
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11200653.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Jean-Jacques_Leroy/Original_Male_Hockey_Player, Otabek_Altin/Jean-Jacques
      Leroy
  Character:
      Otabek_Altin, Jean-Jacques_Leroy
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Canon, Dubious_Consent, Blow_Jobs, Facials, Voyeurism, Masturbation,
      Hockey, Sadness, JJ_Is_Our_King
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-14 Words: 4593
****** Montréal -40°C ******
by Halrloprillalar_(prillalar)
Summary
     Pre-canon. While Otabek is training in Montreal over the summer, he
     and JJ take part in a charity celebrity hockey game with the Canadian
     national juniors team. One hockey player in particular seems to be
     targeting JJ.
     "It's for charity," JJ says, leaning over the boards and waving his
     phone. There's something about his face, puppy-eager, that pinches
     Otabek, two sharp fingers on the edge of his heart.
Notes
     All hockey players referenced are entirely fictional. But it was
     definitely Chris_Pronger_checking_Justin_Bieber up against the boards
     during the NHL All-Star celebrity game this year that inspired this.
     JJ, you are the darkest one. ❤️
See the end of the work for more notes
"It's for charity," JJ says, leaning over the boards and waving his phone.
There's something about his face, puppy-eager, that pinches Otabek, two sharp
fingers on the edge of his heart.
"I haven't played in years," Otabek says. Not since he was eight and he folded
his arms and stood on the sidewalk beside his gear for the whole practice until
his father came to pick him up. It took three more days, one in the rain,
staring at his father through the car window for two hours, but at the end of
it, Otabek was out of hockey and enrolled in figure skating lessons.
"No problem, Beks, they'll fix you up with gear." JJ grins, big and shiny.
Otabek is glad JJ is already out of his skates so he can't swing Otabek around
the ice, spinning them both in a circle. "I'll send you the info." JJ goes back
to his phone with that too-loud voice, that too-practised head flip.
By the time Otabek folds his arms, JJ is already looking away.
+
They're alone in the back of the limousine but JJ pulls Otabek over next to
him, a lanky arm draped over Otabek's shoulders. Their suits for the party
afterwards are hanging on a hook, the plastic dry cleaning bag over Otabek's
rustling in the breeze from the air conditioning.
"I know all these guys," JJ says. "I play with them sometimes for fun. A few of
them were at that party last week."
Otabek doesn't remember who he met at the party, just a bunch of loud voices,
loud faces. JJ's arm around his shoulders half the night, steering him from
group to group. Then JJ was gone, disappeared, leaving Otabek to lean against
the wall with his arms folded, deflecting anyone who veered his way with a
look.
JJ reappeared just as Otabek's Uber was arriving and he climbed in after, quiet
for once, his hand on Otabek's thigh and smelling like beer and sweat and
smoke. "You can crash at my place, Beks," he said, sour breath warming Otabek's
cheek.
But when they got there, to JJ's half of his family's duplex, Otabek let JJ's
hand slip off his thigh and just watched JJ amble up the walk, turning back to
wave until the door closed behind him. The driver had to ask Otabek twice for
his address.
"Me and Morneau..." JJ starts one of his stories, his hand brushing against
Otabek's arm and his legs sprawling out to push Otabek's over.
Otabek looks straight ahead, at the rolled up window between them and the
driver, smoked glass he can just barely see their reflections in. He tries to
ignore the way his body wants to twist, away from JJ, towards JJ, like it has
since the first time JJ skated up to him and put his arm around him.
He closes his eyes but nothing goes away.
+
The boots feel strange on Otabek's feet, although the fit is okay. The
equipment smells like sweat – somebody else's sweat – and mildew. But the
sweater is new, red with his name and number in white: Altin, 27.
"Let's go!" JJ calls on the way out of the dressing room and bangs Otabek on
the back, right over Otabek's name.
The players jostle around them on their way out to the ice. They're mostly from
the national juniors team with a few other celebrities. Otabek isn't a
celebrity, not in Canada and not even here in Montreal. He doesn't know if they
were short on players or if JJ made them take him on.
