Hey guys, this is the fanfic blog for @kuridoodledoo so you can follow me there as well. I will be posting only fanfictions (updates, prompts and such) on here, thank you! If you would like to send me a prompt, please feel free
A/N: Written for @otayurism because I enjoy writing for people and they seem nice enough to write for <3
Summary: Otabek and Yuri get some practice time in together, which leads to an improv pairskate with lots of dips and kisses, done to only the best song for fluff and deep love; Thinkin’ Out Loud.
Yuri took Otabek’s hand as Ed Sheeran’s voice echoed throughout the rink, dragging him out into the middle of the ice. Otabek skated circles around Yuri a few times, stopping in front of him and placing his right hand on Yuri’s waist, Yuri placing his left on Otabek’s shoulder.
Two cold hands landed delicately upon the wall around the skating rink. Yuri looked down at his reddened fingers, wishing he had brought his gloves instead of leaving them behind in an excuse to hold hands with Otabek.
“I think that was one of your better run-throughs.” Yuri looked up slowly at the comment. He and Otabek had chosen this day to go to the rink at the same time to practice together unlike previous days when they had come separately in order to minimize distraction.
Otabek skated gracefully up behind Yuri, wrapping his arms around his waist in a gentle hug. Yuri allowed his eyes to close, letting his head fall back. “What would you say to hot chocolate and maybe a movie tonight?” The Kazakh man offered, laying his sharp chin against one of the blonde’s shoulders. A smile crept its way onto Yuri’s face as he turned in Otabek’s arms. “Well?”
Yuri pretended to be thinking, bring a hand up to play with his own hair, twirling a small strand in between his thumb and index finger. “Hmm...what movie?” The shorter male tilted his head, attempting to keep his smile at bay, failing horribly.
“Viking?” Otabek let on a small smirk, letting out a short laugh at Yuri’s eyeroll. “I know, that one was pretty horrible...how about 28 Panfilovtsev?” When the smaller skater seemed interested, Otabek nodded shortly. “Alright. Guess it’s a date then, hm?”
“I suppose it is.” Yuri slowly traced his hands up Otabek’s arms, humming and looking over to where their shared speaker was playing a new song. “Come.”
Yuri took Otabek’s hand as Ed Sheeran’s voice echoed throughout the rink, dragging him out into the middle of the ice. Otabek skated circles around Yuri a few times, stopping in front of him and placing his right hand on Yuri’s waist, Yuri placing his left on Otabek’s shoulder. The linked their other hands, Otabek pulling Yuri in so his head was rested on his chest. They gently pushed around the rink like this for awhile, skating quietly together while pressed warmly against one another. Otabek pulled back, hooking his hands around Yuri’s waist, lifting him into the air, smiling with the other man and placing a soft kiss to his cheek as he brought him down.
Otabek sang to Yuri as they skated in circles, hands held tightly, “Darling I, will, be lovin’ you till we’re seventy…” He spun the other boy. “And baby my, heart, could still fall as hard at twenty-three…”
Yuri followed with the next set of lyrics, allowing Otabek to dip him, then spin him up and back into his arms. “I’m thinkin’ bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways, maybe just the touch of a hand…” He spread his arms out like wings, one knee bent as he was lifted off of the ice and into the frigid air.
This time, they sang together. “Well, me I fall in love with you every single day...and I just wanna tell you I am…”
Otabek brought his lover down, dipping so far down that he was almost laying across the ice, but he brought him up in the last second, letting his soft voice ring out for his Yuri and singing as passionately as he skated. He spun with the Russian, running his hands lovingly through the longer blonde hair, eyes closed and cheeks rosy. He watched Yuri’s toned leg come up behind him, toe as pointed as he could get it with skates on. Otabek could hardly stop his hand from running down his muscled thigh, wrapping his fingers around his shin, pushing the leg as far as he knew it could go. He let the thinly-clothed leg come back down, tracing his hands back up to his partner’s body to his face.
As the song ended, he pulled Yuri in, cuddling him up to his own chest. The two of them panted softly together, both moving in for a gentle kiss. Yuri brought his hands up, reaching to fix Otabek’s flopped over hair.
“I think I love you too much, Yura…” Otabek breathed softly against Yuri’s lips, bringing him close. As Otabek lead him toward the exit of the rink, Yuri dug his skate into the ice to attempt to stop him.
“Beka. There is no such thing as too much love.” Yuri reached up, one hand on Otabek’s shoulder, the overwhelming love filling his chest, his head, his stomach, everything feeling too hot right now.
Otabek shook his head, smiling at Yuri and gently lifting him off of the ice, walking off, latching the opening behind himself and making his way toward the locker room. “Come on, Yurochka. I’m looking forward to that movie.”
Once inside the locker room, Otabek sat down, removing his skates from sore feet, hissing quietly in pain. Yuri changed rather quickly, throwing on some comfortable sweats and a sweater over his work-out clothes. He sat down in front of Otabek, taking his sock-covered foot into his lap.
