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“Äke?” Maxim bumped him awake, strong, little fists into his side. “Ääääääke. Wake up.”
Otabek sighed and tried to shake himself awake enough to actually look at his son. He wanted nothing more than to continue sleeping. “‘m awake. I’m awake … What is it?” And why was Maxim waking him, not Yuri?
“There’s a monster under my bed.” No, there wasn’t. Otabek was positive there was only a bunch of old socks, maybe some books, or a ball of dust and hair. But in the middle of the night, things sometimes looked scary. So he stood without protest and lifted his son to carry the child back to the bedroom. “You have to check it!”
“I will.” The words more or less dissipated into a yawn. He tucked Maxim into bed, heavy blanket curled tight around the child’s body to keep the cold out. And the monsters, as he would be reminded when one of Maxim’s tiny feet wasn’t properly wrapped.
Once the little angel was secured, Otabek crouched next to the bed and looked under the wooden construction. It was completely irrational, of course, but for a moment, he wondered if something would look back. Obviously, there was nothing. He knew that. Obviously.
“You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”
But from behind him, another tiny voice piped up. “Äke?” Goddamnit.
“You, too. Sleep. There’s no monster.” Just to make sure, he checked the bed of his daughter, too. “I need to get some sleep if you want me to function tomorrow, and so does papa. So please, have mercy on us.”
And for a while, they did. Just when Otabek thought they’d given up and decided to sleep, though, tiny feet tipple-tapped over hardwood and into the bedroom. Good thing they stopped sleeping naked when the kids arrived. Four feet, two sets of small legs attached, and no bodies visible—because they were already buried under the heavy blanket covering Yuri and him.
“We can’t sleep.”
“I can see that. Neither can I.”
“Then you can tell us a story!”
“Or you can go back to bed.” Two heads poked out of the blanket, framing him. Otabek tousled the already disastrous hair. He’d have to brush it out in the morning, anyway.
“Only with a story.”
He rolled his eyes. “Quiet or you’ll wake papa.”
“Then you have to tell us a quiet story.”
Kids were a blessing and a curse, and no one would be able to tell him otherwise. But Otabek prided himself on being a good father, and an indulgent one at that, so he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Do you want to hear how I asked your father to marry me?”
Of course they wanted to.
Yuri crashed through the front door, the offending chunk of wood and steel smashing against the stopper and rebounding. When already inside, Yuri liked doors. Love them, even. Slamming them in people's faces filled him with burning satisfaction—especially if that person's name started with 'V' and ended in 'iktor'. But right now, as Yuri pushed the door away for a second time while wrestling his boots off with his other hand, the damn thing was out to get him.
Obviously.
One dripping boot in a tight grip, Yuri turned and kicked his nemesis closed before fumbling with the other. He managed to yank it off when firm hands clamped around his shoulders. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.” Yuri feigned ignorance to Otabek's blatant attempt to steady him. He was a skater. A gold-medalist, at that. His balance was fine. He knew it, his boyfriend knew it, the whole fucking world did, too. But like hell Yuri would give Otabek a reason to stop touching him. Boots dropped onto the mat, Yuri straightened up, only to flop into the other man's embrace, his upper body congealing into dead weight. “Mmph.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Mmpher-agiphm.”
“Hm?”
Yuri lifted his head and groaned, “Never again!”
“You say that every time.”
“I mean it this time!”
“Mhmm. Sure you do.” Otabek kissed Yuri's forehead and guided him to the little table in the corner of their kitchen. They had a proper dining room, too, but they didn't use it often. Generally only when Nikolai or Otabek's family visited. Besides, it wasn't the appropriate place to blob; varnished pink ivory deserved better. “What did Viktor do this time?”
God, Yuri loved that man. Otabek knew. He knew the right questions to ask. Katsuki was never really the problem when they went shopping. It was always Viktor. Saccharine-coated criticisms about everything Yuri touched, accompanied by a blinding smile. But if Yuri dared question the old man's tastes? Then the comments turned sour and near-venomous, despite the ever-present Cheshire grin.
Yuri dropped onto one of the chairs and folded forward, his arms crossed to cushion his head. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“Oka—"
“The fucking nerve, though!” Yuri's head shot back up, and he slammed his fist against the table. “He has the audacity to call me tasteless? Says the man with fucking gold-plated blades! You should have seen the shit he wanted to buy! And Katsudon didn't say a fucking word! He just shrugged and laughed. He's an enabler! He doesn't even—”
Otabek kissed him. Yuri blinked. Then Otabek kissed him again, but this time slower, deeper. Three seconds. That's all it took for Yuri to melt, his tight muscles uncoiling. Yes, his boyfriend always knew the right way to handle things. Yuri sighed and curled his arms around the back of Otabek's neck, locking him in place for as long as possible.
When their lips parted, Otabek smiled. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“For food?”
