
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12675417.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yuri!!!_on_Ice_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Otabek_Altin/Yuri_Plisetsky
  Character:
      Otabek_Altin, Yuri_Plisetsky
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Underage_Drinking
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-09 Words: 1796
****** Too Cool ******
by djdaddybek_(llyn)
Summary
     Otabek hides Yuri in plain sight
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
"Beka, this place is too cool for me," Yuri says when he finally finds him in
the crowd, grabbing his bicep and digging his fingers in tight. He’s scared.
He's scared that he might trip, fall down another rabbit hole in this smoky
underground bar, and end up cornered, nodding his head like an asshole while a
girl with tattoos on her face explains to a guy with a cigarette holder as long
as a rose stem how she once sneezed while high on some drug—Yuri can't remember
its name—all letters and numbers—and he  had  to try it, like, it was some next
level shit.
"What's wrong?" Otabek asks, wrapping Yuri up in his arms — oh, god. Yuri
buries his face against his chest, greedy.
"I already said what’s wrong. Everyone here is too cool and I’m not," he pouts.
His voice is muffled by Otabek's soft flannel and the music — weird music.
Weird music, weird people, weird drugs — PS4? no, that's wrong — and everyone
in dark clothes — green-black, red-black, faded blue-black, hoodies on, hoods
up, flat bill hats, and beanies. You couldn't tell one from the other. Except
Beka, of course.  
"Yura — "
Yuri looks up at him, ready to be told he's being a brat, give it a chance.
Instead Otabek brushes the hair from his face, so gentle — oh, god.  "Wanna go
home?"
"Fuck," Yuri beams. "Can we?"
Otabek nods, guiding him to the exit with his arm wound tight around Yuri's
waist. “You’re not gonna say goodbye?” he asks as they pass a cluster of his
dark, hooded friends, feeling sheepish for pulling Beka away.
“Better to disappear,” Otabek says, pressing his lips to Yuri's hair.
“Otherwise they'll tease me.” Beka the wise, Beka the all-knowing--plucking
their coats from their hooks without letting go of Yuri for even a second.
Outside, in the cold, where Yuri likes to think they both belong, he realizes
Otabek said you wanna go home like, like their home like as if they lived
together. He blushes. Oh god. Maybe he didn't mean it that way, but—
"Too good for my friends, huh?"
Yuri's mouth is open to deny it but Otabek's joking, biting his bottom lip as
he watches Yuri blushing in the snow.
He huffs, indignant, his breath a little white cloud. "You could've told me
they all wear black. I felt like a fucking nerd."
"You could've guessed," Otabek says, pinching the sleeve of Yuri’s team jacket
with a smirk. "And you are a nerd."
"Shut up," Yuri pushes him away, blushing  worse  now, mad at himself for
blushing worse, and storms off ahead of him down the empty city street, alone,
as Otabek falls behind. It does feel good though--the stinging fresh air,
Otabek all his to ignore.
"Yura," Otabek calls after him, making little kissy noises. His voices echoes
up and down the street. A cat meows. Yuri turns to glare, walking backward.
"Beautiful Yura," Otabek calls. "Here kitty."
Yuri freezes in his tracks. Beautiful Yura. That’s new. It tingles all the way
up his spine then all the way back down again, settling low and warm. Then all
at once he remembers to try and play it cool, flipping his hair over his
shoulder with so much attitude that Otabek hums happily in response, hands
stuck in his pockets to keep warm.
"You let me wear my jacket," Yuri says, putting on a pout. He turns away and
addresses his complaints to the dark sky as it spills snow down. "I have so
many badass outfits at home."  Home . It's his turn to say it this time. It
thrills him. Maybe he really is a nerd.
"Yeah, I've seen your little outfits," Otabek says, and Yuri spins around,
mouth open — A-ha!
"You did it on purpose!"
Otabek passes him, unrepentant, knocking Yuri's shoulder for good measure.
"Jealous Otabek," Yuri catches up as Otabek turns up the drive to his flat. He
puts some sugar in his voice, some sugar in his walk, twirling a strand of hair
in his fingers. "But  Beka , I wanted your smelly friends to see me in my
leopard print skinny jeans."
"I'm sure they have," he says, holding the door of his building open while he
waits for Yuri to drop his act. "They love your instagram."
"You didn't tell me that either," Yuri says.
“I guess it slipped my mind.”
It becomes a stand off in the doorway, neither making a move. Otabek raises his
eyebrows, waiting, snow blowing in the foyer. Then Yuri twists his lips and
slips past Otabek just in time to dodge a swipe of his hand at Yuri’s ass. It
becomes their game, winding up the stairs, Yuri dancing close and flitting away
just in time to avoid getting caught. Finally at the last landing Otabek swats
Yuri’s ass and leaves him half-collapsed with laughter over the railing.
Beka watches him, head tilted, until Yuri pulls himself together, patting his
hair back into place. "Y’know they didn't say anything to me, though. Your
friends," he says. “They just talked about a bunch of stuff I never heard of.”
He chews his lip, following Otabek up the last flight.  His ass stings. He
likes it. That’s something to keep in mind, oh god.
"Maybe they were starstruck," Otabek says, fishing out the keys as they
approach his door. "Maybe they think you're too cool for them."
