Ship: Otabek/Yuri Fandom: Yuri on Ice Major Tags: none Other Tags: clothes that should be burned, skyping with the parents, sneaking up on the boyfriend Square: you're literally wearing sweats and a day-old t-shirt HOW ARE YOU STILL HOT Word Count: 685
All the Kazakh is from google translate/googling around so hope it's not the worst.
***
Yuri is kind of a slob around the apartment. It's not the biggest shock to Otabek, who had years of seeing Yuri's room in selfies and over Skype, clothing costume pieces and equipment tossed this way and that. The lack of attention he pays to dressing himself at him is slightly more of a surprise, because it's barely two weeks of living together before Yuri's dress code defaults to sweats and t-shirts, sometimes the same ones for days running, topped with a palm tree as if even a braid or bun was too much trouble.
Otabek comes home from a long meeting with Yuuri about choreography and is about to call that he's home when he hears the murmur of voices in the kitchen. He kicks off his boots as quietly as he can and slips towards the kitchen in his socks noiselessly, spying like the shamelessly creepy boyfriend that he is.
Yuri is in the kitchen alone, hair pulled up lazily so that it's falling out all over in soft pieces against his neck, sweats double-knotted and still slipping down his hips, wearing the ratty Pyeongchang 2018 T-shirt that Otabek has tried to throw out at least three times. He's wrist-deep in a heap of dough, flour halfway up his arms and smudged across his cheek. His laptop is open on the counter in front of him, facing away from Otabek, and Otabek assumes he has it open on a recipe until his mother's softly-accented Russian comes out from the speakers.
"Don't mix too much or it gets tough. Yes, that's good enough, the same as mine, see?"
"That's it?" Yuri asks, reaching for a towel to cover the bowl.
"That's it," Otabek's mother assures. "Leave it to rise one, maybe two hours, until it reaches the top. If you aren't sure, call back, all right?"
"I'll send a picture when it's done," Yuri promises. Otabek's mother makes an approving noise. And then Yuri adds, "Raxmet, xanim Altin," and the center of Otabek's chest melts into utter goo. He's crossing the room before he knows what he's doing, Yuri just hitting disconnect on the Skype call before Otabek grabs him from behind.
Yuri yelps, then growls when he sees it's just Otabek. "Beka! You gave me a heart attack, dammit!" Otabek cuts off his protests with a long kiss, arms sliding around Yuri's waist to press them close together from chest to knees.
"You're beautiful, zhanym," Otabek murmurs, the kiss migrating to Yuri's cheek, his jaw, his temple. "You're too much."
"Uh, you threatened to burn this entire outfit this morning," Yuri points out. He's standing awkwardly, hands still covered in flour and bits of dough. "It's because you heard me just now, right? If all it takes to get you all hot and bothered is a couple words of Kazakh, leggo and let me wash my hands and I can rock your world, buddy."
That's not exactly the reason, but Otabek laughs and releases Yuri with one more quick kiss, leaning against the counter to watch Yuri wash off. He lets his eyes drag down over the holes stretching up from the hem of Yuri's T-shirt, the waistband of the sweats with the elastic clearly giving out, stopping centimeters above Yuri's bruised ankles and heels sticking out.
"Hm, I know like Meniñ atim Yuriy," Yuri calls over his shoulder. Impatient, Otabek puts his hands back on Yuri's hips, leaning into him from behind and humming low encouragement against the back of Yuri's neck. "And uyge qos keldiñiz and awejayga deyin and tasbaqa."
That makes Otabek pause. "Why do you know the word for turtle?"
Yuri turns in his arms, grabs two fistfuls of his T-shirt with wet hands and kisses Otabek soundly.
"So that you aren't the one who can use stupid pet names." Yuri slips from Otabek's grip and is already through the doorway before Otabek can stop laughing long enough to follow, calling over his shoulder, "Hurry up, meniñ tasbaqa!"
(AN: the Kazakh Yuri knows is thanks Mrs. Altin, my name is Yuri, welcome home, to the airport, and of course, my turtle.)
