Chapter Text
Three Years Earlier
Yuri dug his fingertips into the muscle of his thigh. It was sore and there was a kind of bright pain in his hip, but there was also another soreness that was almost like an old friend. He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his face.
A pair of long arms wound themselves around Yuri’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “The little ones are looking good, Yurochka,” Viktor hummed in his ear. “You’re doing a really good job with them.”
He allowed Viktor to hug him for a few more moments. “Thanks.” He had started helping with the little kids so he could re-learn skating fundamentals without it looking like that was what he was doing. Now, he was actually teaching the classes by himself.
Viktor moved around him in a blur, suddenly kneeling in front of him and unlacing his skates. Yuri didn’t need help with that any more. He could bend over while seated just fine now, but sometimes it was amusing to see Viktor dive at every opportunity to help him. “Actually, I was talking with Yuuri about you last night.”
“That’s not creepy at all.”
Viktor beamed up at him. “We think you should take a few courses for coaching!”
Yuri raised an eyebrow. “I hated every last second of school. What would make you two think I’d ever want to go back?”
Viktor hummed, “No, you hated reading and writing. You were good at maths if I remember correctly.”
“Didn’t mean I liked it.”
Viktor reached over and passed him his skate bag, handing him one of the boots to wipe off while he unlaced the other. “Well we think you’d be good at coaching.”
“I don’t have the patience to deal with kids.”
“I just watched you herd ten of them around the rink for an hour.”
“That’s different.”
“Think about it. I think there’s some real value for you to pass on your skills and knowledge to the next generation.”
“I won’t be able to demonstrate any jumps.”
“That’s not a problem.” He stood up, placing a hand over Yuri’s shoulder.
Otabek also thought it was a good idea, if anything, to try and take his mind off everything else. Who’d want to be coached by me? He had asked. Especially after his failed career. Otabek had called him dumb then said no one had yet to break his record for highest scoring short program. People had come close, fractions of a point away, but he still held the title. There were people who would line up to be coached by him. And so, he found himself enrolled in an online course.
Then after three short months Viktor had brought him into the rink’s admin offices and had him fill out a stack of paperwork. A few handshakes and conversations later he had a set of keys, and an ID badge that said coach. Viktor truly believed that once Yuri announced that he was going to be coaching students would flock to him.
But as luck would have it, that wasn’t how it went.
He was waiting for Otabek to finish in the locker room, and stared out at the rink where only a few people were still practising. He usually wasn’t at the rink this late anymore; the children’s classes ended pretty early, and well, he really didn’t need to hang around here longer than was necessary. All that was changing, though. He took a deep breath, leaning against the sideboards and resting his chin on his folded arms; he let his eyes fall shut. A fucking coach, what a joke.
“I’m never going to win with such a boring routine!” A young girl screamed and Yuri’s eyes flew open. Just a short distance away from him was a girl, maybe around eleven or twelve years, old scowling at who Yuri assumed to be her coach. Yuri snorted, well if that didn’t bring back memories. Her coach seemed resigned to the yelling, Yuri couldn’t hear what he told her, but it didn’t seem to make her any less mad. She kicked at the ice and Yuri winced, that definitely wasn’t good for the blades. The coach pointed at the rink exit, only a few metres away from Yuri and she glanced over, folding her arms across her chest, then skated in the opposite direction.
He couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself, especially when the coach threw his arms up in exasperation and left the ice, shaking his head. He didn’t recognise the coach, so he mustn’t have been anyone important. But the little girl drew his attention again as she took off, going through what must have been her routine for the current season. She was talented, that was for sure, graceful, strong, confident, she landed a flawless toe loop - and transitioned into an Ina Bauer. Yuri glanced back at the coach, but he was long gone, leaving his student to work out her anger alone.
The routine wasn’t bad, Yuri noted. But she was right, it was boring and predictable. It had all the elements of a good routine, but didn’t feel like anything of its own. His eyes narrowed at the clear setup for a jump, she would have lost points for this in competition - it was too obvious - and she leapt into an axel. Her height was impressive; she managed just about three rotations - his eyes widened - and landed completely wrong. Her legs buckled and she tumbled to the ice with an enraged screech. Yuri blinked, watching as she picked herself up and slammed her fist into the ice. God, it was like looking into a mirror to the past.
She got up and paused, just looking down at her feet, before shaking her head and finally heading over to the exit.
“You didn’t hurt yourself did you?” he asked as she passed. An icy blue glare was turned on him. He almost shuddered at the intensity. “That looked like a pretty bad fall from here.”
“Why were you watching me, you old creep?” Yuri straightened and turned to face her, pleased when her eyes widened slightly. He could still be intimidating - “You’re Yuri Altin,” she gasped. Oh, she actually recognised him. “Holy shit, what are you doing here? Why were you watching me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re talented.”
Her eyes widened even more. “Holy shit.”
“But you already knew that.”
“Yeah, I do. Can you pass me those?” She pointed to a pair of bright pink skate guards near Yuri’s hand. He watched her slip them on then throw herself onto a bench and stretch her arms over her head. He leaned back against the sideboard, crossing his ankles.
