
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9498992.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Victor_Nikiforov/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Victor_Nikiforov, Yuri_Plisetsky, Nikolai_Plisetsky, Yakov_Feltsman
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Anal_Sex, do_NOT_with_how_I_do_my_Post-Socialist_underage
      characters_bitch_I_was_there, First_Time, Explicit_Consent, When_I_say
      underage_I_mean_it, You've_been_warned, Pre-Canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-01 Words: 2211
****** How To Boil A Frog ******
by neuroglam
Summary
     It’s easy—way too easy—to tell his grandpa, “I’ll be out with friends
     tonight!” ... To come back home five minutes to curfew, with his
     asshole still tingling, and ask what’s for dinner.
Notes
     "If you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will of course
     frantically try to clamber out. But if you place it gently in a pot
     of tepid water and turn the heat on low, it will float there quite
     placidly. As the water gradually heats up, the frog will sink into a
     tranquil stupor, exactly like one of us in a hot bath, and before
     long, with a smile on its face, it will unresistingly allow itself to
     be boiled to death."
     Version of the fable from Daniel Quinn's The Story of B
     __________________________________
     Myth gave feedback on an earlier draft of this. Wulfy read over the
     final version for bad grammar and typos. Any remaining crap writing
     is mine.
See the end of the work for more notes
there’s no time for hesitating
pain is ready, pain is waiting
primed to do its educating

                              How To Boil A Frog

Here’s the thing about being raised by your grandpa: he makes pirozhki and he
cares, but it’s really easy to lie to him. He grew up during safer, tamer
times. The most rebellious thing he did was listen to bootleg records of the
Rolling Stones and grow his hair as long as he could before he’d be called to
the teacher’s office to cut it. He smoked behind school during break. He went
to the park and passed around a bottle of vodka, drumming out Charlie Watts’
solos with a pair of pencils on the back of his math book.
Everyone thought he wouldn’t amount to much in life, and they were right.
People who dared to rebel were rarely allowed to—not because ratty self-made
band t-shirts were so important, but because wearing them showed you weren’t
smart and ambitious enough to play the system. You weren’t one of us—weren't
cadre material. You’d end up in construction or on a factory floor.
Yuri’s grandpa still thinks this way even though the Soviet Union dissolved
before Yuri was born. He chides Yuri for his studded backpack. He disapproves
of his untidy hair. Yuri has to show him posters of Viktor Nikiforov at
sixteen; has to tell him a yarn about halo effects, presentation scores, and
long hair being good in competition. Grandpa wants Yuri to dress neatly, to do
well in school, to be a proper young man. To have a better life than the one
they can afford on a welder’s pension.
Grandpa means well, but he is so, so naive.
So it’s easy—way too easy—to tell him, “I’ll be out with friends tonight,
grandpa!” and when the inevitable don’t yousmoke anddrink and get in
trouble!comes, say, “I’d never! They can do what they want; I've got practice
tomorrow!”
It’s way too easy to come back home five minutes to curfew, with his asshole
still tingling, and ask what’s for dinner.
His grandpa doesn’t ask questions. Skating is not what he’d have chosen for
Yuri, but at least it keeps the boy out of trouble.
                     ____________________________________
Yuri starts looking at twelve.
His dick starts doing things, and he tugs at it, awkward, with the inherited
wisdom of all the locker rooms he's been in since he was scouted at eight.
As an adult, Yuri will look back and try to pinpoint when Victor first looks
back. To this day, he can’t tell.
                     ____________________________________
When Yuri turns thirteen, he and Victor start staying behind after practice.
Victor talks to him like an adult—mostly about skating, but also about fashion
and stuff on TV.
“I have cable and a forty-inch flat-screen,” Victor says one day. “We should
hang out at mine.”
Yuri likes hanging out with a grown-up. It makes him feel proud.
                     ____________________________________
It’s forty minutes on the bus to get home from Victor’s—and that’s if you don’t
have to spend fifteen minutes waiting.
“Stay some more,” Victor says one day. “I’ll give you money for a cab.”
There’s always change from his cab money. Yuri collects it and buys t-shirts
instead of stealing them from the second-hand store next to his school.
Sometimes, he buys Coke.
                     ____________________________________
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” Victor asks, two weeks after they first start
hanging out at his. Fashion TV runs in the background.
Yuri snorts. As if he’d pass up on skating time for girls.
“What, you didn’t mess around with anyone at training camp?”
Fair point. It’s training camp. “Of course I did,” he bluffs. “Didn’t you?”
