Work Text:
The sun must be blinding, Otabek thinks.
Yuri— as always— looks stunning, draped across a white sheet, surrounded by long green grass. His blond hair is spread in a halo around him; of course, he looks like an angel. If Yuri hadn’t done his makeup, touched his fingers to Otabek’s eyelashes with all the gentleness of a fairy, Otabek wouldn’t believe that Yuri Plisetsky was real.
But he is, flesh and bone and ethereal beauty, shimmering in the oppressive LA sunlight, modeling for a photographer who offered an exorbitant amount of money in order to shoot Yuri for an independent project. Otabek had tagged along because, well, he wanted to support Yuri. And they had dinner plans after. So.
He feels a little silly, standing around with the barebones crew of the photographer, director, and stylist, a bouquet of flowers wilting in his car, but honestly? Otabek would give anything to watch Yuri work, even if he feels awkward.
So when Yuri texted him about a small shoot in a quiet neighborhood in LA that he’d never been to before, Otabek offered to drive him there, as well as buy him dinner after.
Yuri would have been fine without him, Otabek knows. But it’s nice to have a friend on set, especially in a new place with new directors and photographers you don’t know. Otabek was there for moral support, more than anything.
Yuri props himself up on his elbows as the photographer squats down to show him some of the shots, and he glances at Otabek, quickly rolling his eyes when the photographer isn’t looking. Otabek stifles a laugh.
Things between him and Yuri have been good. Better than good, actually; ever since the shoot, he and Yuri have been getting to know each other. Yuri has a pretty packed schedule during his six months in LA, but between his modeling gigs and make-up work, Otabek shows him around the city. He hasn’t lived in LA for too long, but since it’s Yuri’s first time in America, Otabek pulls out all the stops.
Otabek brings him to the trendiest boba and milkshake bars, gives him a terrible tour of the Walk of Fame, and they even take selfies on top of the Hollywood sign. It’s the most fun Otabek can ever remember having, and a month goes by before he can blink.
He loves showing Yuri around his new city, sitting on rooftops as the sun goes down, stopping to watch street performers in the middle of a commute, and eating in every trend-worthy restaurant that has ever been featured in a Buzzfeed Article— the typical tourist attractions, but Yuri eats them up.
And the best part is, he hasn’t lost interest in Otabek yet. Otabek is thankful he lives in such a big city, because he knows he’ll have enough plans to entertain Yuri during his entire stay. He loves hanging out with Yuri, but he’s also hit with a twinge of sadness every time he thinks about how short their time is together, and how futile his efforts will be in the end.
Otabek knows that he is only a passing trend, a blip in Yuri’s exciting and adventurous life, here for six months, only to fade into oblivion the minute Yuri leaves. Otabek could never keep Yuri’s attention by himself. He’s too dynamic, eccentric, electric, to be captivated by someone like Otabek.
Most of the time, he is content to watch Yuri from a distance, laughing and snapping selfies, but sometimes, he wants more.
So maybe it’s a little extra to bring flowers to Yuri’s shoot, or to hover around the set as he poses for picture after picture, but Otabek doesn’t care. He has five months left with Yuri Plisetsky, and he wants to be there for every moment.
When the shoot ends, Yuri skips over to Otabek, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear shyly as he thanks him for the flowers.
“It was nothing,” Otabek says. “You look great out there.” He means it.
Yuri smiles back a thanks, because he knows Otabek is being sincere, in a way that’s different than the compliments he gets on set or on the street.
“Where are we going tonight?” Yuri asks, admiring his flowers.
“I was going to leave that choice up to you.”
“Hm,” Yuri thinks for a moment, his eyes growing distant. “How about… I know. I want to see your favorite place in the city.”
That catches Otabek off guard a little bit. His favorite place in the city… well, an obvious answer comes to mind, but he can’t seem to picture Yuri there too. It’s a place that’s special to him, but will Yuri like it?
“I mean, I have a place in mind, but—“
“Perfect!” Yuri cuts him off. “I need to go back to my apartment and grab some things, but then we can go.”
Otabek bites his lip. “Are you sure? It’s not very fancy. Or even that exciting for that matter.”
Yuri puts a comforting hand on Otabek’s arm, and Otabek’s breath catches at the gentle gesture.
