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Quick & Dirty Madness

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Yuri doesn't mean to be like the piggy from last year, but he's feeling wrung out—like he just skated in practice all day, or something—and exhausted, and Lilia and Yakov's responses to his exhibition were annoying and tedious, to say the least. So he finds himself drinking too much wine… and running into Otabek, who has a dark look on his face.

"Yuri," he says, reaching for what must be Yuri's fourth—or is it fifth?—glass of wine. Yuri yanks his hand away and it spills over his shirt, his nice white button down. Now there's going to be a stain!

"Damn it, Beka!" Yuri snarls, and gulps down the last of the glass. "I was enjoying—"

"You're drinking too much," Otabek says, glaring back at him. "You have to set a good impression, remember?"

"I did that already, with my exhibition skate," Yuri fires back smartly. He wants to get another drink, but from Otabek's expression, that's not happening.

"Come on," Otabek says, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards him. "You need to change your shirt now."

"Your fault," Yuri says sulkily, but he allows himself to be towed along. "I'm only doing this because Lilia will murder me if I stain it."

"I know," Beka says, and Yuri shoots eye-lasers at his back.

"Besides, if you hadn't abandoned me— Where are we going?"

"In here," Otabek says, and drags Yuri toward him, turning so that he can shove Yuri behind him, and shutting the door to—

"Are we in a fucking coat closet?" Yuri demands, trying to make out anything besides the faint shape of hanging outerwear. There's a clicking sound and a light comes on, and Otabek's… well, fuck. His lip is slightly elevated on one side. It's not much, but it's a smile.

"Maybe we are," Otabek says, that same smirk just barely showing through his usual deadpan facade. "You don't really think before you act, do you, Yura? You skated that whole program… and involved me in it… didn't you consider what it might do to me, not just everyone in the audience?" Otabek leans forward, and opens his mouth. Yuri's not sure what to expect—a kiss? A bite?—but Otabek doesn't do anything so predictable. He bites Yuri's tie with his teeth, and then, to Yuri's astonishment, he manages to unknot it… and tug it away… all with nothing but his teeth.

"Jesus fuck," Yuri breathes, forgetting about his irritation. That's… "so fucking hot, Beka," he manages to get out. Somewhere, down below, his body is doing very interesting things in a very interesting way that he's not really used to. Sure, he's gotten inconvenient hard-ons. The ones that happen when he's in his costume are the worst. But this is the first time that it's been because of someone else. He's never liked anyone before, and he means in any fashion, not just a sexual one. Otabek is his very first friend—he didn't realize he could enjoy anyone else's company before they met. But one surprise after another; now his only friend is the source of this delicious arousal.

"You didn't see?" Otabek says in a low growl. "The female fans were all creaming their panties when I pulled your glove off. It was hot then… it's hot now."


"Shut up, Yura," Otabek says, and now he kisses Yuri. It's even more unexpected than the tie, or the hard-on. Yuri hadn't considered he might think boys were people he'd want to sleep with. This shit is confusing as fuck, because he was too caught up in himself, and his exhibition, to realize he'd been flirting with Otabek. It's not made any easier, either, by the way Beka's currently fucking his mouth with his tongue. Yuri wishes he'd realized he had this much power over his friend earlier. He would have been the one dragging them into closets, otherwise.

It's hot, and his lips are soft, but the actual kiss is hard, brutal, and taking no prisoners. Yuri doesn't want Otabek to know he's never been kissed before, so he throws all of his usual arrogance and bluster into it, ignoring Otabek's dominance in favor of his own.

He forces Otabek to accept his tongue into his mouth, and then he grabs the back of Beka's neck and yanks him close; their lips slide almost apart from the spit drenching them and it's dripping down his chin and Otabek growls—he fucking growls, like he's the fucking tiger—and shoves Yuri back a step.

"Yura," he says, a snarl. "You don't hafta try to be better at everything. Let me show you what to—"

"Fuck you," Yuri says, and now it's his turn. He clamps his fist around Otabek's tie and jerks him forward. "I'll do what I want."

"You wanna get laid?" Otabek asks, very quietly now, his usual soft-spoken manner. "Do you, Yuri? Do you want… for me... to fuck you?"

