.

.

This is hell. The most exquisite hell Otabek has ever witnessed.

A photo attaches to a blank text from Yuri, and it's a faintly lit selfie. Mostly of Yuri's face turned towards the camera, his red-raw mouth twisting up smugly, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. The next photo attaches with a LOVE YOU. Otabek realizes that he's lying down somewhere, and there's an also faintly lit profile of a man kissing Yuri's neck. He has dark, burnished skin and a twin-stud piercings in his eyebrow.

It feels like a hot rush of arousal and jealousy coursing underneath Otabek's skin. He gruffly excuses himself from the dinner table, ignoring his little sister's protest and locks his door behind him.

His mobile remains silent, for another fifteen minutes before a lone text pops up.

HIS COCK IS SMALLER THAN YOURS. STILL GONNA FUCK IT.

Yuri has enough of an attitude to talk like this, sober or not, and Otabek's groin tightens as a response.

He chooses to remain standing in the middle of his room, burrowing his fingers underneath his sweatpants. He strokes and jacks himself, tugging the foreskin over his glistening cockhead, when his mobile buzzes again.

This one— full-frontal and sublime with Yuri's naked legs spread wide-open, the hem of his featureless, charcoal-grey shirt flipped up and clenched between Yuri's jaws. He's arched back slightly, Yuuri's face reddened and his turquoise-green eyes clouded over with lust. There's a few, visible inches of thick, veiny dick exposed between Yuri's pale buttocks, with the rest of it buried deep inside him.

It doesn't end there.

Yuri keeps messaging him. He won't send him gifs or videos, or even texts, for the rest of the week. Only the shaky, half-focused photos. Sometimes of himself, partially naked and bathing in his own sweat. Otabek imagines Yuri's honey-blond hair smelling like vanilla and cologne, finely draping to his chin.

Another photo on Friday — Yuri, his throat and shoulders covered in hickeys, touches and rubs a new partner's hand over his nipples, semen glossy and fresh to Yuuri's puckered, stretched rim and his perineum.

Otabek grunts through an short-lived, ferocious orgasm, toes curling, staring down at Yuri's euphoric, open-mouthed expression. In this third photo: two nearly similar-looking cocks hover in Yuri's face. The fatter cock dangles over Yuri's lips, and the other is grasped by a white, freckled hand, pre-cum stringing to Yuri's long eyelashes. By Saturday, the jealousy flames so intensely that Otabek's very bones tremor.

He turns off his mobile.

.

.

They're not together together.

Not like Otabek wants, truly wants, but he refuses to voice it. For the sake of his pride, for the sake of Yuri's happiness. Yuri says he loves him, morning and night, and Otabek thinks he means it… but Yuri doesn't want him anymore. Not like how he thinks he does. That much is obvious.

(How can he?)

Otabek's mobile buzzes in his pocket. Nonstop.

"Jesus, Beka—I'm calling you," Yuri mutters, almost scolding him through the wifi connection. There's a bobbing of a flashlight and crunching of brittle, half-frozen glass under Yuuri's boots. "What took so long?"

He must be exploring another decrepit, abandoned house in Russia with friends.

Friends.

(Right. Yuri's new friends — the ones in the nice, filthy photos.)

"Distracted," Otabek says monotonously, gazing up at the yellowish-orange sunset tinted with rosy glow. The chilly, sunset-purple waters of the Caspian Sea rolling up to his ankles.

Yuri huffs, frost pooling around him. "I miss you," he grumbles, smiling boyishly.

This time, Otabek can't smile for him.

"You seem busy."

A barking, unamused laugh. "It's sex—not a career," Yuri tells him offhandedly. He pauses from stepping over some rubble. "I know you're not looking at the photos I sent you anymore. Are you mad at me or something?"

Otabek's stomach curdles.

"No."

"Liar."

"You're wrong," Otabek says flatly, looking down towards his feet and the waters.

Yuri rolls his eyes. "I did for you, because I thought you would get off on it—"

"—It worked," Otabek interrupts, a steely edge to his tone. He gazes into his camera, and Yuri's face, with a hard, frowning stare. "So it's over. No more photos. I don't want to know who you are fucking instead of me, Yura."

What he's not expecting is sudden, bubbling laughter escaping Yuri.

"Sorry, sorry," Yuri apologizes, cupping a mittened palm over his wide, smiling mouth as if to mask it from Otabek's sight. "This is the first time I've seen you get jealous and this is fucking great."

"… What?"

"I thought you seriously didn't care about what I was doing with other guys!"

Otabek's eyebrows furrow.

"You were… waiting for me to say something?" he asks.

The uh duh look in Yuri's eyes and his features heats Otabek's cheeks with embarrassment. The other man sighs, as if good-naturedly exasperated, resting onto a shattered, ruined windowsill leaking with moon-pale luminescence. "Beka, why do you think I sent so many dick pics that weren't mine…?"

"That's a bit manipulative."

Yuri cringes, pressing this tongue-tip to the flat of his teeth. "Yeah…" he admits bashfully, glancing away from Otabek's eyes. "I said sorry, right? I'm probably gonna be saying it for the rest of forever…"

Not forever, but it's nice to hear Yuri say it genuinely.

From then on, there's no more dick pics.

Except Otabek's.

.

.


YOI isn't mine. October may be over but there's lots more things to look forward to! I'm a day late for Otabek's birthday, but I decided to do "Day 7: Free day" for Otabek Week 2017 and to fill a prompt off yurionicekink on Dreamwidth: "Yuri/Otabek, Yuri/Other(s); netorare, masturbation" because... I can. Since this was supposed to go up in October, I can still throw this into Kinktober 2017 so woo! Any thoughts/comments appreciated!