Whatever Yuri might think about his own weakness and inability to keep everything orderly, in its places, react properly, Victor doesn't stop to chastise him, or worse, to laugh at him for that uncontrolled sound. Victor doesn't stop at all. Victor's mouth doesn't lift from his, and his hands come to life over Yuri's back, confusing his impulses between the need to keep pressing into this kiss or the one that wants to push into those hands.
Victor makes that a little easier when he doesn't relent, but the hands on his back only pull him closer to Victor. Like none of this is close enough for Victor, and nothing Yuri's done or said is so bad he should be sent away, stopped, left alone (again, again, again) and Yuri's everything feels like it's there. It understands that. Which only makes it needier, more desperate, more quickly frustrated when it's nearly impossible to move in some ways, like this, semi-backward, semi-sideways.
As much as his body can move and bend in ways much of the world can't still at his same age, he can't actually force his side muscles or his spine to just remove themselves so he can kiss Victor better.
He doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to second guess it, even as it's happening in his head, questions, too many questions, concern and calling attention to anything that changes anything even slightly enough to draw the focus to whatever he's doing, change, still has the gal to not find anything, everything this already is enough (enough, enough). Pushing up slightly on the knee collapsed under him, and one hand with purchase on Victor's shoulder, trying to turn just a little more still toward Victor and away from everything else.
The computer. The open door. The world. The weekend behind him. Just for a minute. Can't he have just this for a minute. Just Victor.
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Whatever Yuri might think about his own weakness and inability to keep everything orderly, in its places, react properly, Victor doesn't stop to chastise him, or worse, to laugh at him for that uncontrolled sound. Victor doesn't stop at all. Victor's mouth doesn't lift from his, and his hands come to life over Yuri's back, confusing his impulses between the need to keep pressing into this kiss or the one that wants to push into those hands.
Victor makes that a little easier when he doesn't relent, but the hands on his back only pull him closer to Victor. Like none of this is close enough for Victor, and nothing Yuri's done or said is so bad he should be sent away, stopped, left alone (again, again, again) and Yuri's everything feels like it's there. It understands that. Which only makes it needier, more desperate, more quickly frustrated when it's nearly impossible to move in some ways, like this, semi-backward, semi-sideways.
As much as his body can move and bend in ways much of the world can't still at his same age,
he can't actually force his side muscles or his spine to just remove themselves so he can kiss Victor better.
He doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to second guess it, even as it's happening in his head, questions, too many questions, concern and calling attention to anything that changes anything even slightly enough to draw the focus to whatever he's doing, change, still has the gal to not find anything, everything this already is enough (enough, enough). Pushing up slightly on the knee collapsed under him, and one hand with purchase on Victor's shoulder, trying to turn just a little more still toward Victor and away from everything else.
The computer. The open door. The world. The weekend behind him.
Just for a minute. Can't he have just this for a minute. Just Victor.