At first it seems like there's not enough room for them all at once, that's
why, or it's some pre-game intimidation. But it's JJ the guys bump into,
walking through him, shoulders bashing. And half of those sweaters are red.
JJ doesn't jostle back. He laughs his too-loud laugh as their heads bend
towards him, muttering to him in French that Otabek can't understand.
When Otabek's blades hit the ice, he sways and hesitates before his body
remembers the way to move on hockey skates. He crosses the ice a few times
while he's ramping up, practising his stick handling and watching JJ's easy
loping style.
They start taking shots and Otabek can tell this skill will be harder to get
back. He misses, misses, and JJ bangs him on the back again.
JJ's shots are finding the goal, or at least the goalie's pads. He skates over
to Otabek and taps their helmets together. "We're on the same shift; left wing
okay?"
Otabek nods. At eight years old, he was on defense but he's probably equally
bad at either now.
"We'll do it JJ Style!" JJ makes his hand sign, more or less, though with
gloves it's harder to tell. His stick clatters to the ice and Otabek picks it
up.
Then a white sweater crosses the red line and stops hard in front of JJ,
spraying him with snow. "Leroy," the player says and he pronounces it lee-roy,
but like he knows it's wrong and he's doing it on purpose. "My turn today."
JJ laughs and it's loud but empty too, no bluster, no JJ to fill it up. Otabek
feels that pinch again inside his chest.
When the player skates away, Otabek watches him go: Klassen, number 34. Then he
turns to bang JJ on the back. But JJ is already gone, skating in to take a shot
on goal.
+
Back in the dressing room, JJ re-tapes his stick while the captain gives them a
half-serious pep talk. "It's bad luck to tape before warm-up," JJ says and
squeezes Otabek's knee before he starts.
Black around the blade, same as everyone in the room. But JJ wraps the grip in
bright red, a shade too orange to match their sweaters. When JJ picks up his
gloves, Otabek can see they're stained with the dye.
Otabek holds onto his own stick, not worrying about luck, but whether he'll
fuck up and cost them the game. Whether his father will somehow find out and
look a little wistful on their next Skype call.
On their way to the box, the right winger on their line – Cardinal – holds out
his fist and Otabek bumps it. JJ pushes between them, arms over both their
shoulders. "Let's skate to win, boys!"
Cardinal catches Otabek's eye and they share a look. Otabek feels badly, even
though he does the same every day at the rink with Bossé, the scrappy junior
who shares Otabek's coach. But that's there and this is here.
They're on the bench for the puck drop but the shifts are on the short side so
it's not long before they're clambering onto the ice. Otabek nearly falls going
over the boards, but he catches himself in time and skates out into the fray.
He tries to remember their coach's advice but the truth is he's not even sure
what most of the jargon means so he just skates like hell, half an eye on that
red stick, and when the puck slides his way, he slaps it over to JJ.
Back in the box, they shuffle down the bench. Otabek squeezes water into his
mouth and watches the ice. When he's out there, it feels frantic but he can
tell the game is actually so slow, it's almost lazy. All the juniors are
laughing, hardly paying attention.
Their captain scores and JJ jumps up while everyone else just bangs their
sticks. Otabek looks up at JJ, yelling and waving, and think he's actually
wishing that had been him.
Cardinal swears and, when Otabek looks over, mutters, "Just lost two hundred
bucks."
Then they're back on the ice, skating, skating. Otabek fumbles his stick at the
blue line and turns over the puck while he's trying to pass. He looks up at the
red stick and sees a white sweater bump JJ's shoulder, even though neither of
them are anywhere near the puck.
On his fourth shift, Otabek finally clicks into hockey mode, and he's skating
easier, handling his stick decently. He chips the puck to Cardinal. Cardinal
slides in it just past the goalie's skate.
"Good pass!" Cardinal bangs Otabek's helmet and smiles like Otabek is an okay
guy. But when JJ skates up and slaps his back, Cardinal shoves with his hip and
knocks him back, just enough to be obvious.
