Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9137623.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Additional Tags:
      Drug-Induced_Sex, Drunk_Sex, Semi-Public_Sex, Dubious_Consent, First
      Time, Bathroom_Sex, Hand_Jobs, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Barebacking, No
      Lube, yeah_it_probably_hurts, doing_this_at_home_is_not_recommended,
      there_is_some_fluff_at_the_end_too
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-31 Words: 7261
****** Hurricane ******
by Ren
Summary
     On the night after the Grand Prix Final, Yuri gets drugged with
     something that makes him desperately horny. Otabek takes care of him.
Notes
     Told myself I'd write a quick little pwp, a few days and 7k later I
     have no idea what happened.
     Today is the 14th anniversary of my first published fanfic! [Viktor
     voice] Amazing!
     Title loosely based on Hurricane Drunk (by Florence + the Machine).
     The song has very little to do with this fic but I thought it sounded
     nice.
Otabek knows that something's wrong as soon as he gets back to the table. The
rest of their group is nowhere in sight, and Yuri is slumped on the low sofa
talking to two guys in their late twenties.
"Hey," Otabek says, sliding into a seat next to Yuri. He doesn't offer a
greeting to the other guys, though he makes sure to glare at them. Who are
they, anyway? They don't look like Yuri's typical fans and there's something
about them that Otabek doesn't like.
Yuri turns around to grin at Otabek. "Finally! I thought you'd bailed on us."
He's speaking Russian, and the guys exchange confused glances. It would be
polite to switch to English but Otabek finds he doesn't care to be polite right
now.
"Sorry, the bar was crowded. Where's everyone else?"
Yuri shrugs, sinking lower into the worn leather of the sofa, and glances to
the empty glasses on the table as if they hold the clues to their owners'
whereabouts. "Dunno. Mila and Sara said they wanted to dance. Thought you were
with them."
Otabek already regrets going to get a drink. He regrets coming to this club in
the first place. He wouldn't have come at all, if it hadn't been for Yuri's
insistence that they had to "get away from those disgusting lovebirds". Damn
Nikiforov and his fiancé – the evening should have been about Yuri's gold medal
and not about their engagement.
"So," one of the strangers says in heavily accented English. "You both
Russian?"
They're not skating fans, then. "Who are you two?" Otabek shoots back.
The guy smirks. "Friends of Yuri. We've been keeping him company. Isn't that
right, Yuri?"
The way he says Yuri's name makes Otabek's skin crawl. Otabek half expects Yuri
to rip the guy a new one for daring to talk in such a familiar way – he's not
the kind of person who befriends strangers in a club – but Yuri just watches
the exchange with a smile playing on his lips.
Yuri slides closer, leaning his shoulder against Otabek's. Otabek freezes for a
moment, feeling Yuri's warmth through the sleeve of his jacket. Then he meets
Yuri's eyes and mutters a curse.
"Have you been drinking?" Otabek asks. This close, he can smell liquor on
Yuri's breath.
"What? Nooo," Yuri replies, in the careful tones of a drunk person trying not
to sound drunk. "I haven't."
Now that he's paying attention, Otabek can see there's a half-empty cocktail
glass in front of Yuri that wasn't there before. He reaches for the glass. Yuri
makes as if to stop him, but his movements are sluggish.
"It's not alcoholic," Yuri tries to say.
Otabek might believe him more if he didn't slur the word so much. Holding
Yuri's stare, he takes a small sip. Immediately his eyes start watering.
"What the–" He coughs, feeling as if the roof of his mouth has been scorched
off. Has Yuri been drinking this? Otabek mutters a few choice expletives in
Kazakh, hoping that the tone will make them clear to the two foreigners.
"Why shouldn't he have a drink if he wants?" one of the strangers puts in.
Otabek doesn't like his tone, but what he likes even less is his hand on Yuri's
knee. The fact that Yuri doesn't seem to care makes it all worse.
"It was just one small drink while waiting for you," Yuri murmurs, snuggling
against Otabek.
Otabek wraps one arm around his shoulders. He wishes he knew Yuri well enough
to have the confidence to drag him away from these people.
"Just one drink," the stranger agrees. "To get him in the mood."
If looks could kill, he and his friend would be dead on the floor. "The mood
for what?"
The other guy leers. "That depends on what you're into. We didn't know he had a
boyfriend, but we don't mind sharing if you don't."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Otabek should have known that going to a seedy club where
they don't check IDs was a bad idea. He tightens the grip on Yuri's shoulder,
pulling him closer. "He's fifteen!"
The guy doesn't even flinch. "Is he?" he asks, casting Yuri a curious look.
"Looks younger," his companion says.
Otabek goes cold. "Leave. Now."
"There's no need to be like that…"
The hand that's on Yuri's knee starts moving up. Otabek lashes out and grabs
the guy's wrist, hard enough to make him yelp. "I was not asking." He tightens
the grip to make his point and has the satisfaction of feeling bones crunch
under his fingers.
The guy stumbles backwards, jerking away from Otabek's grip and almost falling
over his crony in his haste to get away.
