He can hear Yuri shifting in the dark, and feel the mattress moving with his weight, but when Yuri settles, it's on the other side of the bed, and that's not good enough for Victor. "Yuri..."
A wheedle, a complaint, a coax, even as he's shifting, a hand under the covers reaching for the pocket of warmth he can already feel. "You're too far away."
Still. Still. After days, and thousands of miles, and too many planes and trains and cars and interruptions, somehow Yuri is still too far away from him, even lying here in the same bed, in the friendly dark, with nothing ahead of them except a long night stretching into a long morning. (Whatever Yuri says, Victor isn't waking him up before Yuri's own body does, and Yuri sleeps in even on days when he'd gotten plenty of rest for days on end.)
He's scootching forward and following his hand under the sheet until it finds Yuri's waist and Victor's arm can slide over it, tightening and tugging. "Come here."
Closer. Close enough that Victor can fall asleep with his mouth in Yuri's hair and Yuri's back breathing against his chest and Yuri's side gently rising and falling under his arm. Close enough that Victor won't have to wake up at any point tonight and remind himself that Yuri is several countries and thousands of miles away.
There's a shuffle on the floor, and then a mighty dip of the bed down by his feet: Maccachin, seeing the mattress shift and sway, must have been feeling left out, because he tromps out a circle down between their ankles and settles with a bone-melting suddeness and a heavy huff of breath. He must be tired, too: the last few days have been as tough on him as they have been on Victor or Yuri.
Yuri, who Victor at least has in his grip now, encouraging him to move closer, to slip in under Victor's arm. "You're more comfortable than any pillow. I need you to sleep."
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Date: 2017-09-20 03:33 am (UTC)He can hear Yuri shifting in the dark, and feel the mattress moving with his weight, but when Yuri settles, it's on the other side of the bed, and that's not good enough for Victor. "Yuri..."
A wheedle, a complaint, a coax, even as he's shifting, a hand under the covers reaching for the pocket of warmth he can already feel. "You're too far away."
Still. Still. After days, and thousands of miles, and too many planes and trains and cars and interruptions, somehow Yuri is still too far away from him, even lying here in the same bed, in the friendly dark, with nothing ahead of them except a long night stretching into a long morning. (Whatever Yuri says, Victor isn't waking him up before Yuri's own body does, and Yuri sleeps in even on days when he'd gotten plenty of rest for days on end.)
He's scootching forward and following his hand under the sheet until it finds Yuri's waist and Victor's arm can slide over it, tightening and tugging. "Come here."
Closer. Close enough that Victor can fall asleep with his mouth in Yuri's hair and Yuri's back breathing against his chest and Yuri's side gently rising and falling under his arm. Close enough that Victor won't have to wake up at any point tonight and remind himself that Yuri is several countries and thousands of miles away.
There's a shuffle on the floor, and then a mighty dip of the bed down by his feet: Maccachin, seeing the mattress shift and sway, must have been feeling left out, because he tromps out a circle down between their ankles and settles with a bone-melting suddeness and a heavy huff of breath. He must be tired, too: the last few days have been as tough on him as they have been on Victor or Yuri.
Yuri, who Victor at least has in his grip now, encouraging him to move closer, to slip in under Victor's arm. "You're more comfortable than any pillow. I need you to sleep."