"If I'm too cool for them and they're too cool for me then who's really cool?"
Yuri asks, slipping bravely between Otabek and the door to kiss his jaw, wrap
his arms around his neck, get in the way of the keys.  Spank me again , he
wants to whisper in Otabek’s ear. It makes his mouth go dry just thinking it.
"I am," Otabek says, ignoring Yuri’s little kisses. “The coolest.”
"You sound like JJ," Yuri scrunches his nose.
"We don't say that name in this house." The door swings open, and all at once
Otabek scoops Yuri up to carry him inside.
Yuri laughs, clinging to him, and kicks his boots off as they pass through the
dark living room. He's thrown onto the mattress on the floor without ceremony
and doesn't waste a second shedding first his fluffy coat and then the hated
team jacket. Blue, red, and white! What the fuck was he thinking. His t-shirt
is next, then he crawls to reach for his bag, contents spilled out over the
carpet after day one of his visit. They hadn’t strayed very far from Otabek’s
room. It wasn’t Kazakhstan Yuri came all this way to see.
“What’re you up to, Yura?” Otabek asks, kneeling on the bed behind him. Yuri’s
heart pounds when he feels the bed sink, and stops when Otabek’s fingers dance
up the back of Yuri’s thigh. He drags Yuri's pants down, slow but not
hesitating. Yuri lets him. It's not international sexting anymore, he thinks,
still not believing it.
He takes a breath, play it cool. He hums, “I'm looking for something sexier to
wear. I — ah!” Otabek yanks his pants all the way off, and Yuri without even
briefs on underneath, all his underwear has gone mysteriously missing. “Beka! —
I’ll change and we can go back.”
“No,” Otabek says, and Yuri whines. He smooths his hands up Yuri’s bare, long
legs, following with his lips. “Gotta hide you,” he says, between kisses. Yuri
whines again,  whines  worse , peeking back over his shoulder as Otabek makes
his slow, torturous way up Yuri’s calf, knee, the back of this thigh. “Like
that story with the ballerinas and the weights,” Otabek murmurs.
“N-never heard of it,” Yuri says.
“Mm,” Otabek bites Yuri’s thigh, making him jump, “Well in this story everyone
had to be equal — ”
“Beka — ”
“So they put weights on the ballerinas.”
“God,” Yuri moans as Otabek bites higher, hands guiding his thighs open wider.
“And that's why you can’t wear your little outfits,” Otabek says, wise Beka,
the all-knowing, running his hands over Yuri’s ass. “Cause you look too good.”
“That’s stupid,” Yuri says, face hot.
“Anyone done this to you before?” Otabek asks, breath ghosting over Yuri's
tailbone, and Yuri knows, somehow, what he means. Has always known, somehow,
what Otabek means when he asks that question. Otabek’s been asking it all week-
-Yuri’s body a new and undiscovered place that he's been busy claiming for
himself.
“No,” he says, voice as little and lost as he felt at that bar. Eighteen and
nerdy, with a fake i.d. and a team jacket, betrayed by his best and only friend
into dressing like a great big square. “What about you, Beka?” he asks, “If
you’re so cool, what kind of weights are gonna bring you down to our level?” He
peeks over his shoulder at Otabek — hair-mussed, dark-eyed Beka, who’s chewing
his lip, thinking.
“I guess it’s hard to look cool when you’re in love like I am,” he says.
“Love?”
Before Yuri can say another word Otabek leans in to run his tongue between
Yuri’s cheeks. He cries out, head dropping down as Otabek does it again and
again, relentless. Otabek's fingers spread wide and greedy over his ass as he
laps in between them, his gentle tongue bringing tears to Yuri’s eyes. Just
when Yuri can’t take another second of this, Otabek circles his tongue around
his hole once, then pushes inside.
“Beka!” Yuri tenses up. Oh, god. It's good, it's strange, it's good.  Love ,
Yuri’s mind won’t let the word go, savoring it,  Love .
Otabek’s hair tickles his tailbone as he pushes in deeper, until Yuri’s hips
can’t tilt higher without lifting his legs off the ground. Otabek might like
that. A handstand.  Love . Then Otabek slides his thumb over Yuri’s wet rim and
Yuri can’t think at all anymore.
“Let me--god, Beka, can I touch myself?” he stammers, “P-please?”
“Go ahead, kitten. Come for me,” Otabek says, licking him between each phrase
like Yuri is his ice cream, just about to melt, “Get the sheets dirty. ”
Yuri whines. That deep voice, he loves it. Love. He holds himself up with one
hand, reaching back to stroke his cock in time with Otabek’s tongue. Beka’s
thumbs tease his rim as he kisses and sucks, until Yuri comes, crying, “L-love
you.” It's his turn to say it. Then his vision goes white and he falls,
shaking, onto the mattress.
“Shhh,” Otabek says, curling up beside him and letting Yuri hold his hand tight
against his chest. “You taste so good, Yura,” he murmurs against his hair, and
Yuri whines, hiding his face against Otabek’s chest. “How was that, kitten?” He
sounds so smug.
Yuri peeks up at him knowing he’s a red-faced, tear-stained mess--oh god--and
says, shakily, “Cool.”
End Notes
     follow me on twitter @commandantllyn
     or on tumblr at djdaddybek
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