Loud enough that his heart leaps into the base of his throat, and he swears that single use of his name, already sliding into other words, can't possibly have been quiet enough not to be heard through walls that aren't so much paper-thin as just not nearly as thick as any of their recent ones. Bringing to mind too many, and not enough to even be counted anywhere near many, nights last week. Nearby, even a bed away, with whispered goodnights and morning plans in the dark (and this; this, too, more than once).
Yuri mouth had already been open to say something -- Yuri doesn't even know what specifically, about the walls, or being quieter, or something on the string of his panic -- but then Victor's fingers landed on his side stealing it away, with the flutter of muscles that tightened in surprise. Even as Victor was still talking, telling him to Come here, while Victor was already tugging his body one way and bringing himself to the middle of the bed, too.
So that Yuri's awareness seemed to go straight from Victor's hand, to Victor right there inches away. Then, even less.
His heart, the eternal traitor in any part of this equation where he tried to be sensible. Beating like a drum at that spot at the bottom of his throat, refusing to really let any air in, and act as propulsion for a snap of movement he can't even say he saw coming. This necessary overwhