Chapter Text
Otabek had attended a few weddings before, most of them as a child, dragged by the wrist by his mother, smelling of common flowers from his sisters’ perfume rubbing off on him and too much hair gel. He hadn’t been to one as a grown-up yet, so the Katsuki-Nikiforov wedding was more than a special occasion, it was like a milestone in his path towards becoming a functioning member of society. He worked, he paid his bills, he sang in front of crowds, he travelled, he was in a relationship and experiencing different cultures. He went to business meetings, concerts, bars and weddings. As a matter of fact, Otabek was a best-man – one of three. The Kazakh stood next to Phichit and Takeshi, one of Yuuri’s childhood friends, who Beka saw frequently at the olsen and who liked to showcase Otabek’s Japanese to locals. Katsuki and Viktor would soon walk down the aisle together, guided by the wind of the mountains, surrounded by friends and family - many of them who had taken a plane only to be there. It was a gorgeous occasion, indeed. Although the grooms had often disagreed on the decorations or, more specifically, how costly they would be, the ceremony had turned out enchanting. There was a lot of everything, flowers and adornments with their initials engraved, which was very Nikiforov-like, but all in white and light beige, pastel and pale; peaceful. The way Yuuri wanted it, to calm his own nerves. As much as it all looked like the grooms‘ dreams, it still didn’t have a fighting chance against Otabek’s own dream, standing across from him, wearing suspenders that got lost behind the blonde hair that he had curled and brushed out with his fingers however many hours earlier but it still looked perfect. Beka still hadn’t gotten used to seeing the long golden locks that rested down Yura’s chest gently, as though he had come out of a fairytale. How on Earth had Otabek ever, ever touched him? What in hell had made him so lucky?
The blonde winked at him and Otabek wasn’t able to hold back a smile, but quickly found his composure as the march made everyone’s heads turn to watch the couple making their way to the altar. Yuuri’s face was as red as a tomato, waving awkwardly at people he knew even though the planner had told him multiple times not to during rehearsals. Beka could only imagine how nervous he was, but Viktor was holding his hand tightly, with a rare smile that reached his eyes and made them sparkle even though the sun was setting. There wasn’t a single person around them who didn’t wish them happiness. They could feel it, too. There were three different levels at the altar. The highest one, for the ministers - who ended up being Mari and Mila, because the couple was already legally married anyway and the ceremony had to be in Japanese and English - then the grooms in the middle and, a level underneath them, Yuri and Otabek, who held the rings. Viktor had clearly revealed that they had chosen the younger couple to realize their dream of seeing them in an altar, since Yura cursed the idea of marriage and so did Otabek. Not because of each other, but because of their parents. And the government. And religion. Still, cheers to the happy couple. It suited them, Yuuri and Viktor fell into their roles nicely and comfortably. It was right for them.
He and Yura fit better sitting on their calves, stealing glances of each other as they waited for their turns to be a part of the whole thing. It happened rather fast. Mari spoke, then Mila gave the attendees the translated version. Yuuri’s nephew cried for his mom somewhere, so the women rushed it a bit. It wasn’t noticeable for anyone who hadn’t been in rehearsals. Viktor was the first to do his vows. The couple turned to each other. Otabek had practiced a lot with both of them, so he was hopeful it would work out. Viktor’s Japanese flowed airily, as though he had been holding the words in for as long as he’d been alive. Beka inclined his torso to the side, just so he’d be able to whisper the translation to his boyfriend.
“I have been saved many times.” The Kazakh started, waiting for the end of every sentence. “By a stranger, who took me to the orphanage, whom I was never able to thank. By my mother, who took me out and into a home, who I’ve slipped in and out of gratitude for.” Yuri huffed to himself when he heard it. “By Yurochka, who, all by himself, gave me a real family and I will never be able to thank him enough.” Viktor turned his head to glance at his nephew, who grinned shyly, looked down and slightly shook his head. “And, finally, by you, my love, who has given me a place to go without fear or judgement, and a future I had never dared to dream of. I will thank you every day for the rest of my life and forevermore.” Yuuri allowed the first tear to drop after fighting trembling lips since the beginning. Viktor reached out to wipe it away with his thumb, his own eyes showing a different kind of shine. “I promise, my Yuuri, to love you with no fear or judgement, and to happily follow you wherever you go as long as you’ll have me.”
The blue-eyed man took the ring that his nephew offered him and placed it gently on Yuuri’s finger. The Kazakh turned to see his boyfriend’s reaction and the blonde watched proudly as his uncle kissed his husband’s ring. It was, then, Katsuki’s turn. Russian was a difficult language for most English speakers, but for Japanese speakers, it was almost impossible. However, Yuuri had always been good at picking up sounds, so Beka wasn’t worried. The Japanese man cleared his throat, giggled adorably and apologized in advance for not being good with words.
“My… Um… My mom used to always tell me to follow my dreams, whether I wanted to start taking ballet lessons fresh out of my diapers or to go to Tokyo because my favorite dancer would be performing there.” He began, already holding both of Viktor’s hands. “Even if I wanted to move for college, she told me to do it, to not hesitate.”
Yuri reached beside him to take Otabek’s hand as well. Beka scanned the blonde’s expression as he was watching the Japanese man and feeling the need to ask his boyfriend, even though he couldn’t voice it: “This is okay, right? He really does love my uncle, right? He won’t leave him, right? Ever?” Beka held the painter’s hand tightly, reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
“So I got a bit lost after my parents died. I tried to follow my dreams, but they didn’t feel like dreams anymore, just a desperate need to survive.” The Japanese man sniffed. “I realized, when I met you, that I had never stopped following breadcrumbs to my dreams and that they were still real… I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to come back home, to my parents’ olsen and tell them that I’d succeed.” Otabek handed the ring to his friend. He placed it with shaking fingers. “Whenever my mom told me to follow my dreams, it was your face that appeared in my head, but I thought it was impossible, never dared to think it twice. But here we are, aren’t we? My dream has come true.” Viktor’s tears fell down silently as he smiled. Yuuri kissed the ring on his husband’s hand. “I have always and I will always love you, who is my inspiration, my teacher, my number one motivator and my life-long dream.”
“And your husband.” Viktor murmured to him Russian.
Yuuri chuckled. “And my husband.”
After getting a few pictures taken, Yuri only walked past the benches and waited for Otabek to be in the last one; of Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov and his best men. As the Kazakh made his way to him, the blonde grabbed two glasses of champagne from one of the waiters’ trays and offered his boyfriend one of them.
“You look like an angel.” Beka finally told him.
The blonde smirked. “It’s what I want you to think.” He replied, handing the glass over.
Otabek leaned in, careful not to spill his drink, head tilted to the side to be near his boyfriend’s ear, thinking that the smell of his hair was more of one of a land god than a scentless religious figure. Yuri was taking a sip of his champagne.
“Then, please, trick me and take me wherever you came from.” The Kazakh whispered.
“Tricking satan into thinking I tricked you will be a pain in my ass, babe.” He replied, wrapping one arm around Otabek’s neck, their glasses tickling between them. He took another sip and kissed the Kazakh slowly. “How’s the champagne?”
Beka licked his own lips and squinted his eyes. “Mmm. Heavenly.” He smirked. “With a slight taste of bubblegum.”
Yuri laughed. He took his arm away and placed his free hand over his mouth. “I didn’t know where to spit out this thing! When I realized, I was on the freaking altar.” He looked around and back at Otabek, suddenly feeling agitated by the whole gum situation. “There isn’t a trash can anywhere, Beka, what the actual fuck.” He looked down, playing with rocks with his feet. “I can’t spit it out on the ground, it’s too pretty.”
The Kazakh made the tips of their shoes touch. “You’re too pretty.” He murmured. Yuri chuckled shyly and playfully stepped on his boyfriend’s foot. Beka then lifted it and stepped on Yuri’s instead. They played like that for a while. “Were you anxious?” Otabek asked.
They were now collecting tiny rocks, dragging them to the middle with their feet.
“Yeah, I mean…” The blonde started, trying to sound nonchalant. “My grandparents didn’t come. His parents. It’s just me and Chucky twins here. I feel like our family is so small… Giving him away sounds…” Yuri chuckled to himself. “Dumb.”
Indeed, the painter and his uncle didn’t speak to the rest of their family anymore, except for Nikolai. Viktor had kept his promise. He was doing everything he could to keep his brother in prison and his parents, his sister, resented him for it. Therefore, resented Yuri. There were times when Viktor showed some sort of melancholy over it, but his resolve was bigger, stronger than any of that.
“Your family grew today, Yura.” Beka told him. “You know, Mari and her family. Yuuko and her family. The staff at the olsen. I guess the meaning of this is for all of you to be together from now on.”
The blonde looked up. “Where are you in that equation?”
Beka grinned. He reached for the blonde’s cheek with his thumb. “Right next to you.”
Yuri kept his unwavering gaze at his boyfriend, only breaking it to look to his side, taking the champagne glass back to his lips. “Damn smooth-talker.”
The Kazakh also drank his last gulp. “Still anxious?”
The blonde shook his head. Viktor shouted their names to invite them to join the group that had been formed on the other side. Otabek took a few steps towards an empty table to grab a napkin and place it under Yuri’s chin.
“Gum.” He deadpanned.
Yuri furrowed his brows, mortified. “Ew! We’re not that close, crazy-ass.”
Beka lifted an eyebrow, amused. “I argue we are.”
The blonde didn’t say anything back. He couldn’t. They had already showered together, washed each other’s bodies, seen every bit of one another. They had shared water bottles next to the bed, blankets and the backseat of Viktor’s car on road trips. They had worn each other’s clothes, looked for fallen eyelashes in each other’s eyes, put each other’s clothes in the washer. They knew one another’s every smell, every mood, every habit, every slight change in behavior. They had opened their wounds to show each other the gore that hid within them and none of them had budged. Yuri agreed, he was just embarrassed. It was probably the nerves from the occasion. It was adorable either way. The painter took the napkin and turned his torso around to spit the gun out. Otabek had to roll his eyes and shake his head. Cute.
“So not sexy…” The blonde murmured to himself, folding the napkin to hide the gum.
I can argue with that too. “Think about it like this—“ Otabek stopped himself when he noticed Yuri looking for a place to throw it out. He offered his empty glass for the painter to throw it in, then put both of theirs in the empty table from before. He took Yuri’s hand in his to make their way to group. “Think about it like this:” He repeated. “Now we have to look for another way to keep your mouth busy.”
Beka knew how his boyfriend got surprised - and turned on - whenever he said anything slightly ambiguous. The Kazakh felt a bit proud of himself whenever he got Yuri to blush. Another waiter passed with a tray of champagne glasses. Otabek took one. “Another?” He asked Yuri, whose eyes were still sparkling from his boyfriend’s last statement.
“Not exactly what I was thinking of swallowing right now, but okay.”
Otabek choked, forgetting for a second that the waiter did not speak Russian. As always, the tables had turned. Still, fun game. He grabbed a glass for himself as well.
“Kin, come take a picture with us!” Yuuri exclaimed in front of the wall of flowers.
Hesitantly, he left Yuri, who had already taken his, with their friends and walked over to be sandwiched by the couple. Otabek tried a smile; he was happy to be there, but the photographer in front of him and all his camera equipment made him nervous, so he was worried about seeming rigid. A few photos were taken, even after they had stopped posing and were only joking around for a minute before the next guest was called for the individual shots. He hadn’t expected Viktor to pull him aside for a talk as the Japanese man took family photos with Mari, her husband and child.