"It was only a joke!" the other guy snaps, while the first one massages his
hand with a pained expression.
Otabek just glares at them until they scramble away, getting lost into the
crowd.
Yuri has barely said a word during the entire exchange. Otabek half expects him
to have fallen asleep, but when he looks down he sees Yuri is awake and staring
up at him with hazy green eyes.
"Hey," Otabek says in a softer tone. He's speaking Russian now, even though the
loud thumping music means nobody would overhear them anyway. "Are you all
right?"
"I'm fine," Yuri replies. He moves his mouth soundlessly for a moment, then
licks his lips. "I'm thirsty though, this place is too hot."
He does look flushed. Otabek suspects that has to do less with the heating and
more with what he's been drinking.
"Here," Otabek says, pushing his own drink towards Yuri. "Drink this. It's just
fruit juice."
Yuri drinks in huge gulps, almost dribbling some of the juice down the front of
his clothes. Otabek has to help him keep the glass steady because his hands are
shaking so much. When he's done, Yuri slumps back against Otabek.
"Thanks," Yuri murmurs. "Sorry I finished it all."
"Don't worry. Feeling better now?"
"A bit. Are you angry with me?"
Otabek shakes his head. "It's my fault for leaving you alone." He can't even
think about what might have happened if he hadn't come back when he did.
Yuri pouts. "Everyone left. I don't care." He settles more comfortably, one
shoulder leaning against Otabek's chest. His hair is tickling Otabek's cheek.
"What I don't like is, you're all treating me like a child. Don't drink this,
don't do that…"
Otabek sighs into Yuri's hair. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I would be
worried about any of my friends getting drunk and being harassed by lowlifes."
He doesn't say that he hasn't many friends to begin with, nor that Yuri is the
only one who gets his blood rushing like that.
Yuri traces an old stain on the table with the tip of his finger. "I'm not
drunk," he mumbles.
Since he's saying it as he's sprawled limply against Otabek, Otabek chooses not
to reply. They should get going, Otabek thinks. The pounding music and
suffocating air of the club seem to be making Yuri worse – there's a slight
sheen of sweat on his forehead now.
"Let's go back to the hotel," Otabek says. "I could use some fresh air." He
starts to get up.
Yuri pushes himself upright, then turns around and slides into Otabek's lap,
knees digging into the sofa.
"Not yet." Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek's shoulders. "I wanna stay here
with you."
Otabek tenses. He cranes his head and looks past Yuri to make sure that nobody
is looking. Their table is off to the side and nobody is paying them any
attention, but Otabek can't help feeling uneasy. The fact that Yuri is clearly
drunk isn't helping.
"Yuri," Otabek sighs. "Come on…" It would be different if he could be sure that
it's not just the alcohol talking, but he can't be sure, no matter how much he
wants to.
Yuri shifts, almost losing his balance, and Otabek puts one hand on his hip to
steady him.
"I didn't like them, you know," Yuri says. He leans against Otabek's chest,
hair falling into his eyes to cover his expression. "Those guys. What d'you
call 'em? Lowlifes? I didn't like them one bit."
"Neither did I." It's hard to keep all the anger from his voice. "But they're
gone now."
"I thought maybe if I flirted with them, you'd notice me. And you did." Yuri's
voice is muffled now that he's pressing his face against Otabek's shoulder.
There's no way Yuri hasn't heard how loud and how fast Otabek's heart is
beating.
"I always notice you." It's impossible not to. But it's the wrong time and
place for this conversation. "Come on, let's go back. Let's get you sobered up.
We can talk in the morning."
Yuri shakes his head, rubbing his face against Otabek like a cat. "Don't think
I can walk. I feel weird."
"Are you going to be sick?"
"No," Yuri moans against Otabek's neck. Otabek feels the word like a warm puff
of breath against his exposed skin. He shouldn't like it as much as he does.
"I'm not sick. I just feel… hot…"
Otabek runs one hand over Yuri's back in a slow, soothing circle. Even through
his clothes, Yuri feels unusually warm. Not that Otabek has known Yuri long
enough to be sure, but the other day, when Yuri had taken his hand, his fingers
had been icy. When Yuri pulled him close to snap a celebratory photo after
today's final, he'd been cold. Yuri always wears multiple layers of hoodies and
sweatshirts, even when he's not on the ice, so this sudden warmth could be the
beginning of a fever.
"Come on," Otabek says again. "You'll feel better if you can rest in your room.
Lean on me."
Otabek pushes himself to his feet, pulling Yuri along with him. Yuri stumbles
but Otabek's arm under his shoulders stops him from falling. They start making
their way through the crowd. Yuri isn't walking as much as being dragged along
– and he's doing his best impersonation of a koala, clinging to Otabek's side
with all his strength.
Fortunately, many of the other clubbers are clinging to each other, so nobody
pays much attention to the two of them as they make their way through the
floor. Otabek checks his phone while they're walking. There's no signal inside
the club, so he'll have to wait until they're outside to call a cab. The hotel
isn't far but Yuri is in no condition to walk even that short distance. The
sooner Otabek can get him to his bed, the better, and maybe if he gets enough
rest his hangover in the morning won't be so bad.
