alwaysthequietones | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's different, he learns, actually being friends with someone on the ice.

It's not just Yuri, either-- Viktor's friendship kind of ends up being this weird package deal with that that he wasn't expecting and Yuuri's follows and Yuuri seems like one of those people everyone just likes for some reason and so everyone else seems to follow suit. He's not really much of a people person-- people tend to find him too quiet and get bored and he finds small talk pretty exhausting, himself-- so "friendship" in this case might be too strong a word for what any of them feel towards him, but he's invested now, enough that every now and again, he'll even post something on Instagram or like a few scattered posts here and there.

He and Yuri talk more often than that, but it's still just a smattering of texts here and there and he's no better at pleasantries on the internet than he is in person, but Yuri really doesn't seem to care, so it works out okay. It's... nice. Having someone to talk to. He's spent most of his skating career not being very good at... well, most of the things other skaters were good at. Dance, talking, smiling for the camera. He's not unaware of how sullen he looks next to Viktor and Chris in some of those pictures when it was the three of them on the podium. He's just not really someone to smile and play nice with a bunch of reporters. He prefers to mean it, when he smiles.

He doesn't smile a lot.

But that's okay, too. He's an athlete. He's good at what he does. It's enough. ... Except now he's getting out there, competition after competition and skating against people he knows and one person he knows in particular and it's... different, now. He feels things more. He's still a solid skater, does the same things he's always done, just better. He's getting silver suddenly, more than bronze, though the fight to land on the podium at all is getting rougher and he misses it more than once.

And then, on the first competition to the Grand Prix Finals, suddenly he's standing higher than everyone else, and it's just qualifier, but it matters, because it's Yuri with the silver around his neck.

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Yuri slithers out of the sweater and jacket. Everything grace and lean sinew. His body's been honed to do what he wants. There's no hesitation. Because if he stops, even for a second, the whole thing crashes down. Just like on the ice. The only way he wants to go is forward.

The clothes get tossed aside in a snap of his wrist (even this is pretty, and someday he should really find a way to get that move on the rink...) There's time for Otabek to explore, but soon Yuri's hands are moving again. Dragging from Otabek's ass to his waistband, shoving at the shirt.

"Hurry up," Yuri demands again. Eager to have his turn, see the muscle

Otabek explores immediately, hands flat against Yuri's body, touching everywhere, everything, without any sign of hesitation or restraint. He gets caught up in it, actually, textures and feeling things move under the skin and he's got them fitted together against the wall before Yuri's pulling at his shirt.

His own is discarded without any kind of grace or care. He just pulls off his shirt and flings it somewhere, because what's in front of him is worth entirely more attention-- particularly now that suddenly there's so much skin agains skin. The next kiss is almost ferocious, hungry, and he's dragging Yuri away from the wall and into him by his ass a second later, not really heading for the bed so much as just tugging them off-balance into it's general vicinity.

Did Yuri say walls were his new favorite? He has changed his mind, this is now the winner. He hooks a leg around the outside of Otabek's. Anchoring himself so he can map out all the angles. Making appreciative noises as he drags his hands up the biceps, shoulders, feels them ripple.

There's teeth in the next kiss, clumsy. Maybe harder then Yuri means it to be.

Otabek has a moment to be startled at his own reaction to that kiss, the way the sharp flare of pain pulls everything tight for a moment, makes his skin feel like it's going to peel off, before they're tumbling down into the bed, Yuri on top of him. His hands clench harder on his ass in response, enough that he's probably leaving bruises in pale skin, but he needs that leverage to pull him down into his grind up hard enough.

Yuri's hands are everywhere and he's never really thought much about whether it would feel good to be touched like that, someone assessing the raw power tied up in his body through their palms. He's going to go mad with it, is the answer, needs more.

It does occur to him that this is the same feeling he had on the bike and Yuri hadn't responded well, but he also doesn't know how to stop at this point, doesn't even remember the word for it in a language they share, but he can at least manage,

"Pants," like it's an order. He's aware that that means he's going to have to stop grinding on Yuri for long enough to have that happen, but he also hasn't exactly worked out how he's going to do that either.

Yuri is not good with surprises. He can deal with them, but it's usually by shouting. Lashing out until he can get the new thing to stop, or control it. If he has space to think it all goes much better.

Like this. He's pushing his hips right back into Otabek's now, goading.

The order gets a grin. Dazed but definitely all for it. Yuri worms a hand between them to unhook the button, zipper, and then he's squirming forward. Leaving Otabek gripping the denim. He can either help or enjoy the show, Yuri's happy either way.

Whether he actually helps the process along or not is in some debate, but he definitely tries to. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that he tries to tear the pants off Yuri's body, the way he tugs and pulls, and there's entirely too much pressure and wiggling pressed tight against his cock for him to not arch his back and voice another one of those quiet but throaty moans.

"Yuri..." assessing a tone is impossible like this, but the name's heavy, weighted with all the things he wants right now. As soon as there's more skin, he's all over it, drunk on the texture of it under his palms, how it moves when Yuri does. The desire to put his mouth on all of it is almost overwhelming and takes him by surprise. It's not something he's ever even thought about before, and now he's got his mouth on Yuri's collarbone because it's the closest thing and he's not really biting, exactly, but there's definitely teeth.