“Beautiful sunset, right?” The Russian man commented, hands in his pockets. Serene. He turned his head to Otabek. “Is it going to be this pretty in Brazil?”
Beka huffed. He didn’t quite remember. “I hope so. You guys let us know before we go.”
“I still don’t get why you boys won’t go with us tomorrow.”
“It’s your honey-moon.”
“Neither of us would mind it.”
“I know.” Beka laughed softly at himself. “It’s just me, I’d feel awkward being there and all. If Yura wants to go, then—”
Viktor ruffled the Kazakh’s hair (only the back, not to mess it up too much). “Yurochka wouldn’t separate from you after the past year.” He breathed in, as if he was pulling the scenery into his lungs. “You’re both lucky for finding love so young.” The man’s voice became stern, like a knot was forming in his throat. The colors of the sunset washed away the blue from his eyes. “Take care of him, will you?”
Beka couldn’t find the words, though the answer was obvious. He wondered what Viktor was thinking about, staring at the sky, as the wedding that he had spoken so much about had become a reality - and was still going -, leaving to the other side of world the next day, being apart from his nephew again, after he had gotten him back. Those days, at the olsen, having meals with the two most important people in his life, must have been blissful. When the man caught eyes with him again, Otabek felt the need to nod.
“Of course.” He reassured him.
Viktor grinned, relieved. “Thank you.” He said. “For being there for my Yuuri when I wasn’t, too. I’m happy that he had you then, when he was struggling.”
Otabek was flustered, but there was a different atmosphere around them at that moment. The same overflowing gratitude for watching over each other’s treasures.
“I could say the same thing to you.”
Viktor chuckled. “I guess you could, yes.” He gave Otabek a hug, patting him on the back. The Kazakh responded a little late, but the man didn’t seem to mind it. “Let’s make our Yuri’s happy.” The man said with a smile, his hand on Otabek’s shoulder.
Beka felt important then. And silly for it. It felt like he was keeping his place right next to his Yuri in the equation.
“Vitya!” Katsuki called. It was time for him to go back.
“Tell him what you told me.” Yuri said to Layla when Otabek got back. They had distanced themselves from Leo and Ji and Peach was nowhere to be seen.
Beka knew Layla quite well. He had thought about asking her if something was wrong, but there were always people around. Yuri had the courage to pull her away. She was fidgeting in her heels.
“It’s okay.” Yuri reassured her.
She took a deep breath. “Bek.”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t say it out loud again.” She whined. “Yuri, you tell him.”
“What’s going on?” Otabek had to asked because he was starting to get anxious.
Yuri pulled him closer. “Your buddy Peach is gonna be a daddy.” Otabek furrowed his brows, then widened his eyes in half a second. “Capital-D Daddy.”
Beka quickly recovered from the news and became confused by the secrecy and Layla’s hands on her face as she made weeping sounds.
“I don’t get it, isn’t this good news?”
Phichit came from a big, healthy family; he would obviously be overjoyed to have a child of his own.
“How is pushing a kid out of her body good news?” The blonde whispered back too fast.
“Oh, God.” The woman whined, then began talking frantically. “Of course this would happen, I mean, if there’s one in a thousand chance a condom will not work and we have sex a thousand times, we will fit right in the statistic, but birth control really messes up my mood and my weight and I always need to be in my best shape for work— oh my god, P. has just now started choreographing, how am I supposed to tell him that we’re gonna have a kid? We’re not even married, my mom is gonna flip— I guess the good thing is now we’re monogamous, ‘cause I wouldn’t even know whose kid it was before—“
“Lay.” Otabek interrupted. “Breathe, okay?”
“We’re too young to be parents, Bek.”
“Peach is 28.”
“Still! This is too big… I have no idea what to do.”
“You have time to think about your options, right? I’m sure he’ll support you whatever you wanna do.”
“The problem is I think I already know.” She sighed heavily. “I wanna keep it.”
