alwaysthequietones | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's different, he learns, actually being friends with someone on the ice.

It's not just Yuri, either-- Viktor's friendship kind of ends up being this weird package deal with that that he wasn't expecting and Yuuri's follows and Yuuri seems like one of those people everyone just likes for some reason and so everyone else seems to follow suit. He's not really much of a people person-- people tend to find him too quiet and get bored and he finds small talk pretty exhausting, himself-- so "friendship" in this case might be too strong a word for what any of them feel towards him, but he's invested now, enough that every now and again, he'll even post something on Instagram or like a few scattered posts here and there.

He and Yuri talk more often than that, but it's still just a smattering of texts here and there and he's no better at pleasantries on the internet than he is in person, but Yuri really doesn't seem to care, so it works out okay. It's... nice. Having someone to talk to. He's spent most of his skating career not being very good at... well, most of the things other skaters were good at. Dance, talking, smiling for the camera. He's not unaware of how sullen he looks next to Viktor and Chris in some of those pictures when it was the three of them on the podium. He's just not really someone to smile and play nice with a bunch of reporters. He prefers to mean it, when he smiles.

He doesn't smile a lot.

But that's okay, too. He's an athlete. He's good at what he does. It's enough. ... Except now he's getting out there, competition after competition and skating against people he knows and one person he knows in particular and it's... different, now. He feels things more. He's still a solid skater, does the same things he's always done, just better. He's getting silver suddenly, more than bronze, though the fight to land on the podium at all is getting rougher and he misses it more than once.

And then, on the first competition to the Grand Prix Finals, suddenly he's standing higher than everyone else, and it's just qualifier, but it matters, because it's Yuri with the silver around his neck.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yuri jumps up, pulling a face. "God no, save me."

He grabs Otabek's arm without thinking. Hauling ass for the door. This actually gets a laugh from the table, a chorus of goodbyes as Viktor laments how underappreciated he is!

As soon as they're away from the restaurant windows, Yuri sags against the wall. Grateful for the chill in the air. He is very interested in continuing their... 'conversation' from earlier. He just needs to be able to breathe for one goddamn minute.

Oh.

He's still holding onto Otabek. Well, screw it, he's not letting go now.

He's holding onto Otabek and Otabek is smiling. It's a really subtle thing, but the curl of his lips is there. It's more around his eyes than in his mouth, though, when he smiles, harder to see when he's wearing sunglasses, but obvious like this.

He's not quite a "kiss in the middle of the street" type, but he does sink against the wall next to him without disturbing the grip,

"I thought that was never going to end," and then, head tilted a little, "You can ride on the front of the bike this time," it's not permission, he's telling, "I don't trust you not to get us into an accident just because you can."

Yuri cocks an eyebrow at him.

"In front - What, like driving?! I don't know how to drive, idiot!"

Hopefully, if he can tell when Otabek's smiling, Otabek can tell when 'idiot' is meant to be affectionate?

"I know. Though maybe I could teach you sometime. I don't think I have the patience for that tonight though. I think you're small enough to sit on my lap in the model I have, at least on the way back to the hotel. But if I'm wrong, we won't do it," he says the whole thing so casually, like it's not any of the things it's going to be.

He'd never risk something like that on a highway, but a few short side streets less than ten minutes ride form their hotel? He's been riding motorcycles his whole life, he's pretty sure he can manage it.

Yuri stares at Otabek for a few seconds. Trying to get this to make sense. His brain is having trouble getting past the sit on my lap part.

He doesn't know what to do with all the strange feelings bubbling under his skin. At all. The closest he's felt was skating Agape at last year's Grand Prix. And that's still not quite right.

Finally there's a small smile. A shrug, because anything more and he's afraid he might start laughing. Or screaming. Something embarrassing.

"Yeah. Okay. Got a helmet?"

"Yeah. I figured you weren't going to want to stay and watch Viktor get drunk. Come on," he tugs them into motion this time. He's not really forceful about anything, he just kind of presumes Yuri will let him know if there's something he doesn't want to do. Besides, he's pretty sure neither of them have any idea how this is supposed to work, and he's equally sure neither of them would care how it was supposed to work if they did.

They get to the bike, which is in a nearby parking structure, and he hands Yuri the helmet, considers how to make this work. He's seen it on a TV show or a movie or something, but he hasn't spent a whole lot of time with anyone else on his bike, much less a non-traditional riding position. Now that he's here, it seems a little silly, but he's not backing off of it.

He decides it's better for Yuri to actually get on first and him to kind of slide in and up behind him, but as soon as he does, he immediately stops.

"I... don't think this is as good of an idea as I thought," it's not immediately obvious why not, other than that Yuri is sitting more on his lap than not, their thighs tight together, but they would be more or less the same the other way, too.

"I don't care if he's drunk, I care that he strips. Aren't you supposed to get boring when you're married?" Yuri grouses. Shifting to let Otabek maneuver behind him. It's awkward, but seems like it's going to work? If he doesn't think too much about how warm Otabek is, solid against him -

Yup. Great job not thinking about it.

Except it seems Otabek's in the same straits.

"Why? Chickening out?" Yuri grins. Settling back a bit. Because oh, that's right - he is kind of a little shit. He likes Otabek, possibly more then anyone else. Losing still stings. Yuri can accept it, but that does not mean he's above needling.

Otabek makes a very soft little noise when Yuri shifts back and yes, he's definitely in the same straits and Yuri's rubbing up against very obvious, physical proof of that, but it's not really himself that he's worried about.

"No. But..."

And then he leans forward until he can put his hands on the handles of the bike to actually drive it.

It's a noticeable lean, but not far, really, but in this configuration tiny distances feel like huge ones-- the motion angles both of them forward on the bike, enough to lift Yuri's ass just a little bit, make it a little more like he really is in Otabek's lap but, more importantly to what Otabek is suddenly concerned about, it's enough of a lean forward that it's going to be really difficult for Yuri to keep his cock from touching the bike.

Maybe he doesn't quite figure out what's bad about that.

He's going to have a different opinion when Otabek turns the bike on and it purrs to life under both of them.

Yuri maybe makes a very undignified noise as the vibrations slither up his body. Wave after wave. It's swallowed by the engine though. Thank God.

There is no way he can do this. There is also no way he's backing down. Not after opening his big mouth to tease Otabek. Yuri grits his teeth. Digging both hands into Otabek's thighs, unless he's directed to grab somewhere else.

(There are a lot of places Yuri would rather grab. Except there's already been that agreement not to cause a crash?)

Otabek has never really been accused of being cautious exactly, but he does normally deliberate things quite a bit. He's not normally impulsive, the risks he takes are always thought through, calculated.

The noise is swallowed by the engine. Mostly. Not enough.

There's a hand in the small of Yuri's back, suddenly, and then he's pressed flat across the bike, and there's nothing calculated about it, nor about the way Otabek grinds forward against him, a low growl rising in his chest. He has to get at least some of this tension to go somewhere, or he's not going to be safe to drive, but giving into it just seems to make everything pull tighter.

Yuri is the opposite. This is the kid who jumped quads at twelve, hunted Viktor to Japan, challenged a Grand Prix finalist to a skate-off. Became a prima ballerina when all that didn't work. He chases, chases, always chases. It seems impossible how he can have so much control on the ice and be so volatile off it.

Anyway, he's hardly going to start being reasonable now.

"Fuck!" he swears as the vibrations turn into a quake. It echoes through the garage. Louder then the bike, this time. It's hard to tell which is more of a turn-on - the humming against his dick or Otabek pushing him into it.

He knows, knows, if he can just get them to the hotel there's a greater than zero chance they're actually going to get to have actual sex and then be in a bed and be alone, and he wants all of those things. He actually wants some of those things quite badly, but he's also got Yuri swearing and splayed across his bike right now, and that's currently a pretty compelling argument.

It's an argument that he's currently losing with himself by way of how he's grinding up against Yuri's ass, lewd already and made moreso by the way Yuri's got his legs spread by the bike.

"At this rate," his tone is remarkably steady, almost calm, but it's only because his body's doing everything his voice isn't, "You're going to have a lot of revenge saved up."

It's funny how Otabek's the type not to kiss in the street but is also the type to hump someone in public on a motorcycle. At least. It will be funny, if Yuri can ever get his brain to make that comparison.

It's incredible and it's too much and -

- and he needs off the bike. Now. Not only because he doesn't want another mess. Yuri's still trying to connect Sex is a Thing to Sex is a Thing I Want With Otabek and those are good but also really new and huge and he needs fucking air.

He shoves at Otabek's thigh. Trying to get space.

An actual, verbal response would have gotten an immediate reaction, but it takes him a moment to associate the movement with something that's negative, considering Yuri's already been gripped to his thighs. There's also nothing to indicate that Yuri wants off of the bike entirely, so much as that he needs up and there's also no indication of what is wrong.

So it may or may not be helpful to things that Otabek doesn't really let him up so much as haul him up, holding him off the bike with a hand on his chest, the opposite of what he was doing a moment ago. He's still too close behind him, though, maybe moreso now,

"I told you this was a bad idea," he says, again.

"Leggo," Yuri pants. Scrambling as best he can back to his feet.

Then it's his turn to yank Otabek in for a kiss. Tongue mapping out his mouth.

"It's a fucking great idea," he snarls. "But if you ruin these jeans you are paying for it the rest of your life Beka! Understand?!"

Yuri likes the jeans, okay?!

Yuri almost knocks the bike over scrambling off and maybe someone can take a moment to appreciate the strength needed to both keep the thing upright and have someone used to launching themselves into the air on blades push off it to get away, since it's probably not either of them at the moment.

Otabek has exactly five seconds to regret all of his life decisions when Yuri pushes away, but then he's got his tongue in his mouth and Otabek melts instead and just like there seems to be little contradiction in his head between not kissing in public and being perfectly happy to push Yuri down across the motorcycle, the handoff between acting like he might fuck Yuri across the bike and letting himself be manhandled into a kiss is seamless.

