Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12102453.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Victor_Nikiforov/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Victor_Nikiforov, Yuri_Plisetsky
  Additional Tags:
      depressed_victor, Emotionally_Illiterate_Victor_and_Yuri, Hate_fucking,
      Slapping, Shower_Sex, post_sochi_gpf, Pre-Canon
  Series:
      Part 4 of NSFW_Yurio_Week_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-15 Words: 4215
****** Barracuda ******
by BoxWineConfessions
Summary
     Yuri wants to get some kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction. He’s
     the one that ground his ass on Victor’s dick in a crowded train. He’s
     the one that sucked Victor off one lazy afternoon after practice.
     He’s the one who’s been on pins and fucking needles since Sochi,
     watching as something thick and ugly loomed over Victor, something
     that he couldn’t divert or control.
     Written For NSFW Yurio Week 2017
“You should invite me over,” Yuri says as he stuffs his clothes into his duffel
bag. His dirty underwear spill out and for a moment he feels embarrassed. He
scrambles for the leopard print fabric, but then he remembers he has nothing to
hide. He’s plucked his own underwear out from Victor’s. Victor has a washer and
drier in his apartment even though he sends almost everything out for dry
cleaning. “You should order us takeout.”
Victor doesn't say anything at first. He's been doing that lately. Like it
takes longer for him to mull over whatever it is that's just been said. The
lull in conversation makes his chest tighten with anxiety. What is it that
Victor wants to say before he actually says whatever garbage spews out of his
mouth.
No one else seems to notice or care, and he wonders what the fuck is wrong with
them.
Victor cups his chin with his closed fist for a moment. Then his mouth pulls
into a thin barely there curve of the mouth. “I suppose that might be nice.
Mediterranean?”
“I'd wanted fried wontons,” Yuri doesn't want wontons. He wants to drown in
tahini dressing. He wants to get some kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction
that can compare to the low haunting laugh and the promise Victor made “hold
off on doing quads. I'll choreograph your senior debut.”
“What if we ordered Chinese next time?” Victor zips up his track suit and
smooths down the front. Yuri has to force himself to tear his eyes off of his
long graceful fingers.
Victor holds the locker room door open for Yuri and Yuri walks through it. “You
make it sound like you’ll actually invite me next time.” Before Sochi meant
dinner at least once a week, if not more. After Sochi, it’s been nothing.
Victor swipes his metro card twice so that Yuri doesn't have to pay. They board
the train car and Yuri immediately takes two straps between his hands and
swings back and forth on them. His feet dangle awkwardly as he tries to hold
himself up for as long as possible. The train clicks by on the tracks and Yuri
can feel the burn of scrutiny of adult eyes upon him. Like he should stop, but
they won't say anything since he boarded the train with Victor. He was Victor’s
responsibility.
Which was fucking hilarious cause if anything Victor was his responsibility.
“Your jumps left a great deal to be desired,” Victor says as he's kicking his
heels up so high that the sole of his sneakers hit against the glass window.
“You keep flinching and moving your arms really strangely.” Victor mimics his
motions on ice down the isle of the train car. More eyes are upon them as
Victor dances down the train car.
He wants to look every single one in the eye and shout, “see? I’m the one that
looks out for him!”
“Maybe,” Victor calls from the other end of the car. The train pulls into a
station, and Victor has to brace himself on one of the aluminum polls that dot
the center of the train cars. In a split second he smiles at Yuri. “Maybe you
should just hold your arms up instead of pulling them in.”
“That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” That’s the best thing he’s
ever heard. His body always screams at him to do that anyway, even if it throws
him further off balance and makes going into the step sequence harder.
“Maybe we should get Chinese.” Victor says as he moves back up the train car
and joins Yuri.
Victor grabs onto the same strap that Yuri’s hand is looped into. His long lean
body slumps for a moment, and he sways with the gentle jostling of the train.
Yuri stops kicking at the windows.
===============================================================================
Yuri eats voraciously, as if it were his last meal. He doesn’t even bother with
the disposable chopsticks. He just grabs one of the forks made from real silver
and embossed with ivy leaves from the cupboard and shovels the fried rice in.
Victor always orders a lot of food whenever they go out. A few appetizers, and
a few different things so that they can have a little of each. Yuri likes that.
It’s very different from counting change with grandpa and then running to the
Teremok down the block.