“You’re a bit young to be trying triples.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining with defiance. “I can do it. I just need to get the landing.”
“You could break an ankle.”
“You sound like my stupid coach.”
Yuri found himself chuckling. “Don’t call your coach stupid.”
“But he is. I haven’t won anything all season long cause he gave me some stupid, boring, baby routine.”
“Maybe you haven’t won because you don’t listen to him.” If Yakov could hear him now.
“I’ll listen when he can tell me something useful.” God, had he really been this annoying? “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you, like, broke your leg or something.”
“Or something. Like two years ago.”
“Oh. Wait, can you still skate? I know you, like, retired and everything, which was sad. ‘Cause I thought you were the best skater out there. I mean like all those records and medals. Who knows what else you could have done.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, who knows.”
“So why are you here? Unless you really are just an old creep.”
“I’m not old, I’m only twenty-six!” He paused, taking a deep breath. He probably should have protested the creep part first. “I’m gonna start coaching.”
Her eyes lit up and she jumped to her feet. “No way! You can be my coach for next season!”
“You already have a coach.”
“I hate my coach.”
Yuri stared down at her with a small smile playing on his lips. She would be a challenge; he was up for it. “What’s your name, anyway?”
She grinned. “Yana Tsaplina.”
He held out his hand. “Alright Yana Tsaplina. I’ll be your coach next season. You think you can handle it?”
She shook his hand, grinning like a little maniac. “Can you?”
Yuri’s heart was racing, for more reasons than one. He had refused to take any interviews before Yana’s first competition, and god, he had gotten so many requests since his name had been posted as her coach for the upcoming season. Grandpa would have hit him upside the head, but it was like his debut as a coach was the second coming of christ.
The media had speculated that Yana must have been some sort of prodigy to make him come out of retirement to coach. And it was a bit odd if he took a step back and looked at the situation. After he retired, there had been radio silence. He had barely made appearances at Otabek’s competitions - and that had caused rumours of divorce which they both had quickly squashed with a few Instagram posts - and had all but become a ghost to the figure skating world. To be fair, travelling long distances had been painful for a while, even when he and Otabek had flown private. Otabek had understood why he wasn’t at his competitions and that was all that mattered.
He wasn’t nervous about Yana, though. She was still competing at novice level since she was only twelve, but she had worked her ass off in a way that Yuri could not have been more proud of. She was going to do well this season; he had no doubt about it.
It was the reporters that scared him. Who knows what deranged questions they would ask him. He kept a hand on Yana’s shoulder as they walked through the entrance to the arena. Cameras flashed and microphones were shoved dangerously close to their faces. Yuri kept his gaze straight ahead, guiding Yana through the doors. The girl was oblivious to it all, though, wrapped up in pre-competition nerves.
Her warmup was uneventful. The novice competitions generally weren’t the most exciting, unless you were a parent, or other close relation. Or a coach.
“You nervous?” he asked Yana, as she bounced from one foot to the other. There were two more kids skating before her, so they should be making their way to the ice soon.
She scoffed, pointing at the television in the corner that had been displaying the other kids as they competed. “No way. My routine is way better than that crap they’re doing.”
Humility was something they would have to work on. But he knew that was also a defence mechanism. She was nervous, but too scared to show it. He braced his hands on her shoulders and stooped down to her level. “Damn straight it is. So when you go out there, you give me nothing but your best.”
Her eyes shone and she reached up to tug at a lock of dark hair. “You bet - Oh shit!” Her hair unravelled from the tight bun and she held up a broken hair tie. Her face grew pale as she looked at the hair tie and tried to smooth her hair from her forehead with her other hand. “I don’t have another one with me.”
“Okay, calm down.” He reached up and pulled his own hair out of its ponytail. It fell around his face and shoulders and he would have preferred to keep it up for this, but Yana needed it more. He spun her around, and brushed her hair back from her face with his palms and fingers, pulling it back into a high ponytail. He hid a small smile practically hearing Lilia snapping at him to get his hair out of his face. “That’s gonna have to do.” Her cheeks were a little red and she nodded. “Okay, we should head out now, you’re on soon.”
He kept his gaze on Yana. Nothing else mattered now; it was her day, her competition. Not the reporters that he knew were hungry to get at him, or the other officials who were looking at him like they were seeing a dead person.
Yana took to the ice; her green costume sparkling under the lights. Yuri wasn’t nervous, not nervous at all. She took her starting position, waiting for the music, Yuri’s heart was in his throat. The first notes started, Yuri saw her take a deep breath, and that was it. She had skated the routine well in practice - no falls, no mistakes - this should be no different. He held her skate guards to his chest not daring to breathe as he watched. No one had prepared him for this, each spin and jump, even the step sequences, had his heart missing beats. Yana was a force, though, so young yet so powerful. She demanded attention, screamed at everyone to watch her, but yet glided around on the ice like her blades weren’t even touching the surface. It wasn’t a perfect routine, she was still a bit wobbly when she landed her jumps, her transitions were clunky, her spins very shaky, and her free leg was all over the place. But Yuri’s heart soared when the final notes played and Yana held her ending pose.
