Yuri on Ice, Could You Write a Song For Me

Title: Could You Write a Song For Me [Yuri/Otabek]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, set during canon ages
Summary: Yuri and Otabek have slightly more laid-back post-competition plans during Worlds than they did during the Grand Prix finals.
AN: Uh so Welcome to the Madness dropped, and it’s wrecking my LIFE, like everything Yoi ever does. Since Kubo is clearly using the 2014-15 season for all the canon Yoi events, that means that 2015 Worlds is at Shanghai, and Otabek (Denis Ten) wins bronze! So clearly celebratory sex is in order. That means he gets to do an exhibition skate, you know. And I’m sure what he does is this, which is Ten’s Money on My Mind Ex Skate that year. UH HI ONE HANDED SKATE FLIPS. Title from lyrics to that.

Set during the World Championships in the same year as canon, so Yuri is 16 by then, in case that’s a thing that bothers you.

Could You Write a Song For Me

Not that he would ever admit it, but the drama of growing 4 cm during the season seemed slightly less horrible now that it meant he was taller than Otabek when seated firmly in Otabek’s lap. Otabek wasn’t even making it a challenge, slumped against his pillows and headboard, grinning up at Yuri. He had thrown on sweats and a worn, black V-neck after his shower, but he still had his bronze medal around his neck.

Yuri was straddling Otabek’s waist, wearing only Otabek’s Winter Universiade T-shirt that hung to his thighs, comically oversized. His hair was a waterfall of damp tangles over his shoulders from the shower and Otabek’s hands. He was tracing the edge of Otabek’s medal in slow circles with his fingertips. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. Bronze, honestly.”

“Well, I did get to take away the prettiest, sparkly thing in the rink.” Otabek’s teasing was always done flat-faced, the sass of it all in his eyes. His hands were so warm against Yuri’s waist. “The medal’s nice too, of course.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yuri said in delight, slapping his palm down flat against Otabek’s chest. Pretty was the last thing Yuri felt, limbs stretched halfway through a growth spurt, dark circles under his eyes, his knee already purple from a muffed jump. But he wasn’t that fucked up about any of it when Otabek said shit like that. “I’m not even cute right now, you’re just buttering me up to get me into bed.”

“You’re already in bed,” Otabek pointed out. His hands skated up higher, under the T-shirt, tracing the lines of Yuri’s abs and the bottom of his ribs. “I’d still buy you dinner, though. I’m a gentleman.”

“That’s what you are, all right,” Yuri snorted, tossing his hair back out of his eyes. “Medal at Worlds and win a date with Kazakhstan’s Hero.”

“Come on, we’ve barely seen any of Shanghai,” Otabek coaxed, not that he looked in a big hurry to crawl out of bed. “Leo said Guanghong knows all the best places for shady street food, Shanghai’s famous for it.” Yuri just stared down at him, eyebrows raised. “What? Got a better offer here?”

Yuri threw himself down on Otabek suddenly, misjudging the distance to Otabek’s mouth because of his fucking new height and banging their noses together. He grumbled a curse, but Otabek huffed a laugh and tilted his head back to get his mouth on Yuri’s after all. One hand stayed under Yuri’s T-shirt, palm splayed warm over the small of Yuri’s back; Otabek’s other hand worked into the hair on the back of Yuri’s head, tugging him into a better angle before their necks started to hurt.

Kissing Otabek hadn’t lost its electricity yet, small wonder since this was only the third time they’d seen each other in person and only for a few days at a time. They’d managed to sneak in a few makeouts this event so far, but Yuri still kissed Otabek like they might be interrupted at any moment, too rough and too messy. Otabek never tried to make it anything different, though, whether because he liked it that way or because he was just waiting for Yuri to wear himself out, Yuri never knew. What Yuri knew was that Otabek’s fingers were pulling tight in his unbrushed hair, making Yuri groan into the kiss when he wound them tighter. In revenge, Yuri brought his own hands up to Otabek’s hair, dragging nails through the undercut.

Otabek used his grip on Yuri’s hair to pull him back half a breath, eyes low-lidded as they blinked at each other.

“Nothing is getting me out of this bed,” Yuri growled, impatient at being interrupted. He scowled when Otabek burst out laughing.