“He’s coming back.” Yuri let them know.
“You guys are lucky you can hump like bunnies without accidentally making a human.” She noted under her breath.
“I agree, but the damn walls are too thin.” The blonde whispered back.
It was true. Viktor and Yuuri’s room was right next to Otabek’s and they made no effort to be discreet, therefore Otabek already knew more than he needed to about their sex lives. For instance, their roles were reversible and Yuuri tended to top when he was drunk and confident about himself. Viktor dirty-talked in Russian. Yuuri was too embarrassed for toys, but he had promised to try them out on the honeymoon. Otabek couldn’t bear the thought of Yuri’s uncle hearing them have sex and, with all the wedding planning, they hadn’t been able to getaway much. They’d done it at the painter’s room when Yuuri and Viktor hadn’t gone to bed yet, but Beka still had to cover Yuri’s mouth and, however hot it had been at the time, it made him uncomfortable to picture it when his head was clear. Too rough. Just… not right. Yuri liked it, though. At least, it was what he said. The blonde had told his boyfriend he was looking forward to having his hair pulled, in his words, “like a horse’s leash”. Beka was too much of a wimp and Yuri’s hair was just way too pretty for that to happen.
Deep inside, he was always haunted by what Yuri had told him on his North Hollywood flat, one night; that he did painful things to himself or let other people do painful things to him when things got worse than normal. Otabek didn’t want to be one of those people. He had always been careful not to normalize anything that could advance to the faintest form of abuse. Beka didn’t want him to find it normal to have his partner cover his mouth during sex, because then he might need other things later to get that rush. Maybe his hair being pulled. Maybe pain-play. Maybe hands around his neck. Otabek couldn’t do it. He was still scared of crossing that line. There wasn’t a text-book on how to be good to abuse survivors and help them recover. All that Beka knew was that he probably loved Yuri more than Yuri loved himself and that it was dangerous, heart-breaking and, above all, a responsibility. Otabek would never lay a finger on him in any way other than gently, softly, carefully. Hopefully, it would help him see just how precious he was.
By the time the guests had left and only close friends and family stayed on the mountain, Yuri and Otabek had already found an opening to getaway. They had been walking for a few minutes, holding each other’s hands, taking careful steps since it had gotten dark. Beka felt a little tired just from the interactions of the day. Yura was sleepy. The Kazakh stopped and sat down, bending his knees in front of him and offering his boyfriend a hand. The painter took it and sat next to him in the same position, placing one arm over the other on his knees, then resting his cheek on them to look at Otabek.
“What are you thinking about?” Yuri asked.
Beka shrugged. Those were beautiful stars. It’d been a beautiful day. He was beside a beautiful person. It was hard not to think about the ways things could possibly only get uglier from then on. He didn’t want to bring Yuri down with that conversation.
“Everyone’s so different from when we were living together.” He started. “Yuuri is married. Leo is finally out. Peach is going to be a father.” The Kazakh huffed and turned to look at Yuri’s curious, sleepy eyes. “I guess it’s a common conclusion when we stop to look at the sky, you know, that things are changing.”
“Viktor settled down, Mila is in a relationship with a man again, Moira is back…” The blonde added. “But some things are still the same.”
“You still taste like bubblegum.”
“You still reach conclusions looking at the sky.”
“You still never get drunk.”
The blonde squinted his eyes. “Except for that one time.”
Beka laughed at the memory, however miserable they had both been feeling at the time. Yuri also did, but became serious after a short moment.
“You’re still too careful with me.” He said “After all this time.”
They gazed at each other for a while. Otabek tried to pick up on every nuance in the painter’s voice. Beka reached out to rub Yura’s cheekbone with his thumb.
“You’re still my everything.”
More fascinating than the night, the way Yuri’s eyes awakened. Otabek was sure his feelings would never change. The blonde placed his hand over his boyfriend’s and kissed his palm.
“And you’re mine.” It sounded like a song in Beka’s ears and Yura’s giggle right after was the perfect chorus. “See? Vows? Quick and easy.”
You’re the one who says these things too easily. The Kazakh huffed and readjusted for Yuri to lean back on his chest. “Come here.” He asked and Yura did. Beka nuzzled his nose on the blonde’s neck and held him tightly. “I’d take too long on my vows, you’d get bored and leave.”
“No way, mister, I’d need to stay for my part.” He turned his neck and cupped his boyfriend’s chin. “You’d go through all that, make everyone cry and shit, then I’d just be, like, ‘Yep, me too’”
Beka laughed. “Then I’ll just slip in ‘I wanna wake up next to you and drink my bitter coffee that makes it torturous for you to kiss me every. Single. Day—” He switched to ominous whispering: “For-e-ver.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’ll go for plan B and say you’re too fucking bi and too fucking hot for me not to put a ring on it.”
It was almost morning when the shower was finally available. Yuri and Otabek were the last ones and, since everyone else was already in their rooms, they went together. Undoing Yura’s braids was probably Beka’s favorite moment of the last two days. Yura was sitting on the sink counter, hunched down, running his fingers up and down his boyfriend’s stretched out arms. They ironically weren’t sleepy anymore; just lazy after playing games on their phones the whole time that they waited for their turn to wash up.
“You’ve gone quiet.” Otabek voiced.
Yuri grinned. “I’m painting a little picture.”
Beka looked up at him with a smile that didn’t hide his eagerness to have a piece of Yura’s mind. “Oh, yeah? Of what?”
The blonde took a second. His eyes were stuck on Otabek’s, even when the Kazakh’s shifted to the blonde hair that he let loose with gentle fingers.
“Marrying you.” Yuri replied with a small - and most melodic - voice. Otabek’s heart skipped a beat and his every joint got weaker. “Can you imagine it?”
The Kazakh huffed. “Not with that many people.” He kept working on the task at hand, but the flutter in his heart was controlling his every move.
“This isn’t a proposal, Beka, no need to get worked up.”
“I’m not—“ He replied hastily, finishing the last one. The Kazakh placed his hands on his boyfriend’s thighs. “It’s not that, I’m… flattered that you’d even think about it.”
“I can’t help it, can I? I had to hold a ring while on my knees for half a fucking hour, my mind wandered.”
Otabek noticed a sly grin forming on his own face. He hugged the painter’s waist, bending his neck back to lock eyes with him. “Have you been imagining it since then?”
The blonde smirked. “Yeah, I’m very far past the vows.”
“How were they?”
“You didn’t do the coffee thing you said you would.”
Obviously. “So plan A worked?”
He shook his head, playing with Beka’s hair. Yuri sighed. “No, I made a damn fool of myself. Thank fuck it was only you and me.” The blonde placed both of his hands on Otabek’s cheeks. After that year of being apart, the Kazakh still thought it was a dream. “Wanna know what I said?”
“I promise I won’t think you’re a fool.”
The blonde chuckled. “You better not.” He leaned down for a quick peck on the lips. “I said ‘thanks’ for a bunch of things. Then I said I’d missed you so much when we were apart that I was willing to go against all my beliefs just to put a stupid ring on you that was supposed to tell me you’d always come back.” The blonde looked down, playing with his fingers. “And that I’m sorry for what I said that time on the phone when I was angry and horny and insecure…”
“If I go out and fuck someone else right now, Otabek, it’s on you.” Admittedly, the Kazakh had been taken aback. It was true that they had been having issues due to the distance and Beka’s way of dealing with it - by adding more distance. Yura was more adventurous than him. Yura was more impulsive, more spontaneous, more confident - and that was a good thing. For a second, it’d sounded possible, almost real, that he would actually do it. For a second, Beka had forgotten why Yuri didn’t have one-night-stands anymore, even before they had started going out. It’d sounded unavoidable, almost… plausible. But Yuri himself had taken it back as soon as that second was over. “Sorry, I went too far— I wouldn’t—Beka, I really want this to work out.”