Yuri's underwear slides off somewhere in the process. It doesn't quite register as being naked. There's too much sensation to think. He keens at having so much touch, like he's starving for it. Hips bucking erratically. Pulse after pulse of heat running up his dick.

Then there's teeth. A yelp. Next nails digging into shoulders, shoving Otabek into the sheets. Yuri stares down at him. The lamplight casting him half in shadow, hair spilling out of the ponytail. He looks wrecked. Bruises from Otabek's mouth already blooming on his skin.

He also looks like he could tear the room apart.

"How does this work?" he demands. "Is there - Do you want something?"

This is the closest he can get to actually asking Otabek if he's had sex. With... well, anyone else.

Edited 2017-04-16 21:54 (UTC)

For a second, all Otabek can do is stare, wide-eyed, at Yuri. He's never really gotten the whole "Russian Fairy" thing, but right now, he can't see anything else. They mean it like something delicate, small, pretty. All he sees is the kind with teeth-- soul stealers, beguilers, dangerous and mercurial, bloody and hungry.

He wants so much it's almost a physical pain in his chest. It takes a moment to focus on the words,

"I've never done this before," some people, maybe that would be a hard admission, but Otabek sees no reason to be embarrassed about it, it's just facts, "but I looked it up and it doesn't look too complicated" Yuri can do whatever he wants with the information that Otabek prepared for this, without knowing even how things stood between them.

Yuri decides he likes that look. Likes knowing he's the first one to get Beka like this. His eyes widen though, and for a second he does shade softer. As it hits how very, very much he actually likes this boy.

Good thing he's naked in his bed!

"Okay..."

The next kiss is long and affectionate. Helps Yuri get centered again. Then he sits back up. Hands dragging down Otabek's chest, tracing over the abs - seeing what response that gets. He tosses his hair out of the way and smirks. Returning to the mischievous sort of fairy.

"Okay - Tell me," he orders.

Otabek seems very tactile, likes both touching and being touched, arches into the hands on his chest. He makes another soft noise into the kiss, the noise feathering at the end when he realizes how sweet the whole thing is. Everything keeps being the best kind of suckerpunch, until he barely knows what way is up anymore, just knows what directions is Yuri, keeps pulling himself that way.

It takes him a minute to reorient himself again, when Yuri pulls back, asks the question. There's no hesitation, though, already reaching between Yuri's legs to get there in time to demonstrate,

"You take something slick-- I've got vaseline-- and you work it in, here," the pads of his fingers brush the ring of tight muscle, "until things are relaxed enough that you can have sex like that." Presuming Yuri's got the same look on his face that Otabek did when he read it, he keeps going, "I thought it sounded stupid but I tried it out the best I could in the shower and it's not bad. A little weird, but it doesn't really hurt or anything."

Yep. Otabek not only managed to do research on how to have sex, he tested it out first. He doesn't say it like there's anything weird or remarkable about it. It just seemed to make the most sense at the time.

Yuri jolts as Beka's hand moves there, can't help the gasp. Expression incredulous. Not because this is really new information. He is a teenage boy, with access to the internet - he has picked up some things. It's just new in relation to him.

"...You mean your dick. Is that going to fit?!"

God, he feels how bright the blush is, asking that. But it isn't No. Otabek has thought about this, clearly. That helps make the idea more... interesting.

"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" that might be smartassed coming from someone else, but Otabek just says it like a fact, "Or you can try me first if you're worried," it's offered easily, even though he knows it's likely Yuri's not going to let the idea that he might be worried go.

He keeps his hand there, though, since it's not a no, finger circling tender skin, the rest of his hand and wrist pressed kind of awkward but firm up against Yuri's balls, cock, letting him feel the subtle motions of his arm muscles up through everything.

Yuri's retort gets garbled at the pressure. Hips rocking automatically into Otabek's hand, finally finally finally on his prick. It's a thrill and also? Kind of scary. Yuri has worked his whole life to get his body to do what he wants. Having it act without him is an entirely new thing.

He grits his teeth. Closing his eyes and wills himself still. It's possible, though he can still feel all that skin. The muscles twitching between his thighs. The idea of letting go - just letting Otabek drive -

Yuri wants to see where this goes.

"Where's the Vaseline?"

"Fuck. Yuri." He says both words like facts when Yuri's hips rock against his hand. He doesn't say that Yuri's gorgeous, but his eyes are a little wide, pupils blown, tone hungry.

"Bedside table, in the drawer," it's reachable, though Yuri's going to have to stretch out over top of him to get there. It's possible that's been the plan all along. (It's not. Otabek is not nearly that prepared.)

The reach is elegant, easy. The lines of Yuri's form turning long. He plants a hand on Otabek's chest. More for stability then anything else, but there's still the sensation of pinning. Keeping everything in place as he ruffles through the drawer.

Finally he nabs the Vaseline - then fumbles the tub, as he hands it down to Otabek. Ears going red. Because yes, Yuri's got grace ground into his bones. But he is asking his best friend to use this to fuck him. Grace only gets you so far!