FILL: Team Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, A1, T
Fandom: Yuri on Ice
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: clothes that should be burned, skyping with the parents, sneaking up on the boyfriend
Square: you're literally wearing sweats and a day-old t-shirt HOW ARE YOU STILL HOT
Word Count: 685
All the Kazakh is from google translate/googling around so hope it's not the worst.
***
Yuri is kind of a slob around the apartment. It's not the biggest shock to Otabek, who had years of seeing Yuri's room in selfies and over Skype, clothing costume pieces and equipment tossed this way and that. The lack of attention he pays to dressing himself at him is slightly more of a surprise, because it's barely two weeks of living together before Yuri's dress code defaults to sweats and t-shirts, sometimes the same ones for days running, topped with a palm tree as if even a braid or bun was too much trouble.
Otabek comes home from a long meeting with Yuuri about choreography and is about to call that he's home when he hears the murmur of voices in the kitchen. He kicks off his boots as quietly as he can and slips towards the kitchen in his socks noiselessly, spying like the shamelessly creepy boyfriend that he is.
Yuri is in the kitchen alone, hair pulled up lazily so that it's falling out all over in soft pieces against his neck, sweats double-knotted and still slipping down his hips, wearing the ratty Pyeongchang 2018 T-shirt that Otabek has tried to throw out at least three times. He's wrist-deep in a heap of dough, flour halfway up his arms and smudged across his cheek. His laptop is open on the counter in front of him, facing away from Otabek, and Otabek assumes he has it open on a recipe until his mother's softly-accented Russian comes out from the speakers.
"Don't mix too much or it gets tough. Yes, that's good enough, the same as mine, see?"
"That's it?" Yuri asks, reaching for a towel to cover the bowl.
"That's it," Otabek's mother assures. "Leave it to rise one, maybe two hours, until it reaches the top. If you aren't sure, call back, all right?"
"I'll send a picture when it's done," Yuri promises. Otabek's mother makes an approving noise. And then Yuri adds, "Raxmet, xanim Altin," and the center of Otabek's chest melts into utter goo. He's crossing the room before he knows what he's doing, Yuri just hitting disconnect on the Skype call before Otabek grabs him from behind.
Yuri yelps, then growls when he sees it's just Otabek. "Beka! You gave me a heart attack, dammit!" Otabek cuts off his protests with a long kiss, arms sliding around Yuri's waist to press them close together from chest to knees.
"You're beautiful, zhanym," Otabek murmurs, the kiss migrating to Yuri's cheek, his jaw, his temple. "You're too much."
"Uh, you threatened to burn this entire outfit this morning," Yuri points out. He's standing awkwardly, hands still covered in flour and bits of dough. "It's because you heard me just now, right? If all it takes to get you all hot and bothered is a couple words of Kazakh, leggo and let me wash my hands and I can rock your world, buddy."
That's not exactly the reason, but Otabek laughs and releases Yuri with one more quick kiss, leaning against the counter to watch Yuri wash off. He lets his eyes drag down over the holes stretching up from the hem of Yuri's T-shirt, the waistband of the sweats with the elastic clearly giving out, stopping centimeters above Yuri's bruised ankles and heels sticking out.
"Hm, I know like Meniñ atim Yuriy," Yuri calls over his shoulder. Impatient, Otabek puts his hands back on Yuri's hips, leaning into him from behind and humming low encouragement against the back of Yuri's neck. "And uyge qos keldiñiz and awejayga deyin and tasbaqa."
That makes Otabek pause. "Why do you know the word for turtle?"
Yuri turns in his arms, grabs two fistfuls of his T-shirt with wet hands and kisses Otabek soundly.
"So that you aren't the one who can use stupid pet names." Yuri slips from Otabek's grip and is already through the doorway before Otabek can stop laughing long enough to follow, calling over his shoulder, "Hurry up, meniñ tasbaqa!"
(AN: the Kazakh Yuri knows is thanks Mrs. Altin, my name is Yuri, welcome home, to the airport, and of course, my turtle.)