Tickling On Ice (Yuri On Ice)

Tickling on Ice (Yuri on Ice)

Summary: After practicing his latest routine, Yuri finds himself out of breath for several different reasons.

A/N: HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY, @dokidoki-muffin!! Since you left your wish pretty open-ended, I decided to take inspiration from this fabulous art and write a fic for it! You did tell us we were free to speculate, after all! I hope you enjoy it! ^^

And yes I'm aware this title is incredibly lame but it made me laugh and I couldn't be bothered to come up with something better so lame it shall stay lol

Word Count: 1,145

~~~

Yuri Plisetsky was gasping for air.

The performance was over; he’d held his final pose the required amount of time. He was done, and that meant he could finally breathe. This routine was by far the hardest he’d ever performed to date. It was spectacular, but it took a lot out of him.

He propped himself up on his elbows, the cold of the ice burning his skin. From across the rink, another figure glided over to join him.

For a moment Yuri forgot how out of breath he was. If anything, seeing Otabek Altin only took his breath away again. He could hardly believe he’d just done what he’d done – having his friend help him with his routine by first catching the pink jacket he discarded early on and then by ripping his glove off his hand with his teeth.

Yuri tried not to blush as he got to his feet.

“Well done,” Otabek congratulated, nodding his approval. “That was the smoothest practice yet.”

“I still have some things to work on,” Yuri replied, eyes darting to the fingerless gloves the taller man offered him. He took them and stuffed them in his back pocket.

“Yes, but you have time for that.” Otabek scanned him briefly. “Not too cold?”

“Please,” the Russian scoffed, though he was pretty certain he was incapable of feeling anything other than an intense warmth when standing so close to his friend. Yes, just a friend. “If a little ice is enough to make me shiver then I’m clearly in the wrong profession.”

The Kazakhstani smirked. “Hmm. I have to admit, I’m impressed with how bold this routine is, even for you.”

“Bold? You think this is…” Yuri’s comeback trailed off when Otabek got right up into his personal space. He forgot what words even were for a moment. “…bold?”

“Yes.”

“Y-You…you don’t have to bite the glove off if you don’t want to—”

“I do.” Otabek leaned down to touch their foreheads together, a clear invitation, a clear question. “That blush looks good on you, by the way.”

“Wha?” Yuri yelped when his feet were suddenly not holding him up anymore, his skates sliding across the ice when Otabek swept his own beneath them. The blonde frantically reached up to grab him for stability, and the next thing he knew he was being suspended in the air, kept aloft only by the darker man’s hands on his hips and Yuri’s fists clenched in his black leather jacket. “What – what are you doing?!”

“I would like to kiss you, Yuri,” Otabek murmured. “Please tell me I can.”

Yuri shivered, eyes wide, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Suddenly, having the Kazakhstani bite his glove off his hand no longer seemed like the boldest move they’d made recently. His kiss was gentle but passionate, making Yuri see stars behind his eyes, and he didn’t protest in the slightest when he realized he was being pushed back down onto the ice, the cold against his bare back contrasting sharply with the warmth of the man above him.

Okay, so maybe he was more than just a friend. And maybe Yuri was completely fine with that.

Hands began to wander, Otabek’s fingers brushing gently over skin as he slipped under his shirt, and Yuri shivered again, inhaling sharply, tensing up.

Otabek broke their connection and met his eyes, a playful sparkle in them that made the blonde nervous. “Oh?”

“No,” Yuri said immediately, but it was useless. Fingernails scraped gently against his sides, making him squirm. “No, don’t do that!”

“Are you ticklish?”

“I’m – no! Nonono! I mean—” He tried again. “Please don’t, I’m…I’m really t-tihiheahahahahaha! Wahahahahait!”

Otabek chuckled, scribbling all over his lower torso, and Yuri squeaked and squirmed and tried to push him away, but it was all for naught. The older man was also much, much stronger, and the Russian felt a chill shoot through him from more than just the ice when he realized how stuck he was like this.

“Plehehease, I’m really tihihihihicklish! Dohohohohohon’t! Otahahahahahaha!”

In a sudden flurry of movement, Otabek pushed Yuri’s hands above his head, pinning one with his left arm and maneuvering the other into his left hand, freeing up his right to wiggle under the smaller man’s shirt and tickle freely. Yuri jerked beneath him, still stubbornly holding back his laughter despite how red he was getting from the effort.

The Kazakhstani carefully lifted his leg to half-straddle the blonde, pinning his hips in place, and that was when the dam finally broke.

“Plehehehehehehease! Ahahahahahaha nohohohohohohoooo! Otahahahahahaha!” Yuri giggled helplessly, blushing furiously under the other man’s kind, intense gaze. “Dohohohohon’t! Lehehehehet me up! Dohohohohon’t tickle – EEEK!! Nononono not thehehehere, not there!”

“No?” Otabek teased, dragging his fingers up and down the grooves of his ribcage like he was playing a xylophone. “Not your ribs?”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Yuri pleaded as he tossed his head back and burst into shrieking laughter, trying desperately to move any part of his body, bring his arm down, anything. None of it did any good, though, and that only made it tickle worse. “NAHAHAHAHAHT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!! PLEASE, BEHEHEHEHEHEKA!!”

For a moment the darker man slowed to a stop, allowing Yuri to gasp for breath a second time that day, and their eyes met for a long, quiet, intimate moment.

“Beka?” Otabek murmured.

Yuri’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to call him that; in his ticklish haze he hadn’t been thinking clearly and it just slipped out. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Say it again.”

“W-What?”

Otabek began tracing his ribs with his fingers. “Call me that again.”

“Eeep! Okahahay, okay! Beheheheheka!” Yuri squealed, giggles spilling out of him uncontrollably at the gentle touch.

“I like that,” the Kazakhstani said in a near whisper, leaning down to kiss him again, still tickling softly.

Yuri whined, still snickering at the light, teasing touches along his body. Between the playful tickling and the way Otabek was looming over him and pinning him down, the blonde was suddenly beginning to feel all kinds of different ways about the turn this skating practice had taken.

“All right,” Otabek said after another minute, slowing his teasing fingers to a stop and beginning to sit up, releasing Yuri’s arms as he did so. “You’re going to freeze if you keep lying here—”

“Wait,” Yuri protested breathlessly, wrapping his arms around his neck to keep him from moving away, tugging him back down on top of him. He swallowed nervously, blushing and averting his eyes as he muttered, “You can keep going.”

“Oh yeah?” Otabek chuckled again, bracing himself with his arms on either side of Yuri, one hand moving back down to scratch at his belly and sides. Yuri broke into another round of giggles, and the taller man crushed their lips together once more.

Yuri Plisetsky was gasping for air again before he knew it.