“You’re a bizarre creature,” Otabek said with affection. He smoothed some of Yuri’s hair back from his face, even though it fell right back down. “At the Grand Prix you won gold, threw a tantrum, broke into several clubs, and stayed up all night destroying your exhibition plus one of Mila’s shirts. Here you earned silver and you just want to stay in bed?”

“Fuck you,” Yuri answered lazily, flopping down on Otabek’s chest. In point of fact, he had thrown a tantrum already. He’d been barely holding it together on the podium when Katsuki had some kind of panic attack meltdown and gone into hug monster mode. Katsuki had slid down to the silver platform, thrown arms around Yuri, and clung stubbornly until Yuri’s frayed self-control snapped and he just started shouting out every frustration he’d been holding in for the entire event. Then Katsuki had started to bawl on his shoulder, and Yuri was sure his on-camera shriek of “STOP CRYING WHILE I’M YELLING AT YOU” would be meme fodder for the next sixth months at least. If Chulanont hadn’t made it into a ringtone already, Yuri would eat a skate guard.

Anyway, after that whole incident Yuri had gone numb, almost tractable as Yakov pushed him through press and interviews, too many emotions in too short a time on top of the physical exhaustion. He still felt that exhaustion now, held barely at bay by the physical want that being pressed up against Otabek always brought.

Otabek was stroking the hair back from his face, and it felt incredibly nice, but Yuri fought against letting his eyes slip shut, knowing that if he did, it would likely be all over.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me,” Otabek said, as if reading his mind. “You’ve been driving me crazy since this afternoon, and I’m definitely having my way with you.”

That made Yuri pop his head up. “Just since this afternoon?”

“Well, always,” Otabek rolled his eyes, “but then you wouldn’t put on your jacket even though your costume was half mesh and your nipples were like party hats.”

“Like what?” Yuri cracked up. “They were not!”

“They were,” Otabek insisted, rolling them on their sides suddenly. The hand that was around Yuri’s back slid front to thumb at one of the nipples in question. Yuri arched into the touch in encouragement. “So cute. But very annoying when everybody else can see you like that. When I can’t get my mouth on them.”

“Hey,” Yuri said, squirming as Otabek went from rubbing gently to pinching. He slid one hand down from Otabek’s hair to palm his jaw, and sure enough, Otabek turned his head just enough to rub Yuri’s thumb across his lower lip. “You kind of have a mouth thing, huh.”

Otabek opened his mouth to let Yuri’s thumb fall into his mouth, giving it a slow, deliberate suck before he answered. “Kind of? I want to put my mouth all over you.”

“Yeah?” Yuri shuddered, pinned by Otabek’s heated gaze. He never knew what to do when Otabek was so direct with him, except to dare him to do more, go farther, wondering when he would hit Otabek’s limit. “Why don’t you, then?”

Growling instead of answering, Otabek leaned forward to crush his mouth against Yuri’s, kiss just as rough as any Yuri ever pinned him down with, until their lips were slick and stinging. Did Otabek not actually have a limit, Yuri had to wonder as Otabek moved to sucking a wet path down his neck, pushing the T-shirt’s collar over far enough to press his teeth against Yuri’s collarbone in fleeting points of jagged pleasure.

He sat up and reached for the hem of Yuri’s T-shirt to pull it off, shaking it impatiently when Yuri tried to help and got more in the way, elbows tangled. Once it was off, Otabek tossed it aside carelessly and reached for the back of his own, yanking it and his medal over his head in one smooth, brusque motion that made Yuri’s mouth go dry. Otabek got way better muscle definition out of strength training than Yuri ever did, a fact Yuri was intensely jealous of, but more than that it was the efficient power in all of Otabek’s movements that got to him the most, the way he always seemed to be made of tightly coiled strength at his core.

Otabek was looking Yuri over head to thigh meanwhile, gaze as heavy as if it were his hands, dragging Yuri’s flush down lower along with it, spreading over his shoulders. Yuri was most of the way hard, hardening more under Otabek’s watching, and he wanted to close his legs to hide, but couldn’t with Otabek kneeling between them.

“Well?” Yuri demanded, belligerent as always when uncertain. “Weren’t you gonna put your mouth all over or something?”

