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There's a reason why Otabek doesn't do talk shows much, and the reason is pretty simple: it's because he's not talkative. He answers questions, he elaborates as much as he can, but still he feels like people were expecting more of him. That's why when his publicist talks to him about an invitation for a talk show episode, Otabek turns it down.
"That's not very good for your image, you know," she tells Otabek. She was a nice lady on her thirties, but she still hadn't sensed that Otabek wasn't going for the international celebrity level she wanted him to become, which defeated the purpose of having a publicist at all.
Otabek shrugs. He's been working for this tv show for the last two seasons and it got quite the attention. Otabek liked the costumes, liked the horse riding most of all, and even enjoyed sword practicing and studying the history behind his character. It was a fictional history, per see, Otabek played a warrior, the commandant of an army facing war and destruction while trying to resist barbarian invasions and political machinations at a fictional kingdom. It was one of the main roles, and his stoic façade brought the seriousness necessary to the role.
"Other artists have accepted the invitation," his publicist continues, standing with her arms crossed beside him while they work on Otabek's makeup before they shoot the next scene. "You wouldn't be the only one there. Just laugh at the host's jokes, be sincere in your answers," she says.
Otabek sighs. Maybe going wouldn't be such a hassle. It would get his publicist satisfied and he could get some more attention, which couldn't hurt if he was planning to audition for the leading role of that new superhero movie.
"Fine," Otabek ends up saying, standing up in his armour. "But it'll be short, right?"
-
Otabek shouldn't have agreed to this. He's in a black suit and feels a bit out of place. The people are very nice to him and the makeup girl has given him her phone number with a wink. Otabek feels his heart racing inside his chest, waiting until the host announces him. He can hear the audience, laughing, clapping their hands and just generally making Otabek aware of their number and enthusiasm.
"Our first guest is a rising star from a tv show. He's been gaining fans with his looks and his work as a certain warrior," the host says suggestively and the audience whoops loudly, "please welcome Otabek Altin!"
Otabek steps out, the band to the side playing a catchy tune to his entrance. There are lights on him and people from the audience yelling as loud as they can. Otabek waves to them and goes to shake hands with the host, Christophe.
Otabek takes a seat at the long couch and the audience settles down, only some shouts of his name echoing every once in a while.
Christophe smiles to the camera and takes his seat behind the desk. "Otabek," he says, "would you like something to drink? We have cognac, whisky," he offers gallantly.
"Uh, sure," Otabek says, accepting the whisky that Christophe hands him in a mug with the talk show's logo on it.
"I think we're all wondering about the season finale of Dark Horse," Christophe begins, "your character is the commandant of an army, am I right? I think we have some pictures here." The screen behind him exhibits some stills of Otabek in his armour, Otabek gritting his teeth while striking an enemy character with his sword, Otabek shirtless washing blood from his chest after a fight, and finally Otabek in a romantic eyelock with the princess.
Otabek takes a sip of his mug while the audience goes crazy. Christophe laughs at his flushed face and Otabek smiles calmly.
"How are you liking the show so far?" Christophe asks.
"It's very good," Otabek comments, "the crew is very attentive and they all work very hard. It's been a great experience."
"Hn," Christophe nods, making a teasing face, "can you tells us a little bit about what happens to your character?"
Otabek laughs. It's not sincere but he's an actor so he can act friendly. "No, sorry. I'm not allowed to talk about that."
"Well," Christophe claps his hands, suddenly losing interest in Otabek to turn to the camera. "Our next guest is also famous for a tv show. Check that out: he's the star of a ballet company and fights for the main role while facing envy and vengeance from his colleagues. Please welcome to the stage Yuri Plisetsky!"
Otabek claps along with the crowd when the curtains draw. A slim figure dressed in black leggings and a tiger tank dress walks in. He goes directly to the host, shaking hands with him before he stands in front of Otabek. They don't know each other, so they only exchange curious glances and a hesitant handshake.
Yuri settles beside Otabek, blowing a kiss to the crowd that is still screaming at his appearance. He smells like wild flowers and expensive cologne and stares at Otabek out of the corner of his eye. Otabek doesn't know if it's a challenging or disgusted gaze but it's not exactly welcome. Yuri must do a good job as a bratty ballet dancer.
