Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11756391.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky, Otabek_Altin/Jean-Jacques_Leroy, Jean-
      Jacques_Leroy/Yuri_Plisetsky, Jean-Jacques_Leroy/Isabella_Yang
  Character:
      Otabek_Altin, Yuri_Plisetsky, Jean-Jacques_Leroy, Isabella_Yang
  Additional Tags:
      otayuri_-_Freeform, Jjbek, Pliroy, JJBella, Delayed_Orgasm, Jealousy,
      Cheating, Secret_Sex, Mutual_Masturbation, more_abuse_of_a_prince_title
  Series:
      Part 2 of I_Wanna_Be_Your_Lover
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-09 Words: 2310
****** You Need Another Lover (like you need a hole in your head) ******
by Blownwish
Summary
     Otabek has had enough of Yuri's whoring around.
Notes
     Part two of some Prince-themed otapliroy thing nobody asked for.
     References to part one, Little Red Corvette, are in this fic. Might
     help to read it, but not necessary to catch the drift.
Yuri had been in Almaty for one hour and in Otabek's apartment for less than
one second and he'd been backed up against the wall. Forget the suitcase.
Forget showing him around. Forget civility and niceties and all that nonsense.
There was only one thing on Otabek's mind when Yuri invited himself to Almaty,
and it wasn't hospitality. Yuri started babbling - What the hell are you doing?
Otabek what is this?- and he was blushing like a shocked virgin when Otabek
pushed his knee between his legs and pinned his hands over his head. “Beka?”
“What's the matter, Yuri? You know what a man expects when you fly thousands of
miles to his apartment.” He traces the trembling line of his mouth. “You're not
shocked.”
“N-n-no.” He tries to look away.
But he's not going to look away. Otabek holds his chin and forces him to look
in his eyes. “You and Leroy?”
His eyes are so big, his lower lip is so wet as he bites it, and he shrugs.
“I'm - I'm sorry?”
He slams his wrists again. “You and Leroy. And Katsuki. Giacometti. Nekola.
Crispino. Chulanont. De La Iglesia. Did I miss anyone?” He whimpers and he gets
even redder and he's not going to get out of this. “You're no virgin. Quit
acting like one. You come to my city. My apartment and you know…” He pushes his
body against him. Relishes the tremble and the gasp. “You know what I want. So
tell me who I missed.”
“Viktor. And others - not skaters.” He swallows and he nods and Otabek knows
he's trying. But yet isn't good enough. “Five - no, six others.”
He lets out a long, steady breath as the images run through his imagination. He
hasn't so much as kissed his lips, a half dozen times, but one face keeps
lingering there. He can't stop imagining what he did to Yuri, using him like a
sex doll, a plaything. It isn't Yuri’s fault. He doesn't know. He has no idea
what it means to give his body like that.
He has to learn. He will learn. Otabek will teach him.
“You're not going to sleep with anyone else anymore.” Especially one particular
person.
He actually laughs. Laughs. It’s forced and it's too high but it's still pure
Plisetsky defiance. “That's what he said.” Otabek doesn't need to ask who he
is. “I do what I want.”
“Oh, really?” Otabek leans down and smiles against his mouth. “We will see
about that.”
++
He was his dream. Yuri Plisetsky represented everything Otabek idealized in ice
skating: grace, beauty, and strength. He would've traded anything to have the
same lithe body as Plisetsky, to be that magical creature that seemed to fly
across the ice. But he wasn't lithe or flexible. He wasn't graceful. But he was
strong, he had that, and he was determined. He found his own path and made his
own way. But Yuri Plisetsky was still his dream.
“You're obsessed,” JJ told him last year. They were sitting at an outdoor cafe
in Montreal, under the summer stars. JJ smiled as he licked the cappuccino
froth off his straw. “You met him like, once. What is he?” He nodded at the
video Otabek had pulled up. “Fourteen, fifteen? He's barely out of diapers.”
“Cool it, Jean. I was just showing you his routine. Don't you think he has
something?”
JJ cocked his head and watched Yuri flit on Otabek's screen. “Yeah, so he's got
something.” His smile is slow, and when he laughs it's the same laugh he had
for Otabek’s inconvenient classroom boners back in Colorado Springs. “Nice
ass.” He bit the straw. “Yeah, I can see why you're into this kid.”
“Fifteen, Jean. And so not the point.”
