Prompt Post 1

[makkachin]

Notes: This post might contain adult contents. Proceed at your own discretion.

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Rules (May change later):
1.Anon not necessary but recommended.
2.Put pairings/kinks/tropes/warnings on the comment title.
3.Any kink is fine. Fic or art fills is fine. Multi fills is encouraged.
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5.For the ease of prompt finding and email tracking please use full names from the official site in the comment title, except please write Yuri Katsuki as Yuuri Katsuki to differentiate him from Yuri Plisetsky.
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<sub>Names:
-Yuuri Katsuki
-Victor Nikiforov
-Yuri Plisetsky
-Seung Gil Lee
-Emil Nekola
-Otabek Altin
-Georgi Popovich
-Cristophe Giacometti
-Guang-Hong Il
-Jean-Jacques Leroy
-Phichit Chulanont
-Michele Crispino
-Kenjiro Minami
-Leo De La Iglesia

-Toshiya Katsuki, Hiroko Katsuki, Mari Katsuki
-Takeshi Nishigori, Yuko Nishigori, Axel / Lutz / Loop Nishigori
-Minako
-Hisashi Morooka
-Yakov Feltsman
-Celestino Cialdini
-Mira Babicheva
-Lilia Baranovskaya
-Sara Crispino
-Kolya Plisetsky</sub>


Ao3 collection:
https://archiveofourown.org/collections/YuriOnIceKink

Comments

Dolcetto Part 1/3, groping, dub-con/drunk sex.

[(Anonymous)]

So this got a bit longer than intended. I may...do more to this, with 100% more Yuuri getting railed by Celestino. But hopefully what I have now will suffice, anon :>

- - - - - - - - -

He doesn’t, as a rule, get involved with students. Or colleagues. Too messy either side of things. But Yuuri is just shy of twenty, heart-achingly beautiful, and has an Ina Bauer that makes Celestino want to weep.

He’s not foolish enough to think he’s in love or anything. Yuuri is attractive, and dedicated, and if Celestino were a younger man, he might make a fool of himself trying to woo him the same way the hockey players who share their ice do. Yuuri, to his credit, either doesn’t notice their interest, or doesn’t care. The boy’s halfway in love with Victor Nikiforov - something more urgent and intense than a schoolboy crush - but he does show interest, in occasional, fleeting moments. Shoots little sidewards glances towards the hockey team. Sometimes gets even more flustered, tongue-tied around a couple of the older ice dancers; lets them lead him around when he can be persuaded to goof off, in between practices.

So Celestino doesn’t think much past acknowledging Yuuri’s attractiveness at first. Celestino has a job to do and Yuuri’s attractiveness is a fact in the way that the sky is blue. No need to go humiliating himself like a teenager over another pretty young thing.

Until Celestino notices Yuuri...noticing.

Yuuri thinks Celestino isn’t looking when he does it. Darts his gaze away when he realises he is. It’s a surprise, but a pleasant one, and Celestino is proud enough that he lets Yuuri take his time before disrupting him. He might not be in top shape for competing anymore, but Celestino keeps active, has always had a pretty athletic build that's only a little soft now, under what he does to maintain it.

Judging from the flush Yuuri gets, the nervous way his pink tongue darts out to wet his lower lip when they share the gym, the effort doesn’t go unappreciated.

It’s a funny little thing, once he notices it. Because he suddenly realises it’s everywhere. Yuuri goes quiet, red-faced when he adjusts him during practice and Celestino can feel the steady, slow burn of Yuuri’s gaze on his back - his hands - the side of his face.

And yet, somehow, it takes him a while to realise what it means. Is helping Yuuri through a stretch when it clicks into place, that Yuuri is interested in him, the way he was interested in the hockey players, and the ice dancers.

Celestino is many things, but he isn’t a liar - he’s interested too.

So he lets his hands linger on Yuuri’s shoulders. Feels the burning warmth of his skin through his exercise clothes. And when he helps with leg extensions, he may or may not let his hand drift a little further up Yuuri’s knee than is entirely necessary; Yuuri’s strong and soft there, at the same time. Apparently sensitive too, given the hitch in his breath, the way he goes taut for a moment - and Celestino wonders, briefly, if he’s pushed too much, or too far, before Yuuri slightly, subtly, spreads his legs just wide enough for his hand to creep up further.

Celestino lets his hand rest there, fingers just brushing the inside of Yuuri’s thigh, rubs the warm flesh beneath his thumb. He glances up at yuuri’s face, and is drawn to a sharp stop at the sight; Yuuri’s eyes are looking somewhere around Celestino’s torso, and his lips are parted, just enough that Celestino can see the nervous swipe of his tongue.

Then Yuuri looks up, catches Celestino’s eye. He gets that determined look, shuts his mouth and sets his jaw - and just like that, the moment’s gone. They finish up without any more wandering hands, and when Celestino watches Yuuri leave, he thinks maybe Yuuri’s back is a little straighter - his steps more sure than usual.

Celestino replays the scene in his head when he goes to bed that night.

He feels twitchy and excited, like a teenager. Gets hard as quick and easy as one, when he remembers the small acquiescence of Yuuri and imagines it on a grander scale. He strokes himself to the image of Yuuri spread out, open, beneath him. The beautiful strength in those arms, those legs, that chest as he strains and twists under Celestino's touch.

He imagines Yuuri under his hands, and spreading his legs - more than a fraction, more than enough for Celestino to slide in between them. He imagines how it would feel to press into him and is startled when some ragged, sharp part of him appears that wants to wreck Yuuri. Take him until he's senseless and stupid - give it to him how the young men he's flirted with couldn't possibly hope to. To drag pleasure out of him until he's overstimulated and fuck it into him until he's incoherent.

