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Yuri is fucked.
When Yuri got to the ice rink for practice that morning, Katsuki had turned and smiled at him, all genuine and shit. Like they weren’t in a cut-throat competition to get the best figure skater in the world to be their coach. Like he didn't realize that Yuri was just some dumb teenager with anger issues. Like seeing a bitchy Russian kid was just the biggest fucking highlight of his day.
Stupid crybaby with his stupid smiles and stupid kindness and stupid nice family and stupid drunken dance-offs and stupid sexy pants.
Fuck.
***
When Katsuki announces that his inspiration for Eros is katsudon, Yuri laughs so hard he thinks he’s going to piss himself. Like what the actual fuck? Is he gonna stick his dick in a bowl of rice before competitions? This should go on Twitter. #turnedonbypork
But then Katsuki blushes. Even the tips of his ears go red. He scrunches up his nose in embarrassment and it’s the cutest fucking thing Yuri has ever seen. It’s even cuter than that video of the cat who eats corn on the cob in his little fucking corn bandanna.
Fuck.
***
They’re jogging to the rink, trying to get warmed up for the day. Katsuki is running in front of him and it’s fine. There’s nothing weird about this.
Then Katsuki hops up on a bench and starts doing jump squats. His ass is flexing right in front of Yuri’s face and his thighs are firm and strong and it’s really fucking distracting. Yuri kicks him.
“Hey, we’re gonna be late, asshole.”
Look, no one said he wasn’t an immature brat, okay? But what else is he supposed to do when faced, quite literally, with that ass? Well, besides the obvious. Which is actually illegal because he’s still 15. Unless Katsuki gets his grandpa’s permission to sex him up. Which first of all, no, and second of all, what the fuck, Japan? Not that he’s looked this up or anything.
Katsuki doesn’t get mad about being kicked off the bench. He just nods and shoots him a secretive little grin like he’s grateful for the reminder and they’re both in this shit together.
Fuck.
***
“Hey, Katsudon,” says Yuri, because that will never get any less funny. He slides open the door to Katsuki’s bedroom. “Victor wants…”
But what Victor wants doesn’t matter anymore. Katsuki has fallen asleep. He’s curled up in the fetal position on top of the covers with one hand reaching out and his glasses skewed against his nose. Yuri sighs. What the fuck is his life? He came to Japan to get the senior debut program Victor promised him, not to take care of some adorable, two-bit Japanese figure skater who can’t get his shit together.
He gently pulls Katsuki’s glasses off and sets them on the nightstand. There’s a small blanket draped across a chair, so he throws that over his rival, trying not to notice the way Katsuki looks all defenseless, or how that one lock of messy black hair lays across his forehead and looks like it should be brushed away…
Yuri leaves abruptly to tell Victor that Katsuki isn’t going to join them for dinner.
Fuck.
***
They are standing in a waterfall in white fucking clothing and how the fuck is he supposed to be thinking about fucking Agape when there is wet, translucent fabric clinging to Katsuki’s perfect fucking body?
There’s a thin rivulet of water streaming down Katsuki’s neck and water droplets on his cheek. His eyes are closed and the only reason that Yuri doesn’t have a fucking massive boner right now is because he’s standing in a fucking freezing cold waterfall.
Katsuki opens his beautiful brown eyes and catches Yuri looking at him. But he doesn’t get pissed off like a normal person. Oh, no. He gives him a fucking soft smile like he’s trying to be all supportive and shit. While wearing see-through clothes that are fucking molded to his chest.
Fuck!
***
Yuri is sleeping in a fucking closet in Victor’s room because all of the other rooms at the inn have been taken by fucking reporters who apparently have no fucking lives and just want to follow Victor around all the time like he hung the goddamn moon.
The only thing separating his sleeping space from Victor’s is a paper wall, which, again, what the fuck, Japan? Not that Yuri has ever gotten much privacy in his life as a sports prodigy in Russia, but still.
Anyway, the point is, he’s had to learn how to jerk off silently, which is pretty useful right now. So he’s got one hand on his dick and the other playing with his balls, and he’s breathing carefully through his nose.
The erotic picture in his mind is from about an hour ago when he’d been walking through the men’s baths, towel firmly tied around his waist, and saw Katsuki squatting on a stool, washing his hair. Just, like, not even caring that everyone could see his junk. Any perfectly innocent teenager could be casually walking by, not even wondering if there was a way to check out that ass a little, and be confronted by the full package.
Yuri’s libido seems intent on remembering every detail: the soap bubbles that ran down a firm chest, the vulnerable curve of his neck, and the way the mottled blue and green bruises on his hips contrasted with the warm tone of his skin. Idiot still can’t land a quad Salchow reliably.
Still, Yuri imagines sinking to his knees in front of that stupid fucking stool and Katsuki looking up at him in surprise before his eyes darken with desire. Or maybe he strips off his towel and just falls into Katsuki’s lap, both of them soapy and loose after a warm bath, and they start making out.
Yuri is using long strokes on his dick, lost in the scenario, until he hears a noise.
Victor, who lived by himself for twelve years, has apparently never needed to learn how to jerk off silently, even though that would be the fucking polite thing to do when you have a teenager in your fucking closet who is separated from you only by a fucking thin paper wall. There’s, like, wet sounds and Victor is moaning, which is gross, but because Yuri is 15 and getting boners every ten minutes, it’s also kind of hot? So Yuri’s listening to his own personal audio porn, trying to imagine that it’s Katsuki making the noises instead. He’s getting close, caught up in the fantasy, when Victor cries, “Yuuri...”
For a confusing second, Yuri can’t remember who’s speaking, but someone is moaning his name and it’s enough to make him come hard.
It takes a minute to recover and get his thoughts in order. What the ever-loving fuck just happened? Why did Victor say his name like that, like some creepy pedo lusting after his virgin ass?
Or… oh. Shit. He wasn’t saying Yuri’s name at all; he was saying Katsuki’s name. It was like some giant fucking cosmic joke – two assholes lying in a paper room jerking off at the same time to thoughts of the same oblivious nerd.
Yuri pulls his pillow over his face and tries not to scream.
Fuck!
***
Yuri is in the locker room putting on the white costume from Victor’s junior debut that is supposed to represent innocence or some crap. Bleh. It was the only one in the box that was small enough to fit him and it went with the theme, so whatever. But he already knows he wants something more badass for his free skate program. Maybe something with flames?
While he’s thinking about this, Katsuki steps out of the bathroom wearing skin tight black spandex and mesh. His hair is slicked back, his glasses are gone, and when he walks there’s a flash of red around his hip. He looks… well, he looks fucking terrified, is frankly how he looks, but also really fucking hot. Like, Yuri has to sit down suddenly, hot.
Turning to give him a watery but sincere smile, Katsuki says, “Ganbatte, Yuri. Good luck!”
Yuri gives him a long, cool stare meant to hide how touched he is. “Yeah, you too, Katsudon.”
Katsuki pats his shoulder as he leaves and Yuri exhales.
Fuck.
***
Where the fuck did Katsuki learn to move his hips like that? All sinuous and shit. He wasn’t doing that yesterday! Katsuki seems to have found his Eros and it sure as shit wasn’t in the velvety egg of a pork cutlet bowl. Yuri doesn’t even need to look at Victor’s face to know he’s lost. How the fuck is Agape supposed to compete with that?! Stupid Victor.
Well, he got what he came for. And he’s going to use the short program that Victor has choreographed for him to win gold at the Grand Prix Final in his senior debut. Katsuki may have beaten him twice already, but in Barcelona, he’s going down.
Aaaand, now that’s all he’s going to be able to think about on the long plane ride home.
Fuck.