Chapter Text
“You’re joking,” Yuri says point blank as Phichit enters the stables.
“I assure you, I’m not. Sorry bud.” Phichit is fully out of breath from chasing the young royal halfway across the grounds.
“Phichit, tell me you’re fucking with me or you’re fired.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t; also you don’t have that kind of authority.” Phichit brushes off his jacket as he straightens his spine.
“Like hell I don’t! I’m-”
“The Prince Regent’s brother, I am aware.” Phichit nods.
Yuri gives an angry snort as he turns away from his equerry and stomps off towards his favorite horse and saddling her in one fell swoop. Maybe if Yuri rides for long enough, everyone in this fucking kingdom will pull their heads out of their asses.
“Your highness-”
“Don’t your highness me!” Yuri snarls. “This conversation is over!”
“The president’s son will be here in less than 24 hours. You need to be prepped on-”
“I don’t need to be prepped on shit; that asshole can suck a dick for all I care. Political instability be damned!”
Phichit grabs Mira’s reins before Yuri can trample him with the horse it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to either. “Yuri please, try to see this from Viktor’s perspective.”
“Viktor is either legally or willfully blind if he thinks for a second I’m going to fake date the president's son. Now move.”
“If I let you go, will you promise to be back in an hour? Please?” Phichit gives Yuri the saddest puppy dog eyes he can muster.
“Fucking… ugh fine. Can I go?”
“I’m starting the timer,” Phichit promises as he releases Mira’s reigns.
This is bullshit, it’s all bullshit, and he’s absolutely not crying before you ask. He cannot believe that of all the hackneyed shit he’s come across in his 20 years on this planet, a political marriage is what’s getting to him.
It’s not even a real marriage… or at least, that’s not an expectation, according to his brother. The problem is that one dopey ass MP had the gall to go on international television and call the Crown ‘out of touch, conservative puppets who have no place in modern society’. It doesn’t matter how correct that assertion is, it fucking hurt.
It was also merely a sick play by the skinbag of racism anyway; the man has been rotting away in his seat of power for decades now and is only pissed off because the royal bloodline has been, ‘tainted by queers’. Even Prime Minister Yakov couldn’t control that cumsack and that’s a feat in and of itself.
As Yuri crests one of the rolling hills on the property of the country estate, Yuri mulls over his misfortunes once more.
MP Fuckface’s words had hurt, and they had been ill-timed too, given that the royal family was being deployed to help save face at the International Coalition for Human Rights banquet. Yuri was told one thing: be on your best behavior – and he was until the devil incarnate appeared like a bad rash.
Otabek Altin; The President’s son, American royal, civil rights advocate, and as far as Yuri is concerned, the single most self-righteous asshole he’s ever met. It doesn’t matter that Otabek is a young, attractive rebel-with-a-cause type (read: Yuri’s type), all that matters is that this smug bastard knows he’s the most talked about guy in any room.
Yuri would like the record to show, he is not jealous of Altin, not by a long shot. The problem is that when Otabek’s father got elected – the first gay president at that – the pair of them… got off on the wrong foot.
The inauguration dinner for Otabek’s father was one of Yuri’s first solo engagements.
“People say I’m the new you,” Otabek had said with a grin that still haunts Yuri’s worst wet dreams.
“Is that what’s being said?” Yuri had asked with an easy, practiced smile.
Otabek shook his hand and laughed, “Guess they were wrong huh?”
“What do you mean?” Yuri remembers how obviously he tilted his head to the side.
“You and I, we’re worlds away, couldn’t be more different.” Otabek turned towards a flashing camera. “Because I actually like what I do.”
Yuri looked at Otabek then. “And I’m not a cuck.”
The crack in Mr. Altin’s oh-so-perfect veneer was so satisfying that Yuri stepped up to the next person in the welcome line with a broad, genuine smile on his face.
Throughout the next two years, Yuri and Otabek continued to cross paths like hateful satellites; always in the same orbit, under different flags and wearing different decorations, but always the same underlying hatred brewing beneath the surface.
