Yuri watched in bewilderment from the bed as a disheveled Otabek nearly tripped over himself pulling on a pair of boxers and headed for the door. He closed it a bit too loudly. Yuri flopped backwards and studied the plaster finish on the ceiling. Who the hell put that much detail into the designs on something people never even looked at? Well, he guessed he was looking at it. He inhaled, rubbing his thighs together. That went... well? It was hard to tell what Otabek was thinking, even at his most vulnerable. Not that he was that much less guarded than usual. It had all ended so suddenly, with Otabek pushing him away and rambling off some barely coherent excuse about condoms and the different ways one could contract an STD. Though it didn't end as Yuri would've liked, it was still the hottest make out session he'd ever experienced, which was a bit problematic considering how turned on he still was. Even after several minutes his legs were shaking. Damn, Otabek made him weak.

He jumped as his friend burst through the door and leaned back on it as it shut with a moderately horrified look on his face. The tension in his flexed muscles made them stand out. Yuri forced himself to look up at Otabek's face instead of his barely clothed body, "I thought you said Lilia was gone!" He whispered in a harsh tone.

"She must have forgotten something and come back" Yuri grimaced. Otabek furrowed his brow for a moment before darting around the room, dressing himself. He picked Yuri's shirt up off the floor and tossed it at him. With a quick glance back at him he exited. Yuri leaned against the door, straining to hear their muffled conversation. All he could make out was his polite, apologetic tone and his last thought above the pounding of his heart, "-In his room, I think."

Footsteps. The door flung into his shoulder. He nearly cursed out loud, but settled for a startled yelp as Otabek yanked him into the hall and shoved him into the bathroom. More footsteps, "he isn't there."

"I just checked, he's in the bathroom. Not feeling well."

"Hmm."

"What are you looking for?"

"Yakov's keys. Mila needs them."

"I haven't seen them. Hold on" there was a knock on the bathroom door. Yuri groaned in an attempt to sound as sick as possible, "yeah?"

"Yura, have you seen Yakov's keys?"

"Try the coffee table." He took the opportunity to wash his hands as Lilia departed. Otabek entered and joined him at the sink with a sigh of relief. Yuri wiped his hands on a towel and folded his arms across his chest, "Ow. Asshole."

"Sorry about that, Yura."

"Whatever. That was pretty smooth, actually-" He paused, tilting his head, "except for the whole- walking out on the most notorious Prima Ballerina in Russia in your underwear- part." He didn't reply, instead focusing on lathering soap between his fingers. Yuri leaned across his arm to give him a quick peck on the lips. Not stopping to gage his reaction, he turned and strolled out into the hallway, calling back as he made his way to his room, "I'm getting changed." As soon as he was in the room he threw himself to the floor and shoved his hand down his pants. It took him only a minute or two to finish off what Otabek had started. He let out a shaky sigh.

He pushed himself to his feet and cleaned himself up before throwing on a fresh pair of underwear, a hoodie and some sweats. He really didn't think he could do his regular jeans today, too tight and he didn't even know if they were going to go out. He grabbed a hair tie off his bedside table on his way out to go find Otabek. He held the elastic between his teeth as he gathered his hair into a relaxed ponytail so it didn't fall over his eyes. He heard his friend humming something and wandered to the kitchen. Otabek was cutting up some fruit. He liked to prepare food for people, but avoided stoves, ovens and grills at all costs. Yuri sat himself down at the counter across from him, "what song is that?"

"Huh?"

"The song you were humming."

"I was- oh." He turned the knife in his hand. Yuri couldn't help but smile. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. He kept chopping, "just a song."

"I like the tune. are you using it in something you're working on."

"Ah, no. It's um... it's a Kazakh folk song."

"A folk song?"

"Yeah. I usually prefer more alternative stuff, I guess, but my family is pretty musical on the classical and folk side. It's comfort music for me." He looked a little embarrassed. He hadn't let on that he enjoyed more genres besides rock, "do you play anything?"

