Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10699947.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Otabek_Altin, Yuri_Plisetsky
  Additional Tags:
      otayuri_-_Freeform, Daddykink, Fingering, Oral_Sex, jerking_off, Underage
      Yuri, Otabek_POV, Skype_Sex, Plot_What_Plot, PWP, Porn, Yaoi
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-22 Words: 3534
****** Get a Life ******
by Blownwish
Summary
     "All you do is either skating or cat related.” And stalking-related.
     Yuri retreats into the darkness. “I do you, fuckface.”
     Oh, come on. He's such a child about this. “Sex is as much of a hobby
     as eating. It doesn't count.”
     “Beka!” He slams his fist down. “I swear to the Holy Virgin Mother,
     if you do not stop pestering me about this bullshit, I will tell JJ
     you say his name when I blow you.”
     “That was just one time.”
     “It counts.”
     “I was telling you he was in the locker room…”
     “It totally counts!”
Yuri Plisetsky doesn't have any real outside interests. No, obsessing over
cats, ballet practice and Instagram do not count, even if Yuri huffs his hair
and curses in that insanely adorable way. He doesn't even have passive
pastimes. He doesn't read anything that's not some damn Viktor Nikiforov post
or a tag - not even magazines! What Yuri calls ‘his music,’ is simply a short
songlist Otabek put together to ‘get pumped,’ or filter out conversations he
finds boring. Forget movies. Otabek had carefully curated a nice Netflix queue
for him: Mad Max Fury Road, Bladerunner, the Dark Knight, the Big Lebowski… It
was a disaster. Yuri spent all their viewing time stalking other skaters on
Instagram, ranting about JJ, Yuuri Katsuki, and the horror that was Viktor
fucking Nikiforov.
“I don't get it.” Otabek sits in front of his laptop, staring at the Skype
window. Somewhere, in that dark mess, Yuri sat with his pet cat, Mudak. “You
eat, breath and sleep figure skating. Don’t you want to try other things?”
He snorts. “No. That's why I win.” Yuri peers out of the darkness that is his
bedroom. “Maybe you'd beat me if you focused more.”
That is rude and uncalled for. He ignores it. “All you do is either skating or
cat related.” And stalking-related.
Yuri retreats into the darkness. “I do you, fuckface.”
Oh, come on. He's such a child about this. “Sex is as much of a hobby as
eating. It doesn't count.”
“Beka!” He slams his fist down. “I swear to the Holy Virgin Mother, if you do
not stop pestering me about this bullshit, I will tell JJ you say his name when
I blow you.”
“That was just one time.”
“It counts.”
“I was telling you he was in the locker room…”
“It totally counts!”
Otabek’s eyebrow goes up. Working Yuri up is probably in his top ten of
favorite things to do, and that's saying a lot, given that he likes to do a lot
of things. “No.”
“Ever again.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ever. I mean it.”
Someone knocks on the door. It must be room service. Thank heaven! Otabek
ordered a stack of Montecristos in a fit of hunger, half an hour ago. He needs,
desperately, to eat.
“Go get your food, asshole.”
He tips well and gets back, promptly, so he can open the goodness.
Yuri sighs. “Man, I wish I was there. Those sandwiches looks amazing!”
“Just for the sandwich, huh?” He takes a nice big bite and chews in front of
the laptop. Slowly.
This makes Yuri growl. Otabek likes his growls, not just because they're sexy,
because they are, but because they can also be hilarious. Yuri is a pussy cat
who's under the strange impression that he is a tiger. “You're teasing me,
now!”
Food is very serious business to a young man having growth spurts - especially
if he is an athlete. It is almost as serious as sex. Otabek relishes teasing
Yuri with a deadpan calm. He would never admit he does it, because it is as
obvious (and silly) as admitting the sky is blue, but he does. “It's delicious.
I think they used cranberry sauce? It came with a pickle, too.”
“If you start sucking on it, I swear on all the Saints…”
“You already threatened me with JJ.”
“I’ll jack off right here and make you miss me so bad!”
He picks the pickle up, immediately. “You need to make threats like that more
often.” Seriously, he really should. Hell, he and Yuri had skidded off the
platonic rails and became something indefinably else, because of Yuri jerking
off.
Long story…
++
They'd become close friends quickly. Otabek liked Yuri’s serious commitment to
skating, and he liked to think Yuri admired his, as well. They talked a lot
about competition, technique, personalities ( Yuri couldn't stop going on and
on about Nikiforov, damn it), and a few other things. Since Yuri didn't care
much about music, movies, books, or anything not involving skating, cats,
internet stalking, or memes, those other things were what practically all
teenage boys all had in common, whether or not they happened to be competitive
figure skaters.
“They restrict the internet in Kazakhstan, don’t they?” Yuri had an unholy grin
on his face, as if he was going to introduce his saintly Muslim friend to the
wonders of porn.
How cute.
He would have laughed, but he preferred silently savoring his shocks. “I get
free online passes for all the sex clubs I DJ.”
Of course Yuri wanted to see the video - for ‘proof’ that Otabek went to these
fabled places - and, of course Otabek showed him, because a shock doesn't count
when it can't be backed up. Yes, he really was in a couple of those vids, too -
not performing sexually - but behind a booth, wearing a mask. (Though it was
easy to tell it was really, truly, was Otabek.)
Yuri was impressed, then he forgot to be impressed as he watched the rest of
it. There were men and women doing various things in various combinations, and
there were the other videos on sister sites with even more combinations, which
quickly narrowed down to a very specific preference Otabek had suspected all
along. Otabek let him keep clicking away, because that was what Yuri did in
front of screens. He was probably thinking about doing something else in front
of that screen, too.
Otabek didn't exactly mind.
He knew he should have minded. After all, Yuri was still jailbait, though just
by a few months. Otabek was an eighteen year old adult and painfully aware of
how different eighteen and fifteen were in terms of maturity. But that devilish
elfin face, wispy blond hair and bendable body did things to his imagination
that made those videos look like children’s programming. He said he wanted to
be friends, and he did, but he wanted to be very good friends with this (very
clawed) kitten , or rather, very bad friends. So the thought of Yuri
masturbating to his laptop was absolutely fine by him.
He pretended to leave the room for a glass of water, and padded back, silently,
sans water, to find Yuri with his hands full.
Perfect.
Otabek said nothing. He just sat next to a very startled Yuri, calmly took out
his own half hard dick and began to stroke himself.
Not to the videos, no. He'd seen many a porn orgy or two in person. It was sort
of like seeing sausage made, pun intended, and they weren't all that appealing
when compared to a flushed and hard Yuri, who was staring at him with
delectable embarrassment.
“It's okay.” Otabek smiled as if this was as ordinary as two friends getting
coffee. “It’s perfectly natural.”
It all went to hell, or heaven, from there. Yuri pretended to watch the screen
as Otabek kept a steady gaze on him, catching Yuri as he peeked every so often
at Otabek’s dick. It was enough to put Yuri over the edge, and watching him
come was like watching a sunset or understanding Shakespeare in English for the
first time: magical. He tossed his head back and shivered as his delicate
features scrunched up and whined. God! Otabek still gets hard, to this day,
when he remembers that sound.
“Man, that was kinda gay…”
Otabek came seconds after he said that.
“Oh, now it’s really gay.”
Otabek grabbed napkins from the table and handed him a few. “A lot of the
videos you ended up watching were gay.”
“Your face is gay.”
Yuri wiped himself off and they spent the rest of the evening in silence.
Otabek worked on some edits while Yuri scoured Instagram. But he had something
to say when he left Otabek’s hotel room: “Let's do that, again.”
Otabek leaned against the door. “Are you asking me to be gay with you?”
Yuri gave Otabek a gleefully evil smile, grabbed him by the shirt, and shoved
his tongue in his mouth, giving him the most wonderfully sloppy kiss in
history. “What the fuck do you think, asshole?”
++
“Hey,” Yuri is watching Otabek lick the tip of the pickle. “You want me to do
this or what, Altin?”
He leans back, sucks on the pickle and shrugs with a frown, as if LeRoy just
asked him if he likes JJ Style.
Yuri is so easy. He flips his bedroom light on and plays some really awful
eighties techno Yuri keeps calling ‘aesthetic.’ “Watch me, asshole.” Awful
music can't be fixed, but it can be tolerated when Yuri Plisetsky is running
his hands through his long, blond hair and grinding to it.
Hell!
Otabek is already half hard when Yuri turns around and pulls the shirt, then
the shorts off, sliding them over his skin. He bends over and rubs his thighs,
his ass, then his thighs again as the beat pushes through Otabek’s speakers in
the same pounding rhythm he dreams of using when he finally gets to fuck his
dirty Yura.
“Too bad you can't have it, tonight, right?”
Otabek watches as Yuri, his Yura, falls into the bed and turns on his side,
showing him everything. He's so suckable, biteable, fuckable. “Oh Daddy, you
wanna be here right now, hm?” He smacks his own ass.
He bites into the pickle. That little shit! He used that word! It's so wrong!
It's so insanely bad for countless, countless reasons. And it makes Otabek hard
as a rock, every time.
“I'm going to be very, very bad, Daddy.”
The Daddy thing was another long story…
++
While it was true that Yuri needed other interests, something to make him a
well rounded person who didn't depend on cat vids and stalking to fill the
empty gaps between skating and more skating, he was making a valiant effort
where sex was concerned. No, sex wasn't really a hobby, in the same sense that
eating or sleeping were not hobbies, either. But at least he wasn't staring at
a screen when Otabek was working on him.
Yuri was more than enthusiastic, and actually very aggressive. He liked
straddling Otabek so he could stare into his eyes as he ground against him, and
Otabek found a way to suffer though that fantastic torture. “Tell me you want
me.”
“Obviously.”
“No, I want you to confess how bad you want me. Tell me you get hard when I
talk to other men, like you want to take me right in front of them and show
them I'm yours.”
Oh, someone was having fantasies that didn't involve wearing a tiger striped
skating costume or obsessively stalking Nikiforov? Otabek leaned back against
his elbows and almost - almost - smiled. Things were looking up. “Maybe I
should fuck you in front of other skaters in the locker room. They could touch
themselves, but they couldn't touch you.” Especially Nikiforov.
“Would they come all over me?” Oh, hell! Yuri was really turned on, rubbing his
nipples through his t shirt as he practically bounced on Otabek, over and over.
His Yura was such a bad, bad boy. The kind of boy who would do anything for
attention. Otabek imagined pulling him by the hair, to angle him for money
shots all over his perfect face. “I’d make you wipe it all off and swallow it.”
“Make me? What would you do if I said no?”
This was too easy. Otabek laid back and began thrusting upward. “Bad boys get
spanked.”
“Are going to be my Daddy, Beka?” That did all sorts of insane things to his
state of mind. It was perverse, it was obscene, a one-word confirmation that
what they were doing was taboo. Yura laughed as Otabek reared up and pushed him
into the carpet. “Oh, Daddy! Be nice!” He kept laughing as clothes - he was
wearing too many damn clothes! - were practically torn off. “Oh my god! You
really like that, don't you, Daddy?”
Otabek uncapped a lube bottle. He was one finger deep inside Yuri in seconds,
jerking him off with his other hand. “You asked for this!” The laughter turned
into high pitched wails as Otabek curled his finger and finger banged him,
hard. Yuri just stared up at him, mouth open, with wide, pleading eyes, begging
him for release. “Feel it, Yura! Feel it!” This was what he'd always wanted,
his sweet and dirty boy, tweaking those pink nipples and writhing like a cat in
heat for him.
