighed, rolling over to secure his place cuddled up to his still-sleeping fiance. As he ran his fingers along his lover’s strong, angular jaw, he realized how rare it was for him to lavish affection on the man. It was well-documented that Otabek Altin worshiped the ground that Yuri Plisetsky walked upon, but it was far less common to see Yuri offer up attention when he didn’t have an ulterior motive. Sure, they had sex all of the time, but that wasn’t the kind of affection referenced. He suspected that it was because his receipt of love as a child was stunted and limited at best, that he had an awful, selfish way of showing that he did, in fact, harbor affection for Otabek.


And somehow, that son of a bitch still wanted to marry him.


Yuri spent a few moments just… touching him. Feeling the stubble on his cheek, the fine hair growing on his chest, the smooth plane of his stomach, the silkiness of his soft penis. Arousal wasn’t the goal. Yuri just wanted to touch, to feel the warmth of the person who had picked him to stay beside for all of eternity. When he was younger, he thought that this man was a myth, a fairytale. Nobody like him existed. Nobody would ever want Yuri Plisetsky to wear his ring, especially not someone so handsome and just… fucking perfect for him.


If anything could convince him that soulmates existed, it was Otabek Altin.


When Yuri found the strength to peel himself away from his warm, comfortable, blanket-stealing fiance, he found that his mind wouldn’t shut up. Otabek had given him so much.. He had to give something back.


And he had just the thing.


Otabek woke that morning with a sticky note adhered to his forehead. He tugged it off with a groan, certain that it was something along the lines of ‘feed the cat’ or ‘wash the dishes, assface.’



Bring me dinner around 6.


<3 Yuri’




Despite realizing that Yuri’s note was really just a plea to be fed, the delivery intrigued Otabek. Normally, he’d get an ‘I’m hungry’ text with seven crying-face emojis and about twelve indicating what he wanted. This was new. Never had Yuri actually left a note, unless it was to indicate something was broken or needed replenishing.


Otabek showed up at six on the dot, the little bell on the door ringing as he carried in a bag and two drinks from Taco Bell. Without even looking, he reached into the bag and laid a soft taco on the counter for Phichit.


“It’s such a bummer you’re getting married. You’re a man over my own heart,” Phichit sighed, unwrapping his taco and biting in. “Yuri’ll be out soon, sit tight.”


Otabek rose a brow at him. “How are you and Seung-gil?”


“Awesome!” Phichit chirped. “He just doesn’t think I need food like this.” He gestured to the taco. “Says it’s bad, or whatever. He cooks when I get home, but I need something to last me through the day.”


He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t Otabek’s place to point it out.


Yuri emerged moments later, and all of the breath left Otabek’s lungs. This was the man he’d fallen in love with. He was wearing the same outfit he’d worn when they’d first met, on the day that Yuri had given JJ the first in a series of… interesting tattoos. Black heels, those ripped and battered skinny jeans, that too-big and too-loose graffiti tank, and that red plaid sweater that bared his creamy skin, showing off a few hickies from the little celebration of their engagement the night before. His eyes were lined in black, sharp and distinct. His lips looked soft, kissable, biteable.


“Otabek. Beka.”


Otabek snapped out of his thoughts. He let his eyes wander to his lover’s. A roughened hand slid over his forearm.


“...Do you trust me?”


The response was instant.


“Yes.” A little smile. “I do.”


Yuri smiled back, a little shy and more than a little beautiful. “Come on, then.”


Otabek followed Yuri to the workroom. Yuri shut the door and rolled himself into his husband-to-be’s arms. “Sit down in the chair. Shirt off, back to me,” he urged, breaking away after a few minutes to start getting ready.


“...Are you giving me a tattoo, Yurachka?”


Yuri blinked. “No. I'm going to jerk off on your back,” he rolled his eyes, noting that, despite the question, Otabek was taking his shirt off. He really did trust him.


Once his lover was settled, Yuri pulled up his rolling stool, and smoothed a hand between his shoulders. “I have an idea.”


“I already said that I trust you.”


Odd as it was to say, but the feeling of the needle on his skin was almost soothing enough to lull Otabek to sleep. It wasn’t pleasant, per se, but it wasn’t painful. From the feeling on his back, this tattoo was bigger than the last, and much more detailed. Otabek kept still as well as he could, eyes closed and trying to enjoy being in his lover’s presence while he etched an unknown design into his back. Most people would have questioned what Yuri was doing to them, curiosity or apprehension taking over. But Otabek stayed still, stayed silent, stayed obedient.


The amount of faith that he was showing in his Yuri at that time was significant.


Six hours later, with the shop emptied, Yuri came to a stopping point. He sighed as he finally put his gun down and cracked his neck before grabbing the soap to wash Otabek’s back off.


“Done?” Otabek asked, letting himself wind down from the period of extended pain. Yuri nodded, and swung around to the front of the chair to offer a kiss. Otabek accepted the offer without a second’s hesitation.


“It’s an eagle,” Yuri grinned, puffing his chest out with pride. “Like mine.” In lieu of taking his lover to the mirror to let him struggle to see the picture, Yuri whipped out his phone and took a photo. He’d let Otabek see, but not before uploading it to Instagram.


The picture was of Otabek’s back. Yuri’s hand was in-frame, resting on his spine, just below the tattoo.


yuri-plisetsky: engagement present for @otabek-altin. You’re stuck with me. *kissy face emoji*



Yuri wanted a summer wedding, so they’d have a summer wedding. That left plenty of time to plan, to save money, to coordinate.


They’d decided to get married in California, outdoors, on the beach. Yuri Plisetsky firmly believed that being uncomfortable at all on his wedding day was a sin, and if he wanted to get married barefoot and wearing shorts, he was damn well free to do so. Otabek went along with it-- not out of desire to ‘let his boys breathe’ on their wedding day, but the fact that it just made sense. They’d agreed on a small ceremony, with a party back in New York for the ones that couldn’t afford to fly out to California. Victor would come, as would Katsudon, but that was probably about it. Otabek’s immediate family would be there, but Yuri was sure that most of his fiance’s Muslim family would have somewhere else to be that day.


Fuck ‘em. They were getting married no matter what, and it was honestly better that they keep the ceremony intimate. Yuri didn’t trust a lot of people, and Otabek didn’t really want to deal with the backlash resulting from not having a strictly traditional Muslim wedding. After all, he was marrying a virtually familyless, godless heathen, who also happened to be quite male.


The gift that Yuri had given him was not unwelcome. The tattoo was expansive, taking a few more sessions to complete to Yuri’s satisfaction. The wings spanned his back, the feathers even reaching a few inches down his arms. The face was fierce, the claws sharp. Yuri was obsessed with it, helping Otabek care for the artwork while it healed, mostly due to location. It was a ritual that Otabek would miss when the process was complete. It began with Yuri smoothing ointment over the design, fingers light and soft. Then, as days went by, he’d have lotion massaged into his back by the coldest fucking hands imaginable.


Okay. So, maybe he wouldn’t miss the cold hands. But he’d have to make up another reason for Yuri to rub his back.


But it hit him that he couldn’t return the sentiment. He couldn’t give Yuri a permanent mark like that. Sure, he could make mixtape after mixtape, and Yuri would play them in the car, or at the shop, but he couldn’t carry them with him forever. Still, he had to try to think of something.


The idea hit him when he was driving home from work one day.

Otabek stopped off at the shop, knowing very well that Yuri was in appointments all day. He had expected to see Phichit at the door, but was surprised to see Victor at the register, the door to the piercing room closed.


“Otabek!” he cried, greeting him with a smile. “Shall I grab Yuri?”


Otabek shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you.”


“Oh?” Victor looked down at his schedule. “I have a few minutes. Come with me,” he encouraged, taking Otabek back to his workroom. Once they were behind closed doors, Otabek pressed his back to them, and his eyes met Victor’s.


“I want to give Yuri a tattoo.”


Victor’s eyes lit up. That was an interesting concept, but not unheard of. He’d seen people let their children use the gun on them, valuing the sketchy and unrefined quality. It was sentimental and sweet, but not something that Victor typically endorsed. But on Yuri.. something given to him by his husband might carry just enough meaning for him to allow it.

“I can’t guarantee Yuri will agree, with how particular he is about his ink..” Victor tapped his lips. “I hope you’re not planning on anything too elaborate.”

Otabek shook his head. “Just a word.”


“What word?”




Victor smiled to himself. “Tell you what. Should Yuri agree, I will prepare him, and you can do the lettering. I have some oranges and pig ears you can practice on. I will put something around it, something to make it pop.” Ideas swirled in his head as he retrieved a couple of oranges from his lunchbox. They didn’t need perfection, just to get Otabek used to the feeling of the gun. It had more kickback than he probably expected.

After about an hour of practicing, they were all out of fruit. Out of all of the designs Otabek had attempted, his lines still weren’t quite straight, and his hand was heavy. He’d even lost control a few times, resulting in jittery lines and accidental swipes. But once he got used to the feel of the machine, he could concentrate and make a reasonably straight line.

Victor was impressed with how easily Otabek learned-- it wasn’t any kind of replacement for a full apprenticeship, but he wasn’t trying to be a professional artist. He wasn’t going to take Yuri’s job, that was for sure. All he wanted to do was surprise his lover, give him a gift.


“I think it’ll be serviceable,” Victor smiled, patting Otabek’s back. He sat down, and ignored the concern on Otabek’s face as he yanked off his shoe, sock and all.


“What the fu--”


Victor waved a hand in the air. “Trust me on this.” He took a second to wash his foot at the sink, going so far as to shave it, mostly out of habit. He sat down on the table, offering his instep to Otabek.


“I’d like you to write ‘Yuuri’ on the inside of my foot.”


Otabek’s mouth opened in protest, but Victor’s hand stopped him from speaking.


“With this position, it won’t be permanent. Tattoos on high friction areas tend to fade with time. And if this doesn’t, for whatever reason, it’s easy enough to cover,” he winked. “Besides, I’d love to have my dear husband’s name on me.”


Though Otabek was hesitant, Victor’s complete nonchalance gave him enough encouragement to accept the task. He watched as Victor prepared his own foot, laying down prep liquid and scribbling’ Yuri’ on his foot. Otabek grabbed a mask off of the wall, as he’d always seen Yuri do, and put it on.


What should have taken fifteen minutes, tops, took thirty. Otabek was meticulous, following Victor’s instructions on how to stretch the skin and thicken the lines. He tried to keep a light touch, to keep his strokes manageable… all things he’d heard Yuri talk about. Though he’d always respected his lover’s craft, he found this experience to be humbling. Not anybody could do what Yuri did, especially with as much confidence and skill. Yuri was on the God tier, and Otabek was barely able to trace a line.


When the ‘I’ was sufficiently dotted, Victor looked down with a smile, washing off his own foot and dabbing on a bit of ointment. “I think you’re as ready as you will be. Shall I go grab your fiance?”


Otabek let out a breath and nodded. He realized, however, as Victor disappeared into the hallway, just how stupid of an idea this was. Yuri wasn't going to be okay with it. He wasn't going to let someone without years and years of experience touch him with a needle. Yuri was smart, and this was an exceedingly dumb thing to do.


As was always the case when Otabek showed up at the shop without snacks, Yuri shot him a kicked puppy look.


Victor spoke first, wanting to avoid discourse on the availability of dinner. “Consider this one of my many wedding gifts to you, Yurio.”


Yuri blinked, and gestured at Otabek. “But… the whole point of the wedding is that I kinda get to keep him.


Victor chuckled, sitting Yuri down in the chair. “Your fiance would very much like to give you something a little more permanent than a ring.” He winked, and Yuri finally took the chance to process what was happening.

“...Are you giving me a fucking tattoo right now?”


Otabek shifted. “If you’ll allow it.”


Yuri was quiet for a second, before dramatically tearing his hoodie off and throwing it at Victor. He laid his arm face-up on the table-- the same one Yuuri had decorated with the eagle and peonies. “Shut up, that sounds cool as hell.”


After removing the hoodie from his face, Victor took over preparing Yuri’s skin. All Otabek would have to worry about was the act of laying down ink. Otabek watched intently, always interested in the process. It was a fair trade. Yuri always asked questions about his equipment, how a certain sound was produced. This was simply more intimate, more permanent.


Otabek picked a spot closer to the crook of Yuri’s elbow. Victor’s gentle encouragement eased him into a better position-- Otabek was most certainly about to write the word upside down.


“What are you gonna put?” Yuri asked, impatient.


“Trust me,” Otabek insisted. Yuri pouted, but obeyed. He winced as the tattoo started. Otabek was heavy-handed and not precise. Technique was being thrown out for the sake of sentimentality, but Yuri could deal with a little bit of added pain.


It took a long time to finish, but Otabek and Yuri were both satisfied with the end result. The lines were uneven and a little wonky, but Yuri reassured Otabek that they’d even out with age. It wasn’t necessarily true, but made him feel better.


Жаным ‘ nestled itself between a couple of flowers, easily blending in with the rest of the tattoo. Otabek was proud, and seeing Yuri grin down at the letters while Victor wrapped it in clingwrap was exciting. He actually liked it. The look Yuri gave Otabek when he stopped staring at the ink said ‘you are going to get the best fucking blowjob of your life tonight.’




They decided to get married on August seventeenth. The date itself wasn’t important. It was just a convenient Saturday. They were joined by Otabek’s family, from his mother to his youngest sibling. Ayaulim brought her husband, and Zhenya brought her new boyfriend. In the Altin family, it seemed that bringing your lover to one of your siblings’ weddings was good luck.


Fuck the tradition of not seeing your fiance on the day of the wedding. They spent the night together in Otabek’s childhood bed, but refrained from any sexual activity where they might have gotten caught. Once was enough for a lifetime.


With Yuri still sleeping in his arms, Otabek took a moment to just look at Yuri. Sure, he looked at him all the time, but this was different. This was the last time he’d have Yuri Plisetsky snuggling against him. No, by the time the sun set, he’d be Yuri Altin. They were already tied together with the ink embedded in their skin, but this would make it all the more real.


Otabek held the love of his life, musing on how beautiful his hair looked in the sunrise, how peaceful and deceptively innocent he looked in the morning. Yuri stirred after a while, groaning and draping himself further over his husband-to-be. Otabek was effectively pinned, and Yuri was loving it.


“Can’t we just get married here?” Yuri groaned, face buried in Otabek’s shoulder. There was one strong hand in his hair, the other rubbing lovingly over his back. Being the spoiled cat that he was, he could stay there indefinitely, or until he smelled breakfast being cooked. It wouldn’t make a difference to Yuri if they just had the Officiant come in and… do whatever he did while they were snuggling there.


Yuri did, however, inch up so that he had easy access to his lover’s mouth. They kissed lazily for what felt like hours, until Zhenya tore the door open.

Otabek stared up at her in annoyance. “You do remember what happened the last time you thought it’d be fun to come in without knocking.”


Zhenya shrugged. “Yeah, but so do you. I see that you’ve kept the garter snake firmly in its cage.”


It was Yuri who looked up in response. “It’s not a stupid garter snake, it’s a fucking anaconda .”


Zhenya wrinkled her nose and took her exit, muttering something about breakfast. Otabek stared at Yuri in horror, who looked awfully proud of himself as he snuggled back up against his lover’s chest.


“Did you really have to detail my dick to my sister?”


Yuri scoffed. “Puh-lease. First off, she’s an adult. Second off, she started it.” He pulled the blankets up and rubbed his face into Otabek’s bare chest.


Otabek was marrying an infant.


After breakfast, the group began the long, arduous process of getting everyone ready. Makeup had to be applied, hair had to be done, dresses needed zipped up. The grooms declined the help of the wedding-hungry women, choosing instead to help one another get dressed.


Yuri didn’t do much-- a lot less than most people were expecting, honestly. He gave himself winged eyeliner and a light coat of mascara. He curled his hair, braiding four strands back and letting his bangs fall into his eyes. He applied two coats of lip balm. He’d only intended on one layer, but a certain someone had licked the first application off.