“Do you even taste it that way Yura?” Victor asks with his chopsticks clasped
neatly in his hand. They’re completely clean and untouched by any of the sticky
sauces that coat the food. His plate is nearly empty too. Only few mouthfuls of
food rest upon his plate.
That always pisses him off. The way Victor puts a little food on his plate at a
time, making him constantly think about whether or not he’s had too much,
whether he can go for seconds or thirds, or if Victor will want more.
Yuri grabs his drink from the table, takes a long draught, and slams it back
down onto the table. “Have you even tasted anything?”  Yuri grabs one of the
containers, and piles more food onto Victor’s plate before eating the rest
straight out of the container.
Through large mouthfuls of food, Yuri starts talking. He doesn’t like it when
things are this quiet. He doesn’t like it when he’s reminded there’s a problem
that he cannot fix. “What’s that choreography you’re working on?”
Victor takes a morsel of food between his chopsticks, looks at it thoughtfully,
and rests it on his lips briefly before chewing slowly. Yuri watches the
movements of his jaw, and the way the muscles in his neck constrict as he
swallows.
Yuri forgets to chew his own food for a moment, and coughs on the lump in his
throat.
Without a word, Victor rises. He can hear the clinking of glass in the next
room, then Victor brings him another bottle of mineral water. He doesn’t
particularly like the taste, but he reaches for it anyway. It’s all Victor
keeps around unless he brings coke. Victor hasn’t been inviting him around, and
so there’s no coke to drink.
Victor sits back at the table. His movements are slow, but graceful as if time
slows down and his actions pour from his body like molasses from a jar.
“Nothing really,” he says pushing his hair away from his face.
“Is it for my routine next season?”
Victor’s eyes fall to the side suggesting that he hasn’t so much as thought
about it.
It’s okay because Yuri has lots of ideas. “I want to start out with a quad
combination. It’s not enough that I can do a quad. I want to do a quad with
something else. Then, a triple axel of the back counter,” he’s never actually
landed one like that, but it would make his points so high.
“Can you land that?” Victor rests his chopsticks on the rim of the plate, and
taps his mouth with his forefinger. Nothing. Nothing quite makes Yuri’s blood
boil more. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you land that in practice. It’s
quite difficult.” Victor rests his chopsticks back between his fingers. He
pinches a piece of shrimp from the container in Yuri’s hands. Victor’s voice is
acerbic and detached. “It requires much more work than you’re putting in.”
===============================================================================
Before Sochi, after dinner meant it was time to take a shower. Showering after
dinner went beyond standing underneath the water in the locker room, and making
sure your body met the bare minimum of acceptability. It meant the feeling of
long fingers twisting through his blonde hair. It meant having Victor rub
conditioner that he could never afford into his roots.
It meant large hands draped over his body tweaking his nipples until they stung
under the warm stream of water. It meant the feeling of fingers augmented by
the warm constant stream of water over his body. It meant a firm hand on his
hip, and the teasing press of Victor’s cock at his ass.
It meant Victor taking him between his thumb and forefinger, and teasing his
cock until he saw stars. It meant teetering on the tips of his toes, mumbling
all sorts of nonsense, “Vitya please.” It meant Victor pulling away from him,
and only touching him after the feeling of white hot urgency faded away.
It meant more nipple pinches, a hand tugging at the skin of his sac, or
pressure but never entry at his hole. Only when Yuri was crying out again would
his hand return to his cock.
It meant that he only got to cum after the water ran cold.
It meant sinking to his knees still sopping wet on the cold tile floors until
he made Victor get a memory foam bathmat.
Tonight, after dinner means Victor sinking into his brushed suede sofa. It
means that he turns on the television, but doesn’t bother to so much as look at
it. Victor first tries to read from a book that rests on the end table, but
Yuri’s seen it sit there for months before Sochi. Victor then opts for picking
up his phone. Yuri watches from the corner of his eye as he scrolls through
Twitter first, and then Instagram.
Yuri’s eyes travel all over the living room, from the television mounted to the
wall, to the glass coffee table laden with books that will never be read, to
the big slobbery dog that sits between them. Makkachin rests her head in
Victor’s lap, and Yuri wants to know what’s so great about some stupid dog
anyway?
Whatever. After dinner meant that it was time to shower. So, they were going to
fucking shower.