“Everyone does.” Victor shrugs. “You do all kinds of shit at training camp.”
Victor tells Yuri of putting toothpaste on the back of other people’s door
handles and filling the shower head with drink crystals for Georgi.
Yuri laughs and tells about taping the seat and the lid of the coaches’ toilets
together and hiding in wait to hear Yakov curse when his butt hits the
porcelain.
                     ____________________________________
Victor keeps an eye on Yuri in practice.
He isn't annoying like Yakov, who always wants to stop Yuri from trying things
Yuri knows he can do. If Yuri wants to go for a triple, he knows to wait until
Yakov focuses on Mila or tells Victor, watch them, will you, and disappears to
the toilet.
Victor pretends he doesn’t see and lets him try, and learn, and try, and learn.
If Yuri can’t get it, he skates over and says, “Press through the heel, not
through your toe.”
Yuri does, and jumps higher.
                     ____________________________________
“So, who did you mess around with at training camp?” Yuri asks two days later,
because of how broad Victor’s shoulders are and how his voice rumbles low in
his throat when he laughs about something. Also, because it’s exciting.
“This Ukrainian guy, Vitali Salchuk.” Victor’s eyes are on the TV, his feet
propped on the coffee table. “He didn’t make it to seniors, he fell and fucked
his back.”
Yuri tries to sound cool about this. “What did you guys do?” He puts all his
residual nervousness in chewing on his Coke straw.
“Hmmm.” Victor smirks. “Jerked each other off. Tried to blow each other.” Yuri
can’t help but imagine it: sneaking out, finding Victor. Putting a hand on his
dick. Doing things with him.
“We had no clue what we were doing, though. It was kind of awkward. It feels
much better when someone experienced does it to you.” Victor’s voice sounds
kind of absent, like what he’s talking about isn’t a big deal at all. “Well.
Some things feel much better. Like being fingered and rimmed and actual sex.
Blowjobs are good no matter who does them.”
Yuri feels warm all over. He folds up a leg and slouches a little so Victor
can’t see how he wants.
                     ____________________________________
Yuri is still thinking about it that night.
He puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and pulls it over his lap.
He tries to pay attention to the TV and fails. In the end, he excuses himself
to his room where he lies on his stomach, dick pressed into the sheets. He
remembers—fingeredand rimmedand actual sex—and puts a pillow under his hips and
humps it. And thinks: what if Victor were behind him? What if Victor saw Yuri
like this and grabbed his ass and spread it and touched him there?
Yuri sneaks a finger behind his back and presses on his hole and he needs to
stop now or else his pillow would be a mess and his grandpa would ask questions
and no.
He flips over, sensitive dick pointing up to his navel and heart beating like
he’s just done four triple axels in a row. In the end, he does what teenage
boys have done since times immemorial: he picks up a dirty sock and finishes
into it.
Five minutes later, he’s hard again.
By the time his cock finally chills, it feels tender and Yuri’s come into the
sock three times.
He tiptoes to the bathroom to wash it.
His grandpa is asleep on the couch, and the TV shows infomercials.
                     ____________________________________
He doesn’t go to Victor’s for the next three days. Even so, his skin still
tingles and his hand is down his pants the moment he closes his bedroom door at
night.
At practice, Victor doesn’t bother him, just watches.
Yuri likes it, being watched; likes feeling Victor’s eyes on him in ballet
practice, on the ice. Likes it when Victor is paying attention.
On the evening of day three, alone in his bedroom, he decides.
                     ____________________________________
After practice on day four, on Victor’s couch, he takes a sip of Coke and
steels himself. Breathes in.
“What does it feel like? Being fingered.”
Victor stops watching TV and turns, mercury eyes narrowed to a slit. Yuri’s got
his full attention. “Have you tried it on yourself?” Victor asks.
“A little.” Down to the first knuckle still counts. “But I don’t know what it’s
like when someone else does it.”
“Hmm, what it’s like...” Victor trails and lets his eyes roam all over Yuri’s
body. “It’s like someone caresses you on the inside, opening you little by
little, until you’re so hard and you want his dick so much—fingers are not
enough anymore and you want him inside you, stretching you and filling you and
being linked to you this way...”
Yuri’s breath is jerky and he’s so hard. This time, he lets Victor see.
“Are you asking me to show you?” Victor says quietly.
Yuri swallows, and nods.
Victor stretches out a hand. Yuri grabs it and propels himself to Victor’s lap,
and they’re kissing and kissing and kissing; Victor’s hands are all over him,
pawing and squeezing and pulling on clothes. Yuri’s harder than he’s ever been
in his life. His entire body burns.