A sudden touch on his ass startles Otabek out of his thoughts. His head whips
around, searching for whoever's groping him – the two creeps from earlier come
to his mind – but it's just Yuri's hand sliding further down.
"Yuri," Otabek chides him, shifting Yuri's arm to a safer position. It's
unlikely that anyone will recognize them, or take photos in the club's low
light, but they're still in public. Not to mention that Yuri, with his prickly
personality, will be so embarrassed later on when he remembers tonight's
events. Otabek would rather not do anything to make things awkward between him
and Yuri.
Yuri leans closer. "Beka," he murmurs, leaning his head against Otabek's
shoulder. The familiarity sounds strange coming from him, but it's a good sort
of strange. It feels right. Otabek has to remind himself that it's the liquor
talking, not Yuri.
"Come on, we're almost there." They're barely halfway to the doors, really, but
Otabek figures Yuri could use the encouragement. He's barely walking as it is.
By way of answer, Yuri hums and plasters himself even closer to Otabek. A group
of girls giggle as they walk by, muttering behind their hands in rapid Spanish.
Otabek can feel Yuri's hand moving down again, sliding under the hem of his
shirt.
"Yuri, please…"
Yuri looks up at Otabek from under those impossible lashes he has. "You don't
like me?"
Otabek can feel Yuri's fingers ghosting the ridges of his spine. "That's not
what I–"
"I thought you liked me." He's pouting now, teasing his lower lip with his
teeth, and suddenly Otabek stumbles to a stop and can't look away.
"I do like you," Otabek manages to say. His mouth has gone dry. They're so
close, he could lean down and kiss Yuri – there's no doubt that Yuri would let
him. But he can't. He needs to remember all the reasons why it would be a bad
idea. "Yuri, people are watching…"
"You smell good," Yuri mumbles, rising on tiptoes and burying his face in the
hollow of Otabek's neck. "Feel good too."
He sways against Otabek, and Otabek tightens his grip around his waist to keep
him from toppling sideways. Otabek stares down at the top of Yuri's head,
unsure of what to say – and then his knees go weak as Yuri presses a sloppy,
open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone.
"Did– did you just–?" He freezes, feeling Yuri's tongue slide against his skin.
It feels good. Otabek flushes crimson as he imagines what else Yuri might lick.
"You can't…"
Otabek raises one shaky arm – the one that's not wrapped around Yuri – and
pushes back the hair covering Yuri's face. Yuri stops, eyes closed, his lips
still on Otabek. He blinks his eyes open, looking up at Otabek in the semi-
darkness of the club. Then, with slow deliberation, he bites down on a tendon.
Otabek shudders, choking back a moan. His fingers contract involuntarily,
digging into Yuri's shoulders, tangling into Yuri's hair. Yuri seems to take
this as encouragement and plasters himself to Otabek, murmuring nonsense and
pressing more kisses against his skin. Otabek's heart is beating so loud, it
almost drowns out the music.
He can't do this, Otabek realizes. He can't get into a cab with Yuri acting
like this, it would be too embarrassing if Yuri tried to do anything in front
of the driver. As for putting Yuri into a cab alone, that's out of the question
too. Otabek's eyes dart around the dance floor but he can't see anyone he
knows.
Gently, Otabek pulls away from Yuri. He can almost hear the wet popping sound
that Yuri's lips make when they press one last time against his skin. Yuri's
face, usually so pale, is flushed crimson. He stares up at Otabek, breathing
hard, lips slightly parted and shiny with saliva.
"Come on," Otabek stammers. He has to resist the urge to touch the spot that
Yuri kissed. "This way. Let's get out of here."
He grabs Yuri's arm, taking advantage of his larger frame to half-drag, half-
push Yuri across the club. There's a smaller door in a corner of the floor,
leading to a dimly-lit corridor and to the bathrooms. Pink and green neon
lights flicker overhead. The corridor is not as empty as Otabek hoped – in fact
there's an alarming number of couples making out in the shadows – but it's
better than the press of bodies on the dance floor. When the metal door closes
behind them, the music is muffled a bit, and Otabek feels like he can breathe a
little more easily.
Yuri leans into Otabek, pinning him against the concrete wall. "Beka," he
murmurs, pushing himself up on his toes so his eyes are level with Otabek's.
His lips are so close. Otabek holds himself very still. "Yuri, don't…"
"Why?"
"You're not yourself. Please, don't do anything you'll regret in the morning."
Yuri huffs, leaning more into Otabek until they're nose to nose. Otabek can
feel the heat radiating from his body. "I won't regret it. I wanted to kiss you
even when I wasn't drunk."
Otabek clings to those words. "But you are drunk."
"If I wasn't drunk, would you kiss me?"
Yes, Otabek wants to scream, before the rational part of his brain takes over.
"That's… It's not that simple…"
"It is simple. Do you want to kiss me or not?"
