Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12003678.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Jean-Jacques_Leroy, Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky, Jean-
      Jacques_Leroy/Yuri_Plisetsky, Jean-Jacques_Leroy/Isabella_Yang
  Character:
      Jean-Jacques_Leroy, Otabek_Altin, Yuri_Plisetsky, Isabella_Yang, Jean-
      Jacques_Leroy's_Parents
  Additional Tags:
      Jjbek, otayuri_-_Freeform, Pliroy, JJBella, Mutual_Masturbation,
      Jealousy, Fingering, Shower_Sex, Anal_Sex, bipolar_JJ, obsessed_Otabek,
      Angst
  Series:
      Part 18 of please_please_please_let_me_get_what_I_want_this_time
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-05 Words: 2417
****** the past didn't go anywhere ******
by Blownwish
Summary
     JJ loves his friend so much. So much, that he tries not to hate him,
     too. He tries so, so hard.
Notes
     infidusfiles made this request on tumblr: Okay but pining pilroy
     cause otayuri is cannon and why can't Yuri and everyone else SEE that
     otabek is not the hero they all think he is. JJ shared a rink with
     him, he knows the things otabek has done. And he know who tipped off
     the angels that day in Barcelona. Totally totally fumbled and made
     this pining jjbek. Jesus I suck.
     blackmountainbones
     is one helluva beta. So many thank yous! Hey - to keep it real? I
     should be thanking Phayte
     in just about all of my fics. She gives me so much moral support,
     holds my hand and pets my hair as I whine. She's the one who told me
     to write this. So this is for her. And shout out to Francowitch
     ❤️ You are the best.
     Title and notions about time stolen from the late, great Utah
     Philips' piece, "Bridges."
JJ always felt like anyone who told him he was living in the past was trying to
make him forget something that would get them in trouble. He wished he had a
photographic memory, then he would be the most dangerous man in history. He
would have to settle for being slightly dangerous. JJ didn't like settling. He
was never good at that.
“Babe?” Isabella shakes his arm as JJ watches Otabek stand in front of Yuri
Plisetsky. Share, for the first time, the same space as young girls squeal all
around them. Stare into his eyes. JJ watches and he knows everything Otabek has
become was made for this day. Maybe even this moment. “Babe?”
Then Plisetsky spoke: “What are you looking at, asshole?”
People crumble. People break. And JJ has been broken enough to know this might
be one of those times, and he is glad she is there, because he feels the broken
pieces, now. She holds him up with her small hand on his arm, as he wonders if
Otabek is going to fall apart.
If he is, no one can tell. Not even JJ. Just puts his sunglasses back on and
walks away from the boy he's been dreaming about for years. And JJ ought to
know. He remembers that much.
++
He remembers Otabek’s hands. He was good with them. JJ's father raved about how
Otabek fixed the chain on Alain Jr’s ten speed. His mother still went on and
on, to this day, about how he mounted the flatscreen in the den. He was good
with tools. Handy, they declared. A useful kid to have around. Nothing like JJ.
JJ was useless when it came to that kind of thing.
“Man, I'm so hard.” JJ had moved to the fold out bed. The springs creaked and
the fitted sheet always came off the mattress corners. Otabek never asked him
for company, but he wanted it all the same. “Come on, Beks? It’s whatever.” He
reached down to pull the elastic on his briefs. “You like me?” Of course he
liked JJ. He said so. Said he liked his skating. Liked his style.
He remembered those hands, under the sheets, in his pajama pants, on his body.
They were calloused. The fingers were blunt. His palms were warm. “Want me to
fix this?”
JJ shivered. JJ nodded. JJ moaned as Otabek used those hands. And he used his,
too. With lots of spit and plenty of effort, trying give as good as he got as
Otabek pressed his forehead against his and huffed against his cheek. “Yuri.”
He always moaned that name. It was something else JJ always remembered.
Remembered as clearly as the time he stole Otabek's phone and looked through
all the photos of the blonde Russian kid Otabek had saved off the internet. “Oh
god, Yuri!”
“I don't mind,” JJ said, later, as he laid in his cold bed, looking back in the
dark. He really wanted to mean it, too. “Like I said, it's whatever.”
He could see Otabek laying flat on his back in the fold out bed, hands folded
over his chest. “I'm going to have to fix the frame if you keep doing this. It
can't handle much weight.”
“Sorry.” He should've thought of that. He never thought about things like that.
But Otabek did. He was always thinking about the next thing that would break.
That was why he was never mad; he expected those kinds of things. Maybe that
was why he was JJ's friend. “You really like that kid, huh?”
