Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12139761.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Jean-Jacques_Leroy
  Character:
      Jean-Jacques_Leroy, Otabek_Altin
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Underage_Smoking, Underage_Drinking, Recreational_Drug_Use,
      perverting_the_good_Catholic_boy, Jjbek, JJBella_(peripheral),
      bottom!Beka, Barebacking, a_smidge_of_angst, Beka_is_15, JJ_is_16,
      intoxication_of_multiple_varieties, Bad_boy_beka
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-20 Words: 3182
****** Innocent Child ******
by annabeth
Summary
     JJ follows all the rules. Until he blows into his life, and wrecks
     the ship that Jean-Jacques's been smooth-sailing on.
Notes
     I wrote this as shamelessly self-and-other-indulgent porn for myself
     and Jen. She wanted bottom!Beka, and JJBek, and I wanted badboy!Beka,
     and oh, these things go deliciously together. I'm actually indecently
     proud of this fic.
     Title from The Grass Roots.
See the end of the work for more notes
Jean-Jacques, as his parents love to tell him—and anyone else who will
listen—is a good boy. A pure, decent Christian boy. Their pride and joy; the
light of their lives. His skating is so beautiful! His charity work is so
generous. He's a wonderful volunteer. His relationship with his girlfriend is
chaste and everything a teenage relationship between two Catholic kids should
be. His parents can literally drone on and on.
And Jean-Jacques, for his part, doesn't mind. He enjoys the attention; deep in
his heart, he's lonely, despite the elderly people at the nursing home where he
volunteers or the tea dates with Izzy while his maman watches from a discreet
distance. Every so often he's even able to take her out for coffee, as long as
he brings along one of his younger siblings.
He hasn't so much as pecked her on the cheek yet. But that's okay. He can wait;
he's a good Catholic boy. He knows how to behave himself. He doesn't curse; he
doesn't masturbate.
He follows all the rules.
Until he blows into his life, and wrecks the ship that Jean-Jacques's been
smooth-sailing on.
His name is Otabek Altin, he's from Kazakhstan originally, and he moves to
Montreal for training with JJ's parents when JJ is just sixteen years old.
Hell, as his grandmother might quaintly put it, if she were up to cursing,
breaks loose.
The first problem is that Otabek Altin is gorgeous. JJ's never paid attention
before, not to boys anyway, but there's something about Otabek that means JJ
can't look away.
And so he's always looking. That's really the first thing that gets him into
trouble. Because he wakes up one night two days after Otabek has been bunked on
a cot in his room, and the cot is empty, the sheet undisturbed. JJ doesn't
understand. He saw Otabek put his pajamas on—he'd been trying not to look, but
Otabek's muscular torso practically announced itself in neon letters—and he was
pretty sure he'd climbed into bed. So where is he?
Maybe it means he snuck out! JJ puts his feet over the edge of his bed, finding
his slippers, pulling on his robe, and getting ready to tell his parents that
the kid they're supposed to be billeting is sneaking out! In the middle of the
night!
For some reason, though, JJ's feet don't travel the path to his parents'
bedroom, but to the back door, where he can hear rustling on the stoop. He
tightens the belt of his robe and tiptoes closer, then gently pushes the door
open.
Jean-Jacques is a good Catholic boy with purity in his heart. It doesn't do a
thing to explain why he doesn't shout for his parents as soon as he gets a good
look at Otabek.
Otabek, whose hand is in his pants, moving in a way time immemorial that even
JJ can recognize, a dirty magazine flipped on its side on his lap and a
cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Oh hey, Jean," he says, as if this is perfectly natural. His hand doesn't
pause; his mouth works around the cigarette. Upon closer inspection, the
magazine is—gosh diddly darn! It's a copy of Playgirl. JJ only knows this
because the logo is splashed across the bottom of a page with a
naked—absolutely balls out nude—guy riding a horse.
With his hard dick out.
JJ thinks he may have gone a little pale.
"Wha-what are you doing?" he asks, knowing his mouth is catching flies, like
his mother likes to say. He's going to have to say at least ten—no make that
twenty—Hail Marys to make up for this!
"Well," Otabek says, in that accent that JJ definitely does not mean to find
sexy, "I was trying to get some time to myself." Despite these words, he
doesn't seem upset or cranky about being interrupted. In fact, his hand speeds
up inside his pajama bottoms.