Otabek turns aside so Yuri's lips brush his cheek instead. "I want to," Otabek
whispers. "But not like this." Maybe he's an idiot and he's turning down his
only chance to kiss the boy he's been crushing on for years. "Let's– let's go
back, Yuri. Do you want to call a cab or would you rather walk?"
Yuri shakes his head. "Don't think I can walk. I don't want to go."
"It's okay. You can lean on me."
For some reason, that sends Yuri into a panic. "No," he moans, wrapping his
arms around Otabek's neck. "I can't!"
Yuri presses himself flush against Otabek. Oh, Otabek thinks, and then oh fuck.
He glances down, not wanting to believe it – but, yes, even without seeing it,
it's obvious that Yuri is hard and grinding against Otabek's thigh.
"I'm sorry," Yuri whispers. There's the beginning of tears at the corners of
his eyes. "It's– I've never– It's like I can't help it! I think there was
something in that drink."
"What?" Otabek replies dumbly. Yuri is so warm in his arms, almost feverish.
"I think– Those guys put something in– It was something they said–"
Yuri is barely coherent, mumbling into Otabek's neck. He's clinging to him with
all the strength he has. Otabek rubs circles into Yuri's back and Yuri moans,
melting against him.
"You're not feeling well," Otabek says in what he hopes is a soothing voice.
"We should call someone. Your coach? Maybe an ambulance?"
"No, don't!" Yuri's hands slip under the hem of Otabek's shirt. Otabek can feel
Yuri's nails digging into his skin. "I don't need anyone. Just you."
"Yuri," Otabek sighs.
"So formal, saying my name like that. Aren't we friends?"
"Yura," Otabek amends. He lifts one hand, running his fingers through Yuri's
silk-soft hair. "Yura. You're my friend, that's why I can't… You're not in your
right mind…"
Yuri lifts his head, staring up at Otabek with heavy-lidded eyes. "Please. I
think I'll go crazy if you don't touch me."
Otabek moves his hand to cup Yuri's cheek. It feels feverish under his fingers.
Yuri leans into the touch, half-closing his eyes, then turns around to press a
kiss in the middle of Otabek's palm.
Otabek sags against the wall. He can barely breathe. He swallows with some
difficulty, too conscious of all the ways he and Yuri are pressed together, of
Yuri's groin rubbing against his thigh.
"Beka." Yuri leans closer, until they're a hairsbreadth away. "I need…"
Otabek closes his eyes. The first touch of Yuri's lips is soft, almost
tentative. Otabek's lips part under Yuri's tongue, letting Yuri in. Yuri licks
into Otabek's mouth, and Otabek wraps his arms around Yuri as he gets lost in
the unfamiliar sensation. The inside of Yuri's mouth is scalding hot and tastes
like booze.
They shouldn't, Otabek knows, but he can't help himself. Yuri is making pleased
little noises in the back of his throat as he moves against Otabek's mouth.
Otabek cradles Yuri's head, tilting it back for better access, and Yuri sighs
under Otabek's touch as their tongues entwine together.
They're both dizzy and breathless when they part. Otabek leans his forehead
against Yuri's and wipes a trail of saliva from the corner of Yuri's mouth with
his thumb. Yuri is shivering, full-body shivers as if he's cold, even though
his body feels so warm. Otabek wraps himself around him, smelling alcohol and
sweat on Yuri's skin.
Yuri's tongue darts out to lap at the pad of Otabek's thumb. "More," he
whispers, before pulling Otabek into another messy kiss.
This time Otabek opens his eyes and meets Yuri's mesmerizing stare. Yuri moans
into the kiss. One of his hands slides down to palm Otabek's ass. The other is
still digging into Otabek's back with so much force that Otabek knows he'll
have scratch marks in the morning. Yuri's hips are still insistently pushing
forward.
"Yura," Otabek gasps when they break the kiss to breathe.
"Beka, I–" Yuri moves his lips, but no sound comes out.
"What is it?"
Yuri leans forward, until his lips are brushing Otabek's ear. "I need you.
Please. I can't think, I can't breathe – my whole body feels as if it's on
fire."
Otabek wishes Yuri had asked for anything else. He wishes the situation were
different. Even so, he's powerless to resist when Yuri wraps his fingers around
his wrist and moves his hand to the front of his jeans. Yuri's hard on presses
against Otabek's palm through the layers of clothing, and Otabek feels his face
blush crimson.
"Yura, we can't! I– There's people watching."
That's not really true. Nobody is looking their way. The three people at the
other end of the corridor are doing much worse in the shadows, and nobody seems
to care.
"You feel so good," Yuri mumbles, pressing kisses to the line of Otabek's jaw.
His hips stutter forward.
Otabek pulls away his hand, and Yuri makes a noise as if he's physically
pained.
"Yura, if you need… if you need to j-jerk off…" Otabek hates that he can't say
the word without blushing – he's an adult, what the hell – but he can't help
himself when he thinks of Yuri desperately touching himself. He swallows,
trying to compose himself. "The bathroom stalls. I'll stand guard while–"
"It's not enough," Yuri mumbles, hooking his fingers into Otabek's belt. "It
won't be good enough unless it's with you."