"Before I started skating seriously I could play Dombra pretty well. I fell more into guitar once I was traveling. And a bit of piano, but I'm not great at it."

"Wow." There was a moment of silence, "can you sing that song again?"

"If you want." He straightened up a bit and rolled his shoulders back. He kept his eyes on the cutting board as he hummed the first note then jumped into the verse. Yuri couldn't understand the lyrics, but he could appreciate Otabek's low baritone voice. His notes were clear and his tone was rich. He could hear a bit of nervous shaking in the long notes, but it didn't detract from how all together nice his voice sounded. He glanced up at Yuri, "want to try?"

"I don't really sing."

"Alright." He shrugged and went back to chopping.

"Wait. Okay." He tapped his fingers on the countertop. The corners of Otabek's lips tugged into a barely-there smile, "Alright." He tried to sing with Otabek at a slow pace, over-pronouncing the syllables. He did a pretty good job with the words, but it was too low for him and his voice wavered awkwardly between a vocal fry and cutting out completely. Otabek cleared his throat, "try this." He quickly fired off the notes a fifth higher. That was easier. But he couldn't say that he sounded good. It was airy and weak. Otabek leaned to look at him over the counter, "you're sitting on your spine. Slide your weight forward."

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Straighten up a bit. Don't tilt your head." He nodded when Yuri complied, "sing me the first note." It was a little easier to breathe like this, "hold on. Lift the inside of your mouth. The soft part. And lift your face too. Like you're pleasantly surprised."

"This feels stupid."

"You'll sounds better, trust me." Yuri shot him an incredulous look, but sang the first line nonetheless. He was actually pleasantly surprised, "See?"

"How do you know all of this?"

"Honestly, I'm just spouting everything my youth choir teacher taught me."

"You were in a choir?"

"For a couple of years, yes." He thought for a moment, "you sound like you're running out of breath at the end of the phrase."

"I shouldn't be, I'm an athlete." He muttered.

"You breathe a little differently for singing. Try expanding your ribs."

"What?"

"Your ribcage."

"I don't think I can do that..."

"Here, I'll show you." He moved around the counter to stand beside Yuri's stool. He turned to face him as Otabek grabbed his hands and placed them on his ribs, sliding his shirt up. He stared down at his bare abdomen as he explained, "you can feel and see what I'm doing." He took a breath in and Yuri felt his sides push out. He was able to see the movement and where the bottom of his ribcage was. He kept himself expanded until he finished exhaling. Otabek moved behind him, "you try it." He tucked his hands up his hoodie, they were cold against his skin. He couldn't accomplish the extremity Otabek could, but he did it. It felt weird, "good. I know it feels like you're out of breath right away, but you can actually hold a note longer. Sing it again." They sang the tune together. Yuri smiled, "wow, I guess I can sing better than I thought I could."

"Just takes practice."

Yuri leaned back against his friend's body. He tried to avoid listening to classical music if it wasn't a part of his routine. But still, it was highly impressive to him that Otabek enjoyed and engaged in so many facets of music. Even if it wasn't considered traditionally 'cool', he made it look like the coolest thing in the world, "You're really good at this stuff. Why'd you stop doing it?"

Otabek rested his chin on Yuri's shoulder, "I didn't. You know I still DJ on the side. But if you're talking about singing, it's Skating. That's what I want to do. I can be a musician when I'm older, but I can only be a skater for a short window of my life. In this discipline I can represent my country on an elite level and share my culture, make my people proud. I can't do that through music alone. So I'm dedicating myself to what is best for my country right now."

"Hm."

"Mm?"

"That's very admirable."