“Yura, my feet probably stink-”
“I don’t care!” Yuri snapped, taking great care in rubbing the Kazakh’s sore foot. “Stinky or not, you don’t deserve hurt feet…” He mumbled softly, massaging one foot, then the other, Otabek sighing in pleasure and doing his best not to slide off of the bench he had been on. As Yuri did that, he slipped on his sweater, cheeks tinged pink from remembering their little improvised pair skate routine.
“...eka…”
The way he held his Yura, the way he dipped him and hugged him close whenever he felt the music tell him to.
“Beka!”
Otabek snapped back to reality, looking down at his young lover.
“Put your shoes on. I want to go home.” Yuri stood, letting Otabek adjust to his new height in shoes before pulling him along to wear Otabek parked the bike.
“I think you are just craving some hot chocolate.” Otabek snuck his hand down to slip into Yuri’s back pocket. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
Yuri jumped slightly at the hand against his butt, but it was truly innocent affection, so he let it slide.
Yuri was mostly silent on the way home, relaxing even in the cold air of Moscow. He breathed in the faint scent of musk that Otabek still had attached to him from working out, ran his fingers over the leather jacket his boyfriend wore, peeped around to watch Otabek’s focused face. It wasn’t a long ride home, but with watching the world go by and focusing on minute details of his partner, it made the bike ride seem just a little longer.
As Otabek pulled up and parked, kicking out the kickstand and helping his dear boy off, he had a slight smile about his face. “Head inside, I’ll be in in a sec.” Yuri nodded, complying with his request and walking into their shared home. He stood around awkwardly for a moment, lifting one of his talkative cats off the floor and greeting it with gentle nuzzles and pets, setting it down once more and deciding to heat up some milk for their coco. Otabek soon came inside, dusting snow off of himself and hanging his coat up.
“Kitchen.” Yuri spoke softly, but loud enough for Otabek to hear where he was, poking his head out from behind the door frame.
“Here. I forgot to give you this earlier in the morning before practice.” Otabek practically stomped over with his heavy boots, handing Yuri a small box. “I love you.” He bent forward, kissing Yuri’s head and heading into the kitchen to finish making their hot chocolate. Yuri opened his tiny gift, grinning wide at the itty bitty tiger pendant on a gold chain. The younger male quickly turned on his sore heel, all but skipping to Otabek and wrapping his arms around his torso. Otabek couldn’t help but laugh, wrapping an arm around Yuri’s shoulders.
“Here, let me put it on you…” Otabek took the chain, letting Yuri turn around and lift up his gorgeous hair. He traced a cold finger along the connection of his neck and shoulder while bringing the chain up, causing Yuri to shiver as the chain was latched at the back of his neck. “There…” Yuri turned back around, adjusting the chilled chain. “You look beautiful, my love…” Otabek marveled at his good-looking man for a moment, kissing his cheek and tending to the chocolate again.
“Why don’t you go set up the movie and some blankets, and I’ll finish up here.” Otabek offered to Yuri, watching the younger nod and walk off with a smile planted on his lips.
It wasn’t much longer before Yuri had curled up on the couch, resting his head against a body pillow and wrapped up in several blankets. He was watching the home screen of 28 Panfilovtsev play over and over, dozing off a few times until he heard boots being kicked off, then was surprised with Otabek flopping down with a heavy sigh beside him.
“Ready? This has a decently high rating, I think you’ll like it. Here, sweetie.” Otabek winked subtly, handing his beautiful lover a cup of nice and hot coco. “I even added some cinnamon, just how you like it.” Otabek leaned over, kissing the side of Yuri’s tired head. He sweetly whispered against his ear, “I won’t be upset if you fall asleep during the movie, just don’t spill that hot drink all over us.” He chuckled mostly to himself, starting the movie and wrapping an arm around the other. As Yuri sipped, he felt more content than he ever had in years.
Sitting beside the one he loved, watching a decent movie on a more than decently sized television, curled up with a warm cat, a warm drink, and a warm fuzzy blanket. He glanced up once more at Otabek, setting his drink down and curling closer to him and closing his eyes. Nothing in his life would ever come above this moment.
Summary: Yuri has a new show, now dedicated to his grandpa who has passed away.
The rest can be read here
"At age 19, representing Russia, skating to Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto, Yuri Plisetsky.” The stands became silent. Yuri moved into position, delicate hands covering his face, eyes closed, face set in a soft frown. Even with the song shortened, he would tell this story through to the end with his body and soul. “It is said that he had picked this song shortly after his grandfather's tragic death.”
Shut up, you stupid fucking announcer. You know nothing of my grandfather. Nothing. Yuri thought in spite as he went through his skating routine. Going into his first jump, he could feel his grandpa's hands lifting him into the air.
“Higher papa!!” Yuri would yell on the swing, giggling and kicking his legs toward the trees ahead of his swing-set.
“Of course, my dear Yurochka, you'll touch the sky one day.” He pressed his rough old hands into Yuri's coat-covered back, pushing him on the swing to get him higher.