When they head back to the bench, Otabek makes sure he's between them.
+
In the second period, JJ gets delayed in the corner and it disrupts the lines
for a while. And that's when Otabek really sees it. There's some contact on the
ice, of course, it's hockey, but it's an exhibition game with celebrity
players; the juniors have been warned, multiple times, to back off. And they
are.
Except with JJ. They're still bashing him with a shoulder, just enough to throw
off his balance. They're still crowding him, still getting in his face. And,
just like in the tunnel, some of those sweaters are red. It makes Otabek's
chest tighten.
Their line is back together just before the end of the second. They're on the
ice, scrambling after the puck, but Otabek has his eyes on the red stick.
So he sees number 77, Leroy, get the puck in the corner. And he sees number 34,
Klassen, fly in and check JJ against the boards, full body contact, with a thud
that echoes in the arena.
He sees JJ's face, visor twisting, pressed against the plexiglass, grimacing
with his eyes squeezed closed. And Klassen leaning over his shoulder, holding
him there, and saying something that makes him grin.
It's not until Cardinal comes up beside him that Otabek realises he's dropped
his stick on the ice.
+
"Are you okay?" he asks JJ in the locker room.
JJ reaches for Otabek's stick and Otabek lets him take it. "Your grip is messed
up." JJ pulls off the frayed white tape and replaces it with a long strip of
red, winding it carefully so that it lies perfectly flat.
"Thank you." Otabek holds out his hand but JJ takes a marker from his equipment
bag and at the bottom of the grip he writes JJ Style!
Otabek waits until the marker dries to touch his thumb there.
+
In the third period, JJ comes alive. He skates faster. He yells louder, bangs
his stick more. Slaps more backs and calls more names. On the bench, he
tightens his arm, hand still in his glove, around Otabek's neck.
And Otabek can't watch anyone else. On the ice, players are still bumping JJ
but now JJ is leaning into it, looking after them with an expression Otabek
can't read.
So Otabek just keeps his eyes on JJ. When the puck comes his way and he's lucky
enough not to be covered, he passes, red stick to red stick. He doesn't look to
see who else is open.
But he looks for number 34, Klassen, and keeps his body between them as much as
he can. Klassen doesn't bump him when he gets too close, just grins behind his
visor and skates away.
White tie up the score with five minutes to go and the crowd wakes up, yelling
and cheering. The juniors catch the excitement and the game turns almost
serious. Even Otabek feels it. He skates like he means it, follows through when
he passes. If his father saw him now, Otabek would almost be glad.
They pile over the boards for their last shift of the game and spin out onto
the ice. Otabek is looking for the puck, where's the puck? A defenseman almost
barrels into him, veering at the last second.
Otabek moves down past the blue line, looking everywhere, feeling the ice
through his skates, through his stick. Then it happens, everything in slow
motion. Cardinal comes up the right side with the puck on his blade. He taps it
and it goes right through a path between three white sweaters and onto Otabek's
stick.
It's there, the perfect shot. Otabek can see it. All he has to do is flick his
wrists and the puck will slide so sweetly into the corner of the goal.
But in the corner of his eye, he sees the red stick. And he passes, following
through with his whole body and turning so his eyes are on JJ's face.
JJ shoots. He misses. And he bangs Otabek's back on the way to the bench.
"Great pass, Beks!"
"Why didn't you take a shot?" Cardinal says to Otabek, when they're through the
door. "I have five hundred dollars on us to win."
The buzzer sounds. JJ puts his arm around Otabek's neck. "Good game!" he yells.
"Good game!"
Otabek looks down at his gloves. The palms are stained with red.
+
In the locker room, Otabek collapses on a bench before starting to undress. His
muscles burn, arms mostly, but a little in the thighs too. He's not used to
skating with this gait.
Inside the unfamiliar boots, there's a place rubbed raw on his left foot.
That's going to hurt at practice for a week. But Otabek nearly can't feel it
now, the adrenaline of those last few moments is still buoying him up.
