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What Have You Done Now?

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“Beka, I’m here. I’m yours.” Yuri says, coming into the living room. He sounds a bit odd, there is something out of tune with him, but it sure is no surprise after all he’s been going through.

“Come here.” Otabek simply replies, for the only thing he needs right now is to have Yuri Plisetsky in his arms, and maybe then wave the fuck goodbye to everything else.

Yuri gets rid of his Vans shoes and goes to him. Otabek shoves his knitting work aside. It is probably going to unravel, but he couldn’t care less.

Because now Yuri is sitting on his laps, and Otabek is realising pretty quickly that his famous patience has gone down the drain. He wants him, and he wants him now.

He leans forward and sucks on Yuri’s neck, tasting the flavour of his skin and making it his. His saliva, mixed to the light perfume of Yuri’s sweat, smells funny, like coins that have been left in the sun for a while. It oddly reminds him of the lake he used to go on holiday to when he was a child.

He bites onto Yuri’s skin, not enough to make him bleed but hard enough to make him feel his teeth. He perceives his muscles hardening in his mouth as Yuri lets out a loud moan of pleasure and his fingers sink into Otabek’s shoulders.

There isn’t pain, at first, only the strange sensation of being somehow wet under the sleeves of the t-shirt he’s wearing, but it comes eventually, when Yuri digs his hands deeper into his skin.

Otabek jumps and lets go of Yuri’s neck to understand what’s going on with his shoulders: and he sees that he’s hurt. Vertical cuts, where Yuri’s short nails have trailed along his skin; they seem actually pretty deep, not really nasty but not to be touched without care.

Yuri’s voice sounds on the verge of either an orgasm or a breakdown when he speaks: “I wish I had other choices, than to harm the one I love.”

Otabek understands somehow. It seems to him that he was bound to suffer and perish by the hands of Yuri Plisetsky, ever since he met him at the summer camp. He saw the eyes of a soldier, back then, he should have expected that Yuri wouldn’t show mercy on him.

He decides that the cuts on his shoulders don’t matter at all. This is the last chance he has to have Yuri, and he isn’t willing to waste it.

He lifts him up, and Yuri seems to weight more than he should, but once again Otabek doesn’t care.

He wants to carry him to a bed, but it’s already too late: they make it to the kitchen before Yuri shifts in his hold, like the wild cat he is.

“Now, Beka. I can’t wait one more second.”

Otabek sits him down on the counter, and Yuri throws away all the utensils that had been previously left there with a swipe of his arm, as he climbs over it, pointing his perfect butt towards Otabek, who is quick to shove his trousers down.

It’s all strangely fast.

Otabek has often imagined to make love with him, and this is so far from it that it could even be a completely different thing: to compare his imagination to this moment would be like comparing golf and basketball.

But, once again, it doesn’t matter.

A man can walk quietly to the bus stop every morning, after waking up, taking a long shower and a quiet breakfast, but if he has no chance but to run, he has to.

And this was the case: Yuri is his last bus, and he is so late he can already see it leaving from where he is. He only has one chance to get it, to get him, and he’s not gonna miss it.

He shoves his fingers into Yuri, and he finds that he’s already loose.

“Now, Beka!” Yuri begs, and Otabek obliges.

He sinks into him and it’s a wonder. Yuri is warm, so warm, he engulfs him the way Otabek has always dreamed of, and he moans softly as he moves his hips back, as if he wanted to deepen the contact even more.

He’s quieter than Otabek would think, and calmer. He had imagined Yuri to be greedy, wanting, demanding, but he is instead soft, sweet and slow.

They move together, like they would if they were skating together on a well practised routine, something so well planned it was under their skin. Otabek doesn’t exactly feel aroused, even if he is harder than he thought he could be. It is somehow painful, for how much it’s intense, and yet he still doesn’t feel his climax approaching.

“We will be free.” Yuri says, and even if Otabek can’t see his face, he has the impression that he’s crying, or about to.

“When?” Otabek asks.

“When it ends.” Is Yuri’s cryptic response.

Otabek takes it for granted, as if it was obvious. He looks up, denying himself the sight of his cock stretching Yuri’s sensitive skin, and he sees his face in the window glass.

Outside, it’s snowing, and Yuri’s red cheeks and puffy eyes are well clear against the white background, so much it seems like an awful Halloween mask, one you would never go trick-or-treating with.

Yuri is ugly, right now, he’s a face of hate Otabek can’t understand and doesn’t want to feel.

Suddenly, a scorching heat grasps Otabek’s chest. It feels like his ribs are being torn apart, and it hurts so much he can’t even think anymore. He isn’t even aware of the thundering orgasm he’s having, as he spills his semen into Yuri.

He only knows that he wants this to be over, he wants everything to be over, because right now he feels like he has experienced all the pain a man can take without breaking.

He suddenly remembers a quote saying people don’t die when their heart gets broken, but he doesn’t believe it anymore. He can only think that, probably, hearts don’t get broken so often.

His one had bent many times, mostly because of Yuri, but now it fell once too many times.

The silhouette of a slender, small hand appears on his chest, on the left, where his broken heart is. His skin starts bleeding, and when the invisible fingers dig deeper and break his ribs there’s a splash of blood that paints Yuri’s back red.

Otabek doesn’t scream. There isn’t enough air left in his lungs to allow him to.

Instead, he grabs Yuri’s shoulder and forces him to turn around.

The look in Yuri’s eyes is still the one of a soldier, but now he’s defeated.

He’s in front of the enemy, he’s been captured, and he’s fully aware that his life is about to get thrown away like an old used diaper.

He’s been fighting a war that had no means to be fought, he carried all the intents with him and Otabek merely defended himself by his hate.

He smiles as Otabek gently caresses his neck, and he smiles as the wounds inflicted by the bare brush of his fingertips split open his jugular.

The blood flows, and mixes with Otabek’s on the kitchen counter and drips on the floor.

As they both die in each other’s arms, Yuri smiles as if he’s finally being set free from his wrongdoings, and Otabek cries as if he had been forced to put down a beautiful, miraculous creature who was suffering too much to keep on living.




Otabek woke up from his unplanned nap and tried to catch the nightmare he had, but he didn’t seem to be able to recollect it whole.

There had been blood, and sex, and some kind of a human sacrifice, but he couldn’t remember any more than that.

He had fallen asleep while crocheting, and the nail had slipped from his hands; apparently, he had then lied down over it, because he could feel its tip pressing against his shoulder.

He shifted to find a position that would allow him to get up without straining a muscle, and the nail trailed a scratch on his skin.

The dream came back to his memory in full force, leaving him shocked and disgusted.

“Oh, Yuri, what have you done?” he muttered to the empty room.