Otabek tied Yuri’s tie, and Yuri smoothed gel through Otabek’s hair. Yuri had wanted to get married in street clothes, but yielded to the horrified look on Mama Altin’s face. So he compromised. He cut the sleeves off of his clean white dress shirt so he could show off his tattoos, including the collaboration piece between Victor and Otabek. He let Otabek choose the black tie he wore, as well as the expensive leather belt. His trousers were too short, but that was alright. He didn’t want to drag them into the sand, after all. As part of his wedding gift, Phichit had ordered Yuri a stunning custom ear cuff, anchored on his lobe and a rarely-remembered helix piercing he had. Three gold chains draped from piercing to piercing, with a bar of enameled leopard print lining the shell of his left ear. In Otabek’s eyes, he was perfect.


Always proper, Otabek had left his shirt intact. He wore a jacket and tie, all black to match Yuri. He, too, had decided to forego shoes. He didn’t want to take himself too seriously, and he rather liked the idea of burying his feet in the sand while saying his vows. He’d let Yuri slick back his hair with his favourite gel, and knew that he’d love seeing it ruined when they got back to the hotel for their little honeymoon.


Though, they weren’t having a honeymoon in the traditional sense. They’d planned a trip for Kazakhstan and Russia the following year, but had just arranged for a few days off of work directly after their wedding. Yuri had appointments, and Otabek was still new in his role. Besides… they had plenty of time together. They had an apartment and a cat. They didn’t need a send-off, a luxurious trip… they just needed to stay close to each other.


Right before they stepped out into the sunset for the long-anticipated act of getting married, Mama Altin barged her way into their dressing room. She asked her son to step out first, wanting to address the newest addition to her family first.


“Yuri,” she greeted warmly, taking him into her arms. He was tall, and it was awkward, but he bent down and allowed the hug to happen. He was worried that his choice in clothing would offend her, but if it did, she kept silent.


“I talk to my son often,” she began. “And I cannot begin to tell you how much light you’ve brought into his life.” She made no move to let him go. She simply held him, rubbing his back and offering him comfort that he hadn’t known he needed. Yuri melted into her, saying nothing while she spoke.


“I don’t want to bore you, or tell you what you already know. But he loves you. And though we may never fully understand it…” She peeked at his exposed tattoos. “...We never stop thanking Allah for placing him into your arms.”


It wasn’t much, but it was more than Victor’s ‘congrats on probably not dying alone’ speech.


When the embrace broke, Otabek’s mother ran off to find her son, aiming to offer him her blessing, no doubt. But as Yuri sat, running his fingers over the bird and flowers on his forearm, he couldn’t help but wonder how different it’d be if Grandpa had made it to see his only grandson’s wedding.


It would have been a much bigger affair. It’d be held in a church, no doubt. There would be a reception in an actual banquet hall. Grandpa would get shit-faced drunk, embarrass them a little, and try to make a speech after about six flutes of champagne. This day would have been a highlight of Nikolai Plisetsky’s life.


Yuri could have mused on forever, wondering how his grandfather would react to every little nuance. However, the sudden appearance of Victor Nikiforov and his husband knocked him out of his thoughts.


“Are you ready, Yurio?” Victor asked gently, offering his hand.


Yuri took it.


“Fuck yeah.”


Yuuri chuckled to himself. Leave it to Yuri to drop the f-bomb at his own wedding.


“Oh, one last thing,” Yuuri interrupted as Victor led Yuri to the door. “Otabek just wanted me to give you a message before you go out there.”


Yuri rose a brow. “Fucker better not be dropping out.”


Yuuri laughed, waving his hands. “No, no. He said… ‘Davai.’”


It took a second to sink in, but when it did, Yuri snorted. “Come on. Let’s go… cut the knot, or whatever.”


Tie the knot,” Victor whined, a little bit concerned.


Most of the attendants were Otabek’s siblings. They’d sprawled themselves out on pillows resting on blankets. They formed two aisles, but just barely, facing the sun setting on the ocean. Victor accompanied Yuri down the rickety wooden steps to the shore, and they could see Otabek waiting for them, his ankles licked by the tide. Yuri let Victor hold on to him, mostly for Victor’s sake, as they stepped through the uneven sand and rose petals thrown by Taras. Victor gave his ward away with a kiss to the forehead.


