Yuri slithers out of the sweater and jacket. Everything grace and lean sinew. His body's been honed to do what he wants. There's no hesitation. Because if he stops, even for a second, the whole thing crashes down. Just like on the ice. The only way he wants to go is forward.

The clothes get tossed aside in a snap of his wrist (even this is pretty, and someday he should really find a way to get that move on the rink...) There's time for Otabek to explore, but soon Yuri's hands are moving again. Dragging from Otabek's ass to his waistband, shoving at the shirt.

"Hurry up," Yuri demands again. Eager to have his turn, see the muscle