Beside him, JJ is calling out names as he undresses, good game, good game, we
crushed it. He's down to his boxers, stowing his equipment haphazardly into his
bag. His cheeks are flushed. They're all a little red and sweaty but JJ seems
hectic, glassy-eyed like he has a fever.
"You did great!" JJ bangs Otabek on the back. "We did great!" He hangs his arm
around Otabek's neck, even though Otabek still has his shoulder pads on.
Otabek finds himself leaning into it, the warmth of JJ's forearm across his
throat. He wants to make this go away for now: this sweaty room, these yelling
boys. Just quiet, just cool air. Just JJ's weight pushing him off-balance.
"You did great," Otabek says to JJ and JJ's bright eager smile pinches Otabek's
heart.
Otabek piles his borrowed gear on the bench but he folds the sweater and tucks
it in his bag. His stick is lying on the floor and he sees JJ's scribble on the
grip. He pulls the tape up gently so he can tear off that piece and put it in
his wallet.
They shower and Otabek dresses for the party. JJ is slower, fussing with his
hair, his shirt and jacket hanging in the locker beside him. His cheeks are
still flushed, his eyes still brilliant, and he jitters in a way that's
unfamiliar to Otabek. Sharp nervous movements with his hands in his hair. Not
those wide easy gestures that always draw Otabek's eye.
The room is emptying out, and Otabek wants to stay here instead of heading for
the party to have the noise and crush of bodies all over again.
"You go ahead," JJ says. He doesn't bang Otabek's back. "I'll meet you by the
door."
"I can wait." And Otabek realizes his arms are crossed across his chest.
JJ turns those brilliant eyes on Otabek. "Just go."
There's a spot at the back of JJ's head where his hair always goes funny. It's
standing up now, that flippy cowlick, and Otabek's hand itches to smooth it
down. But he lets his arms fall to his sides and he goes.
Otabek is halfway down the corridor when he meets someone coming the other way.
One of the juniors, big and blonde and swaggering. When he grins, Otabek
realizes that it's Klassen.
Otabek keeps walking, ten more steps, before he stops. His stomach twists. He
feels that check against the boards like it happened to him instead of JJ,
slammed and squeezed by that weight against his back. He keeps breathing, ten
more breaths, before he turns and walks back to the locker room.
He sets down his bag and takes the door handle. He stops to listen first. But
whatever is happening inside, Otabek can't hear it through the door.
So he slips into the room, setting his feet as softly as he can. And he can
hear them now, not fighting. He knew they wouldn't be fighting.
"You were waiting for me," Klassen says.
"Yeah, we're friends," JJ says, too loud, louder than too loud.
Otabek's heart bangs on his ribs, like a fist beating at him. He steals forward
until he's by a gap in the lockers and can just see JJ's flushed face. JJ's
bare and tattooed arms.
"Put your fucking shirt on, Leroy." Lee-roy again, flat and contemptuous.
Otabek's whole body tightens and his fists clench. He should go out there,
stand between them. Shove Klassen up against the wall and see how he likes it.
But JJ's face as he slides his arms into his sleeves and buttons his shirt pins
Otabek where he is. "It's from the JJ Collection," JJ says and his voice is
high, stretched thin as a wire. "Send me your size and I'll get you one."
"You've been waiting for my turn." Klassen steps forward and Otabek can see the
side of his face: the tops of his cheeks are almost as red as JJ's. Klassen is
six or seven centimetres shorter than JJ, but that doesn't dim the arrogance in
the way he looks up at JJ. In the way he crowds JJ's space.
"I like all you guys," JJ says. "We're all friends." His cowlick is still
sticking up and the sight of it makes Otabek's eyes sting.
"You know what you are." Klassen moves closer, hands at his sides, and Otabek
wishes, bites his lip and wishes hard, that Klassen would just try to hit JJ so
Otabek could run out there, step between them, and fold his arms.
JJ laughs and he moves his head like he's expecting Klassen to tip his face up
and kiss him, even though nobody in the room really thinks that that will
happen.