Otabek never answered when JJ asked about Yuri Plisetsky. No matter how many
times JJ tried, he couldn't figure out a way to make him talk about that kid.
But JJ could dance. JJ could skate. And JJ could make Otabek come. No matter
what, Otabek could never deny those three things.
++
The past didn't go anywhere. Jesus Christ was still alive. And the Canadiens
team shirt JJ was wearing wasn't his. He'd bought it for Otabek and Otabek left
it in Montreal after he flew home to Almaty.
Text me, JJ said at the airport. Let’s keep being friends. But he knew Otabek
wouldn't text him when he looked through him, like JJ wasn't even there. Like
he wanted to forget him.
JJ wore it to his first practice at Skate Canada because he didn't forget who
he was up against. Yuri Plisetsky didn't just enter the rink. He stormed it. He
didn't just skate. He transcended reality. And when he caught JJ staring? When
he turned and looked over his shoulder? When he sneered? JJ imagined Otabek
watching and blew him a kiss.
The kid turned red.
JJ circled around him. “You that kid everyone's been talking about?”
“Yeah.” He turned as JJ crouched down and touched the ice. As he slid. As he
smiled and showed him all his teeth. “And you're the guy who's getting in my
way.”
He got close. Close enough to see the blue in those green eyes and kept
smiling.
“Move.” He was even redder. His eyes kept moving over JJ's body. If only Otabek
could see his precious Yuri Plisetsky tremble as JJ pushed his nose against
his.
“Make me.”
Was he a virgin? Only God knew if he was, before JJ cornered him in the locker
room, after practice. Had JJ taken it from him? Father Dubois would nod and say
it was likely, one week later, when JJ wondered in Confession. But God
forgives, even when the memory stays and lets the sinner relive these things
again and again. He even takes away the transgression with His Mercy.
“Oh, fuck!” Plisetsky’s nails scraped JJ's back as he rammed his finger into
him, over and over. One, then two. The showers steamed the stall. The towels
were soaking wet in the tile. And Plisetsky wailed as JJ pushed another finger
in. And another. “Fuck! Fuck!”
God would forgive him but Otabek never would. Not if he knew how he got knelt
on the tiles and sucked JJ’s dick. Not if he knew how he couldn't wait to get
on his hands and knees and let JJ push his dick so far up inside that tight
little ass that the kid screamed his name.
But it was okay. JJ could forgive Otabek. He even believed he did, as he pulled
out and came all over Plisetsky’s milky skin. Mercy, that boy really was
beautiful.
++
Isabella can make him feel ten feet tall with a smile and she can take him
apart with just a few words. Maman always said a woman was the heart of a man.
She never said anything about how a woman could take the heart out of him:
You’re going to win every competition. Every single one.
But he has JJ Style. He has authenticity. He goes out there on the ice and lets
everyone see him, really see him, and that's why he's a winner. That's why she
loves him. Why everyone loves him.
Well, most people.
“Hey, babe. Whatchya doin’?” She's got two glasses of rosé and a smile, just
for him, as his brothers and sisters rumble around in the main suite in a low
roar. She sits next to him. Holds up the glass. “Instagram or fiancé?”
“No contest.” He puts down the iPhone and takes the wine. “So how’s the future
Mrs LeRoy, Miss Yang?”
“I don't know. How's the future Mr LeRoy-Yang?”
“Otabek saved Yuri Plisetsky from a pack of raving Angels.” He sips the rosé.
It is good. Damn good. And it should be. It cost, oh, a lot of Euros, and JJ
ought to know. Canada Tire didn’t pay his room service. C’est la vie. “Almost
like divine intervention.” He knows better.
She sighs. “Yeah, right.” She crosses her legs. “And they say you're the crazy
one.” And she drinks.
Her ring cost fifty thousand dollars. The down payment for that two story house
is going to be one hundred thousand. Winning seemed like a foregone conclusion
with Nikiforov out of the picture. But now? Now that he has to win? “Yeah. I'm
so crazy?”
His prescriptions don't mix with alcohol. He doesn't mix with alcohol. The last
time JJ got drunk, he and Otabek almost killed each other, and he was gone on
the next plane to Almaty, one day later. JJ puts the glass down.
She nudges his shoulder. “He probably told them where Yuri was staying, just so
they'd follow him around.”
He nudges back. “Stop, Yang. That's my friend you're talking about.” Otabek
didn't break, after all. Of course he didn't. Otabek knows how to make things
work.
++
Otabek didn't kiss. He didn't hug and he didn't fuck. But he could be touched.
He would let JJ touch him, sometimes. At certain times. Like, when he needed a
massage.
