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To Have the Tiger by the Tail

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 It takes Yuri less than a single day in Hasetsu to figure out that something is not quite right in the Katsuki household. 

At first, Yuri assumes the obvious; that Victor is a larger than life presence at the best of times, and that’s throwing the household into confusion.  Yuri may be a teenager, but he’s not a fucking dumb ass.  It’s clear Katsuki has a thing for Victor, and Victor’s flirting up a storm right back at him but getting nowhere.  It’s fucking hysterical, Yuri thinks, because Victor’s never had a ‘subtle’ mode, and yet somehow Katsuki still hasn’t figured out that Victor is basically spending all day, every day, with his dick hanging out in the hope that he will notice and will want to play with it.  Yuri’s been here no longer than a single day, and he’s already got it figured out.  Katsuki is either completely oblivious or just running on a combination of nerves and anxiety, and it’s blinding him to everything.

Of course, that also works well in Yuri’s favour, because he’s not afraid to admit he might also have a small thing for Katsuki.  It’s annoying as fuck, inconvenient and stupid, and he hates himself just a little bit for being caught unawares by it back at the GPF last year.  Most of the time he can ignore it, but Yuri hadn’t thought it through properly when he made his mad dash across the continent.  He’d been so focused on making sure Victor kept his promise regarding Yuri’s short program, he’d forgotten Victor had followed Katsuki to his home town.

The whole ridiculous situation comes to a head a day later, when Katsuki announces that Katsudon is his Eros.  In retaliation for the whole Yurio thing (and maybe because of his stupid crush), Yuri nicknames him Katsudon.  Victor, being the well-adjusted moron he is, handles the whole Katsudon debacle with grace and diplomacy, and goes out for the night on one of his legendary drinking binges, leaving Yuri to amuse himself.

Victor rolls in at around one in the morning, tries to act stealthy (only swearing once when he bangs his shin on the ridiculously huge coffee table in front of one of his ridiculous couches), falls into bed and immediately passes out.

Finally, Yuri thinks. The shithead has finally passed out.  He listens to the building settle back into some semblance of calm.  He hears a floorboard creak, and at first, he assumes it’s just the building adjusting to the heat or whatever.  He lays on his futon and stares at the ceiling, feeling the slow tick of time eat away at him now that he’s awake.  He wants to fucking kill Victor for waking him up; it’s not like the Living Legend has to get up at ass o’clock and get ready to skate.  No, he’s going to watch from the boards and interject occasionally with passive-aggressive commentary while making secret Georgi faces at Katsudon when he’s not looking.  Ugh.

The futon is surprisingly comfortable, but it’s not Yuri’s bed, and it just makes him more restless than he was before, tossing and turning as the minutes tick by until he can feel the frustration battering at him.  His body and mind are exhausted, but he can’t sleep. 

It’s only then he hears footsteps down the corridor, and it makes him reconsider the noise he heard a short while ago.  Maybe that too was a hesitant step?

Yuri’s mind stills as he listens to the soft footfalls. They are quiet, almost stealthy.  Careful footsteps.

And that’s what draws Yuri’s attention more than anything.  A person getting up to go the bathroom in the middle of the night will be quiet out of respect (Yuri personally, doesn’t give a shit if he wakes his roommate up at home, fuck them), but these are the steps of someone who really doesn’t want to draw attention to themselves.

Yuri’s curious.  It’s not Victor; Yuri’s rooming in what is basically the storeroom off Victor’s banquet room-cum-bedroom, so he would have heard if Victor had gotten up again.  No, this must be Katsudon wandering the corridors.  Yuri’s heart gives a guilty lurch, the flash of adrenaline settling in his belly in an uncomfortable approximation of teenage lust.  Yuri bares his teeth, lets a small frustrated growl escape his lips, because he’s spent months fighting this and he’s bored with it, even if his dick isn’t.  Katsudon bombed the GP final, but Yuri saw enough to be intrigued, and that was all it took.  Cornering Katsudon in the bathroom only made it worse; to this day, Yuri still has no idea why he decided following Katsudon was a smart idea, but when he finally had him backed up against the stall wall, cowering, some animal part of Yuri’s brain woke up, and he’s been a mess of confused hormones since then.

He hates it; hates the thought that Katsudon apparently has a direct line to his dick and his libido, and he wants it over with.  Maybe it’s better that Katsudon has a crush on Victor, because then eventually Yuri’s body will concede defeat and he can go back to worrying about winning gold.