So of course, the banquet comes around with Viktor, their father, and the nation as a whole coming under scrutiny, a crucial election on the horizon, and there’s Yuri swooping in to save the image of the monarchy… again.
It didn’t help that Yuri was getting over a bad break up; it didn’t help that finals had just ended and he was exhausted; and it didn’t help that Otabek Fucking Altin looks that good in a blue and white suit.
Yuri had done what he set out to do: smile and shake hands where necessary, appear interested by the inane small talk of politicians who are desperate to prove they’re important. It’s all going according to plan, until Mr. President approached with a warm grin and a firm handshake.
Something about President Altin has always struck Yuri as warm, like he really is a kind genuine man trying to make the world a better place. Yuri has always longed for a father like that…
Yuri did as he had been all evening, speaking succinctly and with a sincerity he reserves for only the most important moments of the night.
“I hope you’re doing alright, your highness, with everything.”
“Please don’t,” Yuri said before he could stop himself. It’s still too much to speak on; his family’s precarious situation makes Yuri’s throat go tight and even under President Altin’s kind gaze he’s too afraid to face it.
“Don’t talk to my dad that way,” Otabek spat at him; when he arrived Yuri didn’t know, but the anger rising in his throat was near impossible to quell.
“Son, please, we’re having a civil conversation.” President Altin put out a warning hand to his child.
“No, I’m sick of it, Dad, he looks down at us like we’re nothing,” Otabek had said, his voice wavering (likely a consequence from one too many drinks) as he continued to approach.
“I should go. Thank you for seeing me today, Mr. President.” Yuri nodded, trying to escape as quickly as possible.
“Hey where do you think you’re going?” Otabek grabbed Yuri’s wrist and pulled him back.
“Otabek!” The president had tried to intervene, but it was far too late.
It was really like a romcom moment; Yuri was pulled back into Otabek’s arms and down the couple went ass over teakettle. How they ended up face to face is beyond Yuri, and how Otabek’s knee landed just so between Yuri’s legs is honestly a statistical anomaly… The kiss should have been physically impossible; Yuri’s teeth hurt as their lips literally crashed together.
Just like that, overnight, Yuri was forcibly ripped out of the closet and into the spotlight. His teeth were still bleeding when Phichit started staring too hard at his phone, nervously biting his lip. For all his theatrics, Phichit doesn’t get nervous; Yuri wondered if Phichit would lose his job over this, then he realized that he might lose his job over this.
Royal Rabblerouser: Prince Yuri Takes a Tumble with First Son
If Yuri hadn’t been immediately escorted off the premises, he’d have really taken a tumble with Otabek Altin by clocking him into next week.
Unfortunately, the damage was done – Yuri’s sparkling reputation was damaged by him ‘outshining’ the cause and now the world knows he’s gay as hell. At least the articles pointing out their ‘flushed cheeks’ and ‘rumpled trousers’ were lesser-read sources.
So here he is, riding a horse wishing he could escape this gilded fucking cage because the palace has, against all logic, decided to run with the damn story.
President Altin and Viktor have apparently concluded that it’s better the pair confirm the rumors than try to explain. Yuri hates it.
He hates that their family’s approval has never been higher, he hates that there are people marching in the streets proclaiming their support of him, and he hates that he’s out of the fucking closet.
He didn’t even get to tell Viktor before the news broke.
The look in Viktor’s eyes when Yuri got home said it all; Viktor knew, had always known, but was devastated Yuri didn’t trust him enough to say it. Yuri couldn’t stomach trying to explain it, so he wept in his brother’s office and lamented about the unfairness of it all. Viktor only said that they were going to fix it and left it at that.
Yakov had come by and given him a pat on the shoulder; it was worth more than its weight in gold, but Yuri was hoping for a hug.