“That too.” A playful huff, then Otabek slipped from Yuri's cage and moved to the counter. The counter that was littered with chopped vegetables and cubed meat. Yuri glanced at the stove; a pan sat on the grate, blue flames licking the bottom. How had he missed all that? “So, other than being the best boyfriend in the world, what else were you up to while I was losing brain cells?”
Otabek moved the cutting board to the stove and used a knife to slide the vegetables into the pan. Sizzling flooded the room until he stirred the contents around a little. “I went out for a bit.”
“... You did?”
“Mhmm.”
Yuri's gaze followed Otabek as he turned to grab the bowl of meat. “I thought you were staying in today?” If he’d known Otabek would go out, Yuri would have gone with him instead. Or convinced him to come along for the shopping nightmare.
“I was. And I did.” The meat hit the pan, the sizzling intensifying again until the ingredients settled. “But I needed to pop by Irina's place.”
Yuri blinked “Irina … Lebedev?”
“Mhmm.”
“The cat breeder?”
“The one and only.”
What? Why? Yuri frowned. “Is something wrong with Potya?”
Otabek paused tending to the food to give him a soft smile. Yuri loved that smile because it was only ever for him. Sure, it had been caught on camera a few times, either by Yuri himself or fans or paparazzi who happened to be at the right place at the right time, but the evidence of those little smiles wouldn't exist without Yuri in the equation.
It didn't even take the last four years to figure that out. Otabek Altin had been nothing but stoic until that moment in Barcelona when Yuri's entire life had been rocked by a few simple words and a firm handshake.
“No. Potya is fine. And if she weren’t, I'd take her to the vet instead.”
Right. Yeah. Of course he would. Because Otabek was an amazing cat-dad. He’d taken to his purr-ental duties without even being asked to. Hell, Yuri was positive Potya preferred Otabek, if the angry bite marks and scratches gracing his pale skin from time to time were any proof.
But ...
Yuri managed to contain his curiosity just long enough for his boyfriend to safely finish cooking. But once the stove was turned off and the food was set aside, portioned and cooling, “Then why?”
Glimmering eyes accompanied that beloved smile, and Yuia's stomach fluttered. Very few things in the world made Otabek happy enough for the joy to spill into his gaze. His youngest sister, Medina, Yuri himself, and—
“Oh.”
Otabek's smile widened. “Oh, indeed.”
Forget fluttering, now Yuri's gut was doing flips in time with the steady thumping of his heart. Yuri was loud and proud and did as he pleased, including buying whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, providing he could afford it. Except apparently when Viktor was involved. But unlike the old man, Otabek didn't try to put out Yuri's fire. Instead, he tried to keep ahead of the path Yuri blazed. Not to cut off the flames but to welcome them, to feed and fan them.
Finding ways to surprise Yuri had become something Otabek took pride in. And there was only one kind of surprise that could come from visiting a breeder.
Holy shit ...
“Beka.” A breathless whisper.
Holy shit.
“Yura.” Otabek held out his hands.
Holy shit!
Leaping out of his seat, Yuri tackled him, throwing Otabek back against the fridge. But other than a soft 'oof' and a chuckle, his boyfriend didn't seem phased. “Show me, show me, show me!”
“I don't know. I just cooked dinner, and you said you're hung—”
“Otabek Altin, if you don't show me that kitten right the fuck now, you're sleeping on the couch.”
A much deeper laugh this time, then Otabek eased out of his grasp, only to take Yuri's hand instead and guide him out of the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom. The door was closed, just another little detail Yuri hadn't picked up on when he'd stormed into the apartment. Fuck's sake, how long had Otabek been planning to keep this a secret? How dare he bring a baby home and not fill Yuri's arms with the little thing the second he got in!
But all was forgiven the moment the door creaked open and Yuri lay eyes on their new family member. There, on the bed, was a little fireball of orange and white. He could barely make out the kitten's eyes through the floof.
It was maybe, sort of possible that Yuri might have squealed just a little.
“Oh my God. Beka!” Hands pressed over his face like a mask, Yuri trembled with excitement desperate to burst forth, but he didn't want to frighten the sweet thing.
Still smiling, Otabek moved to the bed and gently scooped the kitten up. “Come meet her.”
Her.
Yuri shifted as slowly as he could physically restrain himself to as he slipped onto the mattress. The grin plastered across his face burned, but how could he not smile? When he held out his hands, Otabek eased her into Yuri's palms, and damn it, now his eyes stung, too.
“What's her name?”
“Well … I was going to name her Jaguar Lion Viper—”
“Fuck. You.”
Otabek laughed and shook his head before shuffling closer. And despite the glare he just shot Otabek, Yuri allowed his boyfriend's arms to coil around his waist, but only because of the precious thing in his hands. Obviously. “Her name is Lona.”
“Hello, Lona.” Yuri's smile returned as he brought their new baby closer, pressing her against his cheek. She was so soft and fluffy, her fur was barely more than whispered along his skin. “Oh my God, she's perfect, Beka.”