The hand on his chest feels like a brand, like it has the entire weight of the world on it. But there's also no way he would be moving, even without it. Yuri reaches and searches and he watches Yuri, rapt. Yuri being beautiful has little to nothing to say to why he is doing this. He doesn't want Yuri because he's pretty. But he is fascinated by it, could watch him all day.

He opens the vaseline and slicks his fingers and there's no real nerves from him about this, but there's concentration, because while he'd been able to bear the discomfort pretty easily when he tried, he also has read it can be painful and he doesn't want that.

"I can't feel what you're feeling," he reminds Yuri as he's rubbing a little lube in shallow circles, finger already starting to ghost inside him just a bit, but not quite to the point yet of stretch, "It's not supposed to hurt," because he knows Yuri, and knows that he'll try to push himself to the limits-- but Yuri's also an athlete and the only way to survive as one of those is to know the difference between a hurt that's alright, bearable, and one that means injury or strain.

Yuri's breath goes shallow at that tracing finger. It's hard to listen, between the teasing flickers of heat, Otabek's heart hammering under his palm. It should be frightening. How much Yuri trusts him. What's being allowed.

Except Beka's staying calm.

And Yuri wants this. To find out what Otabek's learned. What they can do with each other. So he forces a deeper breath. Enough to talk.

"Okay."

It likely also helps that Otabek has both said he's tried this on himself and that he's offered to switch places. Nothing here is forced or presumed or asked unevenly. It gives everything an air of exploration, of mutual interest towards a common goal. Nothing about the way they relate to one another is different here, or seems changed-- this is just an extension of their slow text messaging and dinners when they're in the same city.

What is there to get nervous about?

Otabek works the first finger in slowly, more pulling at the edges and working in the lube for the first few minutes. His face sets in what someone else might read as a grim line, but Yuri can probably read as concentration. It's not like Yuri is something that might break, it's more like he's straining to hear a piece of music, identify it, attuned to every reaction. It would probably be a little unsettling, except Yuri's got a few other things to think about.

A few thousand. Yuri can't focus on any one of them for more then a breath. Then something else is demanding attention attention. The stretch. The fact it's Beka. Tremors against his palms, sweat beginning to prickle on his brow, the feel of so much skin. He's not sure if he's supposed to move, or hold still, and does not quite succeed at either.

He's leaking. Prick so hard it's starting to hurt, more then anything Otabek's doing to his ass. Yuri fumbles for it. Fingers clumsy but any touch is a relief.

He doesn't think to ask for help. A distraction right now seems like a bad idea. Though Yuri's no doubt plenty distracting no matter what he does.

Otabek moans when Yuri does that, a little surprised sounding, like it's even hotter than he thought it would be.

"You look amazing right now." Yuri looks amazing all of the time, but this is... something different. He pushes his finger deeper, slow but inexorable, letting him get used to each new sensation but never quite comfortable with it, before he's moving on. This is just a means to an end, whether that end is them having sex, or whether that is to make Yuuri look like this, writhing and touching himself.

"I'm going to add a second," his voice is still even, but the calm sounds dream-like, dazed, "When I did it it hurt a little bit but only for a minute." He's doing it a moment later, slow and steady.

It is not comfortable. At all. Yuri jolts forward, letting out a low hiss.

"Bekaaaaaaaaaa."

Except being watched like this makes it... bearable. Even though it feels like Otabek has his whole hand back there. Yuri pulls on himself again. Finding the relief of pressure offsets the stretch. A little. The pain fades into more background noise. Yuri's body more eager to report the things that feel good.

"It gets better, I promise. And I think it'll be better for you than it was for me anyway, because I didn't have a very good angle," he doesn't explain that. Either Yuri knows about what's coming or he doesn't and Otabek is fine with moving slow and letting Yuri know that he'll stop, but he's not really interested in providing anatomy lessons.

He's scissoring his fingers a little bit, testing his reaction, but only for a moment before he's reaching deeper, deliberately angling like the description he'd read told him to, searching for the right spot...

It is almost certain he is not ready for the reaction it's going to get, when he finds it.

Beka's fingers brush something electric, sending a bolt through Yuri. He arcs his back. Hand spasming off his dick, clutching at Otabek, trying to brace. Though he can't appreciate it, Yuri looks incredible like this. Completely out of control.

"The fuck," he finally manages to gasp out. "The fuck?!"

"Holy shit," Otabek says at the same time, wild-eyed as Yuri writhes. Nothing that he'd read had prepared him for that.

So of course, he does it again. Immediately.

And then if the reaction is even half as good the second time, he moves from "immediately" to relentlessly, at least for a minute, at least until his brain can catch up that he really doesn't want to actually get Yuri off like this, and he can make himself slow down, breathe.

Yuri is not helping at all. Figuring out that he can cant his hips down on the fingers, chase that sensation and make it even stronger. Which has the added bonus of opening things up much faster. There's sparks blooming in his head, by the time Beka slows.

"Again," he snarls as soon as he's got air back.