.

.

The skies though the glass, automated doors blacken, opening and showering down a torrent of rain.

Celestino squints his eyes, nearly nose-to-nose to the glass, trying to peer through the high glare of his reflection against the indoor/outdoor lighting.

Other skaters and coaches mumble uneasily, doing the same and miserably shaking their heads. The set of speakers above them dully reports about a local storm warning.

"I'm afraid there's no going out in this," Celestino announces after a moment, resigned. "Yuuri—" He glances around for his own skater, who had been trailing closely behind him, puzzled by the fact he now only sees the crowd of onlookers. "Yuuri?"

Celestino hustles around everyone, slowing to a walk as he turns down the empty hallway, and then another empty, double-ended hallway. Yuuri appears to be the lone, quiet occupant, on the far end, bundled in his warm-up "JAPAN" jacket and facing the wall. Yuuri's fists clench and bear down with his knuckles protruding bone-white.

He's unsure if this is Yuuri's anxiety, or because of his unusually low score coupled with his anxiety— but then Celestino remembers the storm. Ahh. Yuuri is prone to his irrational fear of thunderstorms, for as long as Celestino has trained with him.

"Yuuri," he whispers, dropping his voice and approaching from behind. "I'm right here." Celestino puts his hands atop Yuuri's tensing shoulders, grasping and rubbing softly.

"M'fine," Yuuri murmurs out bravely, quaking a little.

"Yes, of course." Celestino's hands venture downwards, to Yuuri's sides, holding onto him until Yuuri stills. "Everything's alright. As soon as the storm lets up, we'll go to the hotel. I'll order us some red wine and dinner." With a content, low hum, the older man leans into Yuuri's neck, amused by the hitch in Yuuri's breathing. "How's that sound?"

Without ever moving away, Celestino presses up against him, flattening them up against the wall. It takes the slow, purposeful rock of his hips, and he's mostly erect in his own trousers. Yuuri's breathing reduces to pants and little, whining groans.

"You like this?" Celestino emphasizes his point, seizing Yuuri's hips and giving with a harder, more jarring thrust to Yuuri's ass. His blood heats with equal parts thrill and shame as Yuuri makes a high, startled cry. "Me too. Your body is very beautiful, Yuuri. Let me take care of you… it's alright. The storm's almost over."

He has no idea if that's true, but Celestino reaches for Yuuri's track pants, easing them down his naked, sinewy thighs, and then undoing his own trousers.

It's likely not ethical to want to fuck your skater, he's sure of it.

But… Yuuri. Yuuri, full of his innocence and naivety and promise. He's the definition of fuckable, if Celestino has any say-so on this.

"Hold still." Celestino nudges his dick between Yuuri's opening thighs, settling there for a minute before cherishing the lewd, engulfing sensation. God almighty, he's a soft boy. "Squeeze, that's good," Celestino mutters, ready to endlessly praise him.

Yuuri's muscles clench and unclench, without rhythm. "So good," until Celestino feels the gut-tingle of a quick, filthy orgasm creeping up. He rocks Yuuri's hips back and forth, deep-dicking between his thighs with graceless, urging desire. "Just like that, Yuuri—uuhh, yes, beautiful—a little more, little more—"

His come splatters onto the wall, dripping and coating to Yuuri's skin. Celestino groans, tempted to go boneless, his mouth and nose pushed up against Yuuri's scalp.

"Almost done," he tells Yuuri, heavily breathing.

Celestino offers a toothy and knowing smile as he turns a dazed, blissed out Yuuri, hunching down. Yuuri's cock fills his mouth so nicely, tasting like salt-sweat and flesh. He licks the under-vein and sucks him down, observing with further amusement as Yuuri shudders with pleasure and covers his face with both hands, blocking his moans.

There's no better eroticism than Yuuri's warm, gooey come sliding down his throat. This isn't even the third or fourth time Celestino has given oral, so he's grateful for the practice in swallowing. What's left is the drying streak of come…

"How did you feel?" Celestino asks him, stern business as usual. Even as he's scrubbing a damp paper-towel roughly against Yuuri's wall, disposing of the evidence.

Yuuri blinks and avoids his eyes, adjusting his glasses. "I'm okay," he says flatly.

"Good, good." Celestino adjusts himself, zipping up his trousers and waits patiently for Yuuri to pull up his track pants, slinging an arm round him.

If the storm hasn't passed yet… he's sure they could find a way to pass the time.

.

.


Yuri on Ice isn't mine. Confession time: this ship is technically the first thing I half-shipped when Episode 1 aired. But for like a hot second, then I was all Viktuuri. SO EVENTUALLY I HAD TO TRY MY HAND AT THIS. LMAO. This prompt "Any/Any + NSFW, sex during a thunderstorm" came from the yoikinkmeme on Tumblr, and I hope any rarepair shippers or brave souls venturing in had a good time reading! Thank you! Comments/thoughts always welcome!