"You—" but Yuri stops short. He'd never thought this far ahead. Fuck, ten minutes ago he'd ever even considered kissing Otabek. Or maybe he had, but he just hadn't realized it yet. He knows his eyes are very green and large in this light and setting; he's pretty sure his pupils are swallowing most of the color. He can feel a flush in his face that's not from alcohol, though there's a fair bit of that in his system too.

So he shrugs internally. Why not? Otabek's never gonna tell anyone, and Yuri figures it doesn't matter whether he's giving or taking. He can still do whatever he pleases.

Besides… those words, falling like glittery promises from Otabek's lips… have made his cock swell completely and drip onto his dress pants. So he tilts his head up, closes his eyes, and parts his lips—just slightly—then licks the lower one, oh-so-slowly.

Otabek's reaction tells Yuri he may not have needed even that much encouragement; his lips are punishingly hard against Yuri's again, and the whole while he's kissing him—it's more like a sensual assault, though, really—his hands are very, very busy.

The buttons on his shirt come loose first. In fact, it doesn't even matter about the wine stain anymore because several buttons go plinking off into corners. When Otabek gets his shirt open, his palm is like a brand against Yuri's chest, directly over his heart. So Otabek can feel his heart racing like a skate sliding out of control.

His other hand is cleverly undoing Yuri's belt buckle, and then his mind fogs over completely from the kiss, which is overwhelming him. He can't breathe, and he doesn't think it's from Otabek's mouth covering his so much as the unbelievable sensations coursing through him. There's the slightest rasp of stubble against his face—a reminder that Otabek is already a man, and Yuri can't even grow so much peach fuzz yet—and he's aware, he knows, that he's on the verge of playing the girl for another guy, that he's going to be the one spreading his legs and—Jesus fuck. He wrenches away from Otabek, eyes feeling glassy.

"When I said I was the Ice Tiger of Russia—" he says, "I didn't mean I was a fucking pussy!"

"Shut up, Yura," Otabek says again. "Either you want it or you don't. Choose."

Yuri nods, trying to encourage Beka without words, because he does want him. And Otabek knows that Yuri is prone to pointless arguments.

Beka's being so mean... but Yuri doesn't want him to stop and bring them both out of this closet. So he takes a deep breath, which is difficult. And then Beka's on him again. This time he knows they won't stop again. That he could beg and plead and bleed words all over Beka and his friend won't let it go, won't let him pause this. Because any words he might say would be just token protests about taking it—and not pleas for him to stop.

But fuck, he doesn't really want to. He's waffling back and forth between being angry about being the pussy-to-be-fucked and frustrated because Otabek's not inside him yet.

But his pants are suddenly pooled around one ankle and Otabek's actually picking him up, Jesus that's hot, and then he's lying on his back on the floor, one hand still tangled in Beka's tie as his friend jams a knee between his thighs, forcing them open. Yuri helps by spreading as wide as he can go—and he's pretty flexible.

Yuri swallows the sound he wants to make; it's not the sound of a tiger, so no one is ever going to hear him make such an embarrassing—

Beka plunges one finger up to the second knuckle inside him, and it's slightly damp—probably spit—and there's no warning, so the sound Yuri makes is ripped out of him like a tornado tearing through a building's walls. He can't help it. When Otabek moves his finger just a little, lightning floods Yuri's senses. His eyes might be open; he can't tell. He can't tell up from down anymore; nothing makes sense. His body feels like an unstrung violin all of a sudden: loose and yet plucked like music is going to be wrung from his very nerves.

From just a finger! Yuri bites down on his lower lip; he will be more fucking stoic than this, he is not a baby goddammit—

Otabek jerks his finger out and spits onto his hand; this time Yuri notices. He's still not ready for the intrusion of two fucking fingers, fucking into his ass belligerently, and goddamn but....

"Oh my God," Yuri manages to squeeze through his strangled throat. He's never felt anything like this searing pleasure.

"It's okay," Beka says, and those soft, reassuring words do not at all align with what his fingers and body are doing. While he fucks his fingers in and out of Yuri's hole, which is eagerly swallowing them up each time, he's also grinding his hard-as-a-fucking-pole erection against Yuri's knee, which is oh-so-conveniently right between Beka's legs.