Yuri stands up, and takes a quick step away from the sofa. His clothes rustle
against the suede. His movement makes the dog, but not Victor turn to look at
him. Fuck.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Yuri does his best to sound confidant, smooth.
Except that his voice cracks and his mouth feels dry. Yuri’s hands shake as he
peels away his shirt. Wherever Victor’s eyes settle for too long, it feels like
whenever skin brushes against ice during a fall. Barely there at first, and
then completely numbing as it lingers.
Victor is finally looking. Good.
Yuri pushes down his pants first. He’d normally peel it all away in one quick
go, but Victor always did it like this. Let the pants pool around his feet, and
then wait for Yuri to step out of them. Yuri does this now. Yuri peels his
underwear away second.
With his back turned to him he cannot see Victor’s reaction. Is he licking his
lips? Does his chest rise in a barely there gasp? All he can do is feel the
burn of his gaze. Yuri stomps off to the shower before he can allow Victor to
react in a way that will affect him.
===============================================================================
 
Victor has an enormous shower with dual heads, one on each end. It means that
when he shampoos his hair, he doesn’t have to turn around. All he has to do is
lean back to rinse his hair. It means that two people can share it without
getting cold.
Yuri twists the copper colored fixtures all the way over to one side, and
watches the bathroom become cloaked in steam.
Yuri steps into the shower, and begins it the way it would’ve began before
Sochi. He washes his hair, and if he closes his eyes and doesn’t think about it
too hard, the feeling of his own short clipped nails feel the same against his
scalp. He washes his body, and he pretends that it’s larger, more adroit hands
playing against his skin.
Yuri grabs his cock. He does it like Victor does it with his thumb and his
forefinger. Yuri stares down the pristine, almost sterile looking tiles that
line the shower floor, and gives himself two pumps in slow succession, just
like Victor would.
The seconds drag on, and on. As Yuri works himself it becomes apparent that
Victor isn’t joining him.
Yuri’s treatment of his body shifts with his ever increasing anger. Grazes
across his nipples become hard pulls and pinches. He abandons the soft and
maddening touch that Victor would use, and wraps his base around his cock and
pumps furiously. How the hell can he keep asking himself over and over again,
“what the fuck happened in Sochi?” When he was right fucking there?
Yuri becomes lost in the flick of his own wrist, the pressure of his hands, and
his own anger. He allows noises to slip out of his mouth that he’d never made
before. Not even when it was Victor wringing out every sensation he could from
his body.
The question becomes, what does hehave that Yuri doesn’t have? He placed
awfully. His technique was all over the place. When you shove bits of shining
brilliance next to mediocrity next to raging and unapologetic failure, what’s
left are the parts that are the strongest and most bitter: failure and
mediocrity.
It’s not like they’re even fucking around. Yuri knows that he hasn’t called. He
can see it in the way Victor’s face falls every time he checks his
notifications. He can see it in the way that Victor stares at his phone when
they’re out at a café just the four of them: Victor, Georgi, Mila and him. Why
the fuck isn’t he enough?
Yuri stops the frantic motions of his hand. His cock is aching hard, and he’s
been at it for some time, so why isn’t it enough?
Yuri coats his fingers in the thick viscous lubricant that Victor keeps in the
shower. Yuri presses his fingers at his entrance, and does with them what
Victor has never done for him. The first finger goes easily. It doesn’t feel
great, yet he still feels compelled to push forward. Yuri presses a second
finger inside, but it won’t go past is own knuckle.
How fucking typical. He can’t get fucking Victor to pay attention to him. He
can’t land the axel off the back counter, and his fucking body won’t even do
what he wants when he’s trying to jerk off.  Yuri bears down on his fingers. He
braces himself on the copper colored towel rack anchored to the side wall of
the shower, but his body won’t yield.
The sound of the glass shower door rattling against the frame as it is opened
barely registers. Yuri is too caught up with trying to make his body work the
way he wants it to. However, the sound of Victor’s soft gasp is unmistakable.
Yuri spins round with his fingers still buried into place. He meets Victor’s
gaze.
He longs for the day he elicits Victor’s wide watery eyed stare. He longs for
the day he can bring about his strange smile that is simultaneously slack jawed
and grinning from corner to corner. Today is not that day. Victor looks upon
him with the same quiet fascination that he does at the rink, but now it’s not
enough to know that Victor feels something. He wants to know what it is that
Victor feels.
