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The Worst Part

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The worst part is the rain. It's pouring down outside the hotel window, pooling in the parking lot and, according to the concierge, threatening a flash flood.

Otabek is sitting on the bed, cross-legged with his hands on his thighs. He used to meditate, for a few months at least, until it fell off his schedule for a few days, then a week, then two. But he still uses this position when he wants to be absolutely still.

Yuri is jangling around the room, flopping down on the bed, rolling back off. Staring out the window, pacing to the door. Flipping through the binder of hotel amenities and restaurants and tourist attractions. Turning the TV on and off again.

"Fucking rain," Yuri says, again. He pulls out his phone and starts playing a game with the sound on, thin and tinny by the time it reaches Otabek.

The worst part is that no matter what Yuri does, he won't look at Otabek.

They were supposed to go out today before the gala and see the city, wander around, do the tourist thing, and now they're stuck inside in Otabek's less-than-luxe hotel room not staring at each other because, no matter what, Yuri won't look back.

"Yura," Otabek says.

"Shit!" Yuri tosses his phone onto the desk. "You made me fuck up." He goes to the window, yanking the curtain back.

Something is wrong and it isn't the rain. They could be sitting together on the bed, watching terrible TV and talking over top of it. They could be drinking terrible tea in the hotel restaurant. They could be standing in the rain, huddled close under one umbrella.

The worst part is Otabek doesn't know why. Things have been okay between them on Skype and Telegram. They talk several times a week and message a lot more. They've been talking during the competition, though there hasn't been time for much, mostly Yuri chattering and Otabek listening. A single flaring kiss in a corridor, before someone came around the corner and they pulled apart.

And that's what they could be doing now. Otabek could be touching Yuri's hair and kissing his mouth and sliding his fingers over every bump in Yuri's spine. But Yuri won't sit still long enough for Otabek to even lean over.

Yuri whirls and stalks back past the bed and Otabek wonders if this time he's heading all the way out the door. But he stops at the desk and picks his phone back up, then drops it again. He doesn't even turn it on.

Being absolutely still isn't working so Otabek unfolds himself and goes to stand in front of Yuri, boxing him into the corner where the desk chair is pulled out. He wants to trap Yuri with his arms and hold him there but he keeps his hands at his sides.

"Why won't you look at me?" he says.

Yuri shoves Otabek, two hands on his chest, and Otabek stumbles back onto the edge of the bed. But Yuri looks at him finally. Angry eyes and scowling face, but he's looking.

"Tell me," Otabek says. He stands up again because he wants Yuri's hands on him, even if they're his fists.

Yuri doesn't hit him. But he looks away again, down at the carpet, while his hands clench tight. "JJ told me."

Otabek runs through the weekend, wondering what he even could have done or said, especially to JJ. Then he sees the way Yuri's face is scrunching and the rest of him still as a stone. Completely still is not something Yuri does. "What did he tell you?"

Yuri's chest heaves but otherwise he doesn't move. His eyes are on the hideous green carpet. His hair is falling out its ponytail, one long strand hooked back over Yuri's ear

He makes Otabek's chest heave too, with longing and with fear. Otabek takes one step forward and reaches out, just brushing Yuri's arm with his fingertips. "What is it?"

Yuri yanks his arm away. He looks up at Otabek and his eyes are hot with anger. "Was he better than me?"

Otabek's breath stops and he feels the blood rush to his face, stinging his skin. "There's no comparison," he says and this is the worst part.

Yuri's arm darts out and his fingers twist in Otabek's t-shirt. "What did he to do you?"

"I–" Otabek's throat dries up and he tries to swallow. He prides himself on being direct but that doesn't mean that this is easy to say.

"Tell me what he did," Yuri says. He yanks Otabek's shirt and the collar cuts into Otabek's neck. "Tell me what he did and I'll do it better."

"Yura," Otabek says but he knows he's not going to get out of this. "It was just a few times when we were training together. He...went down on me. That's all."

"That asshole." Yuri drags Otabek by the hand bunched his shirt and pushes him down on the bed.

Otabek wants to tell Yuri this maybe isn't the best idea. That there are other steps to take between a kiss in the hallway and a blowjob in a hotel room. But he also wants Yuri's hands on his body and Yuri's mouth on his cock. So he doesn't stop Yuri from kneeling between his thighs and grappling with his belt buckle and zipper. When Yuri pulls Otabek's dick out of his pants, he's already half-hard.

He doesn't know if Yuri has done this before; they haven't talked about any of this. Just training, just skating. Just games and movies and Yuri's cat. Just the rain.

Yuri's fingers curl around the shaft of Otabek's cock and he ducks his head, opening his pink mouth and taking it half inside.

Otabek gasps, he can't help it. He's been thinking about this every day and night, although he tries not to show it. He's desperate to know how Yuri's dick would look against his palm, how it would feel inside his mouth. He's dying for Yuri's body under his, stretched out on this bed.

And now Yuri's tongue is licking at his cock, Yuri's mouth is watering around it, sucking at it while his fingers dig painfully into Otabek's thigh. Then Yuri's angry head bobs up and down, his lips sliding over and over.

Otabek leans forward and takes the back of Yuri's shirt, pulling it up until he can get his hand on Yuri's skin, smooth and warm and wonderful against his palm while Yuri sucks and sucks him.

Yuri's teeth scrape and Otabek winces, but he doesn't say anything. It's obvious Yuri hasn't done this before, or maybe only once. But he's working so hard, taking as much of Otabek's dick as he can, a string of saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Not like JJ who knew exactly what he was doing when he would surprise Otabek in a changing room or stairwell, dropping easily to his knees, swallowing it all down, and turning away when Otabek reached out for him afterwards.

Otabek strokes Yuri's back, up and down, the same rhythm as the blow job. Sloppy as it is, it's so much better than tea at a café or a walk in a park.

The rain smacks against the window, so loud now it almost drowns out the muffled smack of Yuri's lips. Flash flood, Otabek thinks. "I'm going to–" he gasps and then he comes, hard, scratching his nails on Yuri's back and biting his lip to keep from groaning.

Yuri doesn't move in time and takes half the load in his mouth and a spurt across his face before Otabek gets the rest mostly on his hand.

Otabek stares at Yuri – eyes still angry, hair come loose, and Otabek's jizz dripping from his cheek – and knows that he'll be jacking off to this image forever, no matter what else happens. "You should spit," he says just as Yuri rubs his face and swallows.

"Well?" Yuri demands.

Otabek takes a deep breath and puts his hand on Yuri's shoulder. "You're the best," he says and it's more than true. "The best."

Yuri's whole face lights up, like it did when Otabek gave him his gift when they first met this weekend. The cheetah-print t-shirt he's wearing now and it's already stained with Otabek's semen.

"Come here," Otabek says. He tugs on the shirt and Yuri raises his arms and lets it go. He pulls off his own shirt and throws the duvet off the bed.

Yuri pushes him down onto the sheets.

The worst part is they only have a few more hours.