Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13157919.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Otabek_Altin, Yuri_Plisetsky, Victor_Nikiforov, Katsuki_Yuuri, Katsuki
      Yuuri's_Family
  Additional Tags:
      Mutual_Masturbation, Pining, Young_Love, mention_of_bottom_yuri, Mention
      of_switching, Sappy_Shit, author_got_4_cavities_writing_this, some
      Christmas_foolery, this_gay_as_hell_!!!!!, Fluff, Sex_Toys, Long-Haired
      Yuri_Plisetsky, Yuri_Plisetsky_Swears, Long-Distance_Relationship,
      japanese_shit, Yuri_is_17, Otabek_is_20
  Collections:
      Madness_Secret_Satan_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-26 Words: 4146
****** Gifts ******
by topdollarwitch
Summary
     Gift for nomanono for The Madness Secret Satan! Hope you enjoy this
     sappy vaguely Christmas-y slightly smutty fluff.
     For Otabek, the first gift should have been the first clue, and yet
     he remained oblivious.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
For Otabek, the first gift should have been the first clue, and yet he remained
oblivious.
The steering him into an empty toilet stall, pressing flush against him, and
breathing ’Can I kiss you?’ after three hours of free drink was a bit of a
bolder statement. But there was the unexpected gift earlier in the night that
really should have been the first clue.
Actually, technically, it wasn’t the first gift. Yuri had brought Otabek things
akin to gifts before--souvenirs--and Otabek had done the same. When Yuri came
to Almaty for a long weekend the April after they first met he had extracted a
box of pastila from his bag and passed it over the bed to Otabek, muttering
‘Thanks for having me or whatever…’ When Otabek came to St. Petersburg the
following fall, he had presented Yuri with a box of chocolates, an equally
ritualized gesture.
But souvenirs didn’t count, really.
The first real gift was on that humid night in Hasetsu in August. There was a
festival, with lanterns and food stalls and the entire town crowded into the
main street next to the station. Yuri had followed Katsuki and Nikiforov back
to Japan that summer, after Katsuki’s father threw his back out, under the
premise that he would help out at the onsen and Nikiforov could continue
coaching.
There’s all these festivals this time of year, and I’m about to go fucking
nuts, so you should come. And so Otabek did.
After wandering through the lights and sounds of the main street, they
reconvened on a tarp the Nishigori family had put down by the river to watch
fireworks. They had a cooler which Viktor and Mr. Nishigori, already drunk from
dinner, had lugged bumpily between them across town. Yuri was sneaking chu-hi’s
and sitting close to Otabek, their shoulders bumping. It was Otabek’s second
day in Hasetsu.
“So, I have something to give you.” Yuri said, turning to him. He smelled like
artificial green apple. He leaned a little into Otabek’s side to wrestle with
his yukata, his cool hair brushing his shoulder. Otabek couldn’t help but
notice a pale swath of thigh peek through the dark cloth before Yuri procured
his wallet from somewhere around his midsection.
Otabek had thought, for a long time, that having a crush on Yuri would be fine.
It was fine, he needn’t be ashamed or heartbroken or anything dramatic, as long
as he could still talk to him every day and make him laugh and stay up late
talking in hotel rooms. Which was just as fucking sappy. But anyway, usually it
was fine.
It was moments like this, with Yuri huffing into his shoulder and his leg
visible all the way up to the tight shorts he had wriggled into right in front
of him after sitting together ass naked in the hot spring, it was moments like
this where it was...not really fine.
Yuri carefully extracted something bright turquoise and grey from behind his
I.D. card.
“Put out your arm.”
Otabek obeyed (how could he not?) and Yuri painstakingly tied a bracelet around
his left wrist. It was silky floss woven into alternating patterns of grey and
blue.
“Does it have a meaning?”
“Not really.” said Yuri. He pulled his own long sleeve back to reveal a neon
pink and purple bracelet of his own. “The girls were making them the other
day...I thought I’d make one for you too.”
It was dark, and Otabek couldn’t see Yuri’s face well. He knew that Yuri had
been looking after the triplets often during the day, and helping in the
beginner class at Ice Castle. He had received several snaps with the girls
giggling and braiding his hair, or shrilly repeating something Yuri had taught
them in broken Russian.
“Thanks.”
Yuri had chuckled lowly, the way he does, and had looked like he wanted to say
something, but then a green glow and rush of gasps enveloped the riverbank, and
the fireworks drowned out any possibility of conversation.
Yuri had gotten to the point later on in the night, anyway.
***
A day later they had stopped in a convenience store on the way back from the
beach, and Otabek bought them both ice cream. He had to hold it in his left
hand, so he could hold on to Yuri with his right. It was the first gift he
bought him as his boyfriend.
***
“You look cute.”
Otabek almost regrets it as soon as he says it. Almost. Yuri has been called
cute his whole life, and at seventeen and nearing six feet of wiry athlete he’s
almost convinced the world otherwise.
But...he’s still cute.
“Thanks, asshole. So do you.” Yuri leans over to check his phone, bangs falling
conveniently in front of his face. Otabek knows he’s red. Last Thursday, Otabek
had mentioned that he really liked when Yuri wore his teal training jacket, it
matched his eyes. Yuri had actually slapped his hands over his face and
groaned. It was fucking cute.
‘You’re gay, Beka. God.’
‘...yeah, I am?’
Yuri had ended the call with a hasty ‘Ireallylikeyoureyestoo, goodnight!’.
Sure enough, when Yuri tosses his head back to the screen, his cheeks are
tinged an attractive shade of pink. “So, like, Mila’s seeing that speed skater,
right? Look at Sara’s Twitter and tell me she’s not having a lesbo shitfit…”
Yuri had been Otabek’s best friend for two-and-a-half years, and his boyfriend
for three months. Otabek had seen Yuri spit obscenities at paparazzi that would
make Putin himself blush, had seen him drunkenly sob in a toilet stall on
multiple occasions, had seen him beam down at him from the podium and hum along
to the national anthem he claimed to hate. But seeing Yuri blush is a hidden
prize he had just discovered. It hadn’t been long. How should they talk? Can I
call you babe? Is that okay? It feels weird...
The conversation quickly turns to the upcoming Internationaux de France in the
first week of November. Finally, Yuri and Otabek are scheduled together.
Finally, they can be together. Japan had been a blur of sweaty palms and
frantic, muffled kisses in the dark or in an empty room or behind a tree on the
way to the rink. Not knowing when to hold his hand. Falling asleep pressed
together, despite the heat, and waking up smelling like Yuri.
After returning to Almaty and St. Petersburg, it had only been a matter of time
before Yuri couldn’t stand it and had sent an early-morning snap, fresh out of
the shower, towel doing a very poor job of covering much at all. Miss you,
Beka.
And a second snap, five minutes later, and only five seconds long. The towel
had been nowhere to be seen. Despite having taken the short week they had been
together together as a challenge to explore every inch of each other that they
could, Otabek was still astonished enough to drop his phone, and scramble to
pick it up off the floor next to his bed just as he heard Yuri moan his own
name. Otabek had never been so glad to live alone.
And so he had had no choice. Yuri had started it.
To their credit, the Skype thing had taken a month to begin. Yuri, angry about
someone or other mouthing off to him at the rink one night, had taken a stroll
to Lilia’s liquor cabinet before their call and chosen a vodka she “wouldn’t
even touch and kept for guests” to ease his stress.
Emboldened by the alcohol, Yuri had come up with another way to relieve stress
that night. The idea had always been there, but before trying it the thought
had made Otabek feel a little light-headed. Like, what do we do? Just look at
each other?
We can make some sounds. Like...talk…
Yuri had been full of good ideas that night.
Presently, Yuri wriggles to sit up a little straighter on his bed.
“So, it’s your birthday.”
“Next weekend.”
“Right. I got you...an early present.” Yuri’s voice wavers, like he’s on the
verge of letting out a secret.
“Oh? You didn’t have to, I’ll see you in two weeks--” Otabek starts.
“No, just listen!” Yuri hisses, and drops his voice conspiratorially. “So,
Lilia’s at this dinner thing with the hags tonight. And I have the day off
tomorrow.” He pauses, as though Otabek should understand what these two facts
equal.
“...Yuri, you didn’t book anything, did you?” Otabek remembered the first time
Yuri had come to visit him in Almaty. He had been given three days notice.
“Ah, no. Wish I had. That would have been good...” Yuri looks wistful for a
moment, then snaps his gaze back to the camera. “Next time. Anyway, remember
that, uh, thing we tried?”
Yuri’s hunched over so far in front of his laptop that his face almost takes up
the entire screen, eyes wide and waiting.
“The thing? Like, what thing?” Otabek snorts, and knows exactly the type of
grin he’s failing to suppress. “We tried...a few things.”
“I mean. You know. You know.” Yuri hasn’t blinked in a solid minute, Otabek
reckons. “We ah...when we tried…”
“When we tried to fuck?”
“Beka!”
