Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11037030.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Sideline_Katsuki_Yuuri/Victor_Nikiforov
  Additional Tags:
      Post-WTTM, Welcome_to_the_Madness, First_Times, Teenage_Hormones,
      Underage_Drinking
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-29 Words: 2598
****** Moth to a Flame ******
by Mazarin221b
Summary
     They’re not touching, not yet, but Yuri locks eyes with him when the
     next song kicks up and won’t look away. He’s a burning flame, bright
     and flickering, too hot to touch but drawing people near enough to
     get singed.
Notes
     Thanks for extremely rapid beta to CodenameMeritiricious who just
     jumped in there when I posted my call earlier today. Thank you so
     much!
The taste of leather against his tongue is sharp, a bit sweet, followed by a
hint of the acrid tang of the glitter nail polish Yuri had applied earlier in
the evening to give his hands extra shine. Otabek leans back against the boards
and watches Yuri’s eyes widen a fraction at the feel of Otabek’s tongue against
his finger before he skates off.
Otabek licks his bottom lip an hour later, chasing the taste.
………………………………………………………………….
“Are you sure you should have that,” Otabek says as Yuri starts at least his
second glass of champagne. “You’re underage.” He is, even though the cut of his
cheekbones and the suit and tie lend him a certain maturity, he still has that
long-limbed quality of a teen not yet grown into his muscular prime. Otabek
remembers the gangly limbs and inability to control his own skating for two
years after entering the senior division – this is his first year really
settling into himself again.
“Shut the fuck up,” Yuri snaps, and takes another glass. “I’ve been drinking
vodka since I was 14.”
Otabek snorts a laugh. Of course he has. As he takes a sip of his own
drink—whiskey, he can’t deal with champagne tonight— he catches sight of
Nikiforov and Katsuki snuggling in a corner, hands entwined. Katsuki’s face is
a picture of raw need and soft shyness, and it makes something in Otabek’s
stomach twist.
“Let’s dance,” he says, and grabs Yuri’s hand to pull him out onto the
makeshift dance floor.
“What the hell, Beka, let me put my drink down,” Yuri splutters, but Otabek
just tugs until they’re in the middle of a jumping, wild mass of skaters,
coaches, friends, and lovers. The beat isn’t as pulsing as he wished it were,
something hard and fast to get lost in before he truly does something
unforgivably stupid, but it will do. Yuri rolls his eyes but jumps in anyway,
the shift and slide of his shoulders and hips mesmerizing. They’re not
touching, not yet, but Yuri locks eyes with him when the next song kicks up and
won’t look away. He’s a burning flame, bright and flickering, too hot to touch
but drawing people near enough to get singed.
Christ. His heart is hammering in his chest now, breathing rapid and shallow,
and before his higher brain functions kick in he has a hand on Yuri’s hip and
is pulling him in, oh so slowly, until they’re fit together chest to hips, one
of Otabek’s knees between Yuri’s thighs.
“Better?” he says and Yuri just smirks, pulls his tie loose and unbuttons the
top buttons of his shirt. His collarbones peek out and Otabek wants nothing
more than to dip his head in, fasten his teeth to one and see if he can make
Yuri say anything else but swear words for a solid hour. Dangerous. Reckless.
But Yuri’s hands are on Otabek’s ass now, and damned if he’s going to move
them.
The tiny stage lights of the soundset flicker and flash a whirl of color around
the room, bright pinks and blues reflecting from Yuri’s bright golden hair and
milk-white skin, his lashes a dark sweep across his cheeks as he dances; eyes
closed, head tipped back and throat bared.  
Otabek has to look away, has to get relief from the pulse of heat between them.
He glances to the side of the crowd and sees the distinctive head of
Nikiforov’s platinum hair start toward them, eyes narrowed. That is, until
Katsuki puts a hand on Nikiforov’s arm and whispers to him and he stops with a
frown.
Yuri pulls him in tighter. “Don’t worry about those two. Interfering, both of
them.”
”They probably should be.”
“Don’t act like I don’t know my own mind,” Yuri retorts, with a sharp grind up
against Otabek’s leg. He’s half hard, eyes dark and smudged with the remnants
of eyeliner and his lips still have glitter on them. He’s a beautiful mess, and
when he puts his index finger up to touch Otabek’s bottom lip, Otabek is
finished, completely done. He nips Yuri’s finger and wraps a hand around his
neck to pull him in close, their lips just brushing as he speaks.
“Room 1216. In one hour. Finish your small talk and meet me there.”
Yuri’s eyes blaze even as he pulls a molasses slow smile. A secret, then.
Sneaking around under Yakov’s nose is second nature to him, Otabek guesses, and
he’ll have no problems there. Otabek has his own room, fortunately. If, that
is, anything happens between them. Otabek isn’t counting on it.  
“Don’t drink any more,” he admonishes. Yuri frowns at him in confusion.
“I already told you—“
“If you’re not clear headed don’t bother coming to me.”
