.

.

Otabek's pulse thuds in his mouth.

His tongue feels swollen and wooden. His program doesn't lack the rotations needed, but Otabek knows the forward-lurching fall he took may cost him on points. The anticipation charges and builds within the stadium.

"309.87! Yes, yes!" His coach roars out in victory, as Otabek's name and his score flashes brightly up on-screen. The crowds roar along with him, applauding and stomping their feet. "Öte jaqsı!"

The familiarity of Kazakh warms the core of Otabek's chest.

His coach's arm flings out, wrapping around Otabek's shoulders and squeezing encouragingly when eyes land on them. Otabek's own arms squeeze firmly around the gigantic, brown teddy bear in his lap. He doesn't say anything but waves politely to the cameras, lips pressing together into a bland smile.

As soon as he's off the bench, Otabek prepares to leave the kiss and cry when his ears pick up: "Beka!"

Reporters and staff swerve their heads around, backing off when a grinning, sweaty Yuri rushes past them.

Without a doubt, Otabek can always locate Yuri's voice. But somehow, Yuri can always surprise him as well—ignoring everyone else and leaping into Otabek's arms. The impact staggers Otabek for a split-second, his hands automatically going under Yuri's thighs to support him. Those long, muscular legs tangle around Otabek's waist. Yuri's arms clasp around his neck.

"You did it—you kicked ass!" Yuri shouts in his ear. His breathing hot and flaming against Otabek's skin.

An high, excitable laugh follows.

Unlike any of the drab, dreary colors around them, Yuri is a balefire in his costume glittering in reds and golds, with stripes of onyx mesh against his abdomen. Otabek meets those luminously green eyes. There's even a dusting of gold to Yuri's eyelashes, and clinging to his pale cheeks.

"Thank you," Otabek murmurs to him, the tips of their noses brushing.

Yuri's grin fades around its edges, replacing with a bit of steely frustration.

And… determination?

He hooks a hand behind Otabek's neck, Yuri's blunt, trimmed fingernails scraping against his undercut.

The kiss isn't expected—not with light bulbs popping flashes in blinding-quality. Not with strangers' expressions going slack in awe and confounded. Otabek hardly has time for an inhale before Yuri's mouth presses harder, opening to Otabek's lips.

It's messy and uncoordinated, and… really happening in public.

.

.

Even if he could have read Yuri's mind then, Otabek probably would not have stopped him. Their friends likely have been suspecting their relationship, but going public in that kind of spontaneous manner?

(It's a little Viktor Nikiforov of Yuri. However, Otabek knows far better than to vocalize the thought.)

With makeup scrubbed off, yellow hair undone and shower-wet, Yuri grumbles out swears in Russian as he searches through his feed.

"Then stop looking," Otabek says, his voice losing patience. He rests a hand entirely over Yuri's mobile, covering it up. "You're only going to get more upset."

"How can they say bullshit like that—?" Yuri wretches out of Otabek's grasp, sneering back down on his mobile's face. It's clear he's not venting at Otabek, likely because it's not Otabek's fault. Yuri is the one who kissed him. "I'm almost 18! I'm not a child!" Yuuri's eyes widen in revulsion. "And you're three years older than me! Three—not FORTY! You're not some nasty fucking predator."

"I know."

"It's insulting to you, Beka! Why don't you care?"

"Because they want a reaction," Otabek explains, a sigh leaving his lips. "Don't give them what they want."

He touches Yuri's left shoulder, as the other man hangs his head and takes a deep, shaky breath. Yuri's body forces itself to uncoil from the tension, until his mobile lights up with Yakov's number.

Again.

Yuri's jaw tightens.

He raises his arm high, as if to chuck the object to the nearby hotel wall—Otabek's hand grabs onto Yuri's wrist, not missing a beat to restrain him.

Yuri gets to his feet quickly and wordlessly, sizing Otabek up with a glare and chin-tilt. He's an inch or two taller than him, which Yuri has tried lording over Otabek before, and he can't feel intimidated. Temper tantrums are childish, and Yuri knows that.

Otabek's empty hand cradles against the side of Yuri's head, rolling his thumb over his earlobe. Yuri finally lowers his arm as Otabek lets go, frowning and swaying into the other man, accepting a half-embrace.

"You're who I care about, Yura," Otabek admits, breathing out. His lips twitch up when he nestles his face stubbornly into Otabek's throat.

"Romantic asshole…" Yuri whispers, lacking any aggression, hiding his slow, bashful smile.

He turns his head, waiting for Otabek's lips to push lightly against his. A tongue swiping across the seal of Yuri's mouth, deepening the kiss. Yuri's arms circle tightly to his neck, when Otabek mumbles out his name, kissing over Yuri's newly shaven jaw and over his right ear, nipping down on his neck.

At the mutter of "fuck" from Yuri, there comes a low, amused chuckle. Otabek's lips shift on the surface of Yuri's throat. "It depends on what you want to happen," he says, dropping hands to the narrow of Yuri's hips.

"Don't be a tease…"

Another softer kiss, but with Otabek crowding him towards to the wall, Yuri's ass hitting it. Otabek's hips grind against his experimentally. A quiet, whining sound escapes Yuri's puffy, pink lips. He's getting harder by the moment, and fighting the strong urge to tug on his own cock to relieve some stress.

"Beka, c'mon," Yuri pants out. His fingers tangling into the dark, silky knot of Otabek's hair.

He shivers when a palm slides underneath his V-neck, trailing up his ribs and settling on his sternum like a warm weight. Otabek answers with a small, breathless noise, raising his face from Yuri's neck.

Their bodies press up together, rutting and rocking, one of Yuri's legs hitching up to Otabek's side.

This time, Yuri buries his face to Otabek's shoulder. He uses his teeth to leave a hard, biting kiss, right through the dark, cotton material of Otabek's tee, earning him a loud, huffing groan from the other man.

Yuri does not want to get a load of come inside his only pajama pants he brought with him. But, fucking hell, this feels rough and amazing.

All sensations elevated, like the heat of Otabek's bare fingers on the side of Yuri's waist. The dry-humping between them becomes more erratic, Yuri's hips repeatedly slamming back to the wall. When someone else's fist slams against the same wall, Yuri's mouth breaks into a wicked, laughing grin.

It just gives him a tempting excuse to be as loud as possible.

And really, Otabek is too busy focusing on him to care.

Other people be damned.

.

.

Yuri on Ice isn't mine. AND WE'RE BACK TO ANOTHER YOI WEDNESDAY, FOLKS! Even if there's no new episode, we still got fanfiction! I think I'm gonna make a habit of posting more every week around this time, but we'll see what happens. Someone on the Yuri On Ice Kink Meme asked for "Otabek/Yuri + future fic, kiss and cry" and I wanted fluff and cuteness obviously, but also... it's my brain and my brain said add smut. SHRUGS! Any comments/thoughts are deeply appreciated!