It's with this twisting, thorny though that Celestino comes, with a surprised gasp, into his fist.


- - -


It becomes a thing, when he helps Yuuri with his stretches. He lets his hands weigh heavy on him, and when he’s sure that Yuuri’s not actually going to pull a muscle, he lets his fingers roam; Yuuri lets them, gives no indication that there’s anything going on outside of the ordinary save for the way his ears go pink.

Celestino’s hands slide further up his legs, brush over the warm material of his track pants. Once he’s sure enough, Celestino lets his fingers slide from Yuuri’s shoulders to the small of his back - enjoys the flex of muscle there. After enough time his fingertips are shaping the curve of Yuuri’s ass and Yuuri is leaning into his touch, giving breathy little sighs when he’s feeling brave enough.

Yuuri starts touching him back - though not as bold as Celestino’s been. He lets their hands brush when a water bottle gets handed over, presses into Celestino’s side when he slings an arm round his shoulders.

Celestino’s letting his hand creep up Yuuri’s legs one night - in the middle of some stretches that have his eyes watering and his dick twitching - when Yuuri places his hand over Celestino’s and firmly guides his touch further up than he’s allowed himself before.

Yuuri’s shaking, and Celestino’s not sure how much of it is from exertion. He pauses when he’s got Celestino’s hand at the crease of his thigh. If Celestino moves an inch to the side, he’ll have Yuuri in his hand, so to speak. He’s frozen against Yuuri’s back, heart thudding and half-hard; he waits, and waits for Yuuri make his decision.

After a moment, he presses Celestino’s hand the last inch.

He’s hard under Celestino’s palm, and Celestino inhales sharply through his nose - is aching in his own pants now, and has to restrain himself from rubbing himself against Yuuri. From breaking the fragile beauty of this moment. Instead, he squeezes, lets his thumb circle the outline of Yuuri’s dick in his track pants, and drinks in the surprised, little sound Yuuri makes. The way he rocks his hips, can’t stop himself from trying to rut into Celestino’s palm.

They remain like that for what feels like a decade, but is probably barely a minute. Celestino rubbing, slowly, teasing, as Yuuri tries to push him harder, faster - all but humps his hand.

God, to be twenty again, Celestino thinks, as Yuuri writhes in his hands. Begs without saying a word. And that vicious little part of him crops up again, wants to have Yuuri shaking apart and speechless, unable to do or say anything that isn’t him. He slides his other hand round Yuuri’s hip, tugs his thighs further apart so he can’t get the friction he’s trying for, and lets his hand slide further between - under him now. Presses his palm against his erection as his fingers rub, probe, make a faint impression of intent in the direction of his ass. Of wanting to be inside him, to spread him open.

Yuuri grabs his forearm, nails digging in, and whines, “wait -”

It’s the most amazing sound Celestino’s ever heard him make, and it inspires him to play mean. Manhandles Yuuri shamelessly now, like he’s laying claim over what lies between his legs. Laying on hands like a priest, and enjoying the way Yuuri’s cock swells in his grip, the tacky, damp of precum spreading through the thin material of his workout gear.

Then, as Yuuri begins to draw in a taut arch away from him, utters a pitchy “please”, Celestino releases him. Dredges up a monumental amount of self-control to step, wobbly-legged, away from him. Take his hands off, and pretend like he doesn’t need the gulp of air he has to take.

He counts to ten as he breathes in, then out, and shuts his eyes to the sight of Yuuri trembling in front of him. When he opens them again, Yuuri’s still turned away from him, breathing like he’s just run a marathon and hips still moving, restlessly against nothing; he’s placed his hands on the wall before him, has arranged himself in an appealing arch, for Celestino to watch, or touch, or mount -

Celestino steps forward. Slides his hands gently round Yuuri’s hips, before yanking them back, making sure he feels how hard Celestino is. What he’s done to him, what he can expect if they continue this. He spreads one hand across the small of Yuuri's back in a proprietary gesture, then rolls his hips against Yuuri once, twice, enough to get his point across, for the glorious pressure of sliding his dick against Yuuri's warm body.

Then he releases him again. Lets his hands trail down Yuuri’s ass. Grabs and gropes it shamelessy before finally, finally stepping away.

Yuuri makes a desperate, wanting sound, releases the wall to try and catch Celestino's hands, keep them on his body.

Celestino sounds calmer than he feels when he finally manages to say “goodnight, Yuuri”, and turns to go.

It should be agonising, to leave him there, and it is. But mostly it soothes the feral thing in Celestino’s chest, in his dick, to think, with some wickedness, that Yuuri’s been left wanting. Practically gagging for him. He makes it to his car before he has to take himself in hand, and it’s almost violent this time, how he pulls pleasure from himself.

He touches himself to the image of Yuuri asking for things he doesn’t know he wants. The idea that he doesn’t understand what he’s begging for, that he just knows that he wants, that he aches for whatever Celestino will give him has him swearing, curling his toes. And then he thinks of the arch of his spine, the soft curve that is Yuuri’s body, being made available for him.

Celestino thinks of how easy he’ll be to open up, how warm he’ll feel around the head of his dick, and is halfway through the mental image of his own come sliding down those fucking perfect thighs when he has to stifle a yell. Spills over his own fingers, droplets of come running onto his own thighs, dark, wet spots of want on the material of his trousers.

After, when he tucks himself away, and has recovered enough to drive, he knows. The knowledge sits heavy in his gut, wrapped in tendrils of shame and desire, pride and guilt.

Celestino is going to fuck this boy. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

And he’s going to absolutely ruin him.


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