Otabek expects another rowdy night at this club, since the weekend is in full swing.
He's way up in the DJ booth, settled in, where the laser-beam and neon lights don't hit his face. No patrons can distract him or climb up the staged platform, no matter how tipsy they are.
(The last DJ hired told Otabek one particularly gruesome horror story about a man who shattered his face while scaling one of the poles, completely blitzed and unaware of his limbs — he fell and also injured a female security guard.)
Otabek has been hit on after his shifts, and during his breaks. It's just him and the DJ booth as of now — and nothing distracts him.
Except a slinky, off-white top bathed in luminescence, like a target, when the blacklights switch on, pulsing relentlessly.
Otabek lowers his headset, narrowing his eyes.
That's his jacket…
Yuri maneuvers through the dance floor, looking around with wordless purpose, his v-neck revealing more pale, hairless skin than what's necessary. Otabek's black leather jacket hangs off Yuri's muscular-slender frame, just a tad too big for him, but he still looks fucking amazing.
That's when their eyes meet across the room, as the square floor-tiles light up ambrosial-pink, under the thick soles of Yuri's combat boots.
Otabek's groin tightens at his boyfriend's smirk.
What is this…?
A woman in her twenties, with cropped, brown hair and a nose piercing, approaches Yuri. Her body language screams fuck me, in how her forefinger plays with the lipstick-smeared rim of her glass, her head cocked, mouth puckering.
She's not even an inch from Yuri's personal space, touching over her collarbone flirtatiously.
Otabek feels his gut clench.
The dance floor morphs into sapphire-blue, and — fuckshit, oh — Yuri winks over her head, right in Otabek's direction, prying away her alcohol and taking a swig. He laughs curtly at the hilarity of her expression, walking off with her.
At the last second, Otabek remembers his job, flipping on another mix. He's got another eleven of minutes before needing to concentrate.
Yuri and the woman don't make it far, returning to the bar on the outskirts of the center dance floor, knocking back a shot or three. She is very touchy, running her willowy fingers over Yuri's arm, over his knee and the rim of his drink.
It's almost a relief when another, clearly more drunk woman tugs on her hand. Slim and brown-skinned features scrunched up in exasperation. The first woman gets up, kissing Yuri's cheek in farewell, and he kisses her as well, squeezing her wrist.
As if on cue, Yuri swivels on the barstool, glancing up at Otabek with a boyish, sharp grin.
That's the game they're gonna play, huh?
Otabek folds his arms, knowing perfectly well his boyfriend can see him, and nods. Alright. Yuri has his permission to try… an experiment.
It's really not fair that Otabek feels turned-on by Yuri receiving attention, this time from a new woman with pale blonde hair and a sequin miniskirt. She grinds up against Yuri's front. But eventually she fades away into the crowd as well.
Two men, one with violet-dyed dreadlocks and glasses, and another with an undercut, seem to be the most persistent. They attempt to drag Yuri on the floor for dirty grinding, sandwiching Otabek's boyfriend between them. Hollering and singing along with a familiar song playing.
Yuri entertains them, slow-swaying into hips and ass, unbothered by concealed erections. The edge of Yuri's top rucked up by a pair of bronze hands, exposing Yuri's tummy and those prominent, biteable hipbones.
With a tinge of pride, Otabek spots that little, reddened mark he left from the previous morning — sucking and digging his teeth under Yuri's navel, pulling a whine out of him —
He decides to leave his shift early, paging for his backup, when one of the men humping Yuri enthusiastically gropes onto the ass-tight leather pants, reaching for Yuri's zipper. Otabek doesn't have to step in, mainly because Yuri has already elbowed the creep right in the jaw. He makes his escape through the roaring crowd.
Colors warp and kaleidoscope, until Otabek walks outside into the frosty, snowy darkness.
Yuri's already there, waiting impatiently. Sweat dribbles down his neck, plastering his yellow hair. "You're too careless," Otabek breathes out, accepting the rough, bruising kiss. He's tempted to hoist Yuri into his arms, right now, pin him up against the brick wall and just…
"Don't tell me you didn't love it," Yuri says, nuzzling their mouths, cocking an eyebrow.
Otabek doesn't give him the satisfaction of an answer, but leads the way to the nearest taxi. It's more costly than the bus, which is how he got to the dance club in the first place — but it's easier to hide being fiercely aroused like this.
They're not inside the apartment soon enough. Otabek locks their front door, toeing off his shoes and ducking when Yuri throws his jacket.
As soon as a smirking, perspiration-drenched Yuri removes everything but his leather pants, Otabek's hands trace up and down Yuri's naked sides. He guides him silently out of the corridor.
More than ever, he wants to rub Yuri's pale skin raw and red, to cherish the swollen-hot feeling of the welts left on Yuri's buttocks, rewarded with the slaps and pinches done by Otabek's own hand. Yuri sobbed through the pleasure-pain, thighs quivering above the mattress, Otabek's huge, bare cock thrusting and sliding in and out noisily, squelching with tons of lubricant and the final round of warm come.
He does pin Yuri down, against the edge of the bed, grinding and listening to his boyfriend respond in soft, needful moans, and grateful.
Otabek is so, so grateful for him.
Yuri on Ice isn't mine. So you never what I never get tired of? These two. I just got added onto the Otayuri Directory on Tumblr and I'm very excited! This will be my first fic I can showcase that's recent, and if anyone's from there, come say hi! Everybody's been so nice and I love it! Alrighty, I decided to fill the prompt "Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky - flirting with others, possessive sex" over on the yurionicekink by Dreamwidth and as always, feel free to leave a comment/thoughts! :)