Victor moves him, still half-flailing, less because Victor is doing it and more because he doesn't know exactly what Victor is doing, where exactly he's being dragged to, with Victor behind him, but eventually it does stop. Even if that time feels longer it really is only a handful of seconds, before Victor stops.
With Yuri pulled right up against Victor's chest. Victor's legs bracket against his hips and his thighs. Pressed up and crowded against every inch of his backside. Arms wrapped under Yuri's own, holding him in the one place ( ... or tether Victor to him? Except that's not. He wouldn't need.)
"You had to go," mumbles through another shiver, as his mouth doesn't want to remember how to work, while Victor's lips are placing surprising, then, dizzying, soft kisses against the all too thin skin of his neck, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
Reminding him, only after it's already out and said and coming round to his underwater ears, that he said those words last night, too. To Yurio. Who said nearly the same thing that Victor just did. But in such a different tone. Yurio's had escaped louder, as though it finally couldn't remain trapped inside him anymore.
Victor's was murmured against his skin, before kisses, like ... Like what? Like an apology? For doing the only thing he could have? Should have? Like Yuri doesn't know that intimately more than anyone. Like Yuri even has a clue.
Has any idea how to do more than tip toward Victor, and the brush of his head, and hair against the side of Yuri's neck and head. Feeling like maybe, suddenly, he'd never been aware of how gone Victor was. Even with how it'd all gone. How much everything had seemed ... different, empty. It was all mask on top of it, and his skin, or his head, had recorded it inch by inch, and second by second.
Thinking only for a brief flick, even as he doesn't move more than the straining lean--=, about reaching up, up from Victor's arm, to just cup the side of his head, his face, his jaw, and just hold him there, against Yuri's head, here, all around Yuri, and try to superimpose this suddenly over the echoing, aching, complicated, conflicted, wanting, needing all of that.
![[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: 2017-08-05 02:13 pm (UTC)Victor moves him, still half-flailing, less because Victor is doing it and more because he doesn't know exactly what Victor is doing, where exactly he's being dragged to, with Victor behind him, but eventually it does stop. Even if that time feels longer it really is only a handful of seconds, before Victor stops.
With Yuri pulled right up against Victor's chest. Victor's legs bracket against his hips and his thighs. Pressed up and crowded against every inch of his backside. Arms wrapped under Yuri's own, holding him in the one place ( ... or tether Victor to him? Except that's not. He wouldn't need.)
"You had to go," mumbles through another shiver, as his mouth doesn't want to remember how to work, while Victor's lips are placing surprising, then, dizzying, soft kisses against the all too thin skin of his neck, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
Reminding him, only after it's already out and said and coming round to his underwater ears, that he said those words last night, too. To Yurio. Who said nearly the same thing that Victor just did. But in such a different tone. Yurio's had escaped louder, as though it finally couldn't remain trapped inside him anymore.
Victor's was murmured against his skin, before kisses, like ...
Like what? Like an apology? For doing the only thing he could have? Should have?
Like Yuri doesn't know that intimately more than anyone. Like Yuri even has a clue.
Has any idea how to do more than tip toward Victor, and the brush of his head, and hair against the side of Yuri's neck and head. Feeling like maybe, suddenly, he'd never been aware of how gone Victor was. Even with how it'd all gone. How much everything had seemed ... different, empty. It was all mask on top of it, and his skin, or his head, had recorded it inch by inch, and second by second.
Thinking only for a brief flick, even as he doesn't move more than the straining lean--=, about reaching up, up from Victor's arm, to just cup the side of his head, his face, his jaw, and just hold him there, against Yuri's head, here, all around Yuri, and try to superimpose this suddenly over the echoing, aching, complicated, conflicted, wanting, needing all of that.