"Wow, coming from you that's-"

"Shut up!" Yuri was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close they were; Otabek's hands were still under his shirt. His face warmed up and he cleared his throat. Otabek's fingertips dragged across his ribs as he slid around in front of Yuri and pulled him to the edge of the stool. He gasped. Feeling like he was losing his balance, he threw his legs around Otabek's waist. Their foreheads rested together. He took in the intense gaze of those dark, cool brown eyes. He said something in Kazakh, his warm breath brushing Yuri's lips. He had no idea what it meant, but goddamn, it sounded hot. He swore he had heard those words before, he couldn't for the life of him remember what the context was, though. Sometimes Otabek's cheesy moments clashed with his chivalrous attitude and made Yuri utterly baffled at how he could possibly get a bad boy vibe from his friend. This was not one of those times, he had the wildest look. Yuri braced his hands on his shoulders and tightened his grip with his legs, lifting himself from the stool. Otabek's hands slid down his body to catch him. In a split second Yuri was sandwiched between him and the wall. Otabek kissed him. It was surprisingly tender considering their position, but the passion followed shortly. Stubble scratched his face, Otabek hadn't shaved. Yuri forgot to breathe. He threw his head back, breaking away with a gasp. Otabek went for the throat, sucking on his pale skin and leaving a mark. He felt a shudder travel down his spine.

Yuri hit the ground with a thud. He winced, had Otabek really just fucking dropped him? He went to yell something, but stopped short when he saw Otabek. He was frozen in place, shaking, face as white as a sheet. He looked like he had just stabbed somebody. He slowly backed away from Yuri, sinking onto his couch when he bumped against it. He buried his head in his hands. Yuri scrambled up and rushed to sit beside him. Otabek was cursing wildly in a confused jumble of Russian, Kazakh and English, under his breath. The languages didn't mesh well. Yuri hesitated reaching out a hand and instead stood, "I- I'll get you some water." He half ran to the kitchen, filling a plastic cup with tap water and placed it on the coffee table in front of his friend. He set a hand on Otabek's knee as he took a seat beside him, "what the hell, Beka?" He snatched the cup and chugged loudly. Yuri searched for the right words. Maybe he was uncomfortable with the intimacy? He did get pretty distant. Yuri tapped his fingers against the other's leg, "we can keep things more casual if you want." Yuri squeaked as Otabek crushed the plastic cup in his fist. He gagged, coughing water all over himself. He tilted his head back, eyes squeezed shut, not loosening his death grip on the mangled plastic. Yuri found himself with his back pressed against the far arm of the couch, knees against his chest. Wrong direction. Otabek was staring blankly at the broken cup with water dripping from his chin. He wiped it away with his sleeve. Without looking at Yuri, he blinked, "I'm sorry." He had fallen into the monotone voice that Yuri hated hearing from him. He threw the piece of plastic at the coffee table. It hit the glass top and bounced onto the floor. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, "I'm sorry... I-" his voice cracked. He leaned forward, causing his hair to fall back over his eyes and braced his arms against his knees. His shoulders were so tense, he was trembling, "I'm sorry." He could barely hear the whisper Otabek chocked out. Yuri threw his arms around his friend, sliding his legs over his lap and resting his cheek on his shoulder. Otabek set his chin on top of Yuri's head, letting his left hand move to his waist as he relaxed into the embrace. He let out a sigh. Yuri snuggled his way onto Otabek's lap, "you do know that nothing we've done is even close to illegal, right? I looked up the consent laws and-"

"Yura." He let out a low chuckle, "I know."

"Then why do you get all weird whenever we're about to start doing more than kissing? It's really fucking annoying."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies! I just want to know what's so wrong with me that you never want to do anything!"

"What?"

Yuri felt the weight lift from his head as Otabek leaned back in surprise, "Do you think I'm stupid?" He twisted to face him.

"Wha- No! Of course not. Yura, it has nothing to do with you."

"Then what's going on with you? If you're going to put me through... emotions and shit- I deserve an explanation."

"If you must know..." he felt Otabek shift under him, "My last relationship ended in a weird place."

"What do you mean, 'a weird place?'"