Yuri narrows his eyes and draws close to whisper in Otabek’s ear. “I’m not
going to change my mind,” he says, and draws his nose along Otabek’s jaw. “I’m
not a blushing virgin.”
“God forbid,” Otabek says, and tries to suppress a shiver. “Now, I’m going to
say my goodbyes. You say yours later, and meet me. 1216.”
“1216.”
Yuri steps away from him and heads to the drinks table. He selects a sparkling
water, Otabek notes, and as he takes the same for himself he turns to find
himself face to face with Yuuri Katsuki.
“If anything happens that he isn’t 100% on board with, I’ll crush your skull,”
he says mildly, and takes a sip of champagne.
Otabek eyes him warily. He’s 24, he’s been ballet training for years, and
Otabek has seen the thighs that have allowed his ridiculously high quads and
rock-steady spins. He has no doubt of his ability to deliver on that promise.
“I expect nothing. I will give everything,” Otabek says simply, and Katsuki
seems satisfied enough to nod and rejoin Nikiforov, who is currently battling
Sara Crispino in an improvised game of beer pong on the other side of the room.
Raucous cheers go up as Sara wins, and everyone’s attention is focused enough
Otabek slips out of the room without a backward glance.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The knock, when it comes, is softer than expected.
Otabek opens the door to find Yuri practically leaning on it. He slides into
the room quickly, pushes the door closed and tilts back against it. He takes a
deep breath and blows it out, and looks up at Otabek through his lashes.
“Victor pinned me down on the way out. Gave me a stupid lecture.”
“Katsuki threatened to crush my skull.”
Yuri snorts. “You’re kidding. He’s soft. He’d not hurt a fly.”
Otabek reaches forward and traces a finger down the open vee of Yuri’s shirt.
His skin is hot, smooth. He shivers.  “He’d do it. He cares about you.”
“Tch,” Yuri says, and closes his eyes. He drops his head to the side slightly
as Otabek draws his finger up one side of his neck. “Stop talking about him.”
“Mmm.” Otabek curls his finger under Yuri’s chin. “Should I be worried about
anyone avenging your honor? Any second thoughts?”
“Beka,” is all Yuri says, and catches Otabek’s hand in his. “Kiss me.”
So Otabek does, a sweet press of lips that rapidly turns filthy and wet, a hot
meeting of tongues and teeth and lips that leaves them both panting.
Otabek finally succumbs to the temptation of Yuri’s collarbones and unbuttons
his shirt the rest of the way to push it off of his shoulders. He pauses,
admiring. Yuri’s body is slim and reedy, delicate whorls of golden chest hair
scattered over his pectorals. Otabek kisses one collarbone and then the other,
reveling in the gasp he hears above his head as Yuri twines his hands into
Otabek’s hair.
“Jesus, I …Beka. Christ,” he pants. “I need you. Please.”
Otabek stills and looks up at Yuri’s slightly horrified face.
“Forget I said that. Just. Forget it.”
Otabek runs a gentle hand down Yuri’s arm. He’s fighting turning away, Otabek
can see it, and he doesn’t want to startle him any further, make him pull away
and back into his usually-impenetrable shell. “Why would I forget? I liked
hearing it.”
“I barely know you.”
Otabek goes cold at his words. “But yet that is how you feel.”
Yuri stares at him, breathing hard. “Yeah.”
“I burn for you,” Otabek says quietly, hushed like a secret. “I saw you this
summer and I remembered your eyes, saw you skate. Heard your voice, your
determination. I know you, I need you. We need each other.”
Yuri stares with widened eyes, the possibility that someone wants him, will
fight on his side for himself and not for his ability to lay his entire
existence out on the ice for consumption, finally slipping through his armor.
 Otabek waits, waits, and lets the realization sink in, his heart hammering to
see if Yuri will accept it.
Yuri’s grin, a true, happy grin that lights his eyes, only lasts for a brief
moment before he jumps into Otabek’s arms and kisses him, the momentum carrying
them across the room to sprawl across the bed.  Otabek ends up flat on his back
with Yuri straddling his hips. The lamplight behind him haloes his blond hair
and gives him an ethereal glow that’s completely at odds with the devilish look
in his eyes.
“I’ve been horny for six hours,” Yuri says and grinds down on Otabek’s lap.
“Are we going to fuck or not?”
Otabek just laughs, the heaviness of the moment completely and utterly smashed
by Yuri’s irrepressible personality. He bucks up slightly, just enough to press
his dick into Yuri’s ass, and holds his hips steady.
“Why don’t you take your clothes off and we’ll find out?” Otabek says, toying
with the edge of Yuri’s shirt.
Yuri tips a sideways grin and slowly shrugs out of his shirt, the cuffs
slipping from his slim hands, the fabric landing in a pool behind him. The cut
of his hip, his perfectly defined abs, are in shadowy relief, and as Otabek
skims trembling fingers up Yuri’s sternum his body arches forward for more.
