There's a long moment where Yuri just looks at him, mouth firming slightly, and Victor wants to ask what? What is it, in his head? What's he thinking that has him looking so serious, why's he watching Victor instead of leaning in for that invitation, stealing the breath right out of Victor's lungs, making Victor remember that he's here again and everything is fine.
They made it to the Grand Prix Final. Maccachin is fine. They're back together again, and Yuri has a real shot at the gold Victor promised him all those months ago. Why are they even talking about the possibility of being apart again? It won't happen. It isn't happening now. When they've both wanted this for the last few days, why not just give in to it?
He's almost at the point of asking, when Yuri's hands shift gentle against his cheeks and into his hair, and Yuri is bending towards him finally, finally, and whatever he was just thinking is wiped out of existence when Yuri's mouth brushes his.
His hand dropping from Yuri's wrist to Yuri's waist, the other sliding to Yuri's back, and both of them threatening to just haul Yuri closer, harder, because this kiss is innocent and gentle and Victor thinks he might break on it like water on glass. And he shouldn't. This is all still only a week, a little over, old for Yuri. Yuri who had never even been kissed before. Yuri who still doesn't always react well when Victor loses his head a little, Yuri who gets annoyed when Victor has the presence of mind to pull away and take a breath instead of just burning them both down, damn the consequences.
So he does try, but he can't help shifting forward a little, mouth parting because a tiny sound of longing wrings its way out of him, and that does tighten his hands, pushes him forward even as he's tugging Yuri to meet him because it's been days and it may as well have been years for the way he couldn't stop thinking about this, about him, about everything he's wanted in the last two years that suddenly became a possibility.
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There's a long moment where Yuri just looks at him, mouth firming slightly, and Victor wants to ask what? What is it, in his head? What's he thinking that has him looking so serious, why's he watching Victor instead of leaning in for that invitation, stealing the breath right out of Victor's lungs, making Victor remember that he's here again and everything is fine.
They made it to the Grand Prix Final. Maccachin is fine. They're back together again, and Yuri has a real shot at the gold Victor promised him all those months ago. Why are they even talking about the possibility of being apart again? It won't happen. It isn't happening now. When they've both wanted this for the last few days, why not just give in to it?
He's almost at the point of asking, when Yuri's hands shift gentle against his cheeks and into his hair, and Yuri is bending towards him finally, finally, and whatever he was just thinking is wiped out of existence when Yuri's mouth brushes his.
His hand dropping from Yuri's wrist to Yuri's waist, the other sliding to Yuri's back, and both of them threatening to just haul Yuri closer, harder, because this kiss is innocent and gentle and Victor thinks he might break on it like water on glass. And he shouldn't. This is all still only a week, a little over, old for Yuri. Yuri who had never even been kissed before. Yuri who still doesn't always react well when Victor loses his head a little, Yuri who gets annoyed when Victor has the presence of mind to pull away and take a breath instead of just burning them both down, damn the consequences.
So he does try, but he can't help shifting forward a little, mouth parting because a tiny sound of longing wrings its way out of him, and that does tighten his hands, pushes him forward even as he's tugging Yuri to meet him because it's been days and it may as well have been years for the way he couldn't stop thinking about this, about him, about everything he's wanted in the last two years that suddenly became a possibility.
He doesn't mean to, but then, he never does.