He kind of wants to point out that things called washing machines exist, but he also can tell this isn't really about the jeans.

"Then you should sit in the back. I can't let you up in the middle of traffic."

It's 2% about the jeans. They've both got flights tomorrow, when is Yuri going to have time to do more laundry?!

"Okay. Fine."

Yuri tucks himself behind Otabek. Wrapping both arms around his waist. This is familiar, settling, even if the vibrations back here aren't much better. And if he lays his cheek against Beka's back, breathes deep - who's going to see?

Probably, with a different two people, this entire thing would have gone quite differently. But neither of them are anyone else but who they are, and so Otabek just reaches down and splays his fingers across Yuri's around his waist for a moment, reassuring and there but without comment, and then at least attempts to pay more attention to driving than the feel of him settled in behind him.

It's probably good that they didn't do anything else on the bike for another reason by the time they get to the hotel, which is that they have to walk across the lobby and while Otabek doesn't have the same kind of fan following Yuri does, he did just win a gold medal.

(And there might, just might be some Yuri's Angels out there who've taken the whole "best friends" thing a little too far already. There's fanfic. Otabek is aware it exists, but hasn't dared look at it.)

(Yurio has avoided it, more from willful self-ignorance. God some people have to much free time! Who even writes this stuff?!)

There's still a few photographers hanging around. Since it's preliminaries, though, it isn't as bad a swarm. All they're getting is the pair walking together, Yuri's hands shoved in his pockets and scowling straight into the lenses. (And maybe flipping off one that gets too close. Ha! Now the asshole can't run that one at all!)

It is miles to the elevator.

Yuri has exactly enough patience for the doors to close before he's yanking at Otabek's collar. Ready to continue their earlier "conversation."

Edited 2017-04-10 23:50 (UTC)

Otabek crosses the lobby the same way he always does, which is to say he ignores anyone who doesn't directly approach him and no one directly approaches him. So there are a few really good pictures of Yuri acting like a cat dropped in a bathtub and Otabek impassive next to him.

There are speculations of course (a certain Thai skater has nothing to do with starting any of them (anywhere where anyone can prove it)) but nothing concrete, which is good, because the wait for the elevator almost crackles with tension when they both get on it.

He lets Yuri be the one to reach for him, not really cautious, but mindful that Yuri's the one who called a stop to things before, but he's happy to either lean down or help him up, either way, and he kisses back just as reckless as ever.

Leaning down is better. That way Yuri can get his hands on Otabek's ass. He hasn't got the momentum to shove him against the wall, but makes an effort anyway. Attacking the span of neck that's been taunting him since dinner.

He barely jumps off in time when the elevator rings.

"Wait - Which floor is this?"

It takes almost no effort to get Otabek's back up against the wall and his hands in Yuri's hair, tugging him first harder into the kiss and then clinging onto him when he gets his mouth on his neck. There's no one to hear them in the elevator so there's a low moan to the way Yuri's fingers clench on his ass, how that drags his hips forward, a louder one to a particular spot on his neck which, if it's not bruised now, is surely going to be, because the way it makes him shudder is probably too good to ignore.

"Eight," he says, quiet, automatic, to the question. Is that the floor they want? He has no idea. Had they even pushed a button? Surely they had.

The eighth floor is the gym and swimming pool. No actual rooms. Somehow that translates, in Yuri's frazzled state, to "Time to kiss Otabek some more." And pull out more of those noises. Kissing is still new and weird but Yuri's always been a fast learner. His mouth is back on that spot like a magnet, sucking deep.

It takes a minute or so to realize the elevator isn't moving. Waiting for orders.

"Oh yeah," he pants. Cheeks bright, breath coming fast. He needs to get out of the jeans. It is becoming urgent. "What floor are you on?"

Which is pretty much inviting himself into Otabek's room. However, Yuri's isn't an option - it's connected to Viktor and Yuuri! No way in hell.

Yuri sets into that spot with a vengeance and it's only the fact that the wall can take some of Otabek's weight that saves him from falling over. He's never experienced his legs go weak from anything other than exhaustion before, but it's like something under Yuri's mouth is connected straight to every other nerve in his body and they all fire sideways when he does that. The noises shade pleading, desperate, and he's pulling Yuri closer by his ass because he can't think enough to do anything else.

"Eight," he says again, because for a second he thinks Yuri has asked the same question again-- they are, in fact, on Eight, after all. But he manages to parse that into the real question a moment later, "Twelve. My room's on twelve."

He doesn't care which of their rooms they end up in at this point. In fact, he might have cleaned up a tiny bit in anticipation that it might have been his.

That's good. Yuri's room, along with completely embarrassing semi-roommates, is a disaster. He doesn't mean for his clothes to explode everywhere, it just happens. It is even worse after preparing for the sort-of date.

He growls again, in response to the begging. That is something else he definitely likes. That Otabek's strong enough to pick him up but Yuri's got him whimpering. Knocked off balance.

Right. Room. They need a room. Yuri flails an arm for the buttons. Can't quite reach. He solves this by yanking Otabek forward a few steps, mouths locked together, until his hand lands on "12."