Victor's grip relents, but only enough for Yuri's fingers to throb faintly in confused memory more than actuality, and not enough for Yuri to let go. Victor's fingers staying curled through his, holding on to his hand firmly, and Yuri feels both grateful and confused, himself. Which only blurs itself straight into Victor having (what Victor always has) a ready, endless supply of questions and comments, when Yuri spends all his mind on only a handful of words (the same).
It's wrong that he almost appreciates and hates the car, and his absolute lack of anything even remotely like making that seem good (smooth? cool? beautiful? meaningful?). Anything that didn't seem desperate, or embarrassing. That didn't require the top half of him to feel too hot under his jacket. Wanting to rub at face, but not wanting to call any more attention to himself. When there's nowhere to shift or run to. No space to move even a foot or two in this seat.
Especially not when Victor asks where he ever learned that, and how much he shouldn't say it, right? That it hadn't even been twelve hours from Victor leaving before he was looking up those words. When he was supposed to be sleeping. Because Victor told him to go to sleep.
Told him to dream of Victor. Instead, not following any of his instructions.
But Victor's not done with one question because he's never done with the one question. Or one statement. Or one anything, at anytime, anywhere. He wants to know where, and then he moves on to how, and commentary on the car, which makes Yuri look at his edges a little more. The door on one side, and the gear shift middle between them. The floor board and its mat under his tennis shoes.
Again. Nothing impressive. Nothing good enough ... or worthwhile. Nor enough anywhere to hide himself, or what he'd said under it.
He doesn't even know what to make of Victor's tone. The normal amusement for Yuri's antics again.
"It can wait," is eventually what his mouth decides to settle for. Because it could. It wasn't like the having to say it, where suddenly it felt like there was absolutely no way to wait until ten seconds, rather like being ill, before it had to come out. Victor didn't have to properly respond. What was a proper response was even supposed to be, what did that mean.
Victor didn't have to respond at all. Victor could just forget Yuri'd blurted it out at his legs.
It could just die here in the car, and never be brought up again, or talked about. Ever. That was good, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zaluzianskya and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
skylark_photos
no subject
Date: 2017-07-29 01:49 pm (UTC)It's wrong that he almost appreciates and hates the car, and his absolute lack of anything even remotely like making that seem good (smooth? cool? beautiful? meaningful?). Anything that didn't seem desperate, or embarrassing. That didn't require the top half of him to feel too hot under his jacket. Wanting to rub at face, but not wanting to call any more attention to himself. When there's nowhere to shift or run to. No space to move even a foot or two in this seat.
Especially not when Victor asks where he ever learned that, and how much he shouldn't say it, right?
That it hadn't even been twelve hours from Victor leaving before he was looking up those words.
When he was supposed to be sleeping. Because Victor told him to go to sleep.
Told him to dream of Victor. Instead, not following any of his instructions.
But Victor's not done with one question because he's never done with the one question. Or one statement. Or one anything, at anytime, anywhere. He wants to know where, and then he moves on to how, and commentary on the car, which makes Yuri look at his edges a little more. The door on one side, and the gear shift middle between them. The floor board and its mat under his tennis shoes.
Again. Nothing impressive. Nothing good enough ... or worthwhile.
Nor enough anywhere to hide himself, or what he'd said under it.
He doesn't even know what to make of Victor's tone.
The normal amusement for Yuri's antics again.
"It can wait," is eventually what his mouth decides to settle for. Because it could. It wasn't like the having to say it, where suddenly it felt like there was absolutely no way to wait until ten seconds, rather like being ill, before it had to come out. Victor didn't have to properly respond. What was a proper response was even supposed to be, what did that mean.
Victor didn't have to respond at all. Victor could just forget Yuri'd blurted it out at his legs.
It could just die here in the car, and never be brought up again, or talked about. Ever. That was good, too.