Victor's arms don't loosen like he expects they will, and Yuri can't explain how that somehow feels ... perfect. Solid, just the edge of hardness that's a lingering warning, but more than that. Just. Just solid. Just Victor holding on to him. Just him being here. Really here. Steady. Weighted. Like he's not allowed to fade away, drift away, shift, float off the bed. Be anywhere else, but right here. Why is it that makes it feel easier to breathe?
He knows he's home. He knows Victor is here. He does. (Doesn't he?) He does right now.
Even as Victor's arms do finally relax and he leans back against the back of the bed instead of still straight into Yuri's back, like a wall, or the body of an octopus, or the back of a chair. Still around him, but relaxing by parts, and pulling back to there, too. Leaving Yuri's heart to stumble steps is disoriented confusion, like it hadn't been his breath that caught in that hold, but all of his blood, maybe all of his self.
Yuri scoots a little more backward, not exactly looking back or to the side, not certain he could explain, or keep himself from blushing, not certain he wants to be any further away than he had been seconds ago. Than Victor had made them, made himself. Even if it was only supposed to be as a punishment for thinking Yuri was about to tumble off the bed on another mission. His fingers tighten on the only half-forgotten phone in his hand when Victor's cheek presses the side of his face.
Maybe more than half, when Victor's voice drifts quietly from that spot, not far above his ear and Yuri has more of urge to turn and bury his face -- in Victor's shoulder, Victor's neck, into Victor's arms the right direction -- than try to work his way through the confused muddle of something he's not sure what he's supposed to do about. Knows even what to do with. Wants to. It's a small question though.
(A lot simpler, and less stressful, than constructing a first-ever sentence.)
"We can?" Yuri answers, but the two words are more question than demand, and his shrug is mostly half-hearted.
He'll have to watch JJ at some point, but he doesn't really care about watching JJ now. He didn't have to watch JJ. There wasn't a need for that tonight. Like Yurio. Like staying if Yurio's grandfather couldn't come. Like feeling defensive at Victor's response on the phone, and guilty at the same second for coming home, even if Yurio knew it before he said it. It wasn't like that snarl of snapping ends, with too many teeth.
He'd have to do it sometime this week. Watch JJ from Canada, and whatever stops he might be hiding. JJ Leroy, with his two gold medals, from Canada and Russia, who was the biggest contender for the Finale.
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He knows he's home. He knows Victor is here. He does. (Doesn't he?) He does right now.
Even as Victor's arms do finally relax and he leans back against the back of the bed instead of still straight into Yuri's back, like a wall, or the body of an octopus, or the back of a chair. Still around him, but relaxing by parts, and pulling back to there, too. Leaving Yuri's heart to stumble steps is disoriented confusion, like it hadn't been his breath that caught in that hold, but all of his blood, maybe all of his self.
Yuri scoots a little more backward, not exactly looking back or to the side, not certain he could explain, or keep himself from blushing, not certain he wants to be any further away than he had been seconds ago. Than Victor had made them, made himself. Even if it was only supposed to be as a punishment for thinking Yuri was about to tumble off the bed on another mission. His fingers tighten on the only half-forgotten phone in his hand when Victor's cheek presses the side of his face.
Maybe more than half, when Victor's voice drifts quietly from that spot, not far above his ear and Yuri has more of urge to turn and bury his face -- in Victor's shoulder, Victor's neck, into Victor's arms the right direction -- than try to work his way through the confused muddle of something he's not sure what he's supposed to do about. Knows even what to do with. Wants to. It's a small question though.
(A lot simpler, and less stressful, than constructing a first-ever sentence.)
"We can?" Yuri answers, but the two words are more question than demand, and his shrug is mostly half-hearted.
He'll have to watch JJ at some point, but he doesn't really care about watching JJ now. He didn't have to watch JJ. There wasn't a need for that tonight. Like Yurio. Like staying if Yurio's grandfather couldn't come. Like feeling defensive at Victor's response on the phone, and guilty at the same second for coming home, even if Yurio knew it before he said it. It wasn't like that snarl of snapping ends, with too many teeth.
He'd have to do it sometime this week. Watch JJ from Canada, and whatever stops he might be hiding.
JJ Leroy, with his two gold medals, from Canada and Russia, who was the biggest contender for the Finale.