That got him two fingers. “I'll be your Daddy. I'll be anything you need me to
be. But you can't be a bad boy for anyone else.” He squeezed the base of his
cock. “No one else.”
“Oh, Holy Mother…!” When he arched his back, when he wailed, when he came,
Otabek knew Yura was totally and completely his.
Otabek didn't bother taking off his wifebeater and jeans, he just unzipped his
fly and crooked his finger at the beautifully flushed, naked mess on the floor.
“Come here, Yura. Take responsibility for what you did to me.”
Even after coming, Yuri was more than happy to continue. Hell, he was on his
knees, beaming as he licked Otabek like a lollipop. “Is this okay, Daddy?”
Oh, he really, really was so damn bad. Otabek fisted his hair and pushed his
dick into his mouth. “You know better than that.”
They'd given each other blow jobs before, but Otabek was always careful not to
overwhelm Yuri with his demands. What Otabek got from him were really glorified
hand jobs, with Yuri sucking the head of his cock. And it was fine - more than
fine. Even the best deepthroating couldn't compare to looking down and seeing
those wide, blue-green eyes staring back at home while that beautiful mouth
sucked him.
“You drive me insane. You know that, don't you?”
Yura whimpered around his dick and sucked even harder. Otabek fought back the
urge to ram himself down his throat, but he couldn't help pushing in a little
deeper. Oh, hell -
“Dirty, sweet - Yura!”
++
“Tell me how you're finally going to fuck me.” He's stroking himself in front
of the camera. “Is it going to be on a mattress? Up against a wall? Maybe on
the floor, on my hands and knees?”
Otabek wants all of those things, and more. But he refuses to say. Yuri will
have to earn that information. He just sucks on the pickle and shrugs.
“Maybe on your motorcycle? Someone might even see us and post it all over the
Internet.” His smile is pure evil. “Then all those rumors would be confirmed,
yeah?”
Otabek pops the pickle out of his mouth. “I'm sorry, were you saying
something?” Yuri is going to have to do better than this. Talking dirty is
good, but Yura being nasty is better. “Quit teasing me, kitten, and show me
what you'd like me to do to you.”
Yura groans. “How? I can't fuck myself, damn it!”
“Don't lie to me. I know you finger fuck yourself all the time.” Otabek sits
back. “I'm the one who taught you how, remember?”
++
They were showering in Yuri’s hotel room after Otabek drove two days and nights
to get to St Petersburg. He needed to sleep, but the sight of Yuri greeting him
at the door in tiger print boxer briefs sent any thought of rest out of his
mind. There were no words exchanged as Yuri hauled him inside. Otabek slammed
him against the wall and pressed his knee up against Yuri, right there, and his
sweet, dirty kitten was grinding against it, gasping and staring into his eyes.
Otabek swallowed his cries with a long, deep kiss when he came.
The shower stall was too cramped to do all the things Otabek wanted to do to
that flushed, tight body, but he could do some of them. He lathered Yura up
with the creamy hotel body wash, turned him around and poured a generous amount
all over his ass. “Brace your hands on the tile and spread your legs.”
“Huh?” He was playing coy, like he didn't understand why. Oh, but he did, the
damn tease.
Otabek grabbed his chin. “Do it, kitten.” One smack on the ass later, Yura,
sweet, filthy Yura, was whimpering as Otabek barely pushed a finger tip against
him. “Ever tried this?”
“No…”
“Want to?”
He nodded, then gasped as Otabek pushed in a little.
“You okay?”
White suds slid over his slick, round ass and over his hand, like come. “Just
do it, asshole!”
“So it's going to be like that, huh?” Otabek turned the water off, nevermind
the soap all over Yura, and hauled him out of the stall, and right on to the
bathroom floor. “Do it yourself, brat.”
He gasped as Otabek sucked his finger, then moaned when he placed Yura’s own
hand between his legs and positioned that finger there up against him and
pushed, just a little, just enough, and breathed into Yura’s ear. “One knuckle
deep.”