Yuri's own dick is flat against his belly, hard like he's never been. Huh, maybe he's into this thing. Into guys, even. Or maybe just Beka? Who knows—it doesn't matter—

"Just keep doing that," Yuri pants, but Beka must not hear him. Or he does and he doesn't care. Otabek doesn't say a word—not that that's surprising. But his fingers are suddenly gone, and Otabek's barely managed to get his fly open. He doesn't even push his trousers down his legs, just takes his cock—and holy fuck, it's big, it's so big, Yuri's suddenly feeling a bit of trepidation (not that he'd admit that to anyone)—out and presses it, shockingly, against Yuri's belly. No. Not his belly. Against the bare, thick line of his own dick.

Yuri loses words. All that leaves his mouth are noises, but his hearing isn't acute anymore, and he doesn't even know what he sounds like. Otabek… oh God. He's never felt anything like this. Beka's cock doesn't feel like his own; it's not familiar even if they both have the same equipment. No, it's soft as silk on the outside, with steel underneath, and the touch of it to Yuri's has made everything empty out of his brain. It's unbelievably hot, too, like a fucking iron against his skin, like he's going to be irrevocably burned.

It lasts only a moment. Not even long enough for it to really sink in that Yuri's cock is soaked in precome and those few seconds of contact have given Beka a chance to rub that slick all over his own cock.

He gets no warning; he's pretty sure Otabek thinks Yuri might hesitate, or tense, otherwise. Just one moment of bliss as their cocks slid together and then, Beka's buried to the hilt inside him.

Yuri knows he screams, the feeling is intense, unexpected, and good… but his mouth is covered by Otabek's hand. Thankfully. It hurts… but like the burn of his muscles after a pleasing skate, and at the same time, he didn't get a chance to be anxious, and Beka smoothed the way with his precome. For just… one… split… second… Beka hangs there, over Yuri, planted deep within and not moving. Yuri's trying to blink the sweat out of his eyes to get a good look at Otabek as he holds himself on trembling arms over him, but he can't, not really.

"Yura, I'm so—"

"Don't you fucking say you're sorry," Yuri snarls, and bites down on his hand still hovering over his mouth. "Do it like you mean it."

He gets more than he bargained for when Otabek moves for the first time. It feels sublime… with a sharp edge of pain that makes Yuri's vision swim, but in a good way. He finds he likes that sting that accompanies each in-and-out movement. And Beka isn't being gentle. He's slamming into Yuri hard, with razor-sharp focus, and though Yuri's never done this before his hips and body know what to do: cant upward to meet Otabek each time.

His thrusts are kind of uneven, like he's not wholly sure of what he's doing, either, but enthusiastic. He's pounding Yuri so forcefully that Yuri's well-muscled ass—with not enough fat on it—is being ground into the floor, and that hurts too.

For some reason that just makes Yuri burn all the hotter. In fact, he's spiralling into that heat, his body craving, his lungs unable to take in enough air as his balls draw up—so tight—he's so close—

Otabek brushes his dick with one hand, might even be an accident, though Yuri doesn't think so, and then he's shooting all over them both; come is splattering on his belly, probably all over his unbuttoned shirt, and onto Otabek's black pants, obscenely white and oh, so, obvious what it is.

Fuck that. Yuri's not going to apologize, either. Otabek started this.

Beka's breath is sawing in and out of his chest, labored, as he grips Yuri's bicep with one hand and holds one thigh out with the other, with enough force to bruise. He continues like that, now practically holding Yuri down, until he groans—and he throws his head back, all the tendons standing out in his neck, and his cock grinds home one more time as he comes.

The aftermath is very short. Yuri has just enough time to think about forming a complaint about the jizz trickling out of his ass, and the way his hole feels swollen, when Beka leans down and kisses him quickly, then swipes his tongue along the seam of Yuri's lips.

There's still not enough breath in his body when Otabek urges Yuri's thighs even wider apart, slides down his body, and buries his nose in-between Yuri's thighs.

He has no idea what to expect, then: the hot, wet slide of Otabek's tongue down a very sensitive path from just behind his balls to his throbbing hole.

Beka licks around the rim, gently now, lapping up his own come that's still drizzling out of him, and laving the puffy muscle with his tongue.

"The fuck are—" Yuri starts to say, but Beka stalls him by suddenly slipping his tongue inside, and that is a whole new wave of pleasure. Yuri's fifteen; it goes straight to his dick, which is immediately up for round two.

