#adkoc

Congratulations, you did it kitten!

Even with his ass a complete wreck, hardly able to leave the couch, Yuri Plisetsky was ecstatic.

He spent his days after Worlds touching his collar compulsively, watching feeds about his performance, and chatting with everyone who’d enjoyed his other performance. Leo and his partner kept texting salacious, teasing photos. Chris asked how he was and jokingly delivered a can of shortening to the apartment. Today, Otabek had sent a single photo from the rink - apparently even post-worlds he hated the idea time off - with Victor leaning on his shoulder, two fingers pressed to his lips in a kiss.

Yuuri had opted to stay home with Yuri, fawning over him in whatever ways Yuri could tolerate.

“Katsudon!” Yuri called.

Yuuri came out of the practice room, bending over the back of the couch to look at Yuri. “Need more water?”

Instead of answering, Yuri fisted the collar of Yuuri’s shirt and pulled him down over the back of the couch. The kiss lasted for a crushing second before the rest of Yuuri came tumbling after. Yuuri wound up scrunched like an accordion, then tipped over sideways to land across Yuri with a whuff of air and laughter.

“Sorest you’ve ever been and you still want someone on top of you, huh?” Yuuri chuckled. He pushed his fingers through Yuri’s hair, then set his hand over Yuri’s neck. His face had a charming quirk to it - not Eros, just playful and powerful all at once.

“Mmm,” Yuri exhaled and swallowed, testing the constriction of Yuuri’s fingers. Pressure on his throat weakened him in the worst way, instantly turning him both submissive and wanton. He widened his thighs until Yuuri’s body wedged between them. “I could handle you still.”

“I know,” Yuuri traced Yuri’s new collar, then moved his hands down Yuri’s arms. He guided them over his head and pinned Yuri’s wrists against the armrest. “Doesn’t mean you should.”“But I need --”

The rest of the words were lost in Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuri could kiss his boyfriend for hours. Yuuri had this way of flushing their lips together that felt like tiger balm on every muscle of Yuri’s body. When Yuuri bit his lip, electricity shot straight to Yuri’s cock. It was all heat and shivering need and Yuuri’s tongue was as good as a cock anyway, pressing between Yuri’s lips like what he wanted between his cheeks.

“I need you,” Yuri whispered against Yuuri’s mouth when he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said. Yuri was only wearing his tiger-print shorts. It was easy to push them down, but he stopped Yuri from rolling onto his stomach and offering his ass. “Not so fast. Your Sir told me to take good care of you.” Yuuri sat up, still between Yuri’s legs, and wiggled out of his sweatpants and briefs.

“What...?” Yuri asked, but then Yuuri’s mouth was on him, quick and hot and soaking his cock in what felt like seconds. Without a moment to breathe, Yuuri was straddling him, lowering onto him, gripping Yuri’s hips like a vaulting horse.

“There,” Yuuri smiled down at Yuri, ass rising and falling in Yuuri’s usual steady rhythm. “How’s that?”

Yuri could barely nod, eyes rolling back in his skull. It was strange to be on the other side of that tireless beat, feeling it around his cock instead of hammering into his ass. It was still Yuuri, though. Still Yuuri giving him what he needed. Yuri’s hand came to his collar unbidden. The skin-warmed metal sat heavy on his throat, an ever-present reminder of his servitude.

He was serving Yuuri now, wasn’t he? Yuuri’s cock was hard, head popping in and out of his fist as he rode. Yuuri was taking his pleasure from Yuri, pleasing him in the process, but not the point.

“My neck,” Yuri whispered.

Yuuri rolled his fingers across Yuri’s collar before holding Yuri’s throat again. His hand settled in the soft crux of jaw and neck, thumb nocked against Yuri’s jawline. “Better?”

Oh yes. There is ALWAYS more in the ADKOC verse. Current ADKOC wips:

- post-series Voyage a Trois, Yuuri takes Victor to the Mediterranean to celebrate his big 3-0

- pre-series “The Skate Guard Story”, finally answering So Many Requests about where the hell Yuuri’s skate guard fetish came from

- post-series “On a Low”, Yuri reaches the top and discovers there’s nowhere to go. How does the quartet handle his depression?

Books for Bad Days

It started when Yuri was sick, in the two days between one of the national and European competitions. He needed to rest and the only thing that seemed to work was listening to Otabek talk.

Otabek wasn’t much of a talker.

He exhausted his supply of humorous family get together stories after about eight minutes, and childhood hangout spots only lasted another fifteen.

It was Yuuri’s idea to read.

Otabek’s books were all for university: biology and anatomy and mind-numbing, but it worked. He was in the middle of detailing the tactile differences between knots and cysts when Yuri’s breathing evened out in sleep. Otabek hadn’t considered what to do next: he was sitting up in bed, a pillow between his back and the headboard, and Yuri curled up sideways against him, head in his lap.