“You’re so adorable,” Otabek purred, leaning down. Yuri got out a squawk of indignation before Otabek was on his elbows so he didn’t crush Yuri as he leaned into another rough kiss. Yuri’s eyes fluttered shut at the rub of Otabek’s bare chest against his own, the drag of it against his nipples. He dug his fingers hard into Otabek’s bare shoulders, trying to ground himself, but it was useless, exhaustion making him dizzy so that he was glad he was already on his back.

They hadn’t gotten any farther than this part the first time, back in Barcelona, both of them too wired up from the exhibition, stamina already at their limits from staying up all night. They’d only had seven hours in between the banquet and Otabek’s early flight, and they’d barely managed to rub off against each other before passing out and wasting most of their time sleeping. Yuri wondered what it would even be like to have more hours together than either one of them could count, to have enough time that they could manage to take it slower.

Didn’t seem like they were going to find out this time either.

This time when Otabek moved down, over Yuri’s throat and shoulder and collarbone, he didn’t stop, sliding down to press one deliberate kiss in the center of Yuri’s sternum before turning his head and licking at Yuri’s left nipple. He grazed it with his teeth, and Yuri let out a yelp that had him throwing a hand over his mouth, face scarlet with embarrassment.

Otabek looked up just long enough for it to show how much he liked hearing Yuri before switching to the other nipple.

“Fuck youuuu,” Yuri hissed, trying to swallow the other, way more embarrassing noises. Otabek bit down, not quite as gently this time, and Yuri gave Otabek a pretty decent set of fingernail marks in the back of his shoulder, he assumed, with the hand still clutching Otabek’s shoulder.

Eventually he moved down further, partly a relief to Yuri and partly just more torment, nuzzling and licking at Yuri’s ribs, his stomach. He paused, like he was thinking, lips on the top edge of Yuri’s bellybutton, prompting a strangled “What?” from Yuri.

“It’s trendy in Almaty to get pierced here,” Otabek told him. He flicked his tongue against the tiny flap of skin above Yuri’s innie, in case he was unclear on the location Otabek meant.

“For girls?” Yuri asked.

“Not only,” Otabek answered, making Yuri’s breath catch in this throat. “How much would Lilia kill you if—”

“NO,” Yuri cut him off, because fuck everything, Otabek made every single irresponsible thing sound like such a good time, and fuck everybody who thought that just because he didn’t run his mouth every time he was on camera, he wasn’t just as full of bad ideas as every other figure skater Yuri had basically ever met. “Can’t you just get on with it?!”

Otabek blinked slowly. “Hm? With what?”

Yuri shook his head, definitely not up to saying that kind of thing out loud, when they both knew exactly what he meant. Yuri’s cock was hard enough to pull up, tip damp, and if Otabek slid down six more centimeters Yuri could slap him across the face with it. If he didn’t stop teasing, Yuri might actually do it.

“This?” Otabek wrapped a hand around Yuri’s cock, not stroking, only squeezing and letting Yuri do the work, bucking up into his grip. “Yeah, this is pretty good.”

Yuri threw his head back and grunted in pain when it hit the headboard with dull thwack.

“Easy up there,” Otabek said, gripping Yuri’s hip with his free hand to drag him down the bed a bit more without letting go of Yuri’s cock. Otabek looked entirely too amused as Yuri glared at him, reaching back to rub his head. “All right?”

“Fine,” Yuri snapped. “Hurry up! I’m dying up here!”

“Can’t have that,” Otabek murmured, and Yuri had half a mind to kick Otabek in the chest for looking so goddamned delighted the more unreasonable Yuri got, but then he was finally, fucking finally, sliding his mouth down over Yuri’s cock and Yuri was struggling just to breathe.

Cursing under his breath, Yuri twisted fingers in the sheets and tried to last at least longer than the minute and a half he had the first time Otabek had ever sucked him off. It was fucking hard, though, because Otabek’s mouth was so much hotter than his hand, slick and perfect, and he could get most of Yuri into his mouth without seeming to try that hard at all. Otabek’s fingers were wrapped around Yuri’s base, holding him steady, Yuri’s balls brushing up against his wrist every time Yuri’s hips flexed up, and Otabek’s free hand was still on his hip, holding him down to the mattress with a surprisingly strong grip for being one-handed.