Victor sneaks a hand between his legs and presses, and Yuri comes right there,
in his jeans, panting but still not wanting to stop.
Victor holds him close to his chest.
“Don’t tell about this, yeah?” he murmurs next to Yuri’s ear.
“I know. I’m not an idiot,” Yuri says, and they’re kissing again.
                     ____________________________________
One day, Victor tells him to put his arms above his head. “I like it this way,”
he says and smooths his palms down Yuri’s chest. “It looks like you’re giving
me your body to do whatever I want with.” He brushes one nipple with a
thumb—back and forth, back and forth.
Yuri’s breath stutters. His hips rut into Victor’s thigh.
Victor bends over the nipple, and bites.
                     ____________________________________
A week later, Yuri is on Victor’s bed. His head is tilted back, his neck
exposed. His chest curves up as he raises his arms.
“Can I tie them up?” Victor says and pulls a gauzy black scarf from under the
pillow.
It’s not that tight. Yuri settles into it.
Victor bites on a nipple as he scoots down and takes all of his cock in his
mouth.
Yuri whines and bucks into it, and it’s the best thing ever. He squeezes his
eyes shut and comes so hard it almost hurts.
When he catches his breath, Victor is stretched out next to him, licking his
lips. His hard, fat dick is touching Yuri’s thigh.
“I want to do you,” Yuri says, brave.
                     ____________________________________
The best thing about Victor is that he doesn’t nag. For example, if Yuri
complains about school to his grandpa, he’d most likely get I wish you would
apply yourself better, Yura! Skating isn’t forever, you should think about the
rest of your life!Tch.Like skating is some baby phase to be indulged.
When he complains to Victor, Victor tells him to start talking to some loser
who does his homework, and copy. If you can win the Olympics, you’re not going
to need her stupid math. Networking is much more important for real success.
Yuri sits astride his thighs and thinks, Damn right.Grandpa doesn’tknowmuch
about real life anyway.
Victor palms and squeezes the globes of his ass.
                     ____________________________________
It’s a hard, biting winter outside. Yuri is almost fourteen.
His hands are tied above his head, his nipples bitten raw, his entire body
tense as Victor pushes in. His thighs tremble. His ass clamps down.
“Shhh, breathe… breathe...” Victor says and strokes his stomach. “Relax. Bear
down on me like you’re going to the toilet--
“Ohhh, yeah. That’s exactly right.” Victor gasps and slides all the way in.
                     ____________________________________
Later that night, Yuri gets off the cab a block away, where the neighbours
can’t see him, and enters their shabby novostroika flat at five minutes to
curfew. Their rickety front door squeaks. No need to replace it,his grandpa
says. We’ve gotnothing to steal.
Yuri drops his studded backpack to the floor. Takes off his shoes.
“There’s beans and cabbage in the fridge,” his grandpa calls out from the
couch.
The TV blares in the background. It’s a cop show—pretty much the only watchable
choice for people who can’t afford cable and only get the public channels.
Yuri fixes himself a plate and brings it over.
Sits.
Digs in.
His nipples are tender against his shirt. When he shifts, he can still feel
Victor.
“Is it good?” his grandpa says, eyes on the TV.
                     ____________________________________
Yuri is fourteen.
It’s late summer and he’s naked, braced on Victor’s kitchen table. Victor’s
hands are clamped around his hips and his cock drives in, forceful and
relentless, getting Yuri there every time.
“Fucking you is. So. Damn. Good,” growls Victor, marking each word with a
thrust.
Yuri keens and pushes back, fucking himself as hard as he’s fucked. He is so
proud that Victor chose him.
                     ____________________________________
Yuri is fifteen, and it’s his last competition in the juniors tomorrow. They’re
not fucking tonight because he’ll be skating, but he sneaks into Victor’s room
nonetheless.
Under the covers, Victor tangles his fingers into Yuri’s hair. Nuzzles his ear.
Licks.
Says, “Win it, and I’ll choreograph your senior debut.”
Yuri’s heart swells.
He cuddles into Victor’s chest, and feels loved.
End Notes
     I bit off a lot with this fic, and it feels like I've managed to chew
     around 1/4th of it.
     Anon is on, and comments are drooled over and fed cupcakes.
     Moderation is on, too, and I will screen out any abuse.
     If I confused you with this fic, I'm glad your life turned out this
     way.
     If I left your guts in a knot, this fic is for you.
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