If anyone ever asked Yuri about the details of his actual wedding, he would only be able to show pictures. He spent the whole damn time staring into Otabek’s eyes like the stupid boy-in-love that he was. It was dumb, and he’d deny the hell out of it. But what surprised him was that Otabek didn’t even think it was that weird. He just stared right back. Yuri was distracted, thinking of all of the moments that had led up to this one. Every fight, every strong word, every passive-aggressive gesture… they were all shit.


Otabek slid that ring onto his finger, and they were above it all.


They came together in a kiss, where Otabek’s mother cried and his sisters cheered. Victor whistled, earning an extended middle finger from The Artist Formerly Known as Yuri Plisetsky.


Instead of a traditional reception, they had chosen a much more relaxed party. What was the point of renting out a banquet hall if they were just entertaining family and Victor? Otabek, Maksim, and Yuuri built a bonfire, cooking chicken, hamburgers, and veggie dogs over the flames. Like hell Yuri would subject himself to a dry wedding, so he had Victor smuggle in a couple of bottles of champagne to mix among the sparkling cider. He knew that it was a little bit offensive, but he figured it to be a very fair compromise. It was just for him and Victor. Otabek might have gone for a glass or two, if he knew. As long as Yuuri didn’t find his way to the bottle, their cover would be safe.


Otabek found his new husband with a full glass of champagne in his hand. He took a sip, with Yuri pulling him close immediately after and licking his lips clean of the traces of alcohol.


“My mom would be scandalized,” Otabek pointed out, handing the cup back. “You know Muslim weddings don’t have alcohol.”


“Yeah, because everything about two dudes getting married on the beach screams ‘traditional Muslim wedding.’ Besides, you say that, but you just drained my cup.”


Otabek hummed. “You can get more.”


Yuri looked offended. “What happened to settling down with my good, decent, stand-up Muslim boy?”


Otabek rolled his eyes, swaying his hips to the music that was playing from the portable speaker. He held his new husband close, a large hand splayed out over the small of his back. In that moment, he wanted his fucking family to dissipate so that he could ravage Yuri raw in the sand, but that could be saved for another time.


“I love you, Yura.”


Yuri huffed. “Yeah, whatever. Love you, too. Not gonna get you out of getting me more champagne.”


Yuri turned in his lover’s arms, pressing his back against his chest. Otabek let his chin rest on the blonde’s shoulder, kissing gently on his neck. A sigh left Yuri’s lips, and he turned to cup Otabek's strong jaw before diving in for a long, drawn-out kiss. He went still, however, jaw slack and eyes opened. 




Yuri shoved the empty glass into his husband’s hands. “Hold this. I’ve gotta fuckin’ do something.”


That wasn’t good. That was never good.


Powerless, Otabek Altin watched as his grown adult of a husband ran up to Victor and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov. They were facing the sea, obviously reflecting in the beauty of life, or whatever the hell they were doing. They didn’t hear the boy stalking up behind them until it was too late, and they were both face-first in the Pacific Ocean.


Victor sputtered, helping pull Yuuri up out of the water. Their fronts were soaked, and Yuuri was hastily trying to wipe his glasses off.


YURI !” the scream could be heard for miles, but Yuri was long gone, cackling as he ran down the shore.


There he was. Yuri Altin. It had started with a pretentious tattoo on a pretentious man, which led to hot sex, a ton of misunderstandings, even hotter sex, fighting, more sex, moving in together, and finally, deciding that they wanted to keep one another forever. Otabek was Yuri’s foundation, solid and steadfast. Yuri was Otabek’s fire, his passion, his creativity. Otabek’s mother had always told him to find someone who pushed him, and Yuri certainly never stopped. And in that same vein, Yuri’s grandpa had always told him to find someone who felt like coming home, and never had he felt more wanted and loved than when Otabek opened his arms and let him crawl onto his chest at night.


Oh, and speaking of that pretentious man, JJ had gone back to Yuri for additional tattoos, and Yuri had called him, scream-cry-laughing because JJ had just emailed him a design for a tramp stamp. Otabek hated to admit it, but he’d have to thank JJ for bringing that blonde firecracker into his life.


But first, he was going to have to save him, because Victor and Yuuri had caught up to the smug kitten, and he was putting up a valiant fight against being hurled into the goddamn ocean on his wedding day.