#ijdk

For @yoimusicweek

Day 3 - 80s - Queen - I want it all (1989)

At 15, he had shown the world what he was capable of, GPF gold medallist in his senior debut.

At 17, well, almost 17, he felt like he had the world at his feet, that he could do anything, with no one stopping him, no one at all. Racing from one gold to another, with the occasional grudging silver thrown in.

Contrary to all the predictions, several growth spurts had not thrown his balance, instead his jumps had gotten higher, more impressive. Then again, he was training harder than ever, too.

It was an exhilarating feeling, and when he'd realized he'd outgrown even J.J., he relished in some long overdue, very smug comments.

The Olympics were to be his crowning glory, showing everyone once again what Yuri Plisetsky could do.

And he had to win, more than just his skating career depended on it.

In Pyongyang, as in so many other competitions before, he was immediately and inexorably glued to Otabek's side. Ever since Barcelona, this thing between them had been growing steadily. Friends, Yuri's first true friend, but also – also not. At first it had been hard to tell, he had so little experience in having a friend, that he wasn't sure if the fierce possessiveness he felt, the desire to be close to Otabek, to share everything with him, the ease with which he could open up to him, if these weren't the signs of a normal friendship.  He'd grown older, though, and over the years one thing had become clear to him. This was by no means platonic.

He wanted Otabek Altin.

And for some reason, in his mind, his success in the Olympics was tied inextricably to the confession he had to make, the words he simply had to get out of his system.

He needed to be at the height of it, in order to gather his courage.

Yuri knew what he wanted, and he had been working ceaselessly for months to achieve it.

The short program was good, but he wasn't satisfied with it, it hadn't been record-breaking. He himself had set the bar very high, and living up to himself sometimes proved to be harder than expected. The competition was still too close to him. Otabek himself was close, and while Yuri loved it when Otabek won, loved to see him skate, this time he could not be as happy for him as he would usually have been. Yuri had to take gold. It was too important.

“You're unusually tense.”

Otabek gave him a searching, intense look, and Yuri had to look away, he'd often wondered if Otabek couldn't read all Yuri's feelings for him on his face. He knew Yuri so well, after all, understood so much.

“Aren't you? It's the Olympics.”

“I guess so,” Otabek replied, and Yuri had the definite feeling that Otabek wasn't buying his excuse at all, but neither did he press the matter.

“I've rented a bike. Ride?”

It was Otabek's favourite means of dealing with stress and nerves, and Yuri's heart beat hard at the thoughtful gesture.

It was cold, and he pressed his face against a leather-clad shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around Otabek. For a while, nothing else existed, only the two of them and the speed of the bike, wind clawing at them, bodies pressed close together. It was almost enough to tell Otabek the moment they got off the bike again, but he had planned it all for too long to give in to an impulse now.

He had to win gold first.

And then he had done it, flying high on a new world record, standing on the podium, towering above Otabek and Yuuri, the gold around his neck blazing like the sun. He smiled triumphantly for the cameras, one arm around Otabek, graciously accepting congratulations.

It was time.

Yuri had managed to vanish with Otabek from the crowds and reporters, from Yuuri and Viktor, and most of all Yakov, to find a quiet corner of the Olympic village.

“You were mag...”

“I love you.”

They'd both spoken at the same time, and Yuri blushed as Otabek's eyes widened.

“What?”

“I love you. I want to be your boyfriend.” It sounded stupid, but Yuri had no better words for his feelings. He felt half sick as he waited for Otabek to reply – he looked like someone had hit him over the head.

“Are you se...” Otabek stopped himself, and it was better that way, Yuri was already feeling indignant. “Of course you're serious.”

And then his face broke into a radiant smile, and the next moment, he'd pulled Yuri into his arms, holding him close.

“You are quite something, Yuri Plisetsky.” Otabek caressed his hair and muttered: “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Yuri melted against him, tension draining from him. There were soft lips against his cheek, then his own lips. He could hardly believe it, even as he kissed back enthusiastically.