i couldn't help myself with the interwoven angst im sorry 😅

Choreography is more difficult than Victor likes to make it seem. It's a lot harder than just "doing what feels right," because not everyone has such a good intuition about what the judges are going to appreciate. So as he raves about the value of feeling and emotion, I crunch numbers. I'm listening to the waltz on repeat in my earphones, wondering how many incredible feats do I have the time to incorporate.

"Yuri, are you listening?" Victor stops, looking a little hurt.

I remove one earbud to respond. "I want another rotation on the first Salchow of the set."

"Yuri," he starts uncomfortably, "I don't want you to strain yourself at the start. This is just the free skate, it's not worth that many points--"

"I'm doing the math. I need an extra rotation somewhere if I want to stay competitive with the elders in their last year, not to mention Minami is an up and coming threat as well."

Victor looks thoughtful for a second. Otabek and Katsudon look up when they see a sudden lull in our practice session.

"All okay?" Katsudon calls out, his voice ringing in the huge space of the Russian rink.

I look to Victor for a response. He sighs.

"Yuuri," he beckons Katsudon over. "Come here for a minute."

Oh, great. Now he's gonna use Katsudon as a model and if Katsudon can do it, I can do it and vice versa. As if that's supposed to be a helpful standard to me. No, I can't take this right now.

"No," I protest, indignantly. Tension fills the air as I continue. "I don't need this coddling. I know what I need to do and I know what I need to do to get there. If you would ever count your moves--"

"Yuri, if you would ever count your blessings--"

"No! Okay?" My frustrated cry echoes angrily for several seconds.

The silence that follows is unlike mine and Otabek's often comfortable lapse in verbal conversations. Katsudon has yet to move but Otabek suddenly stands.

"Outside," he beckons me.

Victor and Katsudon watch me go, guilt shading Victor's eyes as he skates to meet Katsudon. Now I've got to face my own lover, except I feel like instead of a whispering conversation I'm in for an agitated scolding. Otabek leads me all the way outside and onto a bench where he sits and waits for me to join him. I throw myself-- on the verge of metamorphosing from throwing a sulk to throwing a tantrum-- into the empty space beside him. He roughly takes my chin and waits for me to meet his expectant gaze.

I blink hesitantly as I wonder if the dark intensity evident within his hard brown eyes is founded upon anger or lust. Before I can decide, the gentlest kiss I've ever received graces my lips like a godsend. Surprised, a weak groan falls from my lips, getting lost somewhere in the medium of his skin. I don't necessarily mean to, but I am suddenly so invigorated by his embrace that I absentmindedly harshen the kiss through the sharp entrance of my tongue into his mouth.

And then our hands begin to graze along each other's bodies. I lift my lips from their oscillating only long enough to get a few words out a time: "Mm, Beka-- I love you-- what are you doing?"

"I love you, Yuratchka. You've been too stressed lately. I'm going to tell them you need to rest your head for today," he shrugs between kisses.

I give him my phone, straddling his lap and blocking access to his pocket. Otabek smirks, accepting my phone in place of his own. He types up a slow, methodical message.

"Now," Otabek looks up when he finishes typing. "About your stress relief."

*****

"Are you sure, Beka?" I ask despite every muscle in my body screaming to just push my hips one inch forward.

"Mhm," he hums lowly. "Everything you've got. Don't stop until you feel purged of your angst."

"I've got a lot of fucking angst," I lean over him and press a warm kiss to his neck. "May take a little bit more than some hearty banging to relieve it," I can't stifle the bitter edge from shading my tone.

Otabek nuzzles into my touch.

"I can handle getting a little rough," his voice is husky with want. "I know it won't solve anything at its core... but I'll always be here for you in other ways-- you know that."

"Mhm," I groan, daring to make my entrance.

Otabek tightens around my length, back arching like a cat.

The lubricant makes sliding in and out easier, but I hesitate to inculcate as angrily as Otabek intends for me. He groans when I push in faster.

"Yura--" he gasps. "Fuck. Harder, Kitten, come on."

I oblige, beginning to picture the grievances on my mind. I pound my presence with increasing power. Overtaken by the sudden images, I close my eyes against the onslaught of sadness crawling up my chest. Otabek suddenly isn't the only one fighting back tears. But my Beka was right, I can feel pressure slipping from my body like vapor with every jounce forward.

"God," I hiss. I'm not entirely sure to whom I'm speaking now. "I-- ohh! mm-- I'm sorry."

Otabek tenses again around me, perhaps picking up on my signs of internal struggle.

"Unh, Yuratchka," he moans. "It's okay, Love."

He can't see me, fucking him from behind, but I nod, and try to relax. I find myself fighting down the mental pictures of my past. I realize tears have slipped down my cheeks and I haven't taken a breath in several seconds. Spent of breath, I gasp for air above the rising moans and crashing of skin.

I want to calm down. But the waltz for my free skate worms into my ears. The smashing sounds of sex and the roaring in my ears tumble into thundering silence as visions of my past overtake my mind's eye. My grandfather's pained face fills my sight, though my eyes are closed tight.

"Otabek!" I cry, releasing almost painfully.

I open my eyes, to assess the damage. I pull out and allow Otabek to coax me under the sheets. He isn't the kind to smother with me with love, but his warmth and his presence is welcome as it envelops me like a security blanket.

"It's over," Otabek's low voice quakes ever so gently. "Yuratchka," he thumbs my tears away. "I'm so sorry, Yuri," he hugs me into himself.

The waltz is still ringing in my ears. I count out the measures until I can catch my breath. I follow Otabek's breaths, breathing in and out as he does. He begins to murmur about whatever, but I don't want to hear it.

"I love you, Beka," I gasp between new tears. "I'm sorry, I fucked up."

"You fucked just fine," Otabek smirks. "No more apologizing, Love. You need post-sex cuddles."

"Damn right," I agree, wrapping around him.