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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

He does it again, once, on autopilot, and that's got to be intensely gratifying-- that he's taking Yuri apart, but there's no hesitation or thought behind following an order like that.

He does pause after that, though, shifts slightly, to bring them up to three, which doesn't let him reach as good, but has a fuller feeling to it, when he does brush against that spot next.

They do have a destination he very much wants to get to, after all. He has no idea what it's going to feel like when Yuri's riding him like that, but he wants to know as much as he's ever wanted anything.

It's fortunate one of them has a goal in mind. Yuri can't think from one second to the next. It's easier having the third finger added. Gives that bright spot a break, even as Yuri instantly wants it back. It's good, no one could ever really explain how good. And he'd resent that, but learning it from Beka makes up for it.

Sweat darkens his hair, beads on his forehead.

He doesn't work him like that for very long. Long enough to hopefully be enough, not long enough to be accused of coddling, before he's pulling his fingers out and helping to lift Yuri up and--

And he still has his fucking pants, on, doesn't he?

Look, Otabek doesn't whine. That's not a thing he's done since he was very, very small, a habit mostly beaten out of him. But he does make a frustrated growl, at himself, at the world, and then almost seems angry at Yuri when he rumbles out,

"Help me," fingers fumbling at his pants.

The not-whine gets a definite-snarl at that demand. Yuri's fingers whip to Otabek's waist, gaze hyper-focused, in a way that - until now - has only been seen on the ice. There's a goal in front of him and whatever needs undoing is suddenly done. He might not actually need Otabek's help at all.

There's an appreciative "Shit" as the underwear gets yanked off. Yuri's eyes wide at the twin realizations of he's looking at Beka's dick and it's going inside him.

If his pants or underwear are a lost cause after this, it's a sacrifice he's willing to make. He's definitely not thinking about it after Yuri makes an impressed noise at his cock. To be fair, it's actually pretty impressive, which is probably not particularly comforting at the moment. (There's maybe a reason he wears pants for his costumes, in fact.) He knows any comfort will be rejected, so he doesn't bother, just shifts them both so Yuri's positioned better on top of him, and then just hands things over to him.

"Go as slow as you need to. It's not a race. I don't want to hurt you," he says it, he means it, but they both know that that's absolutely 100% not what's about to happen. Since when has Yuri ever in his life done something either slow, or cautious? It would be a shame to start now.

Yuri at least makes one concession. He snatches up the Vaseline, smoothing more on Otabek's prick.

Then Yuri's pushing down before he can think more about it. Gravity helping. There's a hiss at the spread, and for a second he has to fight himself to stay in place. Even with the fingers before it's still strange, borders on pain.

Otabek's expression is probably worth it, though

At least for the first moments, Otabek is concentrating so hard on Yuri that he barely feels anything. He outright moans for the spread of vaseline on his cock, but once Yuri's actually lowering himself on him, he goes silent, has to force himself to breathe and ends up doing it in time to Yuri's probably less even breaths. He knows Yuri won't want to be coddled about, but his hands stroke his thighs up and down, soothingly, without him thinking about it.

It's when he gets about an inch down that Otabek's expression finally shifts from intensely focused on Yuri to the first signs that all of this is catching up with him. Another minute shift downwards has him catching his breath outside of the rhythm he was setting and then there's a low groan, expression melting into something Yuri's never seen on his face before, fingers clenching into skin suddenly with the effort of holding himself still while Yuri keeps going.

"Fuck... Yuri..." it's all he can manage.

Yuri likes hearing his name groaned.

A lot.

He flips his hair back, flashing a grin at Otabek that's almost wild. Then braces bracing again, sinking deeper over the cock. It's probably too much. Especially for a first time. A grunt escapes him, breath going ragged from the effort.

He doesn't care.

It's the grin that causes his fingers to raise bruises on Yuri's thighs, clenching tight on the skin, because if he doesn't, he's going to pull him the rest of the way down. It's a fight to do this slowly, now, willpower against instinct, and Otabek is definitely winning that fight, but it's easy to see how thin the control is, muscles trembling with the strain of not moving, instead of the other way around.

The clenching hands come just as Yuri manages to hit that bright spot again. He jerks, swears, and the bruises get ground even deeper, already blooming under Otabek's fingers. It is going to make putting the jeans back on very... interesting.

It's also enough to bring him all the way down. Thighs flush against Beka's hips, tremors racing over skin as Yuri tries to adjust. He's not sure he's going to be able to move. Still, the grin goes triumphant as it registers he's taken the whole thing.

Otabek manages to unlatch his fingers from his thighs, finally, spreading his hand up trembling skin, following the path of lithe muscle.

"Beautiful," it's breathed out, maybe involuntary. It doesn't really seem like a compliment so much as a fact, like many of the things he says. He looks less like he's having sex and more like he's just sort of amazed, eyes gone just a bit wide, expression open but intensely focused. He hasn't even attempted to share his "faerie" line of thought but he looks and feels enchanted, every expression Yuri makes gathered up in amazement.

Watching that fade into the same realm as the growling lust on the motorbike is an education. It's slow, but it starts with fingers holding tight to Yuri's hips, now, before Otabek pushes his own up, gets everything deeper for a moment. Yuri might not have to move much at all, at least at first.

Yuri knows he's beautiful. Weirdly, it's not something he's arrogant about. His pride is in skating, dancing, the things he's earned. Being pretty is a tool. Just one more advantage to be used. Hearing Beka say it like that, though - it's like Yuri's never heard it before. Not for him, not like this.

He keens. Wanting more, getting it as Otabek grinds into him. Sending another flare shooting out. It's different then with the two fingers. Only burning most of Yuri's thoughts, instead of all.

Maybe it's that this, too, is something earned.

Otabek pulls him up a little. At this angle, in this position, he's not strong enough to do this for long, but it suddenly puts to mind the fact that he probably could do it in some others-- just lift Yuri, let gravity pull him back down his cock. Even in this one, he can do it for a few moments, while Yuri is sorting himself out (though it's probably not helping that.)

Maybe he should give Yuri some more time to adjust, but he's impatient and he knows Yuri's not any more patient. He's still listening keenly for anything that sounds like pain or protest, but he's not stopping until he hears it, now.