Insomnia (OtaYuri fanfic)

Chapter 3: The realisation

The days went by the same. Yuri wouldn't wake up to see Otabek before leaving to his job, and most of the time, it wasn't because Yuri wouldn't want to. He wished to see him with all of his heart. But these days, he could only find him either on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, looking deep in thought, and most of the time, when he'd try to talk to him, he'll get ignored, always ending up asking himself why. He just gave up the idea. They were drifting apart and there was no helping it. But there is something that he couldn't remember: and that was the nights. However, Otabek remembered every single detail of every night they'd spend together. Each night, Yuri would come home drunk, defeated and hurt back into Otabek's arms, the toned male being more than happy to be his shoulder to cry on. And each time, the Russian would start touching him, kissing him, seducing him, and in the end, using him. Using him to replace someone else, using him as a toy to forget himself just for a little while. But it would never go any further than touching and kissing and making out. Otabek would never let it go any further. And Yuri didn't remember one bit of those drunken nights, the alcohol in his blood acting like a replay button, making him forget everything, yet act the same way, leaving Otabek with those beautiful, yet painful memories. He was being used. He was aware of that. And this awareness, along with the fact that he would never drink enough to forget what was happening, hurt like hell. He wished he could forget. He wished he could wake up like nothing happened everyday like Yuri did. But he couldn't. Cause every night they'd spend together, he was sober. And because of that, he remembered every single night. He cherished those memories. Of the beautiful boy's cold hands touching his body, of him kissing his lips so hungerly, the taste of alcohol on the tip of his tongue, that all so appealing, erotic look in his eyes, his beautiful emerald orbs full of lust each time they looked into his, those sweet whispers of his, beautiful words that until then were unspoken being whispered in his ear every night. He remembered it all. And this was what he dreamed of, what he wished for. He loved every single night together, every touch, every kiss, every whisper. But he knew it was all a lie, a perfect illusion that he was living in, it was like a beautiful night dream, the next day waking up to the cruel reality, defeated, used, humiliated and heartbroken. Yuri didn't love him, he was using him to forget someone he loves. And that was more painful than anything. So the only thing he could do was smoking his lungs out, until they would give up on him, until he won't even be able to speak, until the smoke would blurr his vision and cover everything around until he forgets who he is. It was his way of preparing himself for another night of pleasure and absolute torture.

The night came, and the teenager once again came back home drunk, the first thing he did being in the state he was, he went straight to Otabek, pulling him into a passionate kiss like he already knew what it was about to happen. Maybe he didn't remember, yet, however, for his body, Otabek's touch became a routine, it became like a drug, something that his body craved for. Otabek didn't even give it a second thought, automatically taking the Russian's jacket off, desperately trying to touch him, his hands going up his shirt almost mechanically, kissing as passionate as ever, like his life depends on it, like Yuri ment it. He pinned the young boy to the floor, kissing down his neck, Yuri's hands pinned above his head, one hand slightly massaging his inner thigh, a move that turned his roommate on, earning soft moans from him, who was in pure bliss. At this point, Otabek already knew what he liked, after all these nights toying around, he knew how to turn him on and most importantly, how to get him hard. He knew it was wrong to do so, to touch him to the point where he gets hard. But, deep down, this act made him feel like somewhere, in his drunken states, he could actually feel something for the toned man. He felt like, if he can't have Yuri's heart, at least his body could love him. Yuri's shirt was long gone as the Kazakh kissed down his chest, placing a hand on the pretty boy's chest, with two fingers rubbing over his hardened nipple, earning slightly louder moans, but not loud enough, in the Kazakh's mind. He moved his kissing down his neck to his chest, until he reached his nipple, brushing his tongue over it, lust being the only thing you could see in his eyes as he did so. Yuri's moans got louder as little gasps were escaping his lips, looking down at his crotch, getting a view of Otabek's as well. They were both hard. The bulge in their pants was way too obvious. That man... How he could turn him on only by touching him. He was so in love with that touch, that toned body, those soft lips... It was no mistaking it, he was attracted to him, that was for sure. He left his roomate's hand rubbing his crotch, bitting his lip as he tried to hold back any sounds. And that's when the Kazakh slid his hand into his pants, starting to rub on Yuri's member, the response being short pants and loud moans, accompanied by his own name being called in pure bliss. He raised his head, getting closer to the teenager's face and smashing his lips over his, kissing hungrily as he moved his hand faster, his partner's body as well as his, being drenched from the sweat, the Russian not caring how loud he was at the moment, or how he might disturb the neighbours. All he cared about was the pleasure he was getting right now. He wanted more. He wanted to feel Otabek. To feel his warmth inside of him as he whispered sweet nothings into his ear. The passionate kiss parted for a moment as the Russian said through moans "B-Beka! I-I love you- ah!" His breathing was unstable and he was slightly trembling from the amount of pleasure he was receiving. Soon enough, he came, Otabek gritting his teeth in anger as the fluid went down his hand, looking at the boy with pure anger in his eyes. He was ok with being his toy until now. But when he heard him say 'I love you' in his drunken state, his name moaned continuously as he pleasured the boy, he couldn't take it anymore. He was ok with being a physical toy, a shoulder to cry on, someone he can just love whenever he pleases, but he won't tolerate him intentionally playing with his feelings, seducing him with 'I love you', pretending to care and throw him away afterwards. With what little pride he had left, he got up, clenching his still dirty fist as he said through his teeth "What a load of bullshit." He then looked up, yelling in anger "Don't you fucking dare mock my feelings for you!". He turned, leaving Yuri shocked, walking back to the bathroom. The pretty boy never saw his roommate angry before. Not with him, that is. And this was certainly a surprise, making the Russian feel a pain in his chest. One that he never felt before. Was he rejected? But why? It seemed like it was going so well. He felt tears rolling down his face, trying to swallow them although it was too late. His heart was  shattered into pieces and he just wanted to get swallowed by the ground. He put a robe over his bare body, walking towards te balcony, and doing what he saw Otabek would do whenever he was upset: he took one of his roommate's pack of cigarettes, lit one, and started smoking. A few coughs escaped his throat at the first puff, as he continued, knowing that soon enough he'll get used to it.

In the meantime, a toned, dark haired male was sitting on the cold floor of their flat's bathroom, resting his head against the wall, the only thing covering his body being his black boxers, a visible wet spot and a bulge being seen in there. He looked at his hand in which Yuri's cum was still present, thinking of the moments that just passed. He closed his eyes, giving his hand a lick, the name of his friend popping into his mind once again, the moments, the heat, the sweet whispers, the intimacy, everything replaying in his head. He slowly slid his hand down his boxers, starting to rub on his member. "Yuri..." He silently said to himself, imagining that the Russian was there with him, touching him, whispering his name, moaning in pleasure. "Yuri.. Y-Yuri- ah!" The moments they shared kept replaying as he was masturbating to a memory, to a moment that meant nothing, and furthermore, the part that replayed in his head the most was the moment Yuri said he loves him. His voice echoed through the walls of the bathroom, the only thing you could hear being the Kazakh male's voice screaming his friends name as he was pleasuring himself and his loud, low moans occasionally followed by short grunts. Luck made it that his roommate didn't hear anything, the door of the balcony locked as he smoke, tears still rolling down his cheeks even through his blank stare fixed on nothing in particular. His body could very well freeze to death, wearing nothing but a robe in the rough cold of St. Petersburg.