Now he dismounts Mira at the edge of the property, fantasizing about running off into the wood and becoming some gay village cryptid. He can’t; he wants to, but he can’t. All because of that fucking Otabek Altin.
No matter what happens now, that man will always be a part of his story and he hates him for it. He hates him for what he took, and he hates him for how easily he can slip away. In two years – six really if Mr. Altin gets re-elected – Otabek will fade into obscurity, gone from the eyes of the public and free to be whoever the hell he wants to be.
Yuri is so jealous of him he could throw up. Is Otabek even gay at all? Will he bemoan their relation or will he milk it for all it’s worth? The Crown won’t allow Yuri to be used like that, right?
Before he can get too deep in his thoughts, Yuri is back on his horse and returning to the house. He can’t run away from destiny, much as he might will it.
Phichit is there, giving instructions to the staff, and he glances up at the prince with a small smile.
“Right on time, Your-… bud, thanks for keeping your promise.”
“Yeah, yeah, spare me the theatrics. What am I doing?”
“Lilia is waiting to brief you on the story the white house is pushing, then you have a meeting with Georgi for the organization of the Commonwealth Day celebrations – we’ll be reorganizing based on everything that’s happened – and at three you’ve another meeting with Viktor to go over your tour-”
“Any free time, Phichit?” Yuri asks hotly.
“I have your 5:30 slot blocked off as usual; should I tell the King’s guard you’ll be by to see his Majesty?”
Yuri thinks for a moment. “No… maybe… tell them yes but I might not.”
“Of course.”
“And… the president’s son gets in when?”
“Seven o’clock. The press will be present; there will be a few questions but it’s mostly a photo-op. Also, I have a drafted statement I’m getting ready to send out.”
“I want to see that draft before it gets sent.”
“Of course.”
Yuri shuffles his way through the rest of his day. Lilia is business as usual – which is more comforting than words can express. Georgi is also the same, though his usual brand of just-on-the-verge-of-a-caffeine-overdose is less comforting and more annoying. That and Yuri’s tour is being reorganized to accommodate his boyfriend. Yuri hates that fucking word.
At 5:30 on the dot, Yuri finds himself lingering outside of his father’s chambers. He thinks about peeking in, about saying hello and asking how he’s doing. But he knows the answer already; he’s not sure if he can handle facing his Alzheimer’s riddled father right now. A theory that is proven correct when he hears his father shouting at a nurse some truly abhorrent obscenities.
No… it’s better to prepare for shithead Otabek’s arrival than face that. After all, if the world doesn’t get to know what’s going on behind that door, neither should Yuri.
Yuri dresses casually, a sweater over a polo and the sleeves rolled up just to his elbows. He looks the part of a perfect modern prince; Yuri wonders what he would actually dress like given the opportunity of choice.
He wonders all the way down to the lawn wherein he sees a slew of reporters already flashing their cameras at the scenery.
Otabek is standing by the lake, kicking stones as he goes and looking frustratingly good in khakis (seriously who the fuck looks good in khaki!?!).
“Otabek, you remember Prince Yuri of course.” Otabek’s PR guy, Emil, gestures for him to turn around.
“Yeah, charmed,” Otabek says, barely containing his contempt.
“Charmed, your highness,” Yuri corrects him pointedly.
Otabek rolls his eyes as Phichit approaches.
“Alright you two, big smiles, you’re young, you’re in love. And please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stick to the script.”
“Can do,” Otabek says sarcastically.
Yuri rolls his eyes as Phichit fixes a bit of his hair.
“Play nice,” Phichit warns Yuri one last time. “And get a little cozier, hold hands or something. Please sell this.”
“Heard that before,” Yuri mutters under his breath.
“I’m sure you have,” Otabek groans as the pair flash bright smiles at the media.
Otabek slings an arm around Yuri’s waist and Yuri hams it up by placing one hand on Otabek’s chest. Then he looks up at Otabek and pretends he’s Jason Mamoa; at least that way he doesn’t have to fake the stars in his eyes.
“Otabek, tell us, how long have you been together?”