Christophe seems enchanted with Yuri's presence, offering a drink that he accepts. Yuri settles his mug beside Otabek's on the coffee table and soon enough Christophe starts directing him questions.
"How has this season been for you, Yuri?"
"It's been good, thanks," Yuri says, foot bobbing where he has his legs crossed. He's wearing high-heels.
Otabek doesn't know what to make of him, and avoids staring, which is difficult. Yuri is, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Slightly freckled, milky white skin and slim legs. He has the fiercest green eyes Otabek has ever seen, pale eyelashes and small features. He puts lots of girls to shame.
As with Otabek, Christophe presents stills of Yuri on the screen behind him. In all of them Yuri is wearing long sleeved leotards in a dance studio, next to a barre in one, doing a perfect split and pirouettes. Except, of course, for the last one that shows Yuri semi-naked, draped over one of his male co-stars in a clearly sexual scene. Otabek flushes and averts his eyes, but Yuri seems unfazed.
"You can show that but I'm not allowed to swear in this show?" He asks, and the audience laughs out loud. The host slaps his desk and bends over in laughter.
"You're right, of course," Christophe says to Yuri, "why censor this show if it's so late at night?" He asks broadly, and the audience roars in agreement. Christophe laughs some more, "Yuri," he says, and Yuri turns to him, "I must say, you look fabulous!"
The crowd claps in agreement, whistling. Yuri grins knowingly, flicking a lock of hair away from his face. "Thanks." Yuri oozes sexual appeal and Otabek feels self-conscious.
"Now, Yuri," Christophe continues, leaning over the desk, "do you use a stunt for the most complex ballet moves or-"
"No, that's all me, including the sex scenes," Yuri reports proudly to the thundering excitement of the crowd, "I study ballet since I was young, that's why I can do that," he points at the screen where the picture of him doing a split is frozen in place. The audience claps their hands in delight at that. Otabek is impressed. "But I still have to practice a lot to get to a professional level that convinces anyone."
"Otabek," Christophe suddenly turns to him with a shit-eating grin, "what about you? You look great on those horse riding scenes."
Otabek smiles, "That's all me too. I learned something of horse riding when younger though the sword practicing was new."
Christophe gasps dramatically. "Don't you use stunts for your fighting scenes?"
Otabek shakes his head. "No, and I have the scars to prove it."
Christophe fans himself with the talk show's program. "That's so hot!"
Otabek flushes, taking another sip of his drink.
"It really is," Yuri emboldens, turning to appraise him. Otabek can't help meeting his eye and grinning at him. Oh, come on, at the end of the day he's just like any other man.
Christophe chuckles, giving both of them an interesting eyeful. "Have the two of you ever met before?"
They both shake their heads, but it's Yuri that says no. "Oh, interesting!" Christophe claps his hands together. "Well, Yuri, if you're interested, Otabek is single," Christophe says mischievously.
"I am," Yuri shrugs one shoulder, giving Otabek a devious grin over his shoulder. The audience whoops suggestively. Otabek gaps, not quite believing his ears, and Yuri breaks out laughing, supporting a hand on Otabek's knee. "Sorry," he says, and Otabek really doesn't know if he's lying or not. What the hell?
Christophe looks like Christmas has come earlier. "Anyway, just so you know, I'm a fan of both of you guys' work, I think your characters are very captivating and deep. But, how do you feel towards them? Because I talk to lots of artists too and though there are some that always take their characters' side, there are those who agree that they are straight out bastards. Do you think your characters are straight out bastards?"
Yuri glances briefly at Otabek before speaking first. "Yes, at first. My character, Matvei, he was very," he rolls his eyes, "very boring." The audience laments, and Yuri switches his gaze to them, "Yeah, oops, it's true, sorry. But with time I got used to him. He was innocent in the beginning but then some shit happened and now he's giving as good as gets."
Christophe smiles, "what do you think made him change like that? From an innocent dancer to a wiser one?"
"At the end of the first season, of course," Yuri responds without batting an eye, "when they put glass shards inside his pointe shoes."
Christophe shrieks, holding the program close to his chest. "That scene was so awesome! He had to perform with bleeding feet."
Yuri makes a face. "Yeah, that was difficult to shoot," he says, and then looks at Otabek, who has somehow lost himself in his appreciation of Yuri's face and the way he talks.