He zoned out at some point during his performance apparently, nearing the end of his free skate program. He knows he landed all of his quads, he can just feel it. The last move in his program is combination spin, making him extremely nervous. The move wasn't hard whatsoever. Just the music. The music would pierce through his heart and break him down.
“Yuri! My boy! How was school today?”
“Grampa, I made you a birthday card today!” He handed the small gluey card to his grandfather.
“Oh, Yurochka. This is absolutely beautiful. Thank you. You are blessing on this wretched earth. One day everyone will see. I love you.” Nikolai stopped, reaching down to pick up his young grandson and hug him tight.
“I love you too, Papa!! You're squishing me!!”
With both hands in the air, back bent almost at a ninety degree angle, breathing hard, hot tears ran from his eyes at the very end, the song fading out. The screams and cheers were overwhelming and Yuri just slowly straightened, wanting so badly to run away. He stood there for a moment before quickly skating off the ice. He wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. As he came closer to the exit, he realized he was going much too fast to get off safely. His eyes widened as he tried to stop himself, somewhat rolling his ankle and launching himself off the ice, his right hip catching on the corner of the low wall as his green eyes suddenly closed and he braced for impact. Shit.
Otabek Altin was waiting to enter onto the ice, eyes just as wide as Yuri's had previously been when he saw what was about to unfold. He dove quickly, attempting to catch the blond along with the boy's coach, Yakov. He shoves his hand in front of that small feminine face, attempting to block it from the ground, which he does, just in time, the skin on his knuckles peeling up against the rough floor. Yakov catches Yuri's body, the three of them frozen there, a dead silence falling over them. The crowd follows suit, silence laying it's thick blanket over everyone who saw. Yuri shakes, slowly picking himself up and looking at Otabek.
“I-...get the hell out of my way!” He turns quickly, rushing to the kiss-and-cry. He sits down roughly, hands shaking hard. What the fuck was that? Why did he catch me like that? He looked toward the man, noticing his hand was bloodied. His coach was wrapping it. Nothing serious. Now Yuri just felt like an ass. Yakov quickly came to sit with him, but ended up just standing there in anticipation. Yuri doesn't hear the score, he just suddenly feels a slap on his back and hears the loud laughter of Yakov.
“Well done, my boy! Truly exquisite job!” He just gets up and leaves the man to celebrate. This was one of his worst performance. The score was amazing. The memories? Absolutely horrible.
He removed his costume in the locker room, putting on his warm-up jacket and sweats. He looked himself over in the mirror, sighing softly. He lifted his jacket and lowered his pants just a bit, looking at his right hip. “Shit.” A deep blue bruise was forming over his pointy hip bone, the soft pale skin a little more than scraped up. He slowly sat down on the bench by the mirror after pulling his pants back up, shifting his jacket down a bit.
“You are so smart. You have the best marks in school, the best I have ever seen in my life.” Nikolai smiled wildly, patting his grandson's head.
“Papa. I have a low mark in mathematics.” The young pre-teen boy was frowning, sitting at the kitchen table. “I suck at math.”
“No, Yuri, my dear boy. You just need practice. Practice makes you better, you are already perfect.”
Yuri felt himself crying again, hands coming up over his face. His fragile fingers shook over his damp cheeks, his chest quaking with each sob. “Papa...please just come back...”
“Yuri, promise you will do your best for me?”
“Papa, you can't leave yet, you can't leave me now! I need you at the exhibition! I need you at my show, Papa, please...you can't leave...” Yuri held onto his grandfather's hand, gripping tighter light it would ground him to his life for longer.
“Promise me, Yura...” Nikolai brought his grandson in close. “Shh...”
“I promise...I promise you...I will win gold at the Grand Prix Final, Grandpa. I will win with you in mind.”
Yuri later found himself standing with a gold medal in front of two other men, both older than him. He grinned finally, holding up his medal with a victorious fist. He holds himself high and proud, the lump coming back to his throat, but not enough to make him cry once more. He looked among the audience, painting a faint image of his papa sitting in the stands, smiling down on him as he stood there.
He eventually looked down to the silver and bronze before skating back off the rink, much slower this time. As he stepped off the rink, he was hugged by Viktor and Yuuri of course, both of them fussing over him getting hurt earlier, and then stating how proud they are. Can't anyone see that he just wants space? He just wants space. He hugs to Yuuri anyways, laying his head against that soft chest. This was ok. This was good enough.
“I'm going back to my room.” He peels his head away from Yuuri's chest, looking to Viktor. “I'll walk myself this time. I don't need help, I'm not a kid.” If he was being honest, he just didn't want to cry in front of anyone today. He made his way to the door, stepping out and hugging his skates to his chest as he trudged back to the hotel. It wasn't far, and the weather wasn't as biting as it had been when he walked for practice. He held his gold medal tightly in his hand, looking down at it and tearing up. “I did it...I did my best, just like I promised.” He spoke softly, his voice broken.
Gold again. With you in mind, Grandfather, gold again.
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