“Fuck yes that’s what I’m talking about!” he yelled, pumping his fist into the sky. Yana was all smiles as she skated back to him.
Yana was first going into the free skate. Yuri wasn’t surprised, and surprised all at once. Yana just sat back in her seat with her arms folded across her chest and nodded like she knew that was the result all along. Cocky brat.
He told her just that as they left the kiss and cry. She punched him in the arm right before they were stopped for an interview. Yana seemed a bit dumbfounded by the cameras and the microphones and stepped back against Yuri. The girl was all bark and no bite, he put a hand over her shoulder and turned to the interviewer.
“That was an amazing routine today, how do you feel about going into the free skate tomorrow?”
Yana looked up at Yuri as he translated the question for her. Her English wasn’t the best, she hadn’t travelled much for competitions either.
“I’m gonna kick ass of course.” She said grinning.
Yuri hesitated, looking from her to the interviewer. “She said she’s confident.” Yana narrowed her eyes. “She worked very hard to be in good shape for this season, so I think she has a good chance tomorrow.” He made a mental note to send Yakov a gift basket.
“So, what was the inspiration behind that routine today?”
He repeated the question to Yana, and she tilted her head thinking. Then her eyes lit up with an answer. “Rebirth,” she said with a grin. “I got an awesome new coach, so I’m going to be the best skater of all the novices this season!”
He raked a hand through his hair. Like hell he was going to say that on camera. “Her inspiration was rebirth.”
She nudged Yuri. “And?”
The interviewer chuckled. “Something else to add?”
Yuri sighed internally. “Yana is a little, uh, enthusiastic. She says she’s going to be the best skater this season, ‘cause she has an awesome coach.” He felt his cheeks heat a little at that.
There were big smiles all around. “It came as a shock to everyone when we heard that you would be coaching this season. But we are very happy to see your face again.”
Yuri nodded. “It’s good to be back.”
Otabek met him back at the hotel room, holding a bouquet of flowers. He pulled Yuri close by his belt loops and pressed their mouths together.
“Well done, coach Altin,” he grinned, handing Yuri the flowers.
“Shouldn’t this be for Yana?”
“I can give it to her later. But you, I hope you"re proud of yourself.”
Yuri smiled, pushing his hair back from his face. “She worked hard, the results showed it.”
“So you had no part at all?”
“I had a huge part. She wouldn’t even be at this competition if it wasn’t for me.”
Otabek chuckled, tossing the flowers onto the little table in the corner of the room, then tugged Yuri down by his collar. His dark eyes shone dangerously and heat sparked in Yuri’s stomach.
“You look so good in that suit, I almost don’t want to take it off of you.”
Yuri shuddered, licking his lips as his mouth went dry. He should have known when Otabek had come home with a new suit for him he had ulterior motives. He had said it was a gift for his debut as a coach, but the lecherous man was thinking of something different.
Yuri scoffed. Okay fine two could play at that game. He made quick work of Otabek’s belt and dug his hands to the back of his pants, palming his ass and crashing their hips together. Otabek hissed, eyes falling shut for a brief moment.
“Okay,” he hummed, tugging Yuri’s jacket from his shoulders. “It’s going to be that kind of evening.”
Yuri’s stomach churned with anticipation, but instead of answering he unbuttoned Otabek’s shirt, pushing it down his arms, then immediately after shoved his slacks down his hips. Otabek had raised an eyebrow, simply stepping out of his pants.
“What do you want?” he whispered, a hand coming up to stroke Yuri’s neck.
Yuri bit his bottom lip, feeling a fire come to life between his legs. “You. Naked.”
Otabek was shocked to silence for a second. His mouth fell open and he all but scrambled to shed his shirt all the way then peel his underwear down his legs. Yuri grinned, eyes wandering all over his body.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be that kind of evening.”
Otabek groaned softly while Yuri was biting his wrist to stop from being too loud. They may have gotten the highest room category in the hotel, but it was still a shitty hotel with paper thin walls. Otabek hadn’t even waited for him to take off his shirt before pushing him onto the bed and covering his face and neck with kisses. He had been done with Yuri’s teasing before he could even get too far.
That felt like it had been hours ago, but Yuri’s sense of time right now wasn’t worth much. Otabek had him on his back, legs folded up to his chest and eyes shut in pleasure as his deep, slow trusts drove Yuri slowly insane. It was all Yuri could do to hold onto Otabek’s shoulders, swearing as he pushed in and slid out.
It couldn’t even be considered slow lazy sex, they were both way too hyped up after the competition that day, but neither were they in a hurry to release.
“Oh, shit, Beka,” Yuri groaned as Otabek hit the perfect spot inside of him. Otabek grunted, reaching down to adjust Yuri’s hips, and Yuri couldn’t help but swear again, this time muffling his voice by pressing his teeth to the side of Otabek’s neck. His lips found the slightly raised scar of his mating bond just below his jaw and Otabek shuddered, breathing out deeply, his breath hot against Yur’s skin.