“Wait,” Otabek says, and really, it’s Otabek who has wait, has to hold his own
hands steady to keep from simply flipping Yuri over and tearing the rest of his
clothes off and drowning himself in Yuri’s body.  It’s he who bites his lip as
he sits up and pulls his own shirt off, who turns to encourage Yuri to lie back
on the pillows as Otabek slips off his socks and shoes and trousers and
underwear before doing the same for Yuri, who watches every move with hooded
eyes and kiss-swollen lips.
He slides back up the bed and over Yuri, settling between his thighs. The
contact of their bodies is like a burn that races straight up Otabek’s spine,
rests in the center of his chest. Yuri’s skin is blood-hot and soft, and Otabek
shoves his hands under Yuri’s armpits to raise him up to his mouth, laving the
perfect curve of his shoulder with his tongue while he moves his hips against
Yuri’s body. The catch and slide of their cocks against each other leaves
Otabek buzzing with want.
“Jesus. Holy shit. Beka, please—“ Yuri babbles, “I’m gonna come like that, your
mouth , fuck—“
Otabek pulls away, just slightly, just enough they can catch their breath for a
moment.
“You want it like that, or do you want me to suck you off?”
Yuri sucks in a breath. “Fuck, you can’t just say it like that, do you want me
to go off right now?”
Otabek laughs. “Well? I’m into everything with you. All of it. Any of it. Just
tell me what you like.”
Yuri blushes. Honest to God blushes, and Otabek has never wanted a memory to
last longer.
“Suck me. Then I want…I want…”
“Yes, Yura?”
“Fuck you. I mean. Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”
Otabek’s blood runs hot at his words, the idea of slipping into Yuri’s warm,
yielding body almost too tempting. “No, not yet. Soon. “
“But—“
“Ah, Yura, my beauty. Another time, when we are prepared. But tonight, I don’t
think I can wait.”
Yuri pouts so prettily that Otabek can’t help but kiss his outthrust bottom
lip, tease his way inside and lick hot and slick into his pliant mouth. Yuri
forgets his resentment quickly, it seems, as he’s open and willing as Otabek
grips his hip and rolls them so he can tuck in behind Yuri’s back and flush
against his body.
“Let me,” he says into the soft fall of Yuri’s hair, lips brushing the shell of
his ear. He leans over to swipe lube from the bedside table and tips a bit into
his hand before slicking himself up and pushing between Yuri’s thighs.
Yuri makes a strangled noise as Otabek can feel his cock bump against Yuri’s
balls, and he tenses to see if it’s a good sensation or bad. But Yuri’s back
arches and he tilts his hips for better access, so Otabek thrusts again,
slowly, taking his time to savor the drag of the head of his cock between
Yuri’s cheeks. Yuri gasps and a hand scrabbles back to grip Otabek’s hip so he
does it again, and then counters by sliding a hand over Yuri’s hip to tease and
stroke his cock where it’s leaking against the sheets that have wound around
Yuri’s leg.
“Fuuuuck,” Yuri groans, a deep, guttural sound that resonates in Otabek’s brain
and prods him in to  more, harder, faster,  the sound of his hips meeting
Yuri’s thighs a ringing slap in the quiet darkness of his room until Yuri
stiffens against him, his cock almost impossibly harder before he arches and
comes with a hiss between his clenched teeth that breaks off with a gasp.
Otabek kicks the sheet down and clamps a hand around Yuri’s thigh as he thrusts
again and again, the shudder of Yuri’s body with aftershocks pushing him toward
his own release, a hot point of need that collapses in before exploding outward
in a flash, waves of pleasure rippling from head to toe.
“Yuri, Yura, fuck,  fuck ,” is all he can manage before he finally crashes hard
against the pillows, his nose buried in Yuri’s soft hair and lips brushing the
back of his neck.  He’s gloriously spent, and the silence is tender, soft.
Unexpected. They breathe together, Otabek’s heart slowly coming back down from
the high.
“Holy Christ, I’m covered in come,” Yuri says into the silence. Otabek
snickers. It was nice while it lasted.
“Shower,” Otabek says, and kisses Yuri’s neck. “Then back here with me. We have
a few hours before Yakov starts looking.”
“Meh. Fuck the old man.” A beat of silence. “When will I see you again?
Worlds?” Yuri’s voice is quiet, more vulnerable and open than Otabek’s ever
heard it.
“You have time these next few months. Come visit me in Almaty. Stay a few
weeks. Know me. Know  us , and what we can be.”
Yuri flips over and straddles him, those graceful long legs of his tucked into
Otabek’s sides and so strong Otabek couldn’t move if he tried. “I accept. I
expect skating. And sex. And good food. And booze. And—“
“Yes, yes, my flame. Shopping, and clubs, and I expect nothing less than having
you every day, sometimes twice. And a lesson in quad flips, if we have time.”
Yuri grins and bends to kiss him, messy and bright and flaring. His little
flame, bright enough to burn, still warming if held close in a carefully cupped
hand.
     
 
 
 
 
 
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