“Oh, fuck you, Otabek!”
“No, fuck yourself. One knuckle.” He had driven, half hard over a thousand
miles, dreaming of that shocked choking sound, and - oh, hell! - it was
beautiful. “That's my dirty kitten. That's it. Now pull back and go deeper.” He
pulled his hand out, just a little, then pushed in, more.
“You're such a perv, you know that, Beka?”
“Shut up.” He repeated the movement, relishing the shocked intake of breath,
licking the shell of his ear. “Now curl your finger.” He jammed Yura’s finger
in, hard.
“Fuck!”
“Again.”
“Oh, Holy Virgin Mother!” He arched his back and suddenly Otabek didn't need to
move his hand at all. Yura was doing all the work, moaning and writhing as he
finger fucked himself. “God - fuck! - Beka!”
Somehow, don't ask Otabek how, he found himself being sucked off, then coming
all over Yura’s beautiful face, while they discovered he could manage two
fingers, easily.
Another shower later, they flopped into the hotel bed, Otabek with his laptop,
double checking his booking dates and verifying his practice times at the rink,
and Yuri stalking Nikiforov with one of his many sock puppet accounts.
Otabek was not impressed. “Don't you have anything better to do?”
“I just did it.” Yuri made a face. “Oh my god! He actually posted a kiss pic
with Piggie! He's worse than a lovesick woman!”
“Hm.” Otabek closed his laptop and turned off the light. “Quit stalking your
old crush and get some sleep, Yura.”
“What did you say -?”
Otabek gathered him into his arms and shushed him with a soft kiss. It was
distracting enough for Otabek to take Yuri’s damn phone away and place it on
top of his laptop with no complaint. “You don't need him, anymore. I'm here.”
++
Yura is sitting up on his knees, hand between his legs, and bouncing up and
down on as he fucks himself with three fingers. Hell… He is so beautiful:
creamy, flush and perfect as he sobs. “Please, Daddy! Let me jerk off!”
“No. Not after you teased me about it.”
“But I need - ”
“You're going to come for me, without jerking off, because you are a very, very
bad kitten.”
“No! Please? Oh, please?” Yura whines as he rotates his hips and does his best
to change Otabek’s mind. “I'll swallow my come for you and everything! Just,
please, Daddy?”
Otabek makes a show of sighing. “What am I going to do with such a brat?”
“Let me come! That's what!”
He rolls his eyes, as if he's bored. “Oh, go ahead.”
Yura touches himself. “Daddy…” It's just one stroke, Otabek knows that'll be
all it takes, and he's right. Yura erupts, wailing as he bucks for him.
His dirty, sweet Yura.
++
“You really need to find something to occupy your time.”
“I just did.” Yuri’s wearing a bathrobe and eating - what are those, Cheetos?
“Mudak! Stop pestering me! These aren't good for you!” He gives his cat a
glare, then a pet.
Otabek stretches. It's 2 am and they really need to get some sleep, but these
Skype calls are more essential when they've been apart for months. “Did you
watch the movie I recommended?”
Yuri makes a face. “What? That Japanese cartoon? I can't listen to that shit.
Reminds me of the pig.”
“Akira is a masterpiece. You'd love it.”
“What I’d love is to wear this year’s Grand Prix gold while you fuck me into
the floor. I don't need distractions.” He devours the rest of the bag and
tosses it (hopefully into a trash can). His mouth is orange, that crap is all
over his teeth, too, and he still looks better than a supermodel when he
smiles. “And it's going to happen.”
“You'll have to settle for silver, Plisetsky, because I'm going to be the one
wearing the gold medal while I fuck you into the floor.”
“Not a chance, Altin. Not a chance.”
Otabek snorts. If he knows him, and he knows him very well, Yuri probably
masturbates to that fantasy. That, and flogging Nikiforov with the gold medal
he will notwin. He really needs to get a life, because he's going to be sorely
disappointed. “Never underestimate a dark horse, kitten.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!