The heat in the car is really coming on now, and he takes one hand off the wheel to reach up and adjust first the knob on the dashboard –– so it doesn't get too warm while Yuri's still bundled up –– and then the scarf around his neck, tugging it loose from his throat. That hand drops to his thigh, unnecessary: it's an easy drive and there isn't much in the way of traffic. He can just relax.
Yuri's watching him every time he glances over, and something deep and pleased in his chest shifts and curls against itself, warming. He's used to Yuri watching him –– those first few days here, it seemed like Yuri never took his eyes off him, although his expression back then had mostly been shocked wariness. Yuri watches him closely through much of their training, almost as closely as Victor watches him, studying the lines he makes, his technique, his form.
It's never been like this, though.
It almost feels as intimate as a gaze across pillows, in the dim light of morning before anyone else in the house or hotel is awake, Yuri watching him. Head resting against the back of his seat, solemn brown eyes fixed on him. He could be resting, or napping, or looking out the window as they approach his childhood home, but he isn't.
He's watching Victor. "It'll be nice to have a full month before we have to go anywhere else."
A month to perfect Yuri's routines, but it's plenty of time. Everything has been timed for Yuri to peak at the Grand Prix Final itself, not before, and he's well on his way there. Even yesterday's free skate, disastrous as it began, finished all right because Yuri is only getting better and better. He could fix it on the fly, focus himself, bring it all together.
The Yuri of two years ago would have fallen apart completely.
(The Yuri of two years ago didn't have Victor.
Not that this one did,
either.
"And to stop living out of our suitcases for a while."
no subject
The heat in the car is really coming on now, and he takes one hand off the wheel to reach up and adjust first the knob on the dashboard –– so it doesn't get too warm while Yuri's still bundled up –– and then the scarf around his neck, tugging it loose from his throat. That hand drops to his thigh, unnecessary: it's an easy drive and there isn't much in the way of traffic. He can just relax.
Yuri's watching him every time he glances over, and something deep and pleased in his chest shifts and curls against itself, warming. He's used to Yuri watching him –– those first few days here, it seemed like Yuri never took his eyes off him, although his expression back then had mostly been shocked wariness. Yuri watches him closely through much of their training, almost as closely as Victor watches him, studying the lines he makes, his technique, his form.
It's never been like this, though.
It almost feels as intimate as a gaze across pillows, in the dim light of morning before anyone else in the house or hotel is awake, Yuri watching him. Head resting against the back of his seat, solemn brown eyes fixed on him. He could be resting, or napping, or looking out the window as they approach his childhood home, but he isn't.
He's watching Victor. "It'll be nice to have a full month before we have to go anywhere else."
A month to perfect Yuri's routines, but it's plenty of time. Everything has been timed for Yuri to peak at the Grand Prix Final itself, not before, and he's well on his way there. Even yesterday's free skate, disastrous as it began, finished all right because Yuri is only getting better and better. He could fix it on the fly, focus himself, bring it all together.
The Yuri of two years ago would have fallen apart completely.
(The Yuri of two years ago didn't have Victor.
"And to stop living out of our suitcases for a while."