Then there was a loud rapping on the door that had Yuri cracking an eye open.
“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Yuri hissed, wrapping his legs around Otabek’s hips. “They’ll go away.”
Otabek ran his tongue over the shell of Yuri’s ear. He didn’t stop, but his thrusts became shallower and slower. They both stared at the door for a minute and Yuri sighed when there was no more knocking, turning his head and mouthing along Otabek’s neck, and feeling his insides tremble as Otabek pushed as deep as he could.
“Coach?”
Fuck. Yuri’s eyes flew open again, and he stopped Otabek by squeezing his shoulders. Shit what was the time? The digital clock on the nightstand said five twenty-one. Yana’s celebratory dinner was at seven, why was she here? Shit.
“One minute!” he called, wiggling out from underneath Otabek, almost groaning in sadness when he felt his cock slide out of him. Otabek sat back on his heels, a mix of amusement and annoyance on his face as Yuri scrambled from the bed running his fingers through his knotted hair, and tried to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. He was about to race to the door but Otabek held him back with a hand on his forearm.
“Pants, Yura.”
Shit. Otabek laughed through his nose, before swinging his legs off the side of the bed and heading to the bathroom. Yuri couldn"t decide if he was giving him a free show; he didn’t seem in any hurry to hide his nakedness, but a bathrobe hit Yuri square in the face and he heard the bathroom door shut seconds after.
He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts and pulled on the robe before going to answer the door.
“Hey Yana,” he said, hoping that he didn’t sound as breathless, or thoroughly fucked out, as he thought. “What is it? I thought we said seven for dinner.”
She raised an eyebrow looking him up and down. Yuri pulled the robe tighter at his throat. “Just wanted to give you back this before I forgot.” She held out the hair tie he’d given her before she had competed.
Yuri bit his lip; god, he wanted to swear at her right now. “Oh, you… you could have given me this back later.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know if you needed it or not.”
“It’s a hair tie. Not important.”
She wrinkled her nose looking down at her feet. Yuri sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you, Yanka.” He pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Again, you were amazing today.” She hugged him back and that was probably the real reason why she had come to him. “I’ll see you at seven.”
She grinned, stepping back. “Yeah. And I hope you’re ready to go into debt ‘cause I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “Okay we’ll see about that.” It was good she hadn’t realised just how rich he was yet.
Present Day
Otabek slept through his alarm again. Yuri wanted to comment on it, wanted to bring up what he thought this was about, but the words stuck in his throat. Like he"d taken too big a bite of food and it refused to go down, stinging his chest. So, he just kissed Otabek on the forehead before he left and reminded him that he had an early practice session again.
Yuri"s official job title was Director of Outreach, but it was really just a mismatch of oddball duties that he had picked up over the years. He’d been given the title just because he had been a little too persistent about helping out some students that weren’t in the best financial position. And, well, a few not so anonymous donations had gotten the attention of the board of directors. He may not have been seen as an asset right away, but his family’s money was. Either way he had the job, and this was the second year in a row where they’d partnered with a few public schools and had what they deemed as ‘at risk’ - Yuri hated that term with a passion - children try skating.
Today was a basic drills class, most of this batch would probably go on to play hockey; he hadn’t seen too much interest in figure skating. But it was his job to keep them moving and not falling over on the ice. He set up an obstacle course on the ice with cones and ran through it a few times to make sure it wasn’t too difficult, but had enough sharp turns and quick stops to be challenging.
“It’s kinda cool that you actually skate with us,” one of the kids commented after he demonstrated how to run the course.
Yuri raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
The kid just shrugged. “The other coaches just yell at us from the benches. You suffer with us.”
Yuri tilted his head. If he didn’t get exercise like this somehow, his desk job would be unbearable. Then there were some days he was literally itching to be on the ice, it didn’t matter if he was doing bunny hops with the kids or practising spins with Yana. “Well, I gotta put my money where my mouth is. If I can’t run these drills, there’s no way in hell you guys will be able to.” They appreciated his honesty. Some of the parents didn’t, but it was the children who really mattered.
The kid shrugged again. “It’s just cool. You don’t act like you"re better than us. Even if you are some rich hotshot.”
Yuri scoffed. They had way more in common than they thought. He turned to the rest of the group. “Get into two teams!” he yelled, “Whoever gets the fastest time gets bragging rights!”
Yuri’s most challenging class would have to be the three to five beginner class. It was like corralling cats, where half were given catnip and the others would rather be at home napping. Sometimes he literally had to skate in circles around them to keep them from wandering off. It didn’t really help that his hip was a bit sore from running all those drills earlier that morning and he had to pretty much dive to the ice just a while ago to keep the one child from knocking out their front teeth. He’d banged his knee pretty badly and was pretty sure he was going to be sore the next day.
Technically, he was fully healed from the accident all those years ago, but there were aches and pains that were never going to go away.