“You’ve taken me plenty of exciting places,” Yuri says. “Now I want to see this part of you.”
“I’ve never brought anyone there before,” Otabek says, still hesitant.
“Even better, then,” Yuri replies, ever confident, ever charming. “I can be the first.”
He walks away. Otabek is still a bit apprehensive, but if Yuri is excited, he can be too.
Besides, there is something magical about bringing Yuri to his favorite spot in the city. Maybe Yuri will be the first person Otabek brings there, but— foolishly— Otabek hopes he will be the only one.
—
The place Otabek brings Yuri to is an old dive bar, outside of Los Angeles proper by a few miles. It’s right at the end of the bus line and Otabek found it by accident after falling asleep on the bus, missing his stop, and trying to find the closest phone to call a ride home. Instead, he found La Iglesia Bar, a sanctuary in the cold desert night.
He’s nervous about bringing Yuri here— has been all day. It’s not like the other cool, chique places that LA boasts, full of photo-ops and trendy foods. It’s old, run down, usually full of locals and old musicians, people that traveled out to LA to make it big and never quite got their shot.
On Tuesday and Thursday nights, there is live music. The bartender knows everyone’s name, and sometimes, if it’s extra festive, there will even be dancing.
It’s very Western, Otabek knows that, but not in the cool, flirtatious LA way, but the old way, the dusty, dry, sepia-toned way, like an old Cowboy film.
Yuri meets Otabek at the bus stop, wearing platform white boots and a metallic silver jacket. They board the bus and watch the city go by, the riders slowly filtering off of the bus until he and Yuri are the only ones left.
The more time goes by, the more excited Yuri gets. Otabek had told him it was going to be a secret, only a little bit afraid that the idea of a dive bar would turn Yuri away. But Yuri wants to see the place that Otabek held close to his heart— Otabek has to remind himself of that. And he almost can’t believe it, that someone like Yuri would be interested in someone like him.
The driver announces the last stop, and Yuri follows Otabek off of the bus. The neighborhood is smaller than the ones in the city proper, with more space around the houses, more room to breathe. Right next to the bus stop is the old bar.
“Here we are,” Otabek says, a little nervously. The bar has old swinging doors, like a saloon. There is jukebox music filtering through the open windows.
“So cool!” Yuri smiles. “What is this place?”
“It’s an old bar. I kind of stumbled upon it, but they have really nice live music sometimes,” Otabek explains.
Yuri’s eyes are shining. “It looks very American. Like an old Western movie.”
Funny, Otabek was thinking the same thing. “Want to get a drink?” he asks, and the two of them walk in together.
On their way to the bar, a few of the patrons call out to Otabek or wave hello. He’s a little shy from the attention, but it does make him feel cool in front of Yuri. They sit down at the bar.
“Hey, Beka, how’s it going?” The bartender asks, a burly man with Fabio-esque hair named Celestino. “Haven't seen you in a while.”
Otabek grins sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve been busy,” he says. “And by the way, this is my friend, Yuri. He’s new in town.”
Celestino extends his hand. “Nice to meet ya. Welcome to the City of Angels! Did you know our friend Otabek over here is somewhat of a celebrity? He’s a model, and he’s got all sorts of print ads out there. I saw him on a billboard myself, once!”
Yuri chuckles as Otabek blushes fiercely. “Oh, uh, Yuri models too. That’s how we met, actually.”
Celestino raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, now, looks like we have two celebrities in our midst! Say, what can I get you boys to drink?”
Otabek looks expectantly at Yuri, who orders a whiskey sour. Otabek gets a scotch.
“I don’t know how you can stand the taste of that stuff,” Yuri teases. “It’s just so… bitter.”
Otabek shrugs. “It grows on you,” he says, and then motions Yuri closer to say something quieter. “Plus, you can’t exactly order a Shirley Temple in a place like this.”
Yuri gives him a knowing wink.
It’s Tuesday, so by the time they finish their first drinks, a band is taking the stage. It’s little more than a small corner of the bar that happens to have the most outlets, but none of the patrons really mind. The tables are cleared out in front of the band to create a makeshift dance floor. By the end of the first song, there are already a few people up and about swaying to the music.