"You're… but that's so dirty!" JJ can't make up his mind which is worse: the
sin of masturbation, or the smoking. Has to be the smoking, right? No,
definitely the masturbation. Shi—shoot!
"You wanna help me out?" Otabek asks, one eyebrow arching, and oh, JJ wishes he
could do that with his eyebrow. He's about to demur—of course he's not going to
get involved in something like this—when Otabek glances at him, first his
crotch, then his face. JJ goes red all over. His cock is… shit, he's hard.
"I couldn't," JJ says, but Otabek takes one last drag on his cigarette and
stomps it out under his combat boots. His sexy as sin combat boots. Before JJ
can utter another word, Otabek lights up another cigarette, and holds his hand
out to JJ.
"Try it. Slowly." His hand has finally stopped moving, but he hasn't pulled it
out of his pants yet. This is it. The moment. The temptation, like Jesus faced
in the desert—and JJ is ready. He's so ready. He's a good Catholic boy with
purity in his heart.
So why does he accept the cigarette, put it to his lips, and inhale? He forgets
about Otabek's advice; the smoke burns into his lungs too quickly and he hacks
and coughs, eyes suddenly streaming. But after a moment he manages to catch his
breath. And somehow he keeps from puking in the grass.
This good Catholic boy—with purity in his heart and an unwavering devotion to
God—inhales again. This time slowly. The smoke tingles and tastes awful, but
his head swims pleasantly.
Otabek is watching, silently. He's often quiet, and JJ will overpower him in
any conversation. Except this strange, half-verbal one that they're having now.
In this conversation, JJ is in way over his head, and he can't go to his
parents—so the only person he can rely on to help him navigate it is Otabek.
Years later, JJ will wonder at this leap of logic, that damnable lapse in
judgment that led him down the wrong path. But not now.
Right now, JJ parts his lips to speak, handing the cigarette back. But instead
he sinks to his knees, completely oblivious of the wet grass on the knees of
his pajama pants, and he grips Otabek's wrist. He pulls it from his pajama
pants, and Otabek lets him, watching curiously. As if he hasn't a care in the
world.
He sucks the cigarette down to the filter faster than JJ thought possible, and
stubs it out too. Then he smiles, lips curving wickedly. JJ has never seen
Otabek smile before, and it's devastating. His heart pounds, his mouth goes
dry, and he winds up with his hand inside of Otabek's clothing, searching out
the heat and length of him.
This is the beginning. The moment that JJ becomes a Catholic boy with sin in
his heart. The moment that, in hushed whispers, Otabek explains to him what to
do, because how is JJ supposed to know?
"Make a fist," he says first, "around my dick. Yeah, oh, like that, yes. Pump
it up and down."
JJ complies, following instructions for this the same way he follows
instructions in Sunday school. He even learns to slick up Otabek's cock with
the fluid leaking from it and to twist his wrist on the upstroke; to thumb over
the head.
Otabek eventually lapses into silence but for soft moans, thrusting his hips
up. The magazine is lying on the grass, forgotten. JJ's not watching his hands
anymore; he's staring at Otabek's face, which contorts beautifully just as his
hips buck upward hard, and he gasps,
"Jean—" before he's coming.
JJ got The Talk, he knows what it is, but… "Gross."
"Let me see your hand," Otabek says, and when JJ holds out his soiled hand,
Otabek licks it. He cleans his palm and his fingers with his tongue, and JJ
feels his stomach drop out. What is going on here?
And what is he going to do about it?
                                      ~&~
"Fuck," whispers JJ into the dark, as Otabek's lips wrap around his cock. This
is a new word; he's been trying it out every chance he gets, as long as his
parents or siblings aren't around. Otabek seems to like this side of him.
"I'm thirsty," JJ adds a minute or so later, when Otabek's just breathing
against his damp cock, teasing, like he likes to do. "I wanna taste—"
"You can," Otabek says in a husky voice. It's like gravel wrapped in velvet and
JJ fists the bedsheets, unbearably turned on, aching and desperate. "I'll jack
off into your mouth. Would you like that, Jean?"
His head feels three sizes too big. He's also kind of itchy under the skin.
Otabek gave him some kind of pill and ever since he's been feeling disconnected
and strange.
Everything is like, brighter colors than normal, and he's panting and sweating
as Otabek goes to town on his dick. His licks are strong, and JJ feels buffeted
by them, almost like he's caught in a storm. His mind panics a little, but then
Otabek's mouth is a wet seal around his girth, and he forgets everything but
the feel of it.
