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Dem (Bar) Skillz

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There’s something to be said of Baldie being entirely too dramatic and Piggie being too accommodating. Because renting out an entire bar for a very late engagement party - years after the actual event, really, for fucks sake - is the very definition of Extra™, as is the literal cases of liquor brought in. No one needs 12 cases of champagne. Or 40 different types of red wine, plus whatever else they got. And rainbow light machines, with the flashing and lasers. Yuri could go on, but he’s a little too drunk to think straight. Hah. Straight. This whole affair is gay as hell. Literally and.... Literally? Going by the definitions and shit. There is blatant and rampaging homosexuality and happiness. That.

 

His English tutor would be so proud.

 

He lifts his head just enough to gargle out the necessary Russian at Otabek across the bar. He can’t see Otabek much, because the Slavic ability to hold alcohol doesn’t apply to absinthe apparently - fucking Chris challenging everyone to absinthe shots - and Yuri’s had like 15 shots alone which is apparently Too Much. And where was he going with this again? Oh right. Otabek. He’s a blur and probably frowning Significantly at Yuri, and looking like a fucking model. But a good one, not those vapid shits who batted their eyelashes at them in Paris and had ribs that jut out like - like something horrific and nauseating. Like that girl in Juniors at Yakov’s rink, that had fainted at the rink and been too much light and bones when Yuri had to go out to pick her up off the ice.

 

A strong hand cards through Yuri’s hand, and he pushes up into the warmth of it. Ah, right there, massage right there, no back, ahhhhhh. “Yura, you’re thinking out loud.” Fuck.

 

He lets his swimming head hit the bar top with a dull thunk. Lucky everyone else is entirely too drunk to remember, except Otabek. Ramadaan was on, and the competitive season would overlap significantly too, so Otabek was using the 2014 fatwa and going to abstain from other vices. Which meant he had taken over the bar after JJ had gotten into a karaoke battle with Leo. If that screeching and  yodeling could be called karaoke ? Whatever, as long as they’re not dancing on top of the tables.

 

“You’ve jinxed it Yura.” What? Fuck. Mila and Sara are waltzing delicately and salaciously over the table tops. Why. Also, fucking baba needs to teach him that upward body slide-dip-body roll-lift. So many applications . “Yura, Yura. Altynym , künim . Please stop plotting.” Plotting, he wasn’t plotting. Planning maybe. Plotting was devious.

 

“Eyes on me, Yura.” Oooh. Otabek never used that tone of voice unless something good was going to happen. Yuri can feel himself perk up and focus.

 

Otabek opens with tossing the bottle across his body, catching it and flipping it onto the back of his hand then back into his palm before pouring into the shaker. The next bottle goes over his shoulder and into his opposite palm, then inverted and juggled with another bottle. Yuri has no idea what all is going into this shaker - already frosty with ice - but it’s entrancing. The bottles whirl like glass daggers and it’s almost arousing at how calm and competent Otabek looks. Two, three bottles and he’s still unruffled. The shaker - still holding liquid - is being flipped and tossed about too and it’s probably something to do with physics and Yuri can’t care less.

 

Finally the drink is poured into a fancy glass and placed in front of Yuri. “There you go, Yura. Enjoy.” With a sly shy smile that’s more wicked than anything, Otabek walks off, leaving Yuri with a cold drink and a raging boner.