“I like this place, a lot,” Yuri muses. “It’s not like the others you’ve shown me. It feels very… real. A lot of LA is kind of fake.”
Otabek scratches the back of his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Yeah, I um… I didn’t really know if you’d like it here.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might think it’s a little… boring,” Otabek says.
“You were wrong,” Yuri says bluntly, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “What do you like about this place?”
Otabek looks around at the old paintings, the low, yellow lighting, the gentle hum of conversation under the music. “I like the way it makes me feel. Like I belong here, no matter what, no matter who I am. It’s a sanctuary, kind of.”
Yuri nods thoughtfully. Otabek feels the need to add, “I was worried you wouldn’t like it because it’s less… exciting than you’re used to. I was worried it wouldn’t be fun for you.”
Yuri looks at Otabek like he’s stupid, and he says as much. “Anywhere that you take me is fun, because I get to be with you.”
That shuts Otabek up.
After their third drinks, Yuri starts to look tipsy and he insists that the two of them go dance. There are cheers when Yuri enters the dance floor, his holographic jacket glinting in the dim light. His long earrings, longer nails— each are details Otabek wants to hold onto forever. Yuri dances with his drink in one hand and Otabek’s in the other, making Otabek try out all of the swing dance moves he’d had heard so much about. The dancing is out of place and style, but Otabek has the time of his life.
They stay until last call, and on the bus ride home, Yuri falls asleep on Otabek’s shoulder.
—
The next morning, Otabek gets a text from Yuri. His agent, Yuri says, will be contacting Otabek’s shortly about a potential shoot they could work on together. Apparently, the director asked Yuri for recommendations, and he had suggested Otabek. Otabek doesn’t want to read in to that too far, so instead he chalks it up to being Yuri’s only friend in the city. He does think about it, though.
It isn’t until he meets with the agent that he discovers what the shoot really is— an underwear ad, inspired by the sultry and presumptuous Calvin Klein campaigns. Otabek’s done things like this before (let’s face it, sex sells), but the idea of being almost nude, baring it all for the camera and Yuri to see? His face flushes warmly as his agent shows pictures for the concepts. It’s mostly semi-nude men and women, pressed against each other lewdly, skin on skin, staring into each other with sumptuous eyes.
How do these models not pop a boner? Otabek is sweating just imagining him and Yuri in those positions. It’s probably easier for them, he reasons, because they do not have feelings for their coworkers.
While Otabek is a ball of anxious energy in the time leading up to the shoot, when the actual day comes around, Otabek finds himself relatively calm. Or, calmer than he was, at least— there is always anxiety when it comes to being around Yuri, simply because of how stunningly cool and unattainable he is.
Arriving at the shoot, Otabek’s nerves are both calmed and frayed at the sight of Yuri, who is wearing a flowing white top and looking the picture of perfection (but then again, when doesn’t he). With a brief hello, they both change into their outfits for the shoot. Well, to call them outfits would be generous, they are really just a tight-fitting pair of boxer briefs for Otabek, and actual tighty-whities for Yuri. Luckily they are given robes as well, so they can comfortably laugh about it while they are getting their makeup done in chairs next to each other.
“I wish I could do your makeup,” Yuri says, offhandedly. The makeup tech looks a little offended.
“I wish you were doing mine too,” Otabek says, and this time, the artist scoffs. But Otabek doesn’t care; he likes the way Yuri is studying his face.
“Maybe I could come over some time,” Yuri muses aloud. “Practice some makeup looks?”
Otabek swallows thickly. He’d love nothing more, but he has to play it cool, not to seem too desperate. “Uh, yeah! I think I’d, um, be free some time,” he manages, but by the time he’s fumbled out his words, Yuri is turned back to his own mirror and he seems to be watching his makeup application. Hopefully he heard some of that, but Otabek feels like he screwed up the moment.
And then, it’s time to start shooting. First Yuri, then Otabek, then the two of them together. The director is energetic and over-the-top, and he shouts things at them like, “Get closer!” and “Give me more!” and “Passion, passion, passion!” Otabek is kind of glad for the distraction, to be honest. It helps keep him professional, and keeps his mind from drifting.