He’s rolling from the futon before he even realizes it, standing up in one fluid movement, moving to the door and sliding it open a crack.  Victor’s sleeping, facing Yuri’s door, and it’s a matter of seconds before Yuri’s padding across the room, stepping into the corridor and closing the door behind him quietly, the wood frame of the shoji barely rattling in its frame.  Katsudon is long gone, but his door is still slightly open just a sliver, so Yuri risks stepping inside, confirming he’s not returned to bed.  The room is empty, the rumpled sheets still warm to the touch under Yuri’s palm, Katsudon’s body heat still present, like a memory, a ghost.  Yuri swallows, his dick half hard in his pajama pants.  He feels naughty, like a kid that might be caught any moment with his hand in the candy jar, but the danger only makes it ten times more exciting.  It’s like a drug; a heady drug that he wants to take another hit of.

It takes Yuri a moment to see sense; to remind himself that his fix is not in his room, is somewhere else, and that was the reason he got up in the first place.  He forces his feet to move, heart pounding when he pushes open the door, half expecting to see Katsudon coming back down the corridor.  Yuri has no idea how he’s going to explain this if Katsudon does catch him, what kind of bullshit excuse is going to fall from his own mouth, panicked and raw.  Yuri’s young, he’s not got much in the way of experience with feelings, and he’s not sure he can handle the look of disappointment on Katsudon’s face.  Yuri knows lust; that one is easy, easy to handle, to direct, to use to get what he wants.  Other confusing shit like desire, disappointment, love, are much more complicated and things he doesn’t have time for, doesn’t want to bother to figure out yet.

Katsudon’s not in the corridor, thank fuck.  He breathes a sigh of relief, and begins walking toward the stairs, one hand out against the wall to keep his bearings in the darkness.  He pads down the stairs, past the small family dining room, and then pauses, trying to orientate himself to what he remembers of the inn during the day.  The building is deathly quiet and still, and he has no idea where Katsudon might have actually gone.  Maybe he’s even left the building, gone back to skate out some of his anxious energy at Ice Castle.

Then, he hears a breathy moan.  The sound is rich and deep, drawn out like raw, heavy honey, and it catches Yuri off guard.  He sucks in a breath, holding it, listening, trying to figure out where it’s coming from.  Sound travels in the dark, so it could be coming from anywhere.

Yuri takes a hesitant step forward, body drawn like a siren call toward where he thinks the sound came from.  This part of the inn is old, older than the rest by far, and the private domain of the family.  He feels like an intruder, a stalker, and he snorts to himself because isn’t that exactly what he’s doing right now? Stalking Katsudon, tracking his movements?

He pauses outside a door, partly ajar, and looks inside.  Faint moonlight illuminates the room just enough to see it’s empty, but then a sound like a bitten off sigh draws him through the doorway, towards the shoji screens on the far side of the room.  Katsudon must be somewhere behind this door.

Yuri hugs the edges of the room; part of his brain telling him that discovery is almost guaranteed if he just strides across the space.  He slides up to the door, leaning his back against the wall, trying to keep his profile as slight as possible. He’s rewarded for his efforts with another breathy moan from the other side of the door, and now he can tell it’s Katsudon, can recognize the soft timbre of his voice in the moan, the hitch of his breath.  Yuri palms himself through his sleep pants, because he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been, hanging on the edge, blood pulsing through his veins, and it’s likely he could probably come just from listening to the broken moans spilling from Katsudon’s mouth.

Still, Yuri’s a teenager with zero fucks to give, and while other men might be content to get off listening to Katsudon like this, Yuri wants to see it.  He wants to watch Katsudon come, because it’s obvious he’s close.  Yuri recognizes the heavy want in Katsudon’s voice, and his mind helpfully supplies an image of Katsudon on his knees, jerking off into his fist, back arched and mouth open as he comes.

He’s going to risk it.  Zero fucks are zero fucks and besides, there’s a small hole in the shoji screen at eye level, just enough to –

Yuri’s mind was pretty confident about what he was going to see, so he’s completely unprepared for the reality.  Sure, in some sort of abstract way he was aware that there were such things as tentacle plants, and it stands to reason that some people must own one, but they’re super rare, and definitely not suited to the climate of Japan.  Someone has very lovingly cultivated this thing, managed to keep it healthy and alive, enough for it to grow into… this...  thing that takes up half the back corner of the room, growing on a fucking trellis for the most part.  How the hell do you even train something like that to grow on a trellis?