Sometimes the stars did align and Otabek had ice-time when Yuri had a few hours he could spare. He made his way to the rink, trying not to make his limp that obvious and leaned against the sideboards. A few of Viktor’s other students were sitting nearby and waved Yuri over to join them.
“Are you okay, Coach?”
“Not your coach,” he grumbled, sitting down and attempting not to look like he was in his sixties. “Leg’s a bit sore today.”
Sasha, a nineteen-year-old who was almost as annoying as Viktor, winced. “Wow, it still hurts after all this time?”
“Not really. Just was on the ice a lot yesterday.”
Valya, Viktor’s newest recruit who had the most consistent jump pattern Yuri had ever seen, laughed. “Kids, running you ragged, Coach?”
“Again, I’m not your coach. Don’t let Viktor hear you calling me that. He’ll cry again.”
“You’re not our coach, but you’re the arena’s coach.” He drew a circle with his hands at the word arena.
Yuri rolled his eyes, before turning back to watch Otabek. He was just done warming up, rolling his shoulders as he had a short conversation with Viktor. Yuri knew they were still working through his new routines, nothing was completed yet, they hadn’t decided on jumps or even many of the spins. Usually Otabek would be further along than this by now, and Yuri would have been lying if he said it didn’t make him nervous. He watched as Otabek nodded at Viktor then skated away to start his routine.
“Is everything okay with you and Otabek?” Sasha asked suddenly.
Yuri’s head whipped back around and he glared at the boy. “What? Why would you ask that?”
Sasha visibly shrunk back, waving his hands in front of him. “I just… no reason. Um, it’s just Otabek is,” he sighed. “He seems distracted.”
Yuri clenched his jaw, slowly turning back to the rink. Otabek landed a single axel and Yuri narrowed his eyes. He was slow, and sloppy. Why the fuck had he wobbled on landing a fucking single? Why was that making him so angry? His scowl deepened as Otabek attempted a doughnut spin. And it was an attempt because he looked so lazy . Like he wasn’t even trying. Something twisted inside Yuri’s stomach and it was like hot coals had been poured into his lungs. He stood up and made his way back to the sideboards and leaned over, bracing his forearms on the ledge. His eyes bulged when Otabek leapt into a flying camel spin but then stepped out of it almost immediately and abandoned the whole position. He could feel steam rising from his face. What the hell was this? He’d never seen him so reluctant on the ice before, he clearly didn’t want to be there. Yuri chewed his bottom lip, feeling a sharp sting and tasted iron as he ripped off a piece of chapped skin. That fucking asshole.
“What the hell are you doing, Otabek?” He yelled across the ice.
Otabek paused, confused, before his eyes landed on Yuri. Viktor also glanced over before skating towards him.
“Oh, hi, Yurochka-”
Yuri ignored him. “Don’t fucking do it if you’re just going to half-ass it!”
Otabek folded his arms across his chest as he came over as well. “It’s still the first month back, Yura,” he said. “I don’t even have everything memorised yet. We barely have the choreography done.”
Yuri saw red. He knew all that, he knew it too well. “You’re not taking this shit seriously-”
“And you’re not my coach.”
The fucker actually said that. Yuri ground his teeth, hands balling into fists automatically.
“Ah, you know what,” Viktor started, placing a heavy hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “Go cool off, Yurochka. I don’t need you out here yelling at my students.”
Yuri took a deep breath, feeling himself shaking. He clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt. He glared at Viktor then turned back to Otabek.
“Whatever,” he snarled. “You two can go fuck yourselves.” He stomped off, not ever caring that the muscles in his hip were crying out with each step.
Later that evening, Yuri was quickly reminded why he never really had too many conversations with Yana’s mother. It was odd, considering her daughter spent so much time with him, at the rink and travelling to competitions. He thought she would have been way more interested in him, if only just to see who he was as a person. He had considered the meeting a success; Yana’s career was not in jeopardy, but if he asked Yana it wouldn’t be such a clear-cut answer. She and her mother did not get along, both head-strong and opinionated, and thought they knew more than they really did about one another. It wasn’t as if her mother didn’t support her career - the government stipend certainly helped - but it was clear that she was frightened about an athletes’ career being so short in most cases and wanted Yana to find something more stable. Yana had stormed out from the meeting before it ended, eyes glassy with unshed tears. This was above Yuri’s pay grade; if someone had a problem on the ice he knew how to fix it. This family needed therapy.
He sat hunched over his desk, the numbers on his computer screen had long since gone blurry. Otabek had poked his head into the office to ask if Yuri was ready to head home. But he wasn’t ready. He didn’t even want to see Otabek with the way a steady rage had been building in his chest for the entire afternoon. So, he said he was working late, and ignored the way Otabek’s jaw had tensed and his eyes narrowed.
Plus, he did have work to do. He had finally finished the proposed budget for the end of year gala. He would present it to the board later that week, then planning would start in earnest. He had basically planned the whole thing by himself last year, and it had been a roaring success, so he’d been automatically put in charge of it again this year. But he couldn’t concentrate on that right now. All he could think of was Otabek on the ice earlier just going through the motions of his routine without a care.