But the most destructive part was that when Yuri struggled to pull his head up to look—a huge mistake, but he always did it— Otabek always looked so into it, eyes all but closed, cheeks flushed. He hummed low in his throat, pleased or turned on or both, and Yuri was done for, coming apart in a shaking, whining mess as his elbows gave out and dumped him on the mattress.

The room was spinning unpleasantly, making Yuri reluctant to open his eyes when he felt the shift of the mattress beside him, but he held out his arms and let Otabek crawl into them. Warm, solid Otabek made it a little easier for Yuri to ground himself back in reality, and he let Otabek’s lips part his for a deep, messy kiss. Otabek must have swallowed, Yuri realized, but he couldn’t hold onto the thought long enough to care about it, or anything except the wet sweep of Otabek’s tongue, and the slide of his palms across Yuri’s hip and back, still hot despite how flushed Yuri’s skin already was.

“Yura, please,” Otabek murmured against Yuri’s mouth. He was rocking against Yuri’s hip, Yuri realized, Otabek still hard.

“Yeah,” Yuri agreed, fumbling a hand between them to wrap around Otabek. Otabek’s hand closed over top of his, making Yuri’s slack grip much tighter, stroking himself much tighter and rougher with Yuri’s hand than Yuri would have dared to even if he could manage any coordination at the moment.

Otabek made it maybe ten strokes before he was coming over Yuri’s hip and stomach with a low groan, and Yuri didn’t feel that bad about his own stamina after all.

“Damn, so fast,” Yuri said, wiping off his hand as best he could on the sheets while Otabek was clinging to him tightly, murmuring things that were possibly words into his neck through his aftershocks. “Have some self-respect.”

“Shut up, brat,” Otabek purred, turning his head to steal another kiss, two, three. “I can’t think straight when you’re under me, making all that noise. It’s a wonder I even make it until you can touch me.”

“Why do you like that so much?” Yuri said, hoping it sounded skeptical rather than embarrassed. It sure wasn’t like he minded Otabek sucking his dick, but he had the idea that dudes weren’t supposed to be quite that enthusiastic about it even if they were twinky figure skaters.

Otabek just laughed against Yuri’s mouth, unoffended, still half blissed out. His voice was low and scratchy in his throat, making Yuri shiver. “Try it and see.”

“I’d love to,” Yuri said dryly. He reached down to drag two fingers through the come still on his thigh and held them up for Otabek to see. “Except I never get to because you come like a freak just from doing it to me.” Otabek turned his head and licked at the pads of Yuri’s finger, making Yuri’s breath hitch. Then he sucked both fingers into his mouth properly, down to Yuri’s second knuckle, tongue rough and thorough. He kept his eyes on Yuri’s the whole time. “Fuck, Beka.”

Otabek released Yuri’s fingers with a wet pop, grinning, sly and shameless. “I’m not so good at sharing. But I think I can be convinced to let you have your turn next, if you really want to. Do you?”

“I…” Yuri squirmed, stupid fair skin flushing all over again, pinned down by Otabek’s direct question. The answer was yes, he definitely did want to get his mouth on Otabek, but there was a big difference between wanting it and saying he wanted it. “I guess? I mean, yeah, obviously. If you can do it, I can!”

Ugh, embarrassing, Yuri thought, but as far as the two of them went, it wasn’t the stupidest thing either one of them had said. At least it wasn’t “Are you going to suck my dick or not?” and Otabek didn’t look like he thought Yuri was embarrassing at all. Otabek looked amused and turned on, the flush of his skin not nearly as obvious as Yuri’s but more adorable because of that. He was faintly pink across his nose, and Yuri wanted to put his mouth on that, too.

“Is everything a competition?” Otabek asked, trailing brushed kisses up Yuri’s jaw. Yuri tried to bite down on a whimper but it leaked out anyway through his clenched teeth. “Because you know, it’s fine if it is. I could even let you win one, since it seems like you might need some practice—”


Otabek bit down on Yuri’s earlobe, cutting off his protest with a squeak. “You might even catch up, although I can tell you I’m definitely worth more than a bronze in this event. You’ve got all night to try.”

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