“Yuri,” Not Yura or Yurochka like usual.
“Took you long enough.” Yuri tacks on, “hag,” as an afterthought to hide the
way his voice falters.
“It seems like you’re doing just fine without me Yuri.” Victor says. Only now
does his expression change. There’s a small half smile in the corner of his
mouth. It speaks volumes more than anything Victor has said to him recently.
Victor wraps his hand around his own cock. Yuri watches as he moves his hand up
his cock, twists around the head, and moves his hand back down to the base in
one fluid and seamless motion. Somehow that makes Yuri’s blood boil hotter than
being left in the shower alone.
Yuri pulls his fingers out, and stares at Victor for a second. His hands ball
up into tight fists and he can feel his nails dig into the skin. Everything
trembles, and he doesn’t want Victor to see just how upset he is. So he lunges
at Victor, and cages him against the tiled wall.
The positioning is awkward. Victor’s much taller than he is, and his attempt at
intimidation seems moot. Victor towers over him. Victor still looks down upon
him with half lidded eyes.
Yuri can’t handle it anymore, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Victor cups his face. He knows that it’s supposed to be tender, intimate even.
In reality it’s patronizing. “Yuri, you’ll understand-“
“When I’m older?” Yuri spits. “Shut up.” Doesn’t Victor fucking get it? He’s
the one that ground his ass on Victor’s dick in a crowded train. He’s the one
that sucked Victor off one lazy afternoon after practice. Victor’s the one that
never said, “stop.” He’s the one who’s been on pins and fucking needles since
Sochi, watching as something thick and ugly loomed over Victor, something that
he couldn’t divert or control.
“Yuri.”
“Shut up!” Yuri feels his hand connect with skin. He can hear the sharp smack
of his hand against Victor’s cheek. Although he knows he’s fucked up, the
expression that he makes is so fucking satisfying. Finally, after weeks and
weeks of waiting for a fraction of what he saw in Sochi, he gets a reaction.
Victor moves quickly. He grabs his arm, and his body is pressed against the
glass door for a fraction of a second. Then, Victor’s pushing him around so
that he’s pressed against the cool wall of the shower. Water runs into his eyes
and his nose, and he makes all kinds of ugly and undignified snorting noises as
Victor holds him underneath the spray.
“Do you think that this will fix what’s wrong with me Yura?” Victor moves his
arms so that they’re pinned up over his head. He trails his fingers down his
back. Fucking finally. “I thought that too.” Yuri can feel his cock press
against his ass, and on instinct he ruts back into it. “Then I thought that he
could help me.”  Victor sighs into his ear. It’s long, and it’s filled with a
thousand statements left unsaid...to someone that isn’t him.
Victor grazes his neck with his teeth, and bites down hard. Yuri keens into the
touch. He wants more. He wants Victor to use him until every inch of his body
stings. He wants to know that Victor is still capable of doing something,
anything other than being this pathetic thing that shows up at practice and
goes through the motions without inspiration or direction.
“So, you wanna stop.” Yuri isn’t stupid. He could feel it in the way that
Victor hesitated. He could feel it in the way that Victor stopped inviting him
over. It was only a matter of time. Victor got bored easily. He burns through
program themes, and choreography and costumes at a breakneck speed. The only
reason it doesn’t show up as sloppy and disjointed is because he’s good enough
to pull it all together and make it stick.
Yuri can feel the blunt head of his cock poke at his entrance. He can feel
Victor move, and reach for more lubricant. “I don’t do a very good job of
following through Yura. I know this.” He can hear the cap being undone. “But
I’ll show you Yura, if I have to. If that’s what you want.” Victor releases his
hands. Yuri feels his hand splay wide across his chest. He can feel pressure.
“Do you want this Yura?”
“Of fucking course I do!” Yuri braces himself against the wall and pushes back
against Victor. He can feel the hot burn of his cockhead pressing inside.
Victor pushes back. Inch by inch by inch until he’s seated completely inside.
Yuri feels like he’s being split in two, yet his body yields for Victor. Where
he himself couldn’t get a second finger inside, Victor works his way in slowly.
Makes him feel as if he should be grateful for every bit of searing pain that
he induces.