His eyes drift closed and his hips drift upward, seeking more of Otabek's hot
mouth. His tongue traces the vein as he sucks, and JJ's not even aware that
he's fucking into Otabek's throat until Otabek puts his arm across his pelvis
and holds him down.
"I see flying piggies," JJ says, less of a moan and more of a whimper. "They're
like, bright green. Shit, Beks."
"It's okay, Jean," Otabek murmurs against the tender skin of his dick. He's
lapping at—holy fuck, JJ didn't even realize he was coming. The pleasure spikes
in his lower back and his balls, and then he's left gasping.
"Keep your eyes closed," Otabek says, and JJ tries to remember if Otabek took
any of what he gave him. He's not sure. He doesn't really care—he keeps his
eyes shut and slowly ebbs away on the tide, listening to Otabek make some
lusty, ear-candy type noises, until something hot and bitter hits his lips and
tongue of his open mouth.
For hours afterward he feels woozy and strange, like reality has morphed into
something he doesn't recognize.
After Otabek falls asleep, after JJ brushes his teeth and starts to feel more
like himself again, he digs through Otabek's duffle.
At the bottom, wrapped in a sock, beneath a magazine cover crowing about some
young junior skater—blond and pretty, but he's never heard of the kid before—JJ
finds the bottle of Vicodin, prescribed for Otabek Altin.
It must say something about his eroding levels of purity and goodness that he
doesn't really mind.
                                      ~&~
JJ was a good Catholic boy with purity in his heart before he met Otabek. Now,
lying sprawled across his bed with a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand, he
doesn't know what he is.
Certainly not good.
He gulps more of the whiskey before Otabek pulls it from nerveless fingers.
"Be careful, you're not used to the stuff," Otabek whispers. "And don't giggle
so loud!"
But the thing is, Jean's parents are away at a conference, and they brought his
siblings with them. They didn't think JJ needed supervision, and they didn't
want to drag Otabek along when he wasn't technically part of the family, so the
huge house is big and empty.
Next door, their half-deaf neighbor is supposed to be keeping an eye on them,
but JJ doubts she can hear him through two sets of walls. Still, maybe Otabek
has a point.
"Wanna blow you," JJ says breathlessly. He rolls onto his stomach, his head
pleasantly heavy, his lungs still burning from the pack of cigarettes they'd
smoked hanging out the windows.
"You wanna try something else?" Otabek asks, his pretty dark eyes so intense.
"It'll be even better."
"Why the fuck not," JJ says, burping and giggling around the curse word. It
feels so damn good to say. Otabek gets clumsily to his feet, probably drunker
than JJ is, and whips his hoodie up over his head. His t-shirt is next, and
he's obviously warm, because there's sweat glistening on all of those delicious
cut muscles.
"Whatcha doin, Beks?" JJ slurs, then laughs helplessly at the sound of his
voice, the funny way the words seem to his ears.
"You a virgin, Jean?" Otabek asks. He's unbuckled his jeans and is unbuttoning
them. JJ finds his vision caught, unable to look away. Otabek doesn't seem to
mind; when he gets them unzipped, he does a little sashay of his hips to get
them down, and then they slide right off.
"Of course I am," JJ manages, barely able to keep his wits about him; Otabek
nude is an awe-inspiring—and brain melting—sight. Otabek's already got his
briefs pulled down, and his cock is gorgeous and flushed, pointing upward.
That's when JJ realizes that he's just as hard, aching really, in his pants; he
shifts his body around, but it doesn't help.
"Get naked, Jean," Otabek says, "we're gonna change that."
He's too drunk to remember why he shouldn't. So he fumbles with his pajama
pants, and manages to kick them off so hard they go flying. He doesn't see
where; he's too busy eating Otabek's nude body up with his eyes.
"Kay, Beks," he says willingly, smiling and feeling generally loopy. Otabek
produces a little bottle from somewhere out of JJ's line of sight and then he
climbs up onto the bed.
He straddles JJ's thighs, knees braced on the bed, and arches his back,
reaching behind him.
"Hey, Beks—" JJ starts to say, but then his mouth catches flies again. It seems
like Otabek always knows just how to render him speechless. Otabek's arm moves,
the tendons and muscles straining and flexing, and JJ's cock bounces against
his belly.
