Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10375314.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Yuri_Plisetsky, Otabek_Altin
  Additional Tags:
      Consensual_Underage_Sex, Hand_Jobs, Ice_Skating, First_Time, Virginity,
      Pre-Grand_Prix_Final, My_First_Work_in_This_Fandom, be_kind, Otabek_is
      probably_ooc..._:/, POV_Yuri_Plisetsky
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-19 Words: 1638
****** Pair ******
by icandrawamoth
Summary
     When Yuri goes to the rink to work out his nerves before the Grand
     Prix Final Short Program, he doesn't expect to meet Otabek. And he
     definitely doesn't expect what comes next.
Yuri wakes before the sun, tension in every line of his body. It isn't unusual
for him before an important competition – and the Grand Prix Final surely is
that. He just needs to find a way to bleed it off, and that's simple enough.
He dresses quickly and quietly, careful not to wake Yakov, and walks to the
practice rink. It's not open yet, but he finds his way in easily enough. It's
quiet inside, half the lights dimmed, and he wastes no time dropping his bag by
the entrance, tugging on his skates and sliding onto the ice.
Almost immediately, he feels calmer. The ice is a part of him, soothing in way
nothing else ever is. He knows he can't expend too much energy here; he needs
to save his strength for the short program tonight. He spends some time simply
skating in circles, warming up, then does a few passes down the length of the
rink, lifting one leg, then the other, practicing his balance. Another pass,
and he drills his pre-jump positions, though he doesn't actually leave the
ground.
The sound of a door opening echoes across the empty room, and Yuri freezes on
the ice. There's no way whoever's coming in isn't going to spot him, and he
braces himself for the trouble he's about to get in.
It doesn't come. Instead, a familiar face appears over the rink barrier.
“Yuri?”
He exhales in relief, skating over. “Otabek. Good morning.”
The Kazakh skater inclines his head. “Getting an early start?”
“Yeah.” Yuri leans on the barrier and watches Otabek put on his skates and
stretch. “I couldn't sleep any more,” he explains. “Too antsy.”
Otabek smiles at him as he steps onto the ice. “I know the feeling.” He circles
a few times as Yuri had done earlier, then stops a few meters away and turns to
face him again. “Did you ever practice pairs skating, Yuri?”
“When I was a kid,” Yuri answers, confused by the non sequitur. “It wasn't for
me.”
Otabek doesn't respond, merely holds out a hand. Yuri considers him for a long
moment. He has an idea where this is going. He moves forward and takes the hand
anyway.
Otabek moves, drawing him into a pairs routine, a simple practice piece Yuri
had done a hundred times back in the day. They glide across the ice together,
feet dancing, and it's surprising how easy it is, considering they've never
skated together before.
Their hands part for a side by side spin – not perfectly even, but there are no
judges here now. Otabek takes his hand again, fingers warm, and diverts from
the routine, pulling Yuri in closer. “Loop lift?” he murmurs as they circle the
rink, and Yuri nods. Child's play.
Otabek's hands frame his waist, and Yuri trusts him implicitly, hands bracing
on the other boy's wrists as he lifts off. His leading leg bends as the other
extends, flying free through the air for an endless moment, Otabek spinning
them across the ice, and a second later it's over, Yuri's skates back on the
ground.
They keep moving, staying close now, so close Yuri can feel heat radiating from
Otabek. His own heart pounds. The routine has gone completely now; they're
merely improvising, mirroring each other's moves, and it's easy. Intoxicating,
almost. Routine and discipline are Yuri's touchstones, but he finds he doesn't
miss them now.
Otabek squeezes his hand, spins him a final time, and they come to a stop, Yuri
pressed back to his partner's front. They're both panting, but Yuri can imagine
the smile on Otabek's face is as big as the one on his. Then his friend presses
even closer, and Yuri freezes he takes in the feeling. Every bit of Otabek is
hot and solid against him, and his heaving chest isn't the only thing
that's...excited.
It only occurs to him then that his reaction is the same. He glares down at his
traitorous cock, telling himself it's only a natural response to being close to
another body, to being excited by the routine. (Christophe Giacometti would
love that, he knows.) And it's not like he didn't realize it before...merely
that he pushed the feeling aside to focus on his skating. Something he's good
at, narrowing his whole world to his work.
Before he can stutter out an awkward word, Otabek's hands move. They land on
Yuri's chest, spread wide, encompassing all of him, almost possessive. “Yuri,”
the older boy murmurs, “I think I know why you left pairs skating. You wanted
people watching you. Only you. Yuri.” His hands move, a caress, hot through the
thin material of his shirt, and Yuri's heart feels like it might pound right
out of his chest. “I've been watching.”