He took the phone out of his hands. “Not from where I'm sitting. That's what I
call a bubble butt. Mmmm!”
Otabek grabbed it back. “Don't.”
“Don't what? Look? The whole world looks, Beks. And it's gonna do a lot more
than look when your precious Russian Fairy goes into Seniors. You know how it
is.”
He crammed his phone back into his pants. “Not everyone does the locker room
tour.”
“Yeah they do.” He wouldn't stop grinning as he nudges Otabek's leg under the
linen table. ”You did.”
Sometimes he wonders how JJ managed to live this long. “It wasn't in a locker
room and I was drunk.”
He winked. “Just that one time? Are you serious? I seem to recall - “
“Jean…” Yes, it was a small miracle that this bastard still drew breath.
“Don't.” He didn't want to think about Colorado Springs. Those weren't
memories, they were more like sleepwalking, wet dreams - they didn't really
happen. He opened his mouth again and Otabek glared. “I mean it.”
“Whatever you say, Beks.” He stirred the foam and licked.
++
Otabek rubs his lips against his, and backs away every time Yuri opens his
mouth, nudging his nose and staring into his eyes, waiting for him to close it
again so he can go back to just brushing his mouth over his. Yuri tries to push
his tongue into his mouth and Otabek bites it. “It won't be that easy.” He's
not like the others. He's not Jean.
“Oh my god! Why are you being like this?” He's pouting, now. Rolling his hips,
now. Trying the tricks he's learned too well, now. “You know you want to. Quit
playing games, Beka. You got me. So just do it.”
Otabek steps back. Points. “Take off your shirt. He does, and there are marks
all over his neck, his shoulders, chest. “And pants.” He kicks off the cheetah
print Chuck Taylors and skin tight jeans. Yeah, the marks go lower. Otabek
motions with his finger, Yuri turns around and - on his ass. His ass has marks.
“Jean.” He wants to punch the wall and pretend it's that smug face. “You like
being branded like that?”
Yuri looks over his shoulder. His hair is a curtain he can't hide behind. And
he doesn't. He shrugs. “He couldn't stop me from leaving.”
Oh, did he try? “Does he know you're here?”
He nods.
“Good.” Otabek nods, too. “That's very good.”
++
Isabella was Otabek's girl. Well, he wanted her to be his girl. She was sweet,
smart and drop dead gorgeous. But she was a friend of the Leroy family.
Something about her father and Alain and family business ties her up in Leroy
interests and, so, naturally, she was dating JJ.
She was still his. He could see it when she smiled at him. Sometimes their eyes
locked for a second longer than necessary. Her hand would brush against his
chest when he cracked a corny joke and she would bite her lip, making him
wonder what it would taste like. Maybe cherry? Strawberry? Did Jean already
know?
Jean knew about Otabek's intentions, though, and Jean didn't like it. Not one
bit. “You moving in on my girl, Altin?”
“She's free to do what she wants.” He tilted his head and watched Jean pace in
his room like a caged lion. “Are you mad?”
Yeah, he was. He slammed his fist into the wood panel wall, just inches away
from Otabek's head and snarled. “You son of a bitch!”
“What's the matter? Can't take a little competition?” He just folded his arms.
Jean didn't have the balls to actually hit him.
Jean narrowed his eyes. “You are seriously demented. You know that? Demented.”
It wasn't the first time someone questioned Otabek's sanity. It wouldn't be the
last. He just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Fuck it.
Later that night, Jean ‘happened’ to come into the guest bedroom and lay down
next to Otabek. He said nothing. He never said a word as they pulled down each
other's pajamas and began jerking each other off. But Otabek knew he wasn't
thinking about Isabella. Neither was he. He just wanted to make Jean come
first. It would mean he won.
++
He refuses to let Yuri touch him. He doesn't have to tie him up, he just swats
his hand away every time he tries to unbutton his shirt or reach for his fly.
Besides, he's got his face pressed down in the pillows. He's got his ass
propped in the air. Yuri is not in a position to touch him, anymore, anyway.
This isn't how he wanted this to happen.
He wanted to make love to him. Cherish him. Teach him what it meant when
someone touched him. Yes, he knew about the others. Yuri never hid it or
pretended or lied. But the fact that Jean got there before him. Had him. Marked
him up like this. Otabek's hands are shaking as he pats the ass Jean fucked. As
his finger lingers right there, and tap-tap-taps that tight, pink little
asshole until Yuri arches his back and mewls like a damn cat in heat.