“It’s not going to change anything.” Victor bites down again on the other side
of his neck. Fuck if it won’t. Yuri’s showing up to practice tomorrow with the
lowest cut v neck that he owns, and he’s tossing his last shred of discretion
out the window.
Victor pushes his hips forward, and Yuri pushes back. The rhythm that they
build is unbearably slow, with Victor barely rutting inside, and Yuri rising up
to meet him before there’s anything to push back upon.
Yuri bites his lip so hard that it bruises, and grows fat against his own
teeth, but he can’t let Victor know just how badly it burns. Victor is selfish,
but he isn’t sadistic. Victor is selfish, and so he doesn’t quite understand
what it is that he is and is not giving Yuri.
“It’s not going to change the way you feel Yuri.”
“Because you won’t fucking let it asshole.”  Yuri doesn’t want to listen to
Victor project his own feelings onto him. He wants to hurt, and he wants to
burn. He’s sick of Victor’s numbness leaking out and spilling onto everything
that it touches. He’s sick of getting pulled down by it too. “Fucking fuck me,”
he hisses through gritted teeth.
Victor’s pace quickens, but it’s nothing in comparison to know what he could
do. He fucks into him now in longer thrusts. He tugs at the roots of his hair
while he leaves big ugly marks down his neck and his shoulder, but he doesn’t
pound into him. He doesn’t use him.
Yuri fists his cock in his hand desperate to do anything that abates the burn.
Yuri moves his hand faster because despite the onslaught of emotion, it isn’t
enough. Although there’s no noise between them save for soft grunts and the
slap of skin against skin, Yuri can’t help but hear Victor’s shitty voice echo
in his mind, “it’s not going to change anything.”
So Yuri decides to make it change. He breaks away from Victor’s suffocating
grasp. “I’m sick of fucking around Victor.” And pushes down on his shoulder.
Maybe it’s just another way of patronizing him. Maybe it’s because Victor wants
it like this too. Whatever the reason, Victor sits down on the floor of the
shower, and Yuri immediately sinks down onto his cock. Water from the shower’s
stream goes everywhere, makes him feel like he’s constantly gasping for air.
Yuri bites down onto Victor’s lip, and tugs.
Victor pulls on his hair. Victor pinches the tip of his cock.
Yuri bounces upon him with all the wild abandon that he’d wanted Victor to fuck
him with. Ever movement that he makes sends a thousand searing jolts of pain
down his spine. The water hides the hot tears that leak from his eyes, and the
fact that his nose runs.
Every action dries up the last remaining bits of sympathy and concern that he
held for him.
“I’ll be better than you,” Yuri’s words would be more impactful if he didn’t
keep interrupting himself with low moans and short animalistic grunts.
“Your body will change,” Victor’s words would be more impactful if they had any
fire behind them, instead of the cool indifference that has become the norm.  
“I’ll surpass you.” It’s a lot of talk when he can’t even land the axel off the
back counter, something that Yakov’s protégées are known for.
Yuri grits his teeth. He can feel his arm move before he can even consider what
it is that he’s doing. Smacking Victor earlier felt good. It said so many
things that he couldn’t articulate. Yuri rears his arm backwards, and smacks
him hard.
Victor’s head turns in sharp recoil. His hair obscures his face, and his tone
is soft. Not in the dry and disinterested way that he’s spoken every other
thing that he’s said to Yuri tonight, but in a way that’s unfazed and
dangerous. “You’ll be useless.” It’s a lot of talk, especially when Victor’s
staring down the barrel of thirty, and Yuri’s seen him be in so much pain that
he can barely move.
Yuri can feel his teeth clank against one another as Victor’s hand connects
with his jaw. Yuri sees stars. Yuri feels like his brain bashes against the
wall of his skull as his entire body recoils. Yuri can feel Victor’s dick
twitch as he finally takes him by the hips and thrusts into him hard.
Victor rolls them both to their sides, and he unceremoniously dumps Yuri to the
floor pulling out. He steps out of the shower, and through the glass Yuri can
see him reach for one of his impossibly fluffy white bath towels.
Victor was wrong. It changed everything. It is as if he finally has permission
to not look up to him anymore. Like he finally has permission to not care about
what happened in Sochi anymore.  Yuri takes his cock in his hand. He holds it
just the way Victor would. His whole body aches. His whole body has been
marked, but he comes into his hand in Victor’s shower alone.
 
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