"You just need to get it out of your system." Now that he's said it out loud,
it makes sense. If Yuri was slipped some kind of weird sex drug that made him
horny, then he just needs to jerk off and he won't be horny any more. Otabek
knows all about horniness, after all he's a teenager too. And the sooner Yuri
goes back to normal, the better. The way he keeps rubbing against him is
driving Otabek mad. "This way."
They stumble through the corridor, Yuri leaning heavily on Otabek. Otabek is
thankful for his tight jeans that make it impossible for Yuri to slip one hand
under his waistband, though not for lack of trying. Yuri compensates by
planting another kiss on Otabek's collarbone, scraping his teeth against the
sensitive spot.
Otabek shoulders open the door to the men's bathroom. There's nobody inside
when they walk in, which is a small relief. Otabek rushes past a row of stalls,
dragging Yuri along, and stops at the very back. He motions for Yuri to get
inside.
"Beka," Yuri whines, tugging him towards the door. "C'mon… Please, I need you."
Before Otabek can say anything to convince him otherwise, the door of the
bathroom starts to open. Otabek acts on instinct. He pushes Yuri into the stall
and gets inside, locking the door behind the two of them. Yuri turns around in
the cramped space, crowding Otabek against the flimsy door and kissing him with
all he has. Otabek's instincts are officially crap.
Otabek puts his hands on Yuri's shoulders and gently holds him back, which is
harder than it seems since Russian athletes have muscles of iron or something
like that.
"Don't." The whisper sounds way too loud, even though the other clubbers'
chatter and the hum of the neon lights and ventilation system provide enough
background noise to cover it. "Listen, I'll– I'll get out as soon as those
people leave, so if you can just–"
Yuri drops to his knees and presses his face to the front of Otabek's jeans.
Otabek's legs go weak and he sags against the door.
"Beka," Yuri mumbles, nuzzling the outline of Otabek's cock.
The back of Otabek's head bangs against the door. He digs his nails into his
palms and bites back a moan. It would take a better man than him not to be
turned on by that. Otabek feels his pants grow tighter with each of Yuri's
movements.
Panting hard, Otabek reaches down for Yuri, grabs him under his arms and hauls
him to his feet. "Yura," he whispers, leaning forward to press a fleeting kiss
to his lips. "Come on, Yura this is about you. It's about what you need."
"This is what I need." Yuri skims Otabek's undercut before burying his fingers
into his hair, pulling hard enough to make Otabek see tears. His voice is on
the verge of breaking. "It's like an itch I can't get rid of, and it keeps
getting worse. It only stops when you're touching me or– or–"
Otabek hushes him, pulls Yuri into a kiss to muffle the sobs that are now
escaping from Yuri's lips. "It's okay. I've got you. I've got you."
Yuri's breath hitches. One hand slides down to fumble with his belt. He's
shaking so much he can't get it undone, not even when he lets go of Otabek and
tries with both hands. Yuri looks up at Otabek, lips parting in a silent plea.
Otabek doesn't say anything, just brushes aside Yuri's hands. His eyes are
fixed on Yuri as he opens the belt buckle and pulls the belt from its loops
with hands that are not quite steady either. He hesitates just one moment
before undoing the button of Yuri's jeans.
Yuri holds his breath as Otabek drags down the zipper, brushing against his
erection. He grips the front of Otabek's shirt, tangling his fingers in the
worn fabric, clenching his fists so tight his knuckles go white. "Please," he
chokes out.
Otabek can only nod. He guides Yuri, turning him around, until Yuri gets the
idea and bends over, bracing his arms against the edges of the toilet tank.
Otabek leans against him, hardly believing that he's really doing this, and
pulls down Yuri's jeans and underwear.
Yuri moans loudly as the fabric slides against his cock, letting his head fall
forward. Sweat is plastering his hair to the nape of his neck. Otabek plants a
kiss on the back of Yuri's head, breathes in the smell of Yuri. "Hush, they'll
hear."
One of Otabek's arms is wrapped around Yuri's chest, supporting him. He can
feel Yuri's frantic heartbeat under his palm. His other hand goes to Yuri's
erection. Yuri's knees almost give out at the first fleeting touch. He bucks
into Otabek's grip, arching his back, eyes fluttering closed.
Yuri's cock is heavy in Otabek's hand. He slides his fingers up and down its
length, marveling at the silky feel of it. The tip is already leaking copious
amounts of precome. Otabek smears some over the shaft. It makes his palm slide
smoother, faster, and Yuri chokes down a whimper as his hips thrust forward in
time with Otabek's strokes.
Otabek keeps his eyes on Yuri's profile, on the high line of his cheekbones,
made even sharper by the stark white neon lights. Yuri's lashes cast long
shadows on his cheek. His lower lip is swollen and red where he's bitten down
on it to keep himself from crying out. Otabek can't help himself – he licks at
the seam of Yuri's lips, eliciting a low moan.