“About seven months now.” Otabek gives a laugh so saccharin and fabricated Yuri wonders how he and President Altin can be related.
“Why did you keep it hidden?”
Yuri chuckles; two can play at this game. “It was hard but… we wanted to keep our work and personal lives separate.”
“Will you be attending the summit together this year?”
“Yes,” they answer in unison.
“Couldn’t imagine going with anyone else,” Otabek snickers, chiding Yuri with a wink.
“How did your families react to your coming out?”
“Very well, and I’m so grateful to live in a country where my love can be both accepted and celebrated,” Otabek responds.
“And my family were simply beside themselves when they saw who I brought home,” Yuri chuckles.
“Was it love at first sight?”
Yuri’s about to answer when Otabek interrupts; “Of course, he has the eyes of a soldier. It took me seconds to fall for him.”
Yuri’s taken aback by that answer. Otabek’s smug look back at him as the reporters ooh and aah at them lights a fire in Yuri’s gut.
Suddenly, he’s pulling Otabek in for a kiss; it’s warm and unpracticed, but at least Otabek had the decency to chew some peppermint gum beforehand. The reporters are shocked and delighted by the display. Yuri is simply pleased to see the blush tinting Otabek’s cheeks.
“Thank you for your support.” Yuri turns to the reporters and rests his head on Otabek’s chest. “I think that’s all our time, but truly thank you.”
Yuri practically pulls Otabek behind him back towards the palace. Once they’re out of earshot Otabek rips his hand away from Yuri.
“What the hell was that?”
“What? Aren’t we in love?”
Otabek glares at him. “Kissing wasn’t in the script.”
“Neither were my soldier’s eyes, babe, but here we are.”
“Well at least I was being honest.” Yuri pauses at that; Otabek, however, doesn’t seem to notice. “Anyway, PDA has to be in writing somewhere and when I find it-”
“What? You’re going to sue me?”
Otabek bites his tongue. “Maybe I’ll make them pencil in more, kitten.”
Yuri bristles with the comment and a pool of warmth floods his gut. “Is that a threat?”
“Could be.”
“The fuck is wrong with you, Altin?”
“I don’t know, guess we’re just built different, right?”
“Ugh, whatever, just stick to the script and in six months-”
“In six months what? We’ll be out of each other’s hair? Get real, princess-”
“Don’t call me that!” Yuri snaps. “Don’t you ever call me that!”
Otabek looks truly taken aback this time.
“You may think we’re built different, but you don’t know how different we are.” Yuri gets right on his tiptoes and snarls at Otabek. “You just got pulled into a shark tank and you don’t even know it. You want me to get real? My actual life, my ability to keep fucking breathing relies on this relationship going well. So don’t you dare taunt me or act like you know more than me because you don’t. If you think I’m a soldier now, wait until the war comes.”
Otabek’s gaze softens, and Yuri feels himself deflating as the weight of his words threaten to topple both of them.
Yuri takes two steps back and huffs, “Just… be charming and light up for the cameras, okay? We’re nothing more than another ceremony for the fucking crown.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Well? Do we have a deal?”
“… Yeah, I guess we do.”
“Good.”
With that Yuri stalks off back towards the stables, his heart racing in his chest. This has to work; it has to work because by some fucking miracle it has been working.
It keeps eyes off of the palace and the king’s rapidly failing health.
It keeps the palace clean while putting pressure on parliament.
It lets people keep believing in the glamor of the crown and the Cinderella aspect is a good draw too.
It keeps Yuri and Viktor looking like progressive well-meaning royals who want to change the world.
It keeps people from wanting him dead.
All of these things are good things, and he can’t help but think that at the very least Otabek makes a good partner – visually and politically. He’s handsome and beloved by the American public. And okay maybe kissing him made Yuri’s heart do a backflip… and now Yuri wonders what ‘soldier’s eyes’ are exactly.
Oh god, he’s way in over his head this time.
Fuck.