It feels right in a way even all the other "right" things in his life have never felt before. It's not like the perfect control of a jump he's practiced until it's muscle memory ingrained so deeply he could do it in his sleep, or the precise angle of his arm or drape of his fingers during a step sequence. It's not the weight of a gold medal against his chest, around his neck, or the flash and glitz of cameras. It's not even the simple rightness of movement, of dance and stretching and the forward momentum of a long run.
All of those thing feel right. All of those things are only him, enjoying the satisfaction of a body in excellent shape, reaping the benefits of decades of intensive training, accepting his natural place in the world. His accomplishments. The delight in simple motion.
This is the first time he's extended that sensation from I to us.
It's right in a way nothing else is, because he's never felt he was missing half of himself before, has never experience what it feels like to become whole after being broken. If he had to compare it, he'd say it's like coming home, except it isn't. He isn't welcoming Yuri back to Hasetsu, he's welcoming Yuri back to him.
It's no longer strange that being in Moscow felt a little odd and off. Russia isn't his home anymore:
Yuri is.
The push at his shoulders takes him by surprise, and he's blinking at Yuri's suddenly clear face (even now, he can't help but notice that Yuri looks especially determined, the way he did when he said please teach me all the jumps you know and I'm going to give it all the eros I've got! and don't ever take your eyes off me), but Yuri doesn't wait long before he's barreling forward just as aggressively, just as passionately as he just did through the door. Saying.
Please.
Saying.
Be mine.
Victor's shoulders and expression loosening, relaxing into the first real smile he's felt since he'd celebrated with Yuri in the kiss and cry what feels like centuries ago. It's tired and worn and nothing like his usual expansive excitement, but it feels like him.
And isn't that what Yuri wants him to be?
It's overwhelming in a new and completely different way: not like being crashed into by a wave, but like floating in crystal clear, warm water and slowly sinking below the surface. Looking up to find everything in front of, above him, suddenly lit through jeweled waves, as clear as it's ever been, more beautiful than words, suffused with sunlight.
It doesn't call for a hug, or a tackle, or even a kiss: it's more subdued than that, more private, more personal, more precious, more fragile. Making him reach for Yuri's hand, to lift it to his lips for a kiss. Because.
"It's almost like a marriage proposal."
Because instead of Victor chasing him, or coaxing him, or waiting for him, Yuri
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All of those thing feel right. All of those things are only him, enjoying the satisfaction of a body in excellent shape, reaping the benefits of decades of intensive training, accepting his natural place in the world. His accomplishments. The delight in simple motion.
This is the first time he's extended that sensation from I to us.
It's right in a way nothing else is, because he's never felt he was missing half of himself before, has never experience what it feels like to become whole after being broken. If he had to compare it, he'd say it's like coming home, except it isn't. He isn't welcoming Yuri back to Hasetsu, he's welcoming Yuri back to him.
It's no longer strange that being in Moscow felt a little odd and off. Russia isn't his home anymore:
The push at his shoulders takes him by surprise, and he's blinking at Yuri's suddenly clear face (even now, he can't help but notice that Yuri looks especially determined, the way he did when he said please teach me all the jumps you know and I'm going to give it all the eros I've got! and don't ever take your eyes off me), but Yuri doesn't wait long before he's barreling forward just as aggressively, just as passionately as he just did through the door. Saying.
Please.
Victor's shoulders and expression loosening, relaxing into the first real smile he's felt since he'd celebrated with Yuri in the kiss and cry what feels like centuries ago. It's tired and worn and nothing like his usual expansive excitement, but it feels like him.
It's overwhelming in a new and completely different way: not like being crashed into by a wave, but like floating in crystal clear, warm water and slowly sinking below the surface. Looking up to find everything in front of, above him, suddenly lit through jeweled waves, as clear as it's ever been, more beautiful than words, suffused with sunlight.
It doesn't call for a hug, or a tackle, or even a kiss: it's more subdued than that, more private, more personal, more precious, more fragile. Making him reach for Yuri's hand, to lift it to his lips for a kiss. Because.
"It's almost like a marriage proposal."
Because instead of Victor chasing him, or coaxing him, or waiting for him, Yuri