"Come on," Klassen says. "Don't act like you don't want to."
And Otabek holds his breath as JJ sinks to his knees and puts his hands on
Klassen's waistband.
Nothing about this is a surprise. Otabek has known it was coming since he met
Klassen in the hallway. Since he saw JJ's flushed face in the locker room.
Since Klassen slammed JJ up against the boards. Since Klassen crossed the red
line during warm up.
Since JJ crawled into Otabek's cab after that party.
The only surprise is how it makes Otabek feel, sick and sore and so turned on.
He should close his eyes. He should slink away. But he stares, heart throbbing
in his throat, as JJ unbuckles Klassen's belt and opens his fly and pulls out
his dick.
Klassen is halfway there but so is Otabek. And when JJ strokes his thumb up the
underside of Klassen's cock and flicks his tongue out over the head, Otabek
can't stop his hand from creeping down to hold his own cock through his
trousers. Can't help feeling it swell under his fingers.
Klassen is swelling too. JJ opens his mouth, jaw cracked wide. Klassen pushes
in, thrusting already. He's not giving JJ any time, his hand tight on the back
of JJ's head, JJ's cowlick sticking through his fingers.
Otabek has had a few blowjobs in his life and he can feel them all right now,
hot wet mouths around his dick, tongues working him. But he's never leaned in
and jammed his hips, slammed in his cock like Klassen is fucking JJ's mouth
right now.
He imagines it, sliding past JJ's lips, pushing until his cock hits the back of
JJ's throat and JJ opens wider. He curls his fingers tighter, not rubbing. He
can't come here, can't come in his good trousers before a party. He can't come
while he's watching this.
"God, you'll take it from anyone," Klassen says. "You don't care who it is." He
twists his fingers in JJ's hair.
And Otabek doesn't know if that's true, but he watches JJ's face, jaw stretched
so far, saliva stringing from the corner of his mouth. His eyes looking up at
Klassen the same way he looks down at Otabek. Every day.
It takes Otabek like a elbow to the gut, sucking out his breath. He bites his
lip and keeps looking, he's got to watch until the end, even if he's nearly
swaying from the pain in his chest and the heat in his groin.
"You'd do the whole team, everyone in the locker room," Klassen says. And
Otabek wonders if JJ would, moving from player to player, letting them use him
up.
Klassen keeps thrusting and now Otabek imagines that he's JJ, his jaw aching
and his knees aching and Klassen's cock nearly choking him. He hates it, he
hates it.
He hates watching JJ's eyes, still looking up. He hates holding his own cock
and blinking away the stinging in his own eyes. He hates it when Klassen
finally pulls away.
"Got something for you," Klassen says and he comes all over JJ's face, his
ropey semen spattering JJ's cheeks and nose and lips. A glob drips onto the
front of JJ's shirt and this – this – is what makes Otabek have to dig his
nails into his palm so that he won't run out and knock Klassen to the ground.
JJ slumps back onto his heels, hands at his sides. He stretches out his jaw a
few times. But he doesn't touch his face.
"You're almost pretty like that." Klassen pulls out his phone, of course he
does, and takes a picture.
Only then does JJ pull a towel from the bench and wipe his face. And he's still
looking up.
Otabek's stomach churns. He turns and leaves the locker room as fast as he can
and still be quiet. He grabs his bag and ducks into a bathroom down the
hallway. And he locks himself into a toilet stall. It only takes a minute
before he's coming into a handful of tissue, hand on his dick and JJ's
glistening face inside his eyes. He hates it.
He washes his hands and blows them dry and doesn't look at himself in the
mirror. His gut still hurts. His feet still hurt.
When he gets out to the entrance, JJ is already there, leaning back against the
wall and checking his phone. His face is clean but just under the lapel of his
jacket, Otabek can see the stain on his shirt. He wonders why JJ didn't bring
more than one shirt with him.
JJ looks at Otabek with that same open face, those same eager eyes. "I thought
you were lost."
Otabek reaches into his bag and takes out his tube of product. "Your hair," he
says and smooths down JJ's cowlick.