“Mhmm.”
“But what about Potya?”
“What about Potya?”
Yuri froze, then blinked. “Please tell me you know you can't just … bring a new cat into the house, into her environment, on a whim.”
“Oh, yes. I know. It's alright. She and Potya have already become acquainted.”
“Oh … Today?”
“Last week.”
“What?”
Otabek kissed Yuri's cheek and started stroking his fingers along Lona's back. Seemingly content, the kitten tried to press even tighter against Yuri's palms and started purring. “When you were out with Viktor and Yuri on Tuesday, I took her over to Irina's place so they could meet. Potya was more weary about Lona than she was of Potya. It was cute.”
Holy shit. That really hadn't been on a whim. Granted, Yuri shouldn't have been surprised after the effort his boyfriend put into planning Barcelona four years ago, which he only found out about last year when Katsuki, of all people, let it slip. Otabek was a very thoughtful man, and not even just in a kindness and emotional sense. He tended to operate his whole life like he did his carefully orchestrated routines; with a lot of planning.
And with Yuri as his partner, the powerhouse of spontaneity that he was, it was a wonder Otabek managed to keep any of his ideas to begin with. But somehow, he managed.
Clearly.
“You better have that shit on camera.”
“Don't worry. I do.”
Of course he did. Because Otabek knew. With a beaming smile, Yuri returned to nuzzling the kitten. “So, Lona, huh? I've never heard that name before.”
“Technically, on its own, it's Hungarian. It means 'light'.”
Yuri raised a brow. “Technically?”
“Mhmm.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, her name isn't Lona on its own.”
“... it's not?”
“No.” When all Yuri did was inch his brow even higher, silently demanding an explanation, Otabek chuckled. “It's her nickname. I couldn't give her just any name. It had to be important. Meaningful. Something that held significance to us both.”
“Beka, I swear to God—”
“Barcelona.”
For a moment, Yuri just stared. His brain shut down, his body tingled, his ears buzzed despite the silence filling the room. Then the flood of emotions washed in, a tidal wave so full and heavy, he was drowning in it. His eyes burned and his bottom lip trembled, but for fuck sake, he was really trying to hold it together. Because he didn't want to startle the kitten.
Obviously.
Lona.
Barcelona!
“I hate you.” But that didn't deter Otabek. It never did. His boyfriend kept smiling. And waiting. Fuck him. “Why?! Why would you do that?! You can't … Fuck, Beka! That's the kind of shit Viktor and Katsudon would pull!” Except it wasn't. It was the kind of shit Otabek Altin pulled. Just the same as his romantic rescue on the back of a motorcycle. Just the same as pouring his heart out while they bathed in the setting sun. That man was an absolute sap at heart, deep under all the leather and badass music and stoic expressions. “Why?!”
“Look at her collar.”
Both numb and on fire simultaneously, Yuri gazed at the little fireball in his palms. He didn't even realize she had a collar. He couldn't see it through the wild floof coating her body. With shaky hands, Yuri held the kitten up, hooked under her front legs, and pushed the fur around her neck aside. And there, attached to a pink leopard print collar in place of a bell, was a ring.
Hot tears were already streaming down his face when he set Lona aside and tossed himself into Otabek's arms. “I hate you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Fuck you.”
“Nikolai knows.”
“You're disgusting.”
“He gave his blessing.”
“Go to hell.”
“That's a 'yes', right?”
Yuri kissed him. It wasn't deep because his lips were trembling too much. It wasn't romantic because he was a river of snot and tears. And it wasn't long because he could barely breathe. But it was perfect, nonetheless.
For a while, they just sat there, Yuri curled up on Otabek's lap, his face buried in the latter's shirt, while Otabek rubbed Yuri's back and kissed the top of his head. He didn't demand Yuri look at him or answer. He never did. Because Otabek always knew what he needed … and what he didn't. And when Yuri was finally calm enough to resurface, to face reality, he sat up on his own and swiped the remaining moisture from his face.
He was probably a blotchy mess, but Otabek didn't say a word about it.
“So,” he said instead, that soft smile still in play, “ is that a 'yes'?”
“Like you have to ask, asshole. I'm never leaving this house again without that fucking ring on my finger.”
And there it was again; the sparkle in Otabek's eyes. At least, for a moment. Then he glanced around the room and frowned. “Ah ...”
“What?”
“Where did Lona go?”
Shit. They left the bedroom door open. And their food on the counter. Yuri groaned. “Please tell me she isn't skittish.”
“No, but … she's … very playful.”
“So if we try to get her away from the food?”
“She'll probably turn it into a game of chase.”
Fucking fantastic. The little fireball was also a little shit. Yuri got off the bed and said over his shoulder, “Well, hurry up! If you don't get my damn ring off her fucking collar, you're sleeping on the couch.”