“He didn't like it how other guys fucked me either.”
Otabek rubs him, teases him with the promise of pushing his finger inside, and
never delivers. “You want me to spank you, Yura? Call you a bad boy for teasing
him? Teasing me?” He laughs. “No, baby. You're going to learn, I'm not Jean.
I'm going to show you how it feels to want something you can't have.”
He reaches between his legs and traces one finger over his hard, pink dick.
Just once. Yuri chokes and tries to thrust into his hand - and Otabek moves
away. His fingertips slide over his thighs, his back, touch his lips and Yuri
gasps. ”Please?” He wiggles his ass and there are actual tears in his eyes.
“I know what it's like to want something so badly, so badly it drives you to
tears.” He wipes one away and tastes it. “You want, right? It keeps you up all
night, staring at the ceiling, hard, desperate, wanting gold, wanting a touch,
wanting so much, right?” Yuri sobs. Yes, maybe he is beginning to understand.
Otabek leans down and whispers.“What do you want, Yuri Plisetsky?”
He shivers. He shakes. He snarls. “Make me come!”
Otabek sighs as he turns and slams the bedroom door shut. The walls tremble. “I
can see we have our work cut out for us.” Let them fall down all around them,
for all he cares.
++
Otabek watched Jean lazily lick her lips. His arms were draped over her
shoulders. She stood between his legs and she sighed as the boat rocked and the
breeze stirred her hair. Her eyes were closed, but Jean’s were open. He was
looking at Otabek.
That morning, at the docks, he gave Isabella his class ring. Otabek was burning
through his cellular data while she squealed and cooed and turned on her toe in
a pirouette. One Junior Division ice skater with a name that was burned into
his brain was on the screen.
Jean could have her. Jean could keep her. Otabek never really wanted her,
anyway. His eyes were glued to the screen, to something beautiful and pure.
“You mad?” Jean asked later, as they laid together, gasping for breath in the
small hours of the morning, under hot sheets and the hush of their dirty little
secret.
Otabek shook his head. “No.”
“Good.” Jean touched his shoulder. “You know I don't - I don't mean anything by
all that teasing?”
“Liar.”
Jean snorted. “Yeah. You're right.”
++
He spent hours on him, holding him on his lap, barely kissing him, hardly doing
much more than touching him with a fingertip, watching as he sobbed and
trembled and begged. Sometimes he would take the tip of his dick between his
thumb and forefinger and tug, tug, tug, tug until his cock was leaking and more
red than pink and Yuri was gasping for air. Then he would stop, just stop, and
kiss his cheek. “No.”
He wasn't going to come. And he isn't going to come. But Otabek is going to
come, right now.
He's standing over the toilet, bathroom door open so Yuri can watch, jerking
himself off viciously. “I think about you when I do this.” It's true. “I think
about spreading you out on those sheets and showing you how I feel.”
Yuri’s hand goes between his legs.
“Don't.”
He slams his hand against the mattress. “This isn't fair!” He sounds like a
kid. A beautiful fucking boy… hard for him for hours… trembling on the edge of
his bed for him, only him.
And now he's getting up - no - he's falling to his knees. “Please…” And he's
crawling on Otabek's floor, hair over one eye, panting like a hungry animal. He
can stop him, Otabek can do whatever he wants, but he won't stop him. This is
what he's waited all these years to see. “Beka…” He's kneeling next to him,
pushing his face against his thigh. “Please just let me suck you. Anything. You
can come on my face even. I don't care. Just let me have something?”
Otabek combs the hair out of his face and looks into his eyes. There are tears,
but there is also strength. “No one else is going to touch you. Understand?”
“No one else.” He kisses his palm. “Only you.” He opens his mouth and Otabek
believes him.
++
He wakes up in the morning in an empty bed. The shower is running and he can
hear Yura humming a song he's never heard. Otabek grunts as he pulls his
Samsung off the charger. He's a sticky mess, but that's to be expected. Yura
was a handful last night. He probably is a handful, period. He came three times
before he finally went to sleep.
He expects to see the time, but he's got a text message from an unknown number:
enjoy it while you can
Yuri's iPhone buzzes on the bathroom counter and the shower suddenly stops.
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