**PLOT ZONE**

"Katsudon's convinced me to teach the little one ballet," I greet Otabek.

He pauses a video game and looks up from his place on the couch. I rest my yoga mat against the wall momentarily as I struggle to get out of my winter gear. Otabek stands to help me.

"Kyrie was learning in Japan?" he argues, curious.

"Yeah," I sigh. "She doesn't have an instructor in Russia," I sigh, removing my jacket. "They've apparently run into problems finding a good teacher," I mutter, knowing exactly what they'd meant.

"Because of the heart condition?" Otabek asks, gesturing for me to join him on the couch and abandon my pile.

"The poor kid gets winded so easily but she wants to push harder," I inadvertently agree with Otabek, sitting down. "Good Russian instructors don't tolerate any kind of weakness, but she physically doesn't have a career as an athlete so no one will even take her seriously. Valkyrie just wants to dance, though."

Otabek's eyes soften. I curl into his chest and sigh.

"Let's not have kids," I grumble into the material of his shirt. That elicits a rumbling laugh from his chest.

"Okay," he agrees, "why's that?"

"There are so many reasons, Beka," I look up seriously. "And Valkyrie and Tamilya are enough. Not to mention the power couple's side-kid. And you've got more small family members coming along."

"One nephew," he rolls his eyes. "But 'side-kid' isn't a nice term for sweet Elka," Otabek chastises me. "You know how hard her life is."

"Yeah, we know all about how hard it is for her and them and us and financially and emotionally—"

"You've made your point, Yuratchka," he smirks. "And I agree."

"Good," I nod. "That said, I need you to dance with me right now."

"What—?"

I pull him to his feet and kick the coffee table backward. The video game he'd been playing magically resumes, killing Otabek's character.

"Yu-ri," he groans.

"Oops," I reply, unapologetically. "Okay you be a four year old," I move on.

He crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow.

"Come on, I'm gonna see her later this afternoon," I whine.

"You didn't say that when you came through the door," he grumbles, taking a less defensive stance.

"It didn't come up," I smirk, positioning him in front of me. "Now you tell me when something is too hard."

**BEGIN SMUT ZONE**

Otabek rolls his eyes and pulls me into him. I feel the erection forming in his pants, automatically rolling my hips. He moans, low and lusty.

"You're not good at being a four year old," I inform him.

"If I were, you'd disown me for age playing," he replies easily. "But if you must know what's too hard—"

He sweeps me up and drops me into the couch, humping me suggestively, boasting an impressive hardness. Warmth roots all the way to my stomach and flowers at my most intimate regions. Now I can feel my own length hardening.

"Okay," I moan, "you're right about... that. But I've gotta be ready to go in two hours."

"Two hours?" Otabek breathes in my ear.

A shudder ripples up and down my spine.

"Just fuck me," I plead, stumbling up and pulling him into the bedroom.

"Mm," he hums. "But you're supposed to be dancing with me."

"You said you didn't want to be a four year old," I roll my eyes. "But old man Otabek is in for a good tango," I growl, only getting harder.

The door closes behind us with a sense of liberating finality— as if to dictate clearly that it's time for a much more adult dance. And just as I think so, Otabek overtakes me in a good tongue-filled kiss. I could easily spend the day entwined with him like this, if only I had the time. One of these days, I actually might.

I wrestle overtop him and it suddenly becomes a pattern of slow kissing paired with fast hands vying for dominance. Otabek ultimately wins, pinning me into the duvet. I growl at him to lube up if he wants to fuck—which is exactly what he wants, of course. So he concedes with a half-amused groan.

Just watching him leaves me dripping with anticipation. I helplessly wonder whether my entire being is throbbing or just my desperate cock. But before I can decide, he pushes two fingers up into me and begins to stretch me out. I can only clutch the duvet as my cock twitches in desire. Otabek takes that as his cue to simultaneously take a hold of me and replace the preparation for his cock with the real deal.

The familiar sting of my body accommodating his girth soon subsides into a harsh brand of pleasure. I like the way it takes several thrusts for his hips to make full contact with my skin. I like the way love-making falls into such a natural rhythm. I like our lusty tango. To say the least: he pleases me.

I don't know how long it goes on, but it doesn't last an entire two hours. He lets his passion run its course as naturally as it comes— comes. His lips graze against my skin like a dancer, and my skin the stage for his performance. I'm so tired, by the end, I'm not sure he'll get much of a standing ovation.

This was admittedly a bad idea before working with a child today. I can't exactly explain that Uncle Yuri is sore as a result of casual midday sex. I'll have to set an alarm and take a power nap. When I manage as much to Otabek, he has to tease me.

"This isn't how you want to spend all your Saturdays?" He questions.

"I don't know— seems like a good routine to me," I smirk, blushing.