+
The party is across town. In the limousine, Otabek is the one who can't relax,
leaning forward, leaning back under the guilty weight of JJ's arm.
"Great pass," JJ says again and Otabek can't make out what he's talking about
at first. "We almost had the game."
Otabek reaches for the window button, then pulls his hand away. He watches the
city lights flicker over the interior of the car. There's always another party,
he wants to say.
When they arrive at the reception, the night air is already cool. But when they
get inside, a line of sweat is beading along Otabek's hairline. He wipes it
away with his hand and thinks he can still smell the semen on his fingers.
The rest of the players are already there. A knot of them are crowding around
Klassen, looking at something on his phone.
Blood rushes into Otabek's head. His vision narrows and his heart pounds. His
calves tighten to spring. His fists clench to fight.
"Beks," JJ says, in a voice so soft, Otabek isn't sure he really heard it.
But he doesn't fling himself across the room to fight. He stands and breathes,
JJ beside him, until his vision clears. Then he reaches up and puts his arm
around JJ's shoulders and they walk into the room together.
That's where Otabek stays: beside JJ, all night. Arm on his shoulders, even
when it starts to prick and tingle. He eats when JJ eats, drinks when JJ
drinks. Smiles when JJ laughs.
And when Klassen starts in their direction, Otabek crosses his arms and stares
him down until he veers away, to the buffet.
"Let's go," Otabek says, when he's had so much more than enough. "We have
practice in the morning."
+
From then, it's inevitable. Walking out together into the summer night,
climbing into the back of the car. JJ looking over, moving his head like he's
expecting Otabek to lean up and kiss him.
And Otabek does, fuck what the driver thinks, just presses JJ back against the
leather seats and straddles his lap while the car is still pulling away. Hands
on his face, mouth on his mouth. JJ's hands under Otabek's jacket, under his
shirt, trailing sparks on Otabek's skin.
Otabek's gut still twists cold and tight but the rest of him is so loose and
warm and free. He can taste the beer on JJ's tongue but what he sees inside his
closed eyelids is JJ's mouth stretched around Klassen's cock. He can't help
wondering if some of that sharp taste is Klassen. He can't help thinking about
how many hockey players have looked down at JJ while he sucked them off.
And Otabek isn't any better because he lets JJ twist him to the side and off
onto the seat. He lets JJ look him in the eyes while he slides down onto the
floor of the limo. He lets JJ unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly and palm him
through his boxers until he's hard and sucking air through his open mouth.
Otabek reaches out and touches JJ's face, brushing his fingertips along JJ's
cheek. Then he lets JJ take out his dick and give him the best blowjob of his
life.
Otabek wants to lean his head back and close his eyes but he looks down at JJ
instead, at the cowlick slipping back up. He keeps his hips still as JJ slides
his wet mouth over Otabek's cock, as JJ swirls with his tongue and braces his
hand on Otabek's thigh.
It's sweet and tender and utterly consuming, every pulse of Otabek's body
focused there in his cock, there in JJ's mouth. Every muscle pulling tight,
every breath stopping in his throat.
Otabek can't even choke out a warning. All at once he's just coming, jerking
his hips after all, light-headed with pleasure.
JJ takes it all and doesn't even frown. He squeezes Otabek's thigh as he
swallows and Otabek feels that pinch again, those sharp fingers squeezing at
his heart.
When JJ sits back down beside him, Otabek pulls himself back together. He puts
his hand on JJ's thigh and slides it upwards in a question. But JJ just slings
his arm around Otabek's neck and pulls him close.
Otabek leans his leg against JJ's, he leaves his hand on JJ's thigh. He rests
his head back on JJ's arm. And he feels JJ loosen, relax, settle.
"Beks," JJ says, in his too-loud JJ voice. "Do you want to crash at my place?"
Otabek touches his pocket where his wallet is, with the strip of red tape
tucked inside it. "Yes," he says.
When JJ's arm tightens around him, Otabek smiles.
End Notes
     Thank you for crying over JJ with me. ❤️
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