Trapped.

Luckily, Yuri slept like the dead. Otabek carefully cradled Yuri’s neck and head as he slid down, replacing his lap with the slope of his shoulder. His arm fell into its familiar hold around Yuri, and he spent far too long cuddling his sick kitten, thanking the universe for the opportunity.

—

“… Will you read to me, again?” Yuri asked a few weeks later, holding out Otabek’s glasses. He wasn’t sick, but practice had gone long, he’d pulled something in his lower back. It wasn’t a good day.

Yuri didn’t mind Otabek’s textbooks, but they pilfered a paperback from Victor’s nightstand in hopes of something slightly more compelling. They made it about two pages in from the bookmark before realizing it was a trashy romance novel.

The tips of Yuri’s ears reddened liked he’d been out in the winter wind too long. He buried his face into Otabek’s chest with a groan: “Is he really calling his dick ‘Sir John’?”

“I’m just reading what it says,” Otabek smirked. “Do you want me to stop?”

Apparently for Yuri, Otabek’s voice was worth the embarrassment. “No just - not this part. Go back to the beginning.”

Victor only shrieked a little when he learned they’d been reading his ‘literature’.

—

It became habit after that. Whenever Yuri had a bad day he’d tug Otabek to the bed and slide his reading glasses over his ears. Once Otabek was seated, Yuri curled up sideways, head in his lap, and got his hair pet while Otabek read to him. They learned all about Sir John and Lady Jane, and sometimes - to Yuri’s extreme mortification - Otabek would even pitch his voice for the different characters.

“You know,” Otabek said, “I don’t think this is putting you to sleep anymore.”

Yuri flushed. It wasn’t his fault Victor’s trash was addictive. They had to see if Mellors and Connie got together in the end!

“Maybe we should go back to anatomy…” Otabek mused, thumb following the redness on Yuri’s ear.

“But!” Yuri said. “We’re so close to the end!”

Otabek never laughed, but Yuri’s enthusiasm earned him a smirk. “Okay, okay. Lie back down.”

Yuri settled into Otabek’s lap. He closed his eyes, listening to the steady constant of Otabek’s voice, imagining the scene and the characters. Maybe it was a little sappy, and a little gross, and used really embarrassing words.

Yuri woke up to his boyfriend’s fingers sliding under the elastic band of his briefs, tugging them over his hips. Still mostly asleep, Yuri’s lips twitched up in recognition and he lifted his butt off the mattress, giving Yuuri the space to draw his briefs down and off.

“Mm,” Yuri grunted. It was supposed to be “Morning” but he was still embedded in his dream, something with a concert and a microphone that wouldn’t play.

He felt Yuuri lift his legs, tuck them to his chest, and then the tender prod between his cheeks. Yuuri let out a tiny huff of air as he popped inside, then sighed it out in this beautiful exhale as he sank to the root.

“Katsu…” Yuri whispered. He was on his back, Yuuri curled around him on his side, holding one of his legs up. Yuuri’s rhythm felt like being rocked to sleep, their connection smooth as butter, and Yuri drifted while his boyfriend enjoyed him.

His dream shifted, an echo of his reality: Yuuri pumping into him while the concert attendees watched. Yuuri whispering to him. No it was Victor, Victor was saying —

“Don’t be late for my lesson, little Tiger.”

Yuri’s eyes fluttered opened, summoned by Victor’s lips on his cheek, Victor’s kiss beside his eye. Yuri made another muffled “mm” and lifted his chin, begging for a proper kiss, and finally tasted the morning mint of Victor’s mouth. Victor was in his practice attire, silver hair shining as bright as his smile.

“Coach,” Yuri whimpered.

“I can’t stop him,” Victor smiled, petting Yuri’s tousled bangs back from his eyes. “I know how good you feel. I wouldn’t be able to stop either.”

Yuri’s blush was a mix of pride and apology, toes flexing as Yuuri continued to move inside him. He looked to his boyfriend, saw Yuuri’s eyes - somehow smoldering despite their morning laziness. How could Yuuri look so attractive, in a slightly-too-small t-shirt and track pants pushed down to his knees?

“Hey, tiger,” Yuuri said, not even panting. In this position, Yuuri could probably last for hours.

“Coach,” Yuri called again, grasping Victor’s wrist as he moved from the bed. “Wait…”

Yuri dragged his teeth over his lip, giving his best delicious pout.

“It feels so good, Coach,” Yuri whimpered. “Help me?”

Victor smiled at his little protégé. “Tell me what you need, tiger.”

Yuri clamped around his boyfriend, nothing more delicious than Victor’s dedication.

“Your mouth,” Yuri murmured, bashful but brave, but when Victor came to kiss him he turned his head away. “No… down there, coach.”