"We were just supposed to be bros who fucked... kind of. Experimenting, like a friends with benefits type situation, until we figured ourselves out."

"Okay? What happened?"

"I got attached when I shouldn't have. He moved on."

"Found someone else?"

"That and he figured he was straight. He felt guilty. Nothing we did technically broke his 'moral code', but it really did. Does that make any sense?"

"Wow. I didn't know about all that."

"Surprising, considering how I just can't shut up about my sex life." His tone was grim and dry. Yuri had heard sarcastic remarks from Otabek once, maybe twice, before. He couldn't actually tell how much of that was true sarcasm, rather than his frustration at himself showing through. Yuri twiddled his thumbs, "well, I have to admit that I'm pretty interested in your sex life." Silence fell over them as Otabek's leaned further back, resting his shoulder blades against the cushions. Yuri watched him watch the ceiling. He let himself fall against his friend, "can I ask who it was?"

Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri, "You can. But, I reserve my right to deny you an answer."

"Was it one of your rink mates in the USA?"

"No."

"You really won't tell me?"

"I'd like to leave that part of my past behind."

"Then why are you so afraid of whatever we are?"

"Because I don't want to get too attached to you or, even worse, make you feel the way I felt."

"Beka, I'd trust you with my life. As crazy as you make me, we're friends first." Yuri tried to brush off the sentiment with a shrug, "besides, you never have to see that piece of shit again, so why dwell?"

"I guess so." That was utterly unconvincing compared to his usual calm assurance... He lifted his head from the back of the couch to look at Yuri, "I'm sorry I dropped you."

He straightened up, "You should be, asshole! That hurt like a bitch."

Yuri planted his knees on either side of Otabek's hips and faced him so that Otabek had to tilt his head up to address him, "What do I owe you?"

"Your eternal guilt."

"There's nothing I can do to win back your trust?"

"You must let the wounds heal."

"To be fair, I did get you to the hospital when you bashed your own head open against the wall."

"I distinctly remember you panicking" He bluffed.

"Bullshit. You barely knew your own name."

"Whatever. I just hope you can live knowing that you dropped your concussed friend"

Otabek scoffed, but had no comeback to offer. Instead he buried his face in Yuri's chest and mumbled something incoherent that sounded like Kazakh. Yuri cautiously hugged Otabek against himself. One hand slid through Otabek's hair. It was soft and thick and tickled curling around his fingers, but his stubble pricked at his chest. Yuri glanced around the room with a sigh. He couldn't do it. He grabbed Otabek's chin and pulled his face up to his own, "As unbelievably hot as you look, you have to go shave." He looked mildly surprised, his cheeks squished up by Yuri's hand, "now." He let go and crawled off of a dejected Otabek. Yuri watched him as he headed for the guest room, admiring the rugged, but endearing look he had going on with his unshaven face, wildly curly hair and the slightly moody expression on his tanned face. He disappeared through the door. Yuri stretched with a groan and shuffled to the kitchen. The fruit Otabek had chopped was still laying out. He picked up a piece and chewed it thoughtfully as he plopped himself down at the counter, replaying the sequence of events in his head. Otabek could put on the most impressive facade he had ever seen for he public eye. It wasn't a little uncanny even, just how politely distant he was able to act. He always showed the utmost respect for whoever he spoke with to the point where sometimes he almost seemed like a pushover. Almost. Except for the fact that he treated everyone the same. That, and no one seemed to be close enough to him to use him. Except apparently that unnamed ex-boyfriend. It was that air of mystery that drew him to Otabek, but it was his passion, his sensibility and the fact that he treated Yuri like an equal, that made it impossible for him to stay away. He sure as hell wasn't flawless, that was showing more and more, but he was a decent guy. Yuri was a bit surprised when he leaned that Otabek actually did have emotions, but it somehow didn't make him any less cool. Just human. Which Yuri was infinitely grateful for because Gods were, in fact, not particularly fuckable.