JJ would blow on a dollop of Jergens as he straddled Otabek's hips and ask him,
he always asked him, if he wanted JJ to start at his neck.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
JJ had no real idea if this was the right place to start. He didn't really know
anything about massage. His father would never let him get a real one, ever.
But how hard could it be to rub someone down? Besides, good old Otabek never
complained. He was a good friend that way.
“Tension in your neck, buddy,” said JJ. Otabek liked it. His skin was smooth
and his body was hard. So hard JJ was positive he'd break his teeth if he tried
to take a bite out of him.
“Mmmm…” It was a rumble, deep in Otabek's chest.
And his shoulders were so wide. JJ had to lean down and put his weight into it.
Really push the moan out of him. It sounded so good. Otabek really liked it.
Liked JJ. He knew that, but still. “Man, Beks!” He fanned his hands over his
back. Smoothed them up and down, up and down. He liked him so much and he loved
showing him how much, every time Otabek let him get close to him. “Beks, you're
so tense.”
He would never forget how Otabek’s hips bucked when he scooted down and moved
the towel. He had the most beautiful, sculpted ass. One day, JJ promised
himself. One day JJ was going to put his face right there and make Otabek
forget all about that Russian kid. But for now? For now all he could do was rub
that ass and make him move. “Crisse, Beks!”
Crisse!
Then he would say that name. Sometimes JJ didn't even mind. Sometimes he even
believed it turned him on. “Wanna fuck your boy, huh?” He palmed his ass.
“Getting all hard for him.” JJ huffed when he nodded. “I’d love to see that,
man. Love to watch you bend him over and give it to him.”
Otabek never responded when he talked like this. Not with words. No, he just
came. Came for JJ. Came for that kid. Came with sharp, muffled moans as JJ
propped up his ass, snaked his hand underneath, and jerked him off, hard.
“That's it, Beks. That's it…”
++
He forgives Otabek for spending the evening with Yuri Plisetsky, because that's
what friends do. He even sits in a corner on the floor where the Russian team
is staying, quietly, because he's a good friend. He scrolls through Instagram,
stopping to look at all the posts Plisetsky put up, and study the captions, as
he listens to Otabek say more to Yuri in Russian, than he ever said to JJ in
English. And it's all okay. He understands.
“Jean?”
Mercy, JJ feels like he's going to combust when Otabek looks at him. He can't
help beaming. “Hey, man. Have a good time?” Beaming because it doesn't hurt.
“Have you - “ he comes closer “ - have you been drinking?”
He holds up his thumb and forefinger. Laughs when Otabek told his eyes and
waves his arms. “Oh, come on. It's been a helluva day! I'm engaged!” He shows
him the ring.
“Go to your room, Jean.” No, he can't walk away. Not now. Not when JJ is going
to tell him how happy he is for him. He's got to do something. Say something.
So he does. Somehow he's found his feet and he's found himself slamming Otabek
up against the wall. “Don't be that way.” He looks away, as if he can't stand
the sight of him. “Hey, look at me.” He won't. “Happy, now?”
Otabek finally looks at him. “Yes.” It's the same look he gave him at the
airport last year, like he can see right through him.
Oh, but he can't. Not anymore, and he's going to find out. Not because JJ hates
him. Not because JJ is mad at him. No, he could never hate him. Or at least, he
doesn't want to. “Yuri Plisetsky, aye? Wanna know something about that
princess? About your precious Yuri? He's a moaner, just like you.”
Then he sees it. Sees the thing he's been afraid of, all this time. The thing
JJ has felt ever since he first heard that name. It's looking right back at JJ.
“Let me go, Jean.” Otabek pushes him off, pulls up the collar on that black
leather jacket and turns his back on everything.
“No!” JJ knows he's too loud. He knows he's drunk. He knows he's wrong - that's
he's always, somehow wrong - but he still can't pretend. He can't. That's not
who he is. He can't let go of the past. He can't forget this one thing. He
can't forget his friend. “I love you.”
He's never been more sure of anything as he watches Otabek walk away.
++
She's everything to him, now, because she's all he’s got left. Maman and Papa
smile as he gulps down his second coffee. And Isabella? She puts her head on
his shoulder. “You were such a bad boy, drinking all that rosé, babe.”
“I know.”
She sighs. “It doesn't matter. You'll still win gold, because we're getting
married.” She kisses his cheek.
“You down, son?” Papa tussles his hair as if he's still a little kid.
“It's Otabek,” says Isabella. “Otabek blew him off yesterday, when JJ invited
him to lunch.”
Papa sighs. “Forget about it, boy. The past is the past.”
Jesus is still alive. God is still in heaven. And JJ still remembers. Remembers
so much. He stares at the black coffee. The past doesn’t go anywhere.
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