In counterpoint to every thrust, Yuri pushes his hips back, grinding his ass
against Otabek's cock. Even through the layers of clothes, the sensation is
almost too much to bear, though it's nothing compared to what Yuri must be
going through.
Yuri is mumbling incoherently, curses and pleas mixed with Otabek's name.
Otabek drags his fingers around the head of Yuri's cock and Yuri shudders like
he's been shocked, rising on tiptoes to press his arching body against Otabek.
Otabek gives a shaky exhale, then cranes his neck to kiss Yuri and muffle his
cries. They're being so loud, Otabek feels like the whole club must have heard,
but it's too late to stop now. He can't stop, not when Yuri is so close, every
muscle of his body tense and aching for release.
Otabek's other hand slides up Yuri's chest, brushing against a taut nipple.
Yuri cries out again into Otabek's mouth. His tongue, his chest, his cock –
everywhere they touch, Yuri is scalding hot. "Yes," he mumbles in between
kisses. "Like that, ah, please. Beka. Faster."
Even without words, Otabek knows what Yuri wants. He knows when he's not moving
fast enough because Yuri starts to squirm, thrusting roughly into his fist, and
he knows when he's doing something Yuri likes by the way Yuri's breath hitches
and his eyes go hazy.
It's rough and uncoordinated and Otabek is afraid he'll hurt Yuri, but Yuri
bucks into his touch, eager and impatient, moaning, asking for more. Otabek
angles his wrist, changing the rhythm a little. He twists his fingers under the
head of Yuri's cock, the way he likes to do to himself.
Yuri cries out against Otabek's mouth, bites down on his lower lip hard enough
to draw blood. Then he comes – in hot spurts that cover Otabek's hand and spill
over the toilet and the white tiles. Otabek strokes him to completion, slowly,
hands shaking almost as much as Yuri. Their lips are still locked together and
they pant into each other's mouth.
Otabek is the first to recover. "Hey," he murmurs against Yuri's lips, his
voice low and gravelly. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"
Yuri still looks dazed. He swallows. There's a trail of saliva at the corner of
his mouth. "Better. I'm better."
He turns around so they're chest to chest. His shirt and sweater have ridden
up, exposing a few centimeters of pale stomach. Otabek catches himself staring
and snaps his head upwards. "Good," he says, exhaling. "That's… good." His
dick, trapped in his jeans, is killing him. He motions towards the door at his
back. "We should–"
Yuri catches Otabek's fingers with his own, mindless of the fact that Otabek's
hand is dirty with come. "It's not enough." There's a wet squelching sound as
their fingers slide together. "I want– I need more."
Otabek stares numbly into Yuri's eyes. "What?"
"It's like– like an itch. Inside of me." Yuri moves Otabek's hand to the crease
of his buttocks. His lips move in a silent plea.
Otabek can't breathe. "Yura…"
Yuri sighs, leaning into him. "I like it when you say my name like that."
"Yura, I'm– I can't–"
"Please."
Yuri guides Otabek's fingers towards his entrance. His lips are slightly parted
and he's staring at Otabek with wide eyes. When the tip of Otabek's finger
finds the right spot, Yuri holds his breath.
It's impossible, Otabek thinks, he can't possibly put a finger in there. Inside
Yuri. Let alone anything bigger. He swallows, licking his dry lips, and Yuri
leans forward to give him a sloppy kiss. Yuri's hips sway back, pressing his
ass against Otabek's fingers.
Otabek wraps one arm around Yuri's shoulders, clenching his fist in the loose
fabric of Yuri's sweater. His hand presses tentatively against Yuri's entrance.
He slides one finger in, ever so slowly, until the first knuckle is inside. The
semen coating his hand makes it a little easier, but it's still impossibly
tight.
When Otabek tries to push further inside, Yuri winces and inhales sharply.
Otabek freezes. "I'm hurting you."
"No," Yuri groans, shaking his head, but Otabek can see the effort it's taking
him. When Otabek tries to withdraw, Yuri wraps his fingers around Otabek's
wrist, keeping him still. Otabek can feel the ring of muscles around Yuri's
entrance as they contract around his digit. "Please," Yuri says, and his eyes
are shiny with the beginnings of tears, "it's so much worse when you're not
touching me."
Otabek knows that they shouldn't. They don't even have condoms or lube, they're
in a toilet stall, and Yuri is almost feverish. Looking down, Otabek can see
Yuri is already sporting a semi even though he just came. Whatever he's on,
he's got it bad. He swallows with some difficulty. "Yura… Are you sure?"
Yuri nods frantically, wrapping his arms around Otabek's neck. His pupils are
huge in his eyes. "Yes. Please, Beka."
Otabek withdraws his finger and Yuri hisses with disappointment at the loss.
"Trust me," Otabek says, wishing he knew what he was doing. He tries to spit
into his palm but his mouth is too dry.
Fortunately, Yuri gets what Otabek was trying to do. He takes Otabek's fingers
in his mouth, sucking eagerly on them, coating them with saliva. Otabek watches
mesmerized as Yuri's pink tongue darts out to lap at each joint.