Otabek realizes they're waiting for his answer, but he can't for the life of him remember what he was supposed to be talking about. "Sorry, what was the question?"
Yuri's grin widens knowingly, the crowd laughing uncontrollably. Christophe gives a short laugh, "I was asking how you towards your character-"
"Oh, yes," Otabek makes an effort to unglue his eyes from Yuri, turning to Christophe instead. "I really do relate to my character. He tries to keep his kingdom out of harm's way, tries to spare the lives of his men as best as he can," as he talks the screen behind Christophe plays short scenes of Otabek in his character, during battle and in court, dancing with the princess and riding a dark stallion down the rocks. "He's very loyal and very strong-"
"I can see that," Yuri pipes in beside him, watching the screen where the scene of Otabek killing several enemies is playing. The audience snickers.
Otabek gives a small chuckle and finalizes, "And, anyway, he tries to always stay true to himself and I think that is admirable."
Christophe nods. "Now, I was thinking," he glances mischievously at the camera, poising a thoughtful finger on his chin, "since both of you said you don't use stunts for filming, could you show us your abilities live?" He prompts and the audience loves the idea, clapping and shouting. "What do you say?" He repeats, raising an eyebrow at them.
"Okay," Otabek says, and Yuri nods.
"Great, so," Christophe stands up from his chair to the audience's increasing agitation, "our production is getting us a pair of swords, Otabek," some people in black attire quickly step onto the stage to hand Christophe two swords made of plastic, "for safety," he clarifies, tapping the material, "these are made of plastic but I really don't doubt you can hurt me," he warns, "so, fight me." He throws one sword to Otabek, coming to a feeble fighting stance in front of the coffee table.
Otabek can't believe he's being made to do this, but the cameras shift to include him in the shot and Otabek grabs the spare sword, getting to his feet to stand in front of Christophe.
"Hold on," Otabek says, taking his jacket off not to hinder his movements. Yuri offers to hold it for him and Otabek accepts, getting into proper position and ignoring the whistles and cat calls from the crowd. The sword is light on his hands though, and he has to swipe it side to side to get used to its weight, tightening his hands around the hilt.
"Okay," he says, and Christophe charges at him at once. It's over pretty quickly, since all Otabek has to do is block the attack and imprint enough force so Christophe's hold will slacken. He then just twirls the tip of his plastic sword towards the hilt to disarm him. The plastic sword barely makes a noise when it drops to the carpeted flooring but Christophe screeches in excitement.
"He's real, ladies and gentlemen," Christophe proudly announces, lifting Otabek's hand like a boxing winner, "Otabek Altin."
Otabek smiles, handing him the plastic sword back and throwing a leg over the coffee table to get back to the couch. Yuri is eyeing him hungrily, and while Otabek takes his seat Yuri drapes his jacket over Otabek's shoulders to the teasing of the audience. "Nice match," he murmurs.
"Thanks," Otabek smirks.
"Now, Yuri, it's your turn," Christophe says, having retaken his seat.
Yuri sighs, toeing off his shoes to stand barefoot before the audience. He does some basic warming up and turns to Otabek. "What do you want to see?"
"Whatever you want, baby," Otabek says, only realizing what he'd truly said when the audience screams. He flushes, but Yuri smiles broadly.
Yuri does a split mid-air, and it's perfect. The audience gives him a standing ovation and Christophe jumps from his chair to clap his hands. Yuri laughs and drops to the couch next to Otabek.
"This is it, guys! Thank you so much for watching. You can't miss Yuri Plisetsky as a ballet dancer and Otabek Altin as a warrior in shining armour! Have a good night!" Christophe says to the camera, the band playing a catchy tune while the cameras shift.
The light from the reflectors dim and Christophe claps their backs while they go backstage. "Nice job, boys," he says, and squeezes their asses.
"Fuck," Yuri says, slapping him on the arm. Christophe laughs and saunters off.
Yuri glances at Otabek while Christophe's assistants help unplug their microphones from them. "Hey," Yuri says, tilting his chin Otabek's way, "you doing anything now?"
Otabek smirks, "No. You?"
Yuri shakes his head, flicking a lock of hair from his face. "No," and then, without any hesitation, "my place or yours?"