He dragged his hands down his face. Otabek didn’t want to skate any more. This was it for them. Otabek would retire and then that would be it. No more competitions, no more training, no more routines. He would just be a relic from the past and just sit by as the world of figure skating moved on without him.
Fuck, he couldn’t sit here just stewing. He grabbed his skate bag from the bottom drawer of his desk and left the office in a rush. The rink was empty, which served Yuri just fine. There shouldn"t have been anyone around at this time anyway. And the janitors knew him well enough to let him be during these late night sessions.
The sound of his blades against the ice was comforting, calming even, soothing his frazzled nerves and clearing his head. He skated to centre rink and closed his eyes for a second just feeling the cold rise from the ice and the goose-bumps that rose on his arms. He never had a plan when he skated like this, he just did what felt right until he was tired or felt more like a human than the personification of rage.
Music from his last ever free skate routine came to mind. God, if only he had known that it would have been his last. He remembered the routine like it was yesterday, and he supposed that he would never forget it either. His body moved on its own, going through the forms and movements automatically while the music was loud in his ears. With each second he felt his muscles loosen, his thoughts cleared and a calmness settled over him. He closed his eyes on the layback spin, and could practically hear the crowd cheering him on. A small smile formed on his lips as he got ready for a half Biellman. He couldn’t get a full one anymore, and he would be stupid to try, but that was no matter. He prepared for the first jump a double toe loop - and nailed it, the crack of his blades on the ice as he landed sent shivers up his spine in a good way, and caught his breath with a back upright spin.
The next set of jumps was designed to be tricky. Starting with a quad salchow. The most he could do these days were doubles. His injured leg just didn’t have the strength for more. Again he would be stupid to even try. But there was a little voice in the back of his head; he was a multiple time Grand Prix Champion, World champion, and European champion. He had been setting records and breaking more. He could handle a jump. And yet his attempted quad was nothing more than a double. He let out a sharp breath through his teeth. The music in his head screeching to a stop.
Again. He told himself, skating in a wide circle. Try again. He closed his eyes as he jumped - landed a double. Again, a single. Again, a double. He paused for a second chest heaving and heart pounding. Fuck. Again. He was fucking Yuri Altin, one of the best figure skaters in the world and he would not let a fucking salchow get the best of him. He felt it this time, the jump was higher, a bit more powerful; he counted one two three then it all came crashing down.
His leg buckled as he hit the ice and he went down hard, sliding across the surface rolling and spinning until he could slam a palm down to stop himself. He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, and feeling blood pounding in his head and the jarring combination of heated, sweaty skin against ice. He covered his face with a hand, pressing his fingers against his eyelids, unsurprised to feel wetness, and yell caught in his throat.
“Coach!”
What? He heard a voice over the pounding in his ears and cracked open an eye to see sneakers and leggings coming up to him.
“Coach, fuck are you okay?”
He blinked a few times, organising his thoughts. “What are you doing here, Yanka?”
“Clearly saving your ass,” She kneeled down next to him. “Come on, get up.”
Yuri sighed moving to sit up, but a sharp stabbing pain near his hip had him gasping for air. Fuck.
“Coach?” Yana hovered over him, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
“Just give me a minute.” He closed his eyes, taking stock of what was hurting.
“What the hell were you doing? You know you can’t jump like that anymore-”
“I said a minute, Yana.” His voice came out sharp. A tone he hadn’t used with her in a long time. She backed off instantly and Yuri felt a tiny bit of guilt worm its way into his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
He rolled onto his side with a groan and got onto his elbows. Yeah, his leg was definitely fucked up. The muscles at the top of his thigh were on fire. It hadn’t felt like this in years. He pressed his fingertips to his mouth and took a few deep breaths through his nose. Yana was staring at him with wide eyes, her hands hovering in the air like she wanted to help but couldn’t figure out how to.
Well this was fucking embarrassing. His student, any of the kids actually, weren’t supposed to see him like this. He grit his teeth, pushing himself to sit upright. At least being on the ice like this would help with any immediate swelling. He took a few more deep breaths through his nose. The medics would have already gone home for the night, maybe he could wave down a janitor to help. He leaned forward, bracing his palms against his knees and screwed his eyes shut.
“I was gonna tell you how cool you looked out there,” Yana said, daring to lean forward and pat him on the shoulder. “Then I realised you were just being stupid.”
Yuri cracked an eye open to glare at her. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
She glared back at him. “How badly are you hurt?”
His hip and leg were still throbbing, but it was slowly fading. He didn’t know if he would be able to get up, though.
“Just the old injuries flaring up,” he muttered.
She winced. “Can you stand?”
Moving his leg caused a fresh wave of pain. “No.” Yeah, he was going to have to call for help.
“I could carry you.”
The stupidity of her statement cut through the pain for a second. “No, you can’t.”
Yuri would have laughed in any other situation. She puffed out her chest as if that would make her seem bigger. “I’m strong. I’m an alpha.”
“You’re the size of a fucking chihuahua. Go get my phone. It’s on my desk.”