Yuri keeps his eyes fixed on Otabek as his head bobs up and down. "Good?" he
breathes when he finally leans back. A thin trail of saliva dangles from his
lips to Otabek's index and middle fingers, which are shaking.
Otabek is breathing hard. He wonders if Yuri has any idea of what he's doing to
him. Wordlessly, he moves his hand between Yuri's buttocks and presses inside.
It's somewhat easier this time, and he's going slow, but even so spit as
lubricant is not nearly enough. Yuri squirms, pressing his face to the hollow
of Otabek's neck, whimpering against his skin.
"Beka," he moans every time Otabek shows signs of stopping. "Like that. Feels
good. Please."
Then Otabek has one finger fully inside Yuri and Yuri is panting against his
collarbone, digging his nails into his back. Otabek crooks his finger, just
slightly, and Yuri makes a noise like a dying man. His knees give out and only
Otabek's support keeps him from falling to the floor.
"Yura," Otabek whispers, craning his head to try and see Yuri's expression.
Yuri's lips are parted, his eyes are glazed as he stares at a point above
Otabek's shoulder. "Do that again." Yuri turns to meet Otabek's gaze and his
voice breaks on the last word.
There's tears at the corner of Yuri's eyes. Otabek kisses them away, tasting
salt on his lips. He moves his hand again and Yuri melts against him, moaning
incoherently into his shoulder.
Otabek shifts slightly, bracing one shoulder against the flimsy wall of the
stall, and presses a second finger inside. Yuri chokes on a sob and pushes his
hips down on Otabek's hand. His dick, trapped between their stomachs, is
already hard. Yuri moves one hand down to stroke himself erratically, then
pushes his palm against the front of Otabek's jeans and squeezes.
Otabek lets out a growl as his dick twitches at the contact. He has to restrain
himself from grinding against Yuri's hand. Yuri has no such compunction. He's
already pawing at Otabek's zipper, undoing the button with trembling fingers.
"You feel so good," Yuri moans as he slips one hand down the front of Otabek's
pants. Otabek curls his fingers inside Yuri again and Yuri shudders again,
mouthing wetly against Otabek's neck. "So good, Beka."
Otabek wants to say something but he can't, because Yuri's fingers are around
him, stroking him, and he's no longer capable of coherent speech. "Yu… Yura…"
Even those two syllables are wrought out with effort.
"I want you." Yuri's breath is hot and wet against Otabek's skin. By now,
Otabek isn't even trying to muffle the noises Yuri is making. He can't bring
himself to care, not even if the whole club hears them. "Beka. I want to feel
you inside me."
Yuri moves his hips again, pressing deeper down on Otabek's hand, opening
himself up. He captures Otabek's mouth, pulling him into a frantic kiss. Otabek
tastes the iron tang of blood at the corner of his mouth, mixed with the liquor
still on Yuri's breath. It's impossible, Otabek wants to say, but his tongue is
twined with Yuri's, licking into Yuri's mouth.
Otabek slides his fingers almost completely out before pushing them back
inside, finding that spot that makes Yuri shudder and cry out his name like a
prayer. When he withdraws Yuri hisses at the sensation. Yuri is so tight,
Otabek has no idea how they're going to do this.
But Yuri is already moving, toeing away his shoes, almost falling over in his
haste to push down his jeans and underwear. Otabek puts a steadying hand on
Yuri's hips, then he takes a good look at Yuri and almost falls over himself at
the sight.
Yuri looks completely wrecked. His hair is mussed, plastered to his face with
sweat, his lips are red and swollen. His entire face is flushed, and the flush
is spreading past the vee of his shirt, to his chest which is half-exposed
since his shirt rode up. His pants and underwear are tangled around one ankle,
so there's nothing to hide his erection, swollen and red and glistening with
precome in a nest of pale blond curls.
Before Otabek can say anything, Yuri wraps his arms around his shoulders. "Hold
me," he whispers. Otabek hooks one hand under his thigh and hauls him up, and
Yuri wraps his legs around Otabek's waist. His knees knock against the door and
the wall as Otabek stumbles around regaining his balance.
Yuri kisses him, open-mouthed and messy, panting against Otabek's lips as
Otabek fumbles with his pants, pushing them down just a couple of centimeters.
"Lick this," Otabek whispers, holding up his hand palm first. Yuri does,
licking the palm with long strokes of his tongue that send shivers down
Otabek's back.
When he's done, Otabek takes his erection in hand, sliding the wet palm along
his shaft. The sensation is almost too much and he has to wrap his fingers
tight around the base of his cock to stop himself from coming on the spot. All
of his muscles are tensed up with the effort of holding Yuri.
Blindly, Yuri reaches for Otabek and guides his hand. Otabek feels his cock
poking one Yuri's perfectly round ass cheeks before lining with Yuri's
entrance. His fingers twine with Yuri's as he pushes the tip inside.