Otabek chuckles, he can’t help it. Yuri is flushed to his collarbones. For
someone who interjects obscenities into everyday conversation as naturally as
he breathes, and is equally talented at interjecting them into other situations
(as Otabek has recently learned), Yuri is surprisingly reticent to actually
talk about sex itself. Or at least the things that him and Otabek do. In
Hasetsu, it had been a lot of ‘I really liked how you, uh, did the thing…’ and
‘Let’s do the thing, that one thing, again…’.
It takes him a moment, but Yuri composes himself.
“Yeah. Anyway. So...I bought a thing. To like...get me...ready.” Yuri has gone
from flushed to beet-red, and his eyes are focused somewhere between the
keyboard and his lap.
“...oh?” Oh.
“Okay, just wait there.” Yuri scrambles from the bed and leaves Otabek to
mumble ‘Waiting.’ to a very disinterested Potya left curled alone near Yuri’s
pillow. Otabek watches as the lights dim, and then return in the softer haze of
the standing lamp Yuri rarely uses. He hears drawers open and shut, and then
Yuri is tossing a box onto the bed and removing the cat with a whispered
‘Sorry! Sorry!’
After almost a full minute Yuri comes back into frame, and he’s stripped to his
briefs, the grey ones with leopard spots. He sits down on his haunches on top
of the comforter and smirks.
“Turn your music up a little.”
“Your wish is my command.” It’s hard to obey any commands at the moment though,
with Yuri shaking his hair out of its bun and running a hand up and down his
leg in a way that is undoubtedly more calculated than he makes it look.
Something to get me ready… Otabek turns up the acoustic playlist he already had
on, then decides to take his shirt off. How to begin…this...hasn’t yet gotten
any less awkward.
“Nice.” Yuri mutters, then stretches to position his pillows behind his back.
“Wish I was there with you, babe.”
Babe. It’s the second time he’s used that word. The first was when he was about
to fall asleep and near-rambling a week before.
“Me too.” Otabek leans back in his chair, mirroring Yuri. “You look really hot,
you know.”
“I thought I looked cute?” Yuri raises his eyebrow, then bites his lip and runs
a hand down his stomach, getting to the point. The lip-bite. Otabek twitches in
his sweatpants. That’s one weakness of his that Yuri’s already discovered.
“You can be both.”
Yuri hmms and palms himself through the fabric, giving a quick squeeze to
something very solid just under his waistband, then pulls his hand away.
“Yura. Are you gonna show me what you bought?”
“Impatient.” Yuri chides, but reaches into the box and produces two objects.
One, a bottle of lube that Otabek is no stranger to. Two, a bright pink
cylinder, about as long as Yuri’s hand, with the end bent at a gentle angle.
“It’s not as big as you, but…”
“It’s a vibrator?” Otabek tries to will the images that his mind unwittingly
begin to conjure away. Yuri with his face buried in his pillow and ass proudly
raised, frantically preparing himself for Otabek. Yuri, clapping a hand over
his own mouth against the wall of his shower, which Otabek had never seen
before but had no problem imagining when inspiration struck him. If he was
thick with interest earlier, he’s edging closer to full attention now.
“Just watch.” Yuri twists the bottom and a soft humming buzz answers Otabek’s
question. Yuri readjusts himself once again on the pillows and proceeds to
trace the outline of his bulge.
“Damn.”
Yuri chuckles lowly. “I haven’t even started yet.” He runs the tip over what
Otabek can only imagine must be the underside of the head and sighs. Otabek
begins to palm himself, shadowing Yuri’s movements.
“I think about you all the time, Otabek.” Yuri ends his sentence with a small
groan, running the vibrator all the way from his balls to the straining tip,
now evident. A dark spot blooms against grey.
“I think about you too. Wanna touch you so bad, Yura.” Otabek feels the fog of
lust cloud his head, making speech difficult and most shreds of modesty
evaporate. He runs a hand up his chest and pinches his nipple, like Yuri used
to reach up to do when he had his mouth on him...
Yuri sets the vibrator down, clicking it off, and sits up to shuffle his way
closer to the camera. His narrow hips, briefs pulled taught, encompass the
screen. He rocks his hips from side to side in a way that is undeniably cute,
slowly pulling the waistband lower and lower with the movement. Otabek holds
his breath. Yuri pauses, and one index finger disappears under the elastic.
When he brings it back up, a thin string of precum is just visible trailing
after.
“Wanna touch you too. Wanna do more than touch you…” comes the low murmur of
Yuri’s voice from somewhere above, and then he’s pulling his pants down
properly. His bobbing cock is flushed dark, contrasting with the pale hair and
skin of his stomach. Otabek’s mouth waters. He touches himself through his
pants, wanting to last as long as possible. He’s already wet under the fabric.
