Flash ficlet for Oodeo Onsen Beka and Yurio because:
1. Beka’s biceps.
2. I genuinely couldn’t tell what Yurio was holding maybe a sex toy? until someone told me that it was ramune.
3. OTAYURI DOESN’T NEED A REASON TO EXIST. 8D
Otabek agrees to visiting Hasetsu in June, only because Yuri asks him.
“Thank God you came,” Yuri tells him when he meets him at the train station. “One more day alone with Victor and the katsudon, and I’ll go crazy.”
“I don’t mind,” he says, because it’s true.
He’s not expecting Yuri to grin, boyish and wide.
“So, what’s there to do here?” he asks, when he finally remembers to breathe.
Yuri takes his hand in response.
It turns out, there’s actually nothing much to do in Hasetsu. There’s the ice rink, of course, but it’s not competition season yet, so they only skate just enough to stay in practice.
Mostly, they lounge by the sea.
“It’s too hot,” Yuri complains. He’s already shucked off the top half of his yukata, and he now fiddles with the front of his t-shirt, pinching the fabric away from his chest in an attempt to stay cool. From his angle, Otabek can see the sharp jut of Yuri’s collarbones, delicate beneath Yuri’s sun-flushed skin.
Not that Otabek’s looking.
“How do you stand it?” Yuri demands.
“Hm?” Otabek tears his gaze away from the hollow dip at the base of Yuri’s throat. “Almaty’s hotter than this, usually,” he offers by way of explanation.
Yuri grumbles as he settles back onto the sand. It’s almost enough for Otabek to feel vaguely sorry for him.
“Here,” he says, leaning over to fan Yuri with his uchiwa. The angle’s a little awkward, but the way Yuri’s eyelids flutter, as Yuri tips his head back in the breeze, shut makes it worth the while.
“Pass a drink, will you?” Yuri asks lazily.
Otabek reaches into the plastic bag with his spare hand, snagging the first bottle he touches. It’s still cool to touch from the chiller at Lawsons. On impulse, he places the bottle against Yuri’s cheek.
Yuri visibly shivers. “Stop messing around,” he orders without heat. “Just open it, will you?”
“Sorry,” Otabek murmurs. Yuri’s cheek is a delicate pink against the lurid blue of the plastic bottle. He lifts the bottle away, and obediently twists the cap.
Fizzy soda bubbles up immediately, spilling over his hand.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
Otabek glares back. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring any tissues.”
Yuri rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Here, hand that over.”
Otabek hands the bottle over willingly, soda-slick plastic and all.
“You’re such a baby,” Yuri tells him.
Otabek flips him off.
He expects Yuri to laugh, to maybe roll his eyes again. He’s not expecting Yuri to grab his hand, or to lap at the sticky trails of soda on his skin.
Otabek gulps.
“There, all clean,” Yuri declares, his eyes dancing. He holds the bottle out towards Otabek.
Otabek eyes the bottle warily, refusing to take it. “What is that drink anyway?”
“Ramune.” Yuri gestures again for Otabek to take the bottle. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
Turns out, Otabek can taste the soda just fine from Yuri’s lips.