All this bullshit thought process is simply Yuri’s mind’s way of trying to cope, because he is woefully unprepared for the reality of Katsuki Yuuri, object of his teenaged crush and self-professed dime-a-dozen figure skater, on his hand and knees, naked and straining as he’s fucked ruthlessly by a plant.

It’s like Katsudon is bound in tentacles.  They wrap around his waist, across his hips and his trembling thighs; an obscene, flesh-coloured shibari that undulates across his skin.  It’s constantly moving, reacting to his straining, abortive movements, tightening here, stroking there. Katsudon’s cheekbones are flushed a hectic pink, his eyes closed, messy fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat and exertion. His hands are tight fists against the tatami mats, knuckles white as he cries out again, louder this time, rolling his hips and arching his back as he fucks himself onto the thick tentacle thrusting into his ass. 

Yuri watches, mouth slack, as one tentacle slides across Katsudon’s back, over his shoulder and down, wrapping itself around his wrist. Another follows the same path, but this one curls down his chest and jerks him upright, forcing him back onto his haunches.  It’s like the plant has a mind of its own; it tugs enough to get Katsudon to acquiesce to it’s demands, pulling his arms behind his back, forcing his body to cooperate, arching his back and pushing his chest out.

Katsudon is a panting mess; a beautiful, wrecked piece of art on the point of orgasm.  From this angle, Yuri can see everything; the tentacle fucking his ass, growing thicker as it moves faster, another wrapped around his straining cock, preventing him from coming, small ones stroking across his nipples.  Katsudon looks fucked out and broken, and Yuri can’t take the mental stimulation any longer.  He slips a hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants and strokes himself in time with the pulsing tentacle thrusting into Katsudon’s ass.  Yuri can hear his own harsh panting, but he’s lost the will to be concerned about that, especially when Katsudon’s cock twitches and a thick bead of pre-come slides from the tip of his cock, down his length.  Katsudon’s thighs are shaking, sliding further apart as he attempts to fuck down onto the tentacle, rolling his hips.

“Ah, Victor.”  Katsuki’s voice is hoarse now, laboured, rough.   “Please.”

Okay, Yuri thinks.  Hearing him call Victor’s name shouldn’t turn him on; it should do the opposite, make him angry, right?  But that plea alone is almost enough to get Yuri off.  That single word sends a punch of tight heat to his belly, his balls, until he’s aching with the need for release.

Yuri wonders if the damn plant is sentient, because the tentacle around Katsudon’s cock unravels slowly, strokes up his cock once and then down, and Katsudon comes, voice breaking as he cries out, trying to curl in on himself because it’s clearly too much. 

Yuri’s vison whites out as he comes seconds later, biting into soft part of his hand to muffle his own cry, teeth gritted as he comes harder than he has in ages.  He can feel the wet warmth of his come as it paints his hand, his stomach.  He slumps against the wall, fighting for breath, legs shaking.  When he looks, Katsudon is lying on his stomach like a doll, trembling slightly as the tentacles retreat, unravelling from around his spent body with a hushed rustling sound that’s almost unnerving.  After a few moments, Katsudon reaches for his sleep shirt, slipping it over his head, but not before Yuri notices the faint, circular red marks scattered across his skin from the tentacle’s sucker pads.  It’s kind of hot, he decides, like a brand, a reminder of what happened. He wonders if the marks will be visible tomorrow, during practice.

Yuri’s post orgasmic haze has made him stupid, because it takes him a moment to realize the show is over and he needs to get the fuck out of here, pronto, before Katsudon notices him.  He wipes his hand on his pants and tucks himself back in, all the while watching Katsudon.  When it’s clear he’s not moving for the moment, Yuri takes a slow step backward and steals from the room, careful to leave the door open exactly as it was before he arrived.  His heart is still pounding in his chest as he makes his way back to his room, his mind on overload.  He has so many questions, so many things he doesn’t understand, but the main thing he’s taken away from this evening is he is never going to look at Katsudon the same way ever again.


Yuri forces himself to act normal at the rink the next morning.  Or at least as normal as a person can be after having their worldview destroyed the night before by a voracious sexual predator-slash-plant.  It takes him an hour, but eventually his competitive nature overrides his astonishment, and he’s back to using sarcasm to attempt to derail Katsudon’s efforts at finding Eros on the ice. 