Yuri leans back on the pillows and quickly removes the briefs altogether, his
cock slapping against his stomach. He picks up the vibrator and hesitates, as
though unsure where exactly he wants to use it. Otabek knows how sensitive Yuri
is, and knows he won’t last long going directly at his cock.
“Nipples.” says Otabek, and Yuri’s eyes snap up to the screen. A grin grows on
the corner of his mouth. He raises the vibrator to trace a wide circle around
his left nipple.
“You like do-o-oing that? Telling me what to do-o?” Yuri pants, breath coming
in staccato as he grazes over the sensitive bud. Otabek doesn’t respond, mind
detouring to lustful half-thoughts of grabbing Yuri’s ass and squeezing and
running his tongue up that warm, hard cock…
Yuri seems to be in a similar state. He’s inched his other hand down between
his legs, and is grinding his hips down against his fingers with each panting
breath. He splays his legs and scoots down, giving Otabek a view that would
make him blush to remember.
“Where do you want me to put it, Otabek?” Yuri over-enunciates the last
syllable of his full name with a echoing click, and Otabek finds a new thing to
ask for in the future.
“Where do you want it? Show me, Yuratchka.” Emboldened by Yuri’s widening eyes,
Otabek cants his hips up to pull himself out of his sweatpants. He watches Yuri
gaze at him and swallow. He wants to nip at the spot on this neck that bobs.
Yuri pats a hand around the comforter until he finds the bottle of lube. Otabek
is careful to grip his shaft in the most featherlight of touches. Watching Yuri
trace his own twitching hole, sigh as he presses into himself with one finger,
it’s almost torture. Otabek feels already like a little too much friction at
the wrong moment could make him blow all over his belly like a pre-teen. He’s
seen Yuri finger himself before. Hell, he’s used his own fingers to help get
Yuri off. It doesn’t make it any less agonizingly hot.
Yuri adds a second finger and gasps on his inhale. His cock twitches against
his stomach, untouched.
“Your cock looks so good, Beka.”
“You look amazing, Yura.”
Yuri finally takes his cock into his hand, stroking the foreskin languidly over
the head. He starts panting, a soft ‘Oh! Oh!’ after each breath. He cants his
hips to the rhythm.
“Can you do a third?”
“Ye-ah.” Yuri pauses, and slowly slides his ring finger in alongside the
others. He hisses softly and rolls his head back, but it seems to slide in just
fine. “So good.” he whispers a moment later.
“Can you reach like that?”
“Not quite. The angle’s…kinda...hard…” He opens his eyes and raises his head.
“Wanna see?” Yuri breathes.
“Fuck, yes. Yes.”
Yuri pulls his glistening fingers out carefully, squeezes more lube into his
palm, and pumps it a few times along the slim shaft of the vibrator.
“It’s not as big as you, Beka.” Yuri gazes down at Otabek as he slides the
vibrator in, pulls it out, twists it a little. He reaches down with his other
hand and turns it on, then closes his eyes tight.
“Fuck.”
Otabek can’t decide if watching Yuri makes him want to grab him by the hips and
fuck him until he’s whimpering, or drive him crazy himself with this piece of
plastic and battery. Yuri hooks one leg behind his elbow and knits his
eyebrows, fucking himself as though hitting just there is the difference
between life and death.
“You look so fucking good, Yura.”
Yuri responds with a high sound between a gasp and a sigh and locks eyes with
Otabek.
“I want your cock so bad.” He breathes it in barely more than a whisper, but it
drives Otabek wild. Yuri reaches up and begins pumping his neglected cock with
his free hand. “I want it to be you, Beka, fuck, I need you to fuck me soon,
Ithinkaboutit all the-e t-time…”
Otabek has heard Yuri curse and seen him writhe and come close to begging, but
he’s never seen him babble. I need you to fuck me soon.
Yuri holds the vibrator just so within him and begins focusing on the head of
his cock, like he does when he’s close. He’s flushed all the way down his
chest, his head is straining against the pillows behind him, and he’s making a
half-sob, half-whine that Otabek’s never had the privilege of hearing before.
It’s too much. Otabek can feel his balls tighten, if he doesn’t stop now he’s
going to come.
“Yura, fuck, fuck, I’m about to…”
Yuri’s eyes snap open and dart to Otabek.
“Come for me Otabek, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon…”
Otabek does as he’s told, moaning Yuri’s name and spurting all the way up to
his chest. Yuri’s whine reaches a crescendo and he jerks bodily forward once,
twice, and then he’s coming onto his stomach. “Beka, Beka, Beka…”
Afterwards, when they’ve cleaned up, Yuri rolls onto his side and buries his
face into the blanket next to him. When he looks back up, his eyes are wet.