Drifting to Yuri’s legs, his thighs, the way he looks in this light, tight angles and tantalizing lines. Otabek isn’t even sure what they’re selling at this point, other than Yuri’s sex appeal.
For the “together” part, it’s a lot like the other shoot they did, just… more. More touching, more glancing, more “Yuri’s fingers on literally every muscle of Otabek’s shoulders.” Yuri straddles his lap, Otabek looks over Yuri’s shoulder and into the camera with a look that could kill. The shoot is more directed, and the poses are held for minutes on end, sometimes, Yuri’s hands idly drifting up and down Otabek’s legs.
The breaks are a godsend, for more reasons than one. It’s a chance to stretch their limbs, to get away from each other, a breath of air to remind Otabek, once again, that this is just a shoot. Nothing more.
But each time they break, Otabek notices... more. Does Yuri’s hand linger on his leg longer than necessary, or is he making that up?
And is it just Otabek, or are those bedroom eyes, heavy-lidded and intoxicating, not just reserved for the cameras?
Perhaps Yuri is just really good at his job, but Otabek can’t be sure, especially when Yuri winks at him before pressing their bodies together and wrapping his arms around Otabek’s back, palms splayed, fingers gripping his skin.
When the shoot wraps up, and Yuri and Otabek have donned their robes again and are semi-decent, they both thank the director and go back to their dressing rooms to get changed. Otabek has just finished tucking in his shirt when he hears his name being called from one room over.
“Yuri? Is that you?” he calls back. He opens the door into the hallway, just as Yuri pokes his head through the opposite door.
“Hi! Yes, can you help me?” Yuri asks. He motions Otabek into his dressing room, and Otabek follows into the small space. The air seems to be thin, and Otabek’s breath is coming in shorter. He blames it on Yuri’s general presence.
Yuri turns around, his back towards Otabek, and pulls his hair out of the way. “Do you mind zipping me up?”
The flowy white blouse Otabek had been admiring earlier has a silver zipper halfway up the back, one that Otabek can easily slide his fingers over and pull up, tooth by tooth, until it reaches the soft skin of Yuri’s neck. He tries not to let his fingers wander, but if his hand drifts still over the dip in Yuri’s shoulder, is anyone the wiser?
The space contracts even further still, and Otabek is struck by the intimacy of the moment. He and Yuri have been close before— they were practically dry-humping each other back at the shoot— but this seems affectionate, warm, and more than anything: real.
Yuri mumbles a thanks and turns around, back to face Otabek. Their eyes lock for a moment before Otabek breaks away, suddenly aware of his own vulnerability.
“Otabek…” comes Yuri’s voice, barely a whisper, drawing Otabek’s eyes back towards Yuri’s face, and then, even further, to his lips. They are flushed and parted, like they’re begging to be kissed.
And Otabek realizes how much he wants to kiss Yuri. He knows this deep in his soul, in every bone in his body. Like two cosmic bodies pulled together by gravity, Otabek knows this with utter certainty: he and Yuri are meant to be together.
Something like gravity pulls them together, and Otabek and Yuri share their first kiss.
It’s Yuri who breaks away first, breathless and smiling wildly, looking more alive than Otabek has ever seen him (and Yuri is quite possibly the most alive person he’s ever met in his life). His eyes are shining, one hand wrapped around the back of Otabek’s neck, fingers twisting idly through the short hairs of his undercut.
“Let’s get out of here,” Yuri whispers.
Otabek’s head is spinning and he’s pretty sure he’s grinning like an idiot. “Ok,” he says. “Where?”
“Does your offer still stand?” Yuri asks. “Can I do your makeup?”
It takes Otabek a second to rewind, to remember their earlier conversation and delight in the fact that Yuri heard what he had said. “Yes,” Otabek says, breathlessly. “Yes, absolutely.”
Yuri pulls him in for another kiss, this one just as electrifying. Otabek has to blink himself back to reality in time to see Yuri leaving the dressing room.
“Oh, now?” he asks, stunned in his tracks.
Yuri laughs, a bright and lovely sound. “Yes, now,” he teases, then holds out his hand. “So are you coming or not?”
Otabek has never been more sure about anything in his life, or the outstretched hand that’s attached to it.
“Yeah. Coming.”