Otabek takes turns between swiping his tongue along the outside, pressing slightly against the swollen flesh, and dipping his tongue inside. After a moment, Yuri's half-aware of Beka placing an open-mouthed kiss over his hole and sucking.

He's writhing on the floor now, trying to both get closer and away at once; it's so much sensation, from the feel of the muscle of Beka's tongue to the wetness of it to the way his come is being drawn out of his ass.

Then Otabek's tongue is gone, and just a finger remains, tracing around and around the rim in feathered touches as Otabek crawls up Yuri's body again, till he's face-to-face with him. There is a devilish look in Beka's eyes as he ducks his head down. As he claims Yuri's lips with his. And Yuri can just imagine his expression as he gently forces open Yuri's mouth and urges a wad of come into it.

"Gah—" Yuri manages, before Otabek fuses their mouths together in a truly filthy kiss. He wants to grab at Beka's hair and pull him off, spit the spunk out, but then he feels his body relax just a little, his lips softening, and the taste isn't so bad, and it's part of Otabek, right? So maybe it's not so gross.

When Otabek finally draws back, both of their mouths are smeared with come, and Otabek looks way too satisfied.

"Fuck that," Yuri growls. "Next time? I'm putting my come in your mouth."

"I was already counting on it," Otabek says, and leans down and in. He breathes in Yuri's sweat, then slides lower, until Yuri's eager young cock is a minute distance from his lips.

"Fuck, Beka—" Yuri says, and it sounds like begging, and Jesus, he does not fucking beg, but that hot, filthy mouth is right above him just where he needs it most and then—

—and then Beka's lips are stretched around him, and his cheeks are hollowed, and it's the dirtiest thing Yuri's ever seen, and that includes Russian porn. His pelvis rocks up of its own accord and Otabek doesn't even choke, and Yuri's suddenly irrationally angry at whoever taught him to give head, but then that thought melts away as the sheer strength of Otabek's will overpowers his own.

His friend sucks him fast and dirty, and every so often his tongue dances around the crown of his cockhead or follows the vein up the underside; then his teeth are grazing just barely against his hot, needy flesh and he can barely breathe; the coat closet is swimming in the scent of sex, sweat, and even trust, which before Yuri would have said didn't smell like anything.

Beka gives another long, drawn-out suck, humming as he does it, and Yuri's body literally jumps, and he fucks into Beka's mouth, pressing his tongue down with his cock, and then Otabek's hands are on his hips, painfully keeping him in place. He draws off, Yuri's cock slipping out from between his lips, and lays soft, teasing, torturous kisses along his shaft, until he reaches the top. Then he swirls his tongue around Yuri's slit, tasting the precome, spreading it around in a mix of saliva, and then he does something Yuri's never even conceived of, and most of this experience is things he's never considered.

He works his tongue into Yuri's slit, actually filling him up in a different way, though not as deep or as hard. He's careful; he doesn't push in too much all at once, and he doesn't jam the tip of his tongue in, but slowly, ever-so-slowly, he stretches Yuri's slit a little until he can fit the very tip of his tongue all the way inside.

This is it. Yuri's dead. He can't stop himself: despite the pressure on his hips, Yuri bucks upwards and comes, the force of it almost terrifying as his vision blackens and his hearing whites out.

For what feels like forever—or the length of his free skate—Yuri can't move. He doesn't even think he's breathing. His heart is galloping to the tune of about 1200 horses and his limbs are jelly, his mind mush. Every single muscle has gone loose and relaxed. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. His sweat is sticky-dried all over him. He's really not even sure he's still alive until Beka kisses him again, and he can barely make his mouth work to kiss back—and accept the gift Otabek makes him of his own come, which is slightly sweet. Strange.

"All right?" Beka asks, and Yuri tries to nod, but he can't make his neck muscles move.

"You—" he says hoarsely, then gives up. There aren't words.

The coat closet is too small. He's being suffocated by the heat that their fucking has wrought—he barely has the thought before cool air wafts in, and then:

"Holy fuck, is this where you've gone? Jesus, Otabek, I'm going to have to—" and the words come fast and furious, and Yuri smiles, just a little evilly.

He's shocked Viktor twice now.