“Why are you bringing that up all of a sudden?”
“‘Cause…” He began, nudging his nose on Otabek’s cheek. “After all this talk about being faithful and shit— Even though I don’t have a ring, I don’t want you to doubt that I’m committed to you. Only you.”
Yura was skilled at basically everything. There was nothing that he had tried and failed at. He was an outstanding painter, made the best Ramen noodles on the face of the Earth, had the fashion sense of a rock star, could wing his eyeliner even during a natural disaster, was the most adorable human Beka had ever met and the sexiest partner Beka had ever had. He had the best sounding American English, the best sounding British English, the best sounding Russian, the best sounding accent in every language he tried, the best sounding “good morning”, “I love you”, the best sounding call of Otabek’s name. Beka had heard him laugh, sob, hiccup, cough, whistle, hum, sneeze, curse, yell, moan, dirty-talk, pant— but, when he got serious, when he wasn’t swearing or holding back his words because they sounded too corny, he sounded so mature and true to who he was, it was the most soul-stirring duality there would ever be.
Otabek took the blonde’s face in his hands and just kissed him in response. The fact that I believe you might be even wilder than you being mine. He didn’t doubt it, but there was a reason outside of himself for it. He believed Yura because Yura was honest. In every expression that he made, there was heart. Beka could see in his eyes everything that he felt, but it wasn’t because the Kazakh knew any better, it was because Yuri wasn’t trying to hide anything. He had nothing to hide anymore. When he wanted to, he could. Yura had had a lot of practice basically becoming someone else to move forward. Wild. Just wild that Beka had been the one he had chosen to open up to. Quite the honor, if Otabek did say so himself.
“Since the first time you said a word to me, I’ve been committed to you.”
Yuri laughed. “Didn’t I say I wanted jump off the balcony the first time we talked?”
Beka had to tilt his head in half-agreement. “The first time we talked, yeah.” The Kazakh began unbuttoning the blonde’s shirt. “But the first time you said a word to me, as a feisty little eighteen-year-old, you told me to lift up my head and called me an asshole.”
The blonde just cackled. “Fuck, that’s right!” He gave Otabek a light push on the shoulder. “It annoyed me so much that you wouldn’t let me see your face up close. I needed to draw, dude, come on!”
Beka grinned. “Later, I discovered that the word ‘asshole’, for you, was a term of endearment.”
“Maybe, but, before you did, you were just a masochist.”
“I was a secret admirer.”
“A masochistic one.”
The Kazakh chuckled and gave in. “Okay, a masochistic secret admirer.” He moved to the buttons on the blonde’s wrists. “A little less masochistic now and not at all secret,” Then he looked up; Yes, a work of art. “But still an admirer.”
Yura parted his lips and pulled one side of his suspenders off his shoulder and, Otabek didn’t know why, but his only focus was on his boyfriend’s collarbone. It had only sneaked from under the open shirt with the movement, but, in that moment, was his favorite part of Yuri’s body. It changed often. At times, it was his eyes or his nose or his hair or his lips or his pierced nipple or his not-pierced nipple… Admiring Yura was like admiring the ocean, watching the same movement of waves, changing ever-so-slightly, becoming calmer or more violent, but still the same ocean, the same color, in the same place it had always been, but always, always breath-taking. The color of his eyes or of his hair, shifting with the light, was like the trees throughout the seasons, transforming in the same pattern, at the same time every year, but always, always such a wonder. However, like reading his favorite book a second time or listening to a song in a foreign language again after he’d already learned it or watching Yura’s hair grow, there was always a new miracle to discover. Something that needed a specific emotion or place or age or experience to be noticed. In that case, something that he needed to catch at the perfect time. There was always something new to admire.
“The difference is you don’t have to stop at admiring me now.”