Now Yuri’s got some sleep and a few hours of furious thinking behind him, he simply cannot understand how Katsudon thinks his Eros can be found in, well... a bowl of katsudon, at least not after watching him getting fucked by that tentacle plant.  Is Katsudon stupid? Clueless? Or just a complete idiot? Yuri smirks, because he wonders if Victor has any idea the object of his desire is being worked over night after night by that thing.

Around lunchtime, Victor finally snaps.  Of course, he’s noticed Yuri’s distracted, but Victor clearly thinks it’s because Yuri doesn’t know what Agape is and is struggling to find it.  Victor’s usually an idiot, but this time he’s spot on, because Yuri’s brain is about as far from thinking about Agape as is humanly possible.  He’s still picturing the look on Katsudon’s face when he came; he can’t get it out of his head.  It’s jerk off material for years, and in the end, it earns him a passive-aggressive lecture from Victor and a trip to the local waterfall, where he has to endure an hour standing next to a very wet Katsuki Yuuri in an almost see-through white robe, pert nipples clearly outlined like a fucking invitation to suck them, bite them until he cries out in pleasure-pain.  Because now Yuri knows that Katsudon likes it like that; that he likes it rough, likes being the one to give up control.  The only thing that helps Yuri keep his shit together is when Katsudon gets that concerned look on his face, allowing Yuri to use anger as a buffer against his own raging libido.

Yuri needs to keep hold of that anger, because there’s an idea trying to insinuate itself into his brain; a very dangerous, stupid idea.  One that says, Tonight, we could go back again.  Maybe Katsudon will go back for more.  Maybe we can watch

It’s a really, really, dumb idea, the sort of dumb idea that never ends well.

He’s going to do it anyway.


Yuri goes to bed that night and tries to get some sleep.  He stealth-sets his alarm clock on a low setting – making an educated guess about when he thinks Katsudon got up last night, but he can’t settle down.  Adrenaline pumps through his body; the combination of that, coupled with a breathless excitement keeps him wide awake into the early hours.  Yuri shares a thin wall with Katsudon’s bedroom, but he can’t hear movement, furtive or otherwise.  Frustration starts to mix with the cocktail of lust coursing through his body, and finally Yuri can’t take the waiting any longer.  He rolls to his feet, cat-like, and gently pushes open the door.  Victor’s light is out, but that doesn’t mean he’s asleep.  He listens; Victor’s breathing is steady, so Yuri risks it.  If Victor wakes, he’ll just say he needs the bathroom.

Once he’s in the corridor he pauses, listening for noises from Katsudon’s room.  Nothing.  That either means he’s sleeping, or that he’s already missed him and that he’s downstairs already.  Spurred on by that single thought, Yuri moves as quickly as he can while trying to remain silent. 

He makes it downstairs with no problems, but rather than calming his jittering nerves, it only seems to heighten them.  He can feel his heart racing in his chest; his mouth is dry, palms sweaty when he wipes them on his sleep pants.  His senses are on overload; alert for any sound, any movement, and Yuri tries to talk himself down to no avail.

It’s only when he reaches the room, slips inside, that he realizes Katsudon isn’t down here.  It stands to reason; he’s been skating all day after being fucked half of last night.  Even Katsudon’s stamina couldn’t hold up under that kind of relentless activity. 

Fuck, Yuri bites out.  The sound is soft in the room, although the word has the hard edge of bitter disappointment.

As if in response to his spoken word, he hears a soft rustling from the far room, behind the door.  Yuri freezes, for the moment convinced someone’s discovered him and is going to ask difficult questions he can’t answer without completely incriminating himself. 

It takes him a moment to understand that it’s the plant moving.

He takes two small steps toward the far door, putting one hand on the frame of the shoji screen, trying to talk himself out of what he’s about to do.  He ignores the voice of reason in his head and slides the screen open.  The room is mostly cast in shadow; only a small lamp at the far end throwing faint light across the empty space.

Except… the space isn’t empty, he reminds himself.  Yuri checks behind him to make sure the door to the main corridor is closed, and then he steps inside, sliding the screen closed as well.  He pads over to the lamp, turning it up a little so the shadows are less dense.  Then he fixes his attention on the trellis in the corner, and the tentacle plant.

It’s still moving, undulating slowly like it can feel someone in the room.  Once again, Yuri wonders if it is sentient.  He can see the way it’s draped over and around the trellis, a monstrous thing that takes up half of the corner of the room.  When he’d been watching Katsudon caught in its sinuous embrace, he’d thought it was flesh-coloured, but this close, each tentacle is almost blush, tapering off at the tip to rose pink, into red.  Each tentacle has two rows of white suckers down half its length, and these are what made such pretty marks against Katsudon’s skin.  Yuri licks his lips at the memory.  He wonders what Katsudon would look like if he got fucked by this thing every night; whether the marks would wind across his body, an overlapping reminder of his nightly bondage.  Yuri’s getting hard again, thinking about those marks on Katsudon’s thighs, his wrists, around his dick. 