“Yura, babe, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Otabek remains silent, pulling his shirt back on over his head. He runs a hand
through his hair. He’s tired.
“It’s just so good, coming like that. I want you to be here with me, and I want
to do it to you, too, Beka…”
Yuri stops talking, and puts his head down into the crook of his elbow. Otabek
knows, he knows so well. He doesn’t know what to say.
***
“Getting married on Christmas, what a crock of fuckin shit.”
Yuri buries his hands in his coat pockets and grimaces as if in physical pain
as he passes a group of carolers. Montreal is freezing, and they had finished
their hot cider. For someone from one of the coldest countries in the world,
Yuri cannot stand weather requiring more than a jacket.
“You didn’t complain at the Christmas Market.”
“They gave me booze.” Yuri had seemed uncharacteristically cheerful after a
single cup of cider, and that was how Otabek discovered that they had been
given the real stuff.
They round a corner and the cathedral comes into sight, across the square.
Otabek runs a hand up and down Yuri’s spine as they walk, and he quiets. It’s a
sight, with the yellow-bronze street lamps and light haze of snow just
beginning to fall.
“Hey, there’s a fountain.” As if on cue, Yuri starts off toward the fountain in
the center of the square. Otabek follows, wishing he had brought his hat. He
had to agree, Jean had some gall to invite people from all over the world to
Canada during December. He supposed most guests being travelers by the nature
of their work made it impossible to refuse.
They sit. After a moment, Yuri pulls his gloved hand out of his pocket to take
Otabek’s.
“They better not card at the reception.”
“I’ll get you drinks.”
“You just want to get me back into your hotel room.” Yuri says, waggling an
eyebrow.
“Already did. Years ago.”
“That doesn’t count, anyway.” Yuri says airily, looking out over the square.
He’s bundled up to the point of barely more than his eyes and the red tops of
his cheeks being visible. His hair is down, and the strands poking out of his
scarf shine like spun gold in the lamplight. Otabek thinks about peeling him
out of all those clothes later and kissing his hair, burying his face in it.
“You look gorgeous, Yura.”
Otabek swears he hears Yuri’s neck crack as he whips it around.
“Fuck off.” He huffs, crossing his legs. “Can’t even see my fuckin’ face,
weirdo. Out here freezing our balls off. I wanna take a bath when we get…”
Yuri falls silent as he notices Otabek carefully pull his gloves off, place
them on his knee, and then reach into his own jacket. He extracts a very small
box, smaller than that of a watch or a ring even. Yuri looks equal parts
perplexed and terrified. Otabek holds it out in his naked palm.
“Take it, Yura.”
“The fuck is this?”
“Merry Christmas.”
Yuri groans and snatches it from Otabek’s hand. But he’s uncrossed his legs,
and his fingers tremble as they pry the tiny box open.
Inside is a single ear stud, a titanium circle with a blue-green stone set in
the center. It twinkles in the light of the streetlamps.
“Fuck.”
“I think it’ll go well with--”
“--my eyes, I know.” Yuri’s voice is quiet, and half an octave high. He pulls
his own gloves off and places them on top of Otabek’s. He clumsily tugs the
small ring he had in his right ear out and shoves it in his coat pocket.
Otabek, unable to stop grinning, carefully pulls the stud out of the cardboard
and holds it to drop in Yuri’s palm. Yuri doesn’t say anything, and leans his
head forward so that only the tip of his nose pokes out of the curtain of his
hair as he fastens the earring.
When he finishes, he reaches for Otabek’s still-bare hand and covers it.
“You didn’t have to, Beka.”
“I wanted to.”
He runs his hand up Yuri’s arm to tangle in his hair, and gently turns his head
to face him. Yuri tucks his hair behind his right ear and tilts his head, the
stone sparkling with his eyes. It really is a perfect match.
“How’s it look?”
“It’s lovely.” Otabek has to rock forward to press his lips to Yuri’s temple,
and his cheek, right next to his ear. It’s a little awkward, but Yuri blushes
all the same. The gloves fall from his lap as Yuri cups his face with both
hands and kisses him.
“We don’t even celebrate Christmas.” Yuri says into his neck as he wraps him in
a hug.
“Then don’t think of it as a Christmas present.”
“You’re a fucking sap.” Yuri says with a loud sniff.
“Wait till I’m drunk tomorrow night.”
“Don’t fucking embarrass me. I love you.”
For Yuri, this is the first real gift.
End Notes
     Find me on tumblr and twitter, topdollarwitch. Fic blog: witchsvoid.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!