“God, you’re so, ugh!” She stood up, and half walked half slid along the ice.
Once he watched her race off to the offices he let himself flop backwards against the ice and breathed out deeply. Maybe if he just lay still enough he could just forget everything that was going on. At least Yana had been a good distraction.
Yana had managed to help him off the ice, eventually. It had been slow moving, but she, as it turned out, had been strong enough to support him. He had leaned heavily against her as she braced an arm around his back and against his chest, and shuffled along on one leg.
“You tell anyone about this and you won’t see the ice for two months,” he growled at her smug grin when she helped him back down to the floor.
“I’m telling everyone that I carried you off the ice like a princess.”
“No one is going to believe that. I’m like half a meter taller than you.”
“You’re skinny as fuck.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “I swear to god, Yana-“
“Yura!” Otabek"s footsteps were heavy against the ground. He wasted no time in kneeling down in front of him. “Are you okay? What happened?”
His glasses were a bit crooked and his jacket wasn’t even zipped up all the way. The sweatpants and damp hair told him that he had probably been getting ready to go to bed when Yuri had called. He grimaced.
“I fell. Hurt my leg.”
“Allah, Yura, what were you doing?”
Yuri sighed. “Skating.”
Otabek hung his head, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. “How bad is it? Should I call an ambulance?”
“No!” He looked between Otabek and Yana. “God what is it with you two? Just help me up and let’s go home.”
Otabek stared at him for a second before shaking his head.
“He can’t walk,” Yana said suddenly. “I had to carry him off the ice.”
That little bitch. Otabek’s head snapped towards her. “You did not, I swear if you say that one more time!”
“Can you walk?” Otabek mumbled.
“Not really.”
Otabek stared at him for a moment, his face went completely blank. He scooped him up with a hand under his knees and behind his back and stood up without any trouble at all. His chest was so broad and warm. Yuri let his eyes close for a second and he rested his head against the side of Otabek’s neck, breathing in deeply. His scent was calming, it always was. Otabek squeezed his side, silently saying it was going to be alright.
“Oh so you let him carry you,” Yana grumbled.
“What is with you?” Yuri sighed.
“I"m just saying we’re both alphas. We can take care of you.”
Yuri shook his head, tired of arguing with a child. “You don’t take care of me. I’m the adult here.”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
Otabek set him in the passenger seat of their car then went back into the rink to get Yuri’s bags and lock up the office. Yana leaned against the car staring at Yuri unblinking.
“You should head home too,” he told her.
She was silent for a few moments. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see my mom.”
Right, they had had a shouting match in the office earlier. He wouldn’t have wanted to go home either. “You have to go home though.”
She scoffed, kicking her feet against the pavement. “Can I tell you something, Coach?”
Yuri looked up at her, studying her frown and tensed shoulders. She had sounded so small just now, unsure, and scared. “Yeah. Of course. Anything, you know that.”
“My mom doesn’t really care about me.”
He raised an eyebrow, his gut twisting. “Why do you say that?”
She shoved her hands into her pockets and glared at her feet. “I spent a whole week at my friend’s home last month, and she didn’t even say anything. She just asked me to bring some eggs home.” Oh. Yuri hoped he didn’t look as shocked as he felt. “And just now she wanted to stop me from skating just because it makes me happy.”
“I doubt that’s the reason-”
“She wants me to be miserable, just like her.”
Yuri knew that anything that came out of his mouth would not make the situation any better. He knew a thing or two about bad mothers. He could tell her stories, make her understand that he knew how she felt. He also knew that Yana’s mother really did care about her, she was just struggling with her own problems. But Yana didn’t need a sounding board, or for anyone to confirm what she was feeling. She just needed some comfort. And rules and regulations be damned, right now. He’d deal with the consequences later.
“Okay. You can come home with us tonight.”
She looked up at him shocked. “What? Really?”
“I’m responsible for you. And if you’re not going to go home, I have to make sure you’re somewhere safe.”
Otabek only nodded when Yuri told him Yana would be spending the night. He watched her settle in the back seat and softly asked if she was hungry. It would have been a tense drive home, but Yana’s excited babbling was almost contagious and Otabek reached over, grabbing Yuri’s hand and smoothing his thumb over his knuckles.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he mumbled with a small smile. “You scared me when you called.”
Yuri brought his hand up and placed a soft kiss to the back of his palm.
“Awwwww, Coach,” Yana stuck her head between their seats.
“Hey, sit back and put on your seatbelt,” Otabek ordered.
Yuri chuckled as Yana apologised, clearly not expecting Otabek to speak that way.
Otabek set Yana up in the guest quarters, answering all her questions with calm, short responses. She’d been overly excited to see their home. It was a well known secret around the rink that he and Otabek were pretty wealthy. It wasn’t hard to notice; the diamond in Yuri’s wedding ring was large enough to start a conversation, and their car was loud, fast, and flashy. Yuri still couldn’t admit to himself after all the years that the correct term would have been filthy rich. He didn’t like flaunting the money, but Otabek would not accept anything less than luxury for even the little things. The furnishings in their home were a bit excessive, but that was what Otabek liked, so Yuri allowed himself to enjoy them as well. At least Yana would sleep well in comfort.