"Whaddya doin, Beks?" he repeats himself from earlier. Otabek slowly lowers
down a little, and his face is wearing a blissed out expression.
"I'm finger-fucking myself open for you," Otabek says, and JJ's cock releases a
little spurt of precome onto his abs. That beautiful mouth—the dirty things he
says. It's heady; makes JJ drunker than the whiskey.
"I'm—you're—" He's trying to process, but his brain is literally sludge at this
point. In the end it doesn't matter; Otabek does all the complicated stuff,
anyway.
Otabek wipes his fingers across his own abs, leaving a shining streak of what
must be lubricant—not that JJ's ever used any, even though Otabek taught him
how to jerk off—and then his body is held over JJ, the tip of JJ's cock just
barely brushing against the fluttering rim of Otabek's asshole.
He didn't even know people did this.
"Calm down," Otabek says in his soft, accented voice, and then he sinks down
just a little.
Holy Mother of fucking God, is all JJ can think, as his dick pushes up inside.
Otabek does a little wiggle of his hips and the cockhead digs in deeper, and
his shaft begins to disappear into Otabek's body.
From this angle, he can see the way his hole swells outward, stretching around
JJ, as Otabek adjusts and lowers down a little more.
"Fuck, you're big," Otabek says. "Bigger than I'm used to. You feel so good,
Jean."
That is an understatement. JJ lost the ability to form any words beyond
blasphemous curses long ago.
All at once, Otabek slides down fast, sitting against JJ's thighs, his cock
dribbling down over itself.
"Touch me," Otabek suggests, and JJ's hands are on that beautiful cock like
they're magnets and he's got actual steel encased inside his skin. He rubs
Otabek as Otabek begins to rock gently back and forth, for the moment
apparently content to just sit on JJ's lap with his dick buried in him as far
as it'll go.
As for JJ, his mind helpfully provides words like snug and hot and so tight,
but there's not much else there but oatmeal.
When Otabek starts to actually fuck himself on JJ's dick, levering himself up
and dropping back down, JJ loses all train of thought. His focus winnows down
to the contact between their bodies and the way his cock feels surrounded by
silky soft, hot flesh. It seems hotter and tighter the longer it goes on, and
JJ can't remember that once he used to be a good Catholic boy with purity in
his heart; all he knows is he's losing his virginity—and his heart.
He comes too fast. He doesn't even know what he's doing when his hips get with
the program without him and slam up into Otabek; it's probably the open mouth
and the soft, surprised, pleased exhalation that Otabek makes that throws him
over. All he knows is he crests the wave and then it's swamping him, a better,
more intense orgasm than he's ever had.
His hands are clumsy on Otabek's dick as he shoots again and again inside, but
between that and his uneven, rocky thrusts, Otabek seems to get what he needs
to get there too, his body clamping around JJ's cock—and all the holy angels,
it's even tighter—and he spasms into JJ's hand, sending streaks of white into
the air that land, haphazardly, on JJ's chest, his abs, his neck even.
It isn't until Otabek is lifting himself up and off that JJ realizes something.
He's never even kissed Otabek, not once.
                                      ~&~
"I'll write," JJ promises, trying not to reach for Otabek, to cling. Izzy's
standing over there with his parents. Otabek is getting on a plane.
JJ thinks about how they smoked pot together, or the time that Otabek snuck out
and came back rolling on E. How he'd been insatiable and rode JJ's cock all
night.
He thinks about the pictures and videos of the petite blond on Otabek's phone,
that he stole and snooped into when Otabek was in the shower.
How he's still never kissed Otabek and now he never will. How he says words in
the dark, his hand on his own cock, that he never would have said a year ago.
JJ can't believe Otabek's really leaving Montreal.
"I know, Jean," Otabek says. He smiles. The sun is peeking over the horizon as
Otabek turns around and walks away, rolling his suitcase behind him.
"I love you," JJ whispers.
Maybe this is the genesis of sin. Loving someone enough to do whatever they
like.
But Jean is a good Catholic boy, with a new kind of purity in his heart, and he
loves so much he aches with it—and that has to be the answer.
Love can't be wrong.
Not even if Otabek Altin never kissed him, or said those words in his ear, like
Jean might have one night when Otabek had fallen asleep curled up into him in
bed.
But in the end, Jean-Jacques is not a good boy. And neither was Otabek Altin.
                                     end.
End Notes
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