Yuri's head falls forward against Otabek's shoulder. His hands slid under
Otabek's shirt, raking against his back. "That feels– Ah! Beka…"
Otabek shifts his stance, turning around so Yuri's back is pressed against the
wall. It's easier to brace himself this way. He pushes inside. It's slow, and
tight, and the burn is just this side of painful. Every movement elicits a
whimper from Yuri.
"Yura," Otabek whispers, nuzzling Yuri's cheek. Yuri's expression is hidden
behind his hair. "Talk to me, Yura. Tell me to stop and I will."
"Don't stop!" Yuri's hips stutter, pressing further down on Otabek, until
Otabek is buried to the hilt inside Yuri and Yuri cries out.
"Hush," Otabek mumbles, shutting him up with a kiss. He presses kisses against
his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, his nose. "Yura, tell me what to do. Anything
you want."
Yuri takes a long, shaky breath. His chest moves up and down. "Move."
Otabek does, pulling out a little and then pushing back in. Slowly, because
Yuri is so tight and so hot, and every movement is pain and pleasure at the
same time.
Yuri moans, arching against Otabek, his back scraping against the wall. When
his head snaps back on a particularly harsh thrust, Otabek cradles the back of
his head with one hand to keep him from hurting himself.
"Beka," Yuri cries out between sobs. Even though he's not touching himself, his
erection presses insistently between their stomachs. "Beka…"
Otabek kisses him, messy, all hot breath and teeth. He doesn't know how much
longer he can last. Yuri urges him on, moaning his name and digging his heels
in the small of Otabek's back, pulling them flush together.
With every thrust, Otabek feels closer and closer to the edge. He pants against
Yuri's lips. The only sounds are their breaths, their heartbeats, and skin
sliding on skin. "Yura, I'm– I'm going to–"
Yuri wraps his fingers around his cock, stroking himself in time with Otabek's
erratic thrusts. His eyes are half-closed, his pupils are blown wide. "Yes. So
good. Like that."
Otabek pins Yuri against the wall with one last thrust and comes deep inside
Yuri, shaking with the force of his orgasm. His vision goes dark and his ears
are ringing, but he can feel Yuri kissing him, pushing his hips against him to
milk his orgasm to the last.
"Beka," Yuri murmurs, and then he's coming apart, spilling all over his shirt.
Otabek wraps his arms around him, holding him through the aftershocks. He
doesn't know if Yuri is sobbing or he is. Yuri's muscles are clenched so tight,
he has to be coaxed into unclenching his ankles from around Otabek's waist, and
when he tries to stand up he'd fall down at once if it wasn't for Otabek's arm
supporting him.
Yuri doesn't say anything while Otabek helps him clean up as best as he can and
tucks him back into his pants, then does the same for himself. Yuri looks a
mess. They both do.
"Hey." Otabek's throat feels like sandpaper, but his voice is gentle. "Hey.
Yura." He runs one hand up and down Yuri's arm. Is it just his imagination or
is Yuri's body temperature going down? "How are you feeling?"
Yuri is still trembling. He turns aside, leaning his shoulder against the door.
The two of them smell like sweat and come – Otabek has no clue how they'll get
back to the hotel without anyone noticing the state they're in. But, right now,
that's the last of his concerns.
Otabek runs one hand up Yuri's spine and Yuri shudders under the touch. "Yura,"
Otabek says again. "Are you okay? Are you still…?"
At that, Yuri shakes his head. "I'm– I'm okay," he stammers.
"Y-you're not…?" Otabek is glad Yuri is not looking at him, so he can't see him
blush. Even now, after everything they just did, Otabek can't bring himself to
ask if Yuri is still hard.
Yuri shakes his head again. "I think– It's gone now. After… that last…" He
trails off, staring at his own sneakers.
Otabek sighs with relief.
Yuri moves to unlock the door and freezes, wincing.
"What is it?" Otabek steps forward and makes as if to hold him, but Yuri
shudders and bats his hand away. "Are you in pain? Are you hurt?"
Yuri's eyes are closed tight. "Whenever I move," he says, almost choking on the
words. "There's– there's come dripping out of my–"
Otabek's arms fall to his side. "I'm sorry. Please bear it for a bit, the hotel
isn't far."
Yuri looks on the verge of tears. "No, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"It's not," Otabek mumbles. He wishes Yuri would meet his eyes.
"I'm the one who wanted to go to a club. I'm the one who drank that thing. It's
because of me. Because I wanted you."
"Yura…"
"Please don't hate me!" When Yuri turns around, there's tears in his eyes.
Otabek can't help himself. He steps forward and wraps his arms around him, and
Yuri resists for only a moment before letting himself be pulled into a tight
embrace. Otabek closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Yuri's shoulder,
breathing in the smell of him.
He doesn't know how to even start telling him – that he could never hate Yuri,
no matter what. That he's a little bit in love. That maybe he's been in love
for a long time. There are no words, in Russian or in other languages, to
describe the way Yuri makes him feel.
Instead, Otabek holds on tight, rocking Yuri back and forth until he stops
shaking. "It's okay," he whispers into Yuri's hair. "It's okay." Until they
both stop shaking.
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