Otayuri | complete

Studio- Plot

this needed an update— and I for once had time and inspiration to do so— but the next chapter will be the smut. hope you enjoy this plot to lime lol ;)

cursorily edited

Lilia has graciously loaned a studio room to use. She was even intrigued by the idea of my becoming into a ballet instructor, offering to pay me if I audition like any other instructor would. I'm still half-considering the idea in the back of my mind and half-loathing the idea in the front of my mind— all as I simultaneously ponder over the real fear rattling in my chest.

I've shown other skaters how to do certain moves before, but I have never before taught a small child some of their first steps in ballet. I rake through my memories, trying to remember exactly how I was instructed— recalling now in the light of an instructor rather than the student. I can remember the strict militarism of my studio, how it shaped me into a viciously successful competitor. I wonder what kind of training do Victor and Katsudon expect me to endow upon their daughter.

They want her to be good, enough to prove her worth as the daughter of two world-class ice skaters. I don't think they expect me to simply babysit her and do play-pretend dances with her. But Katsudon did ask that I only push her just enough, I remind myself, coming to stand at the empty barre of the studio room. I start my own warmup, distracted and fretting about all the possible ways I could go wrong.

If Otabek were here, I suddenly think to myself, I wouldn't be as worried. He is slow and brooding and not a great teacher himself, but supportive and loving nonetheless. I stifle a laugh at the idea of him struggling to be a teacher to Valkyrie. He's good but somewhat oafish with children, especially more unfamiliar children. Lost in thought, I barely hear the door to the studio room open. My eyes are closed, and my body folded into a long stretch over the barre.

"Yurio!" Victor's shrill enthusiasm rudely awakens me from the depth of thought. "Thank you for loaning your time to Valkiriya!" He jovially makes an entrance.

I recompose myself and step down from the barre to stiffly approach the father and daughter. She looks rigid and tucked into place, hiding shyly behind Victor's leg. She tugs on Victor's jacket, whispering in quiet Russian until she sees me nearing them. Victor looks up again, following her wide blue gaze.

"I thought Katsudon was supposed to drop her off?" I cross my arms dismissively.

"Poppa got Elka today," Valkyrie stutters in a hiccuping child's voice before Victor can explain.

I turn to the little one, looking pointedly around Victor to make eye-contact with her. "Who dressed you for class?"

"Poppa did," she admits, taking a timid step back to hide behind Victor's leg further. Victor pushes her forward again. "Papa did my hair," she adds, turning so I can see the prim ballet bun. Victor chuckles, setting her forward again.

"The leotard should be black next time," I raise an eyebrow. "No more red ones."

"She likes red," Victor shakes his head. "Kiriya won't wear black ones."

"You will next week," I bend to Valkyrie's eye level. "For Uncle Yuri, da?"

I look at her, willing her to agree but unsure of the likelihood. I realize I've already stepped into the militant approach— making an attempt at establishing dominance right off the bat. Valkyrie fidgets under my heavily expectant gaze. But she seems to be gathering herself for a response. The poor thing is sorting out which language to use, I think.

"Da," Valkyrie nods dutifully, surprising me as well as Victor.

Victor eyes his daughter skeptically for a moment, but she looks up at him and grins reassuringly. Victor returns the smile and rolls his eyes.

"You've just made a promise to Uncle Yuri," Victor warns her. "You'll keep it, won't you? Black leotard next week."

"Black." Valkyrie nods.

"That's a good girl," I nod too, tossing her a quick wink. "Time to work then. I'll take her from here."

Victor stoops down to plant a quick kiss on Valkyrie's forehead before turning to leave. "Have fun, both of you!" he calls over his shoulder.

*****

the Adoption AU will have more on this

*****

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Otabek raises an eyebrow at me, helping me out of my clothes.

I turn to him again, shirtless.

"I can't believe I had fun," I repeat, tossing myself backward into bed.

Otabek yanks me to the foot of the bed to finish helping me out of my clothes. I trust him to undress me on his own, so I continue blathering.

"She was quiet and obedient and wanted to learn; I didn't have to raise my voice at her once. I was afraid she had gotten too quiet, at one point, so I let her dance the new moves to songs on the radio for a bit— and she was just an all around good kid the whole time. I'm impressed."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're jealous," Otabek teases me, pulling away the last piece of clothing between us.

"Jealous of what?" I demand, allowing myself to be positioned for sex.

"I think you know exactly what," Otabek murmurs as he climbs over me.

I give the idea some thought. I know that I don't want to be a father. There are so many mistakes to be made in regard to parenting— and I stay as far away from mistakes as I can manage. I do have an awfully apparent soft-spot for little Kiriya, though. I'd rather be a reliable uncle to her— and Tamilya, technically, but she's a kid-sister to be shared with Otabek— than a father to my own child.

"Eh," I shrug easily, relaxing my muscles in the hopes of accommodating Otabek's length without pain. "Kyrie is cute, but I don't need her around 24/7. Besides," I continue, surprising myself, "if I could choose, I'd have a son rather than a daughter."

"Oh?" Otabek coos. He teases my opening with his fingers as he speaks. I'm grateful when I see him reach for lubricant, coaxing me to open further than my body wishes to comply. But he doesn't drop the subject at hand yet. "You sound like you've put a lot of thought into this."

I haven't really. I'm just opinionated as fuck, I guess. But then again, maybe the subject does often cross my mind and I just come to the same conclusion every time, and then dismiss any further ideas. I have no idea where the wanting a son thing even came from, but I blush as I realize it could be more true than I want to admit. Bad, I tell myself, no.

"Eh," I shrug again, less nonchalantly than before. "Hurry up and fuck me, will you?"

"You're still pretty tight—"

"You've got lube, Beka; just fuck me."