“I normally don’t do this for my students,” Victor tsked, letting his hand trail down Yuri’s bare chest.

“That’s not true,” Yuuri hummed. “You did it for me.”

“That means,” Yuri gave an open-mouthed pant, “You’ve done it for every student you’ve had.” His pant turned into a morning-slow grin: “Coach.”

Victor covered his blush with a soft laugh. He climbed onto the bed beside his lovers and guided Yuri’s legs over Yuuri’s to make space.

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t play favorites,” Victor whispered, just before his mouth was full.

Yuri could imagine few things more blissful than the combined attentions of his boyfriend and coach. He pet Victor’s hair, eyes rolling back and closing.  He tried to find that gentle rhythm that would rock him towards Victor’s mouth and then back onto Yuuri’s erection. How perfect they were! Victor and Yuuri could always find their rhythm, like their hearts beat in time. All Yuri had to do was float between them.

“Coach, coach,” Yuri gasped. How much later? With Yuuri it could have been ages, but Victor’s mouth, Victor’s tongue, the tease of Victor’s throat - these were delicacies Yuri could not deny.

Victor set a hand on Yuri’s chest, like soothing, telling him it would be okay, if only he let go.

Yuri’s fingers tightened in Victor’s hair, hips lifting to lock himself in Victor’s throat and fill it, and fill it, and fill it. When he finally went limp Victor pulled away, licking his lips.

“There you go, tiger,” Victor purred. He kissed Yuri’s lips, looking into those sweet eyes. “I’ll see you in the rink.”

“Yes coach,” Yuri promised. “As soon as I’m finished.”

“As soon as I’m finished,” Yuuri corrected.

Victor snorted, pet Yuuri’s hair and pinched his flexing glutes. “You know he’s got to practice, love.”

“I know,” Yuuri smiled. “I know. But you know how he feels. Just a few more minutes.”

“Just a few,” Victor echoed. He gave his husband a kiss, and then the door closed. Yuri was left alone with his love, all heat and contentment and the melting satisfaction of mutual pleasure.

“Good morning,” Yuuri whispered at last.

Practice ended with a shouting match and Yuri walking out, clomping back to the lockers while Victor told him he expected better.

Fuck Victor.

Yuri stripped out of his sweat-soaked clothes, tossing them into the stinky must of his bag. The splash of hot water burned his shoulders as he stepped into the shower. Normally he just rinsed at the rink, but today he leaned forward, arms bracing on the cool tile as he let the high-pressure water beat down his back.

He knew he could do it. The quadruple axel. He could do it. Fuck, they’d run the physics on it. It was possible. And Yuri fucking Plisetsky was going to be the one to do it.

Didn’t Victor see that?

Didn’t Victor get it?

A jolt of pain flashed outward from Yuri’s right hip. The musculature of his body was lop-sided, geared towards the pushing piston of his right leg. Lilia made him train both sides, but it didn’t — it couldn’t make up for how he ruined himself in the rink.

His body was failing him.

“You have years left,” Victor had said. “But not if you act like this.”

His voice echoed in Yuri’s head, rattling between his ears as he beat his fist against the shower tiles.

His hand dropped to his hip, rubbing it absently. He just needed to stretch it out.

Maybe soak it.

He’d get Otabek to massage it when he got home.

He’d be…

Yuri sighed. He’d be fine. … wouldn’t he?

The water was loud enough, rushing over him, that he barely heard the flutter of the shower curtain. He didn’t look up, not even when another hand came to his hip, displacing his, rubbing in its place.

Caught.

But Victor didn’t say “I told you so”. All the heat had gone out of him, flushed away by the reality of an exhausted, pushed-to-the-edge athlete come face-to-face with his body’s limits. Victor kneaded the ache and Yuri exhaled the day’s tension, drooping a fraction of an inch. He laced his fingers with Victor’s, pushed the heel of Victor’s hand right where it hurt.

Victor kissed the back of his neck and closed the space between them.

It was simple enough for Yuri to widen his stance, spread his legs, and he was as tall as Yuuri now - claimed to be taller despite empirical evidence.

Victor was familiar with the height. It was an easy match.

They couldn’t go hard - not in the locker where anyone could hear, though at this point most people knew. Yuri’s hip still ached but Victor was still pressing into it - pressing into him, and the fullness and the rhythm was just… comfort.

Yuri sighed again, resting his forehead against his forearms on the tile. He was so frustrated with Victor - had been, anyway, but now he just looked back over his shoulder, through the misty rush of water, at the silver hair and the rosier pale skin.

So what if they were still shit at using their words. So what if they couldn’t always say what they felt, or explain why they were angry or - or whatever.

Yuri pushed back against Victor, and Victor met him, wrapped an arm around him, held him and made him feel —

So what if they were still shit at using their words.