“Ota-”
“Shh.” Otabek's hands continue their exploration, mapping him, until one dips
lower – cups his groin, and Yuri shudders in his arms. “Ah.” He doesn't sound
surprised, exactly, but pleased.
Damn, Yuri thinks through the sensations doing their best to drown his
thoughts. Is his body that easy to read? In performance, maybe, but now?
“Tell me, Yuri,” Otabek breathes, low and hot in his ear. “have you ever come
with hands on you other than your own?”
Yuri moans softly at the words, his head dipping back seemingly of its own
accord, resting against a firm shoulder. He won't tell him he's guessed
correctly. He won't tell him it's never been like this, never been anything but
his own hands, that he's felt thousands of adoring eyes on him over the years,
but never felt like this. Never wanted like this. Why tell him what he already
knows?
Otabek's lips touch his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “I thought not.”
His devilish fingers move again, trailing a too-light touch down Yuri's clothed
cock. The younger boy bites back a whine, tries to keep himself from moving
into it. “Do you want me to stop?”
Yuri squeezes his eyes closed and tries to calm his breathing. They should.
They really should. Someone could walk in at any moment, and they wouldn't just
laugh this off. It'd be a scandal for both of them; it might affect their
sponsors and their careers. No to mention there's the stubborn fact that Yuri
is only fifteen while Otabek is three years older, and that fact could spell
serious trouble.
Yuri doesn't say any of it. He only shakes his head. Don't stop.
Otabek smiles against his skin. “I didn't think so.” Again, Yuri goes stock-
still as his hands begin moving once more. His left slides up Yuri's shirt,
splaying over his bare chest, the tip of one finger barely brushing a nipple
prickled by the sudden cold. The other...the other slides under Yuri's
waistband, into his briefs, and curls around his dick. It's warm and damp – did
Otabek lick it when he wasn't paying attention? - and, god, it feels good.
“You like that?” Otabek teases as he strokes him lightly. Yuri can only groan,
pressing into the touch, urging him on. Now that he has this, he needs more of
it. He needs everything Otabek will give him. “Is that how it is?” Otabek
laughs softly, and teeth press lightly into Yuri's neck, pulling a whimper from
him as his left hand moves, too, rolling a nipple between nimble fingers.
Yuri shudders, caught between too many sensations. He tosses his head to the
side, trying to give Otabek more access to his neck, even as he tries to press
into both of his hands at once.
The other nipple gets the same treatment as Otabek slides his hand to the end
end of Yuri's dick, stroking just the head now, smearing precum over him. Yuri
can already feel his insides clenching, orgasm rising, and it hasn't been long
at all. He's going to embarrass himself... Otabek's fingers twist, both hands
at the same time, and Yuri cries out loudly.
“Shh,” Otabek murmurs in his ear, “you don't want someone to overhear. Maybe we
should finish this before you give us away.” His strokes speed up again. “Come
on, Yuri, don't hold back.”
Yuri grunts and gives in to the urge, gripping Otabek's arms in an attempt to
gain some leverage, thrusting into his grip even as their combined movement has
them sliding ever so slowly across the ice. He can feel everything growing
hotter, tighter, and then – he chokes out a sob as he comes, and everything
goes white for long, long moments.
When he comes to, Yuri has slumped to his knees on the ice. The cold biting
into his palms is welcome as it pulls him back to reality. Because, yes, that
really just happened. He takes his time straightening his pants and righting
his shirt, steadying himself, before he looks up at Otabek.
The older boy is gazing down at him, the look on his face much gentler than
Yuri would have expected. “All right?” he asks, offering him a hand.
Yuri nods wordlessly, allowing himself to be pulled to still-shaky feet. Then
his gaze drifts down and he sees Otabek's erection, still hard and clearly
outlined through his pants. Oh. Wide-eyed, Yuri reaches for him.
But Otabek catches his hand. “Not right now,” he says, bringing it up to his
lips as his eyes lock with Yuri's. “Maybe after tonight. I trust you feel
better now?”
Yuri's face flames. Is that was this was? “I-”
“Hey, don't worry about it too much, okay? I'll see you later.” He starts to
skate backwards toward the exit. “Good luck tonight.”
Yuri can't even muster words to echo the sentiment. He's too busy staring, red-
faced and trembling, as Otabek disappears from view.
Maybe he will see him after the short program. Maybe then he'll figure out what
the hell just happened.
 
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