“Okay, start talking.” Otabek said, closing the door to their room with a soft click and shedding his jacket to reveal bare skin underneath. He really had been in a rush to get to the rink.
“How was Yana?” Yuri asked, staring at his chest and abs.
“She’s fine. Now do you want to explain to me how you hurt yourself?”
Yuri sighed, removing the ice-pack from his hip and pulling the waist of his leggings down. His hip was swollen and red. Not bruised, but he had strained something. “I jumped.”
“Yuri-”
“Tried to do a quad salchow.”
“Yuri!”
“I know. I was being stupid. Couldn’t do more than a double anyway.”
Otabek frowned. “You know you can’t do jumps like that anymore. And no one was around, what would you have done if Yana wasn’t there?”
Yes, what he had done was stupid, but it didn’t mean that his husband needed to talk to him like he was a child. Especially since he was the reason Yuri had gone out on the ice in the first place. “Well someone has to try! Someone has to care about skating since you don’t give a shit anymore.” Otabek froze. “It’s so obvious, Beka. You don’t wake up in the mornings, you complain about practising. You don’t even have either of your programs done yet!”
“I,” Otabek sighed, shaking his head.
Yuri felt sick, his stomach twisted into a knot and his throat went tight. He hoisted himself up higher on the pillows. “I know you don’t want to do this anymore.” And how could he not? Figure skating was their identity. It was what had brought them together in the first place.
Otabek sat down on the bed next to Yuri, his back almost pressing against Yuri’s side, and he stared at his hands in his lap. “I, yeah. I’ve wanted to retire for a while now.”
Yuri knew the words were coming, but they stung all the same. For the second time that night all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears. “A while now?”
“Since late last season.”
“Why?” He’d done so well last season. Viktor had been impressed; the entire world had been impressed. Otabek had been building a legacy; his name was unforgettable. And through all that he had wanted to quit?
Otabek breathed out heavily through his nose. “I’m thirty-one. Going to be thirty-two soon. I can’t keep on doing this. I feel so… old.”
“But-”
“I’m competing against nineteen year olds, sometimes seventeen year olds. Every year the sport is getting tougher, this new talent is insane. And honestly, I’m just so fucking tired, I’m struggling to keep up.” Yuri swallowed. “Recovering after training, after competing even, isn"t like it used to be. And I’m scared if I even do one more season,” he shook his head. “I may not make it out in one piece.”
“You’re scared that you could be like me?”
Otabek clicked his tongue. “No. You didn’t have a choice. I feel if I go on, I’m making the wrong decision.”
Yuri swallowed the lump in his throat. “Why haven’t we talked about this before?”
Otabek hesitated, closing and opening his palms a few times. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Yuri flinched. Disappoint him? He raked a hand through his hair, somehow feeling worse than he did before they started talking. “How would you disappoint me?”
Otabek heaved a heavy breath. “By quitting.”
Yuri worked his jaw, and tugged at a lock of hair that fell in front of his face. Had he really been pushing Otabek that hard? Had he come off as so uncaring that Otabek thought he needed to skate to be worth anything to him? Of course the answer was yes. Yuri’s career had ended in flames and his husband continued on for both of them. Yuri had pushed and pushed and pushed him. And Otabek had pushed himself too. Yuri knew it was guilt that they had been in the same accident and he’d escaped with everything intact, while Yuri had to give up almost everything he had lived for.
“I’m sorry.” He swallowed, bringing a hand up to massage his throat. He was sorry for the guilt he should have nipped right in the bud five years ago, and sorry for the jealousy that had prevented him from doing so. “If you think it’s time, then it’s time.”
Otabek looked over his shoulder at him. Dark eyes so full of sorrow and guilt that Yuri’s stomach tied itself into a knot. Fuck, his eyes started to sting. Letting out a deep breath, he leaned against Otabek’s back and wrapped his arms around his waist. Otabek relaxed against him, and Yuri swallowed down the hot ball of ugly emotions. Otabek was the one that needed reassurance right now. He could pick through his thoughts later. Or just forget about them and move on like he always did. That seemed to be working out so far.
“I’m going to miss your abs, though. And those thighs.”
Otabek scoffed, resting his hands against Yuri’s forearms. “Those aren’t going anywhere.”
Yuri hummed. “We’ll see.”
“Are you calling me lazy?”
He kissed the back of his neck. “I mean I didn’t say it.”
“You didn’t lose your abs right away,” Otabek challenged. “And besides, I like you with more fat on your hips and belly.”
“Belly? I’m still hella fit, what the fuck are you talking about?” Okay fine he jumped right into that one.
Otabek chuckled softly. He knew exactly where to poke and how to soothe him afterwards. Yuri sighed, resting his forehead in between Otabek’s shoulder blades.
“I’ll still love you, Beka,” he mumbled. “Even when you’re old and jobless.”