The plant moves, maybe sensing him, and isn’t that weird and slightly disturbing, Yuri thinks as he moves closer. The room is suddenly filled with a pervasive scent; it’s woodsy and pungent, like damp leaves, but mixed with clear, high tones that reminds him of vanilla.  It’s both disturbing and addictive, and it makes his body ache with arousal.

He’s reached out before he’s even conscious of doing so; brushed a fingertip across one of the plant’s appendages.  A tiny limb seems to unravel itself from the main mass of the plant; the tip questing blindly toward him until it finds his finger, almost by accident.  It wraps itself around his finger, squeezing, and it’s like a miniature snake, warm to the touch, with a surprising density of muscle to its movement.  It’s a tenacious little bastard too, curling around his finger with a firm grip, but it does release him when he jerks backward.

“Huh,” Yuri sneers.  “Got enough last night with Katsudon? Or am I not enough?”

The plant rustles, and this time there’s much more movement in the main body of the plant.  Yuri steps backward in surprise as he watches one of the larger appendages unravel slowly, curving through the air like it’s stretching itself.  Warming up.  Some part of Yuri’s animal hindbrain senses danger, but he’s not really learnt to pay attention to his instincts yet.  He’s still in that stage of his life where he’s going to challenge anything, come what may.  That’s probably a mistake, in retrospect.

Still, Yuri’s going to have the final word.  He turns his back on the plant and walks toward the door, glancing over his shoulder.  “I bet once Victor has his way with Katsudon, you’re going to be useless,” he says, and even now, he’s not sure why he’s goading a fucking plant.  Is he losing his mind?

As soon as Victor’s name leaves his mouth, the plant reacts, but he doesn’t have time to think about that.  One limb snaps out, snaking rapidly across the floor.  Now Yuri knows he’s an idiot, because he feels something whip around his wrist, tightening, and then it jerks, using his distraction against him.  Yuri falls to his knee with a curse and jerks his arm, but the tentacle around his wrist has him tightly in its grip.  He watches, frozen in surprise, as a veritable forest of limbs seem to unwind in front of him, reaching out.  The tentacle around his wrist starts to reel him in, and he falls to his hip, then onto his bare back, using the leverage to reach up, to try to dislodge the grip on his wrist.  The plant isn’t attempting to hurt him, he realizes, as another tentacle wraps around his waist, his other arm, it’s attempting to restrain him. 

Yuri has a sudden mental image of Katsudon, naked and fucked out, struggling against his bonds last night.  Katsudon was as far from in control as he possibly could be, and yet he wasn’t harmed, he wasn’t terrified.  He was lost in pleasure; content to give up control.  Yuri wonders for a moment what would happen if he plays dead.  Would it let him go?  Because now he’s here, being reeled in like a tasty snack for consumption, he’s suddenly not sure this was a great idea.  What the fucking fuck was he thinking when he came down here?

Yuri’s animal hindbrain, the part that understands the pray/predator game, shuts him down and Yuri goes limp, playing dead.  It works – for a single, joyous second – and suddenly there’s an explosion of pink tipped limbs, racing toward him in a blur.  Yuri actually lets out a whimper-gasp as he’s pulled closer to the main body of the plant, then wrapped in a profusion of warm, sinuous appendages that curl lovingly around him.  He’s gasping for air, panicked for a moment as he’s hoisted into the air, his arms above his head, wrists bound together.  He hangs there, struggling as the tentacle around his waist tightens just enough to take the strain of his weight.  Almost as an afterthought, a single tentacle reaches for his left ankle, wraps around it and tugs, stretching him out.

Oh fuck, shit, Yuri panics.  This is bad.  Not only is this bad on a personal level, but what if someone comes looking for him? Half of him is convinced he should call out, the other half of himself screaming that that would be an incredibly bad idea. 

Yuri hears rustling behind him; he manages to turn his head enough to see over his shoulder.  One of the larger tentacles is reaching for him; sliding over the thick appendage around his waist, then down, over his hip.  Yuri gasps, because this one feels different than the others.  This one feels almost wet, and it leaves a slick trail across his hipbone where his pants have moved during his struggle.  Yuri has a brief mental breakdown while he ponders the fact this thing comes armed with its own lube, and then he lets out a shuddering gasp as the tentacle slides below the waistband of his pants.  It settles around his cock, tightening for a moment, reminiscent of a hand, before it moves, stroking upward, back down in a slow, steady rhythm, working him until he’s nice and hard.  Yuri’s hips jerk, completely unprepared for how this feels; a tight grip, slick and firm. It’s fucking divine, and his hips betray him completely, ticking upward to meet the next stroke.

He can feel his face flush as his lips part, eyes sliding shut in pleasure.  He wonders for brief moment if there’s some kind of drug in the lube, because he feels lightheaded; slightly euphoric. Wrapped up in mounting pleasure, he’s only half paying attention to the fact that other tentacles are wrapping around his bare chest, pushing his pants down and then off.  He’s chasing an easy orgasm now; he’s cresting the rise before the drop, panting hard, fighting back the moan that wants to tear from his throat. 

Yessss,” he hisses, and then abruptly, the tentacle clamps around the base of his cock, stopping him right on the edge.  Yuri fights back then, rage and disappointment curling in his gut, heavy with the need to come. 

For a few precious seconds he hangs there, and then he’s dropped to his knees, falling forward as the tentacles around his wrists jerk him down, others wrapping around his bare thighs, pulling them apart.  The tentacle around his waist still has him in a tight grip, and for a moment Yuri feels horribly exposed like this, ass up in the air, like he’s being presented, ready to be claimed.  He can feel cold sweat prickle at the base of his spine, across his hairline, the nape of his neck.  He’s completely at this thing’s mercy.  He attempts to shift on his knees, but the tentacles around his thighs tighten, and he can feel the imprint of the suckers against his skin; a weird pleasure-pain.  He struggles again, just for good measure, but all that does is encourage the plant to increase its grip on him, until he can barely move.

He’s about to concede defeat then; to admit he’s done something incredibly stupid.  Maybe scream a little until someone comes to get him, but then he hears another rustle behind him.  He’s bound thoroughly, a prison of his own making at this point, but he can’t move enough to look over his shoulder.   He can feel, though.  A firm press against the rounded part of his backside; that slick, warm touch similar to before.  It caresses across his ass, slides up to his lower back and then strokes downward, along the crack of his ass.  Yuri sucks in a surprised gasp, holding his breath, then lets it out in an explosive rush when the slick tip of the thing brushes against his hole.  His entire body clenches up, then relaxes when he realizes he isn’t about to get split open in a single rush.  The tentacle moves, stroking across his hole, spreading slick that trickles down his crack to his balls.  The one around his cock begins to move, stroking slowly in counterpoint, and Yuri drops his head, squeezing his eyes shut because it feels good, and he feels guilty because he’s enjoying it.  When he pushes back, the tentacles move with him, adjusting their grip on his thighs, his body, to allow movement.  The tip of the first tentacle presses against his clenching hole, slipping inside, and now Yuri does moan; a long drawn out sigh that hitches at the end as the tentacle works him open. 

It's been a couple of months since Yuri’s had penetrative sex, and he’d forgotten how much he enjoys this, needs it.  He likes the feeling of being full, of being owned.  When he feels another tentacle at his hole, pushing in alongside the first, he can almost imagine it’s someone’s fingers.  He bucks upward, arching his back, presenting himself, because he wants this.  Isn’t this the reason he came down here? If not to find Katsudon getting split open, then for himself?  He’s greedy, selfish.  Either option is workable.  Now he’s thinking about Katsudon’s fingers in his ass, getting him ready, whispering filthy things in Japanese while he does it, working Yuri up with words as well as his fingers.  Yuri moans, rolls his hips.  Both tentacles are working in sync, loosening him up, and he wants more.  The tentacle around his cock is keeping a steady pace, pushing his arousal higher, but frustratingly it’s not enough.  Not yet.  He can feel the tentacles in his ass stretching him, and he hangs his head, gasping for more, a steady stream of invective falling from his lips as the tentacles swell.  It’s almost uncomfortable until his body loosens to accommodate them, and then they begin to thrust.

“Fuck yes,” Yuri hisses.  “Harder.” 

It’s as if the plant understands him, because suddenly he’s pushed forward onto his face almost by the force of the first stroke.  The tentacles around his wrists stretch him forward, until his face and chest are resting on the tatami and his ass is still in the air.  The tentacles fuck him ruthlessly until he can’t catch his breath, suddenly thrusting out of sync until he feels like he’s being taken by one, two dicks at the same time. His nipples brush against the matting, sending sharp spikes of pleasure to his abused cock, and Yuri feels his body lock up in pleasure right before he comes, pushed hard and fast over the edge with a bitten off cry. His knees give out, but the tentacle around his waist holds him firmly in place while he’s fucked through his orgasm, until he’s squirming.  He manages a further whimpered oh god, before his body gives out, and he’s allowed to sink down onto the tatami at last when the tentacles slide from his ass.

Yuri’s breath is heaving in his chest, laboured, like he just ran a marathon.  In counterpoint, his hole feels loose, empty.  His body tightens again, pockets of pleasure within him still releasing, making him moan. He rolls his hips against the floor, still restless for something he can’t name.  No wonder Katsudon looked half dead after the tentacles had finished with him. 

Yuri can feel the plant shifting and he opens his eyes.  He rolls onto his side, and feels the tentacles move with him, except now they’re pulling him onto his back.  Like this, his hands are now bound above his head, and he pulls at the bonds, expecting to be released like Katsudon was.  Instead, they tighten, and Yuri’s eyes widen in almost comic disbelief as the tentacles around his thighs tighten, pushing and pulling at him, spreading his legs until his slick hole is exposed to view, his knees pressed close to his waist. He tries to curl up, to see what’s coming his way, but he’s pinned like a bug; all he can do is wait for it to happen.

The tentacle that slides into his ass this time is much thicker than the last.  There’s no foreplay, just a quick slide in, giving Yuri no time to adjust to the intense stretch, and then it’s twisting inside him, making his back arch in tight, intense pleasure.  This time he can feel the ridges of the suckers on it, massaging against his insides, and without pausing, it begins to fuck Yuri relentlessly.  Every thrust is punctuated with a punched-out Ah! Ah! torn from Yuri’s parched throat.  It’s all he can manage; his brain is a mess of pleasure, he’s drunk on the intensity of being fucked open, the complete and final surrender of control.  

Yuri knows he doesn’t have the stamina for this, he’s a teenager for fuck’s sake.  He’s a one-shot wonder; he definitely doesn’t have Katsudon’s staying power.  And oh god, then the realization hits him: this fucking plant is used to Katsudon’s stamina, knows how much he can take, doesn’t understand that Yuri can’t even come close. 

Yuri’s well and truly, literally, fucked.

He goes limp, content to let it happen. His mind is on overload, and he can distantly hear his voice, hoarse from overuse, gasps spilling from his lips. Too much, he thinks. Too much, not enough. Need to come

He can feel the warm slither of other tentacles moving across his skin, flicking over his nipples, sending threads of pleasure racing through his body, down to his ignored cock, a counterpoint to the hard, thrusting abuse of his stretched and aching hole.  He doesn’t even fight it when he feels a smaller one pushing against his lips; he simply parts them around the intrusion, lets it fuck his mouth with shallow, slow thrusts in parody of a careful lover.  He can feel the hot slide of tears against his face, in his hair. 

He’s so far gone on the pleasure, he’s broken by it.

This time when he comes, it’s a slow, inevitable build rather than a rush of pleasure, but all the more intense for it.  He lets out a keening cry around the tentacle in his mouth; it slithers away, leaving him free to let the sounds of his pleasure spill from his lips in a breathless stream as his body locks up, clenching around the thick tentacle in his ass.  It pushes in again, holding still as Yuri writhes on it’s length, riding it with frantic rolls of his hips until he’s spent, until his stomach and chest is covered with his own come. 

Only then does the plant begin to unwind itself from him, releasing him gently, letting his body settle back onto the tatami mats.  He can’t move; it’s almost physically impossible.  Every part of his body feels thoroughly fucked out, used, and it’s absolutely the most incredible feeling, ever.  Nothing has ever come close to this, Yuri thinks.  Nothing ever will again. 

He lays there for an indefinite period of time; how long he doesn’t know or doesn’t care, flat on his back, arms splayed out, body limp and sated.  He knows he needs to clean up.  He can’t go back to his bedroom like this.  He glances down at himself; at the come drying on his stomach, the faint marks across his waist and hips, his wrists. He lets his eyes shut, uncaring about moving for the time being, simply drifting.  It's only after an undetermined period of time that he feels a gentle touch on his face.

Yuri jerks to the side, for the moment convinced he's miscalculated horribly and the plant is back for more.  When he opens his eyes, he almost wishes it was the plant.  The last person on the planet he wants to see right now is kneeling over him, brushing his damp hair back off his face in soothing strokes.  Katsudon. Fuck.

"Yurio? Are you all right?" Katsudon looks flushed, like he's maybe embarrassed - or maybe not. Maybe aroused.

"What are you doing?" Yuri growls suspiciously, grabbing Katsudon by the wrist to still his movements.  

"I'm checking you're okay," Katsudon responds softly. He keeps his eyes fixed on Yuri's face, pointedly not looking anywhere else.  It's only then Yuri realizes that Katsudon has covered him with his pants while he dozed.  Rather than make Yuri grateful for the gesture, he feels annoyed, because for some reason having Katsudon putter around while he was passed out didn't set off any of his usual alarm bells.  If Yuri's roommate back in St. Petersburg had done the same thing, Yuri would have woken up swinging for him.  The fact that this didn't happen with Katsudon is... disturbing, to say the least.

"Can you get up?"  Katsudon seems awfully keen to get Yuri away from here as quickly as possible. 

"I... maybe."  Yuri tightens his grip on Katsudon's wrist, tearing his gaze away from his face, staring down at the slender wrist in his grip.  He can see bands of faint circular marks over Katsudon's wrists that match his own, and Yuri can't help himself; he grips tighter, tugs Katsudon closer until he's only inches away.  He can feel Katsudon's shock, the way his body stills like he's unsure what to do next, how to react.  "Do you like it?" Yuri asks.

"Huh?" Katsudon blinks rapidly, the flush on his cheeks turning a dark red, his lips parting a little.  He licks them nervously.

"Answer the question, Katsudon," Yuri growls.  "Do you like it? Do you like giving up complete control to that thing? It's mindless, it works on instinct, doesn't it? You could get yourself seriously hurt."

Katsudon stares at Yuri for a few seconds, attempts to pull back on the grip on his wrist, but Yuri won't release him until he has his answer.  "I watched you last night with that thing," Yuri goads.   “I heard you in the corridor and followed you down here.  I saw most of your little show.  I wonder what Victor would think of you, on your hands and knees, getting the fucking of a lifetime from that thing.”

"Let go of me." Katsudon almost tears his wrist from Yuri's grasp.  It has to hurt; Yuri can see the skin is reddened now, a little raw.  "Get dressed, Yurio.  I'll help you to the baths."

"Why?" For the life of him, Yuri can't parse why Katsudon would still offer him help, not after the words he’s just thrown at him, despite the fact that for some reason Yuri can't help but be cruel.

Instead of rising to the bait, Katsudon smirks.  It’s the same smirk as he gave Yuri after Yuri showed up at the rink and kicked his ass through the front doors, ground his foot into his face. 

The sexy smirk on Katsudon’s face intensifies.  "Why am I going to help you, Yurio?"  Katsudon licks his lips again.  "Because, once I've helped you to the onsen, you are going to spend all day tomorrow teaching me how to do a perfect quad salchow."

He’s going to do what now? Yuri feels his mouth drop open.  "Why the fuck would I help you get an edge over me in the competition?" he snarls.  Katsudon is clearly insane.

"Because it's in both our best interests to keep this a secret, isn't it?  The longer you lie here, the bigger the chance that someone will come looking. You don't want Victor to find us here, do you?"

Yuri blinks.  Katsudon has a point.  "Fine, it's a deal," he mutters after a brief period of consideration. "Help me up." 

Katsudon grasps his wrist (none too gently, either, probably in payback) and pulls Yuri to his feet.  Yuri's legs almost give out on him, so Katsudon ducks under his arm, supporting him by the waist, his other hand on Yuri's stomach for balance.  Yuri grins internally.  Katsudon's got his hand resting in Yuri’s come, which is still drying.  If only he knew. Yuri almost wants to tell him.

Yuri presses up against Katsudon's warm body, and he can feel his muscles shift beneath his touch.  He hadn't realized quite how solidly built Katsudon was, and isn't that interesting?  Definitely fuel for another night, when he's got some of his stamina back, and his legs aren’t going to collapse under him like a new-born colt. In the meantime, it only seems fair that if he's got to work himself to the bone tomorrow teaching Katsudon the Salchow, he should be able to steal a few moments to lean in, rest his body weight in Katsudon’s firm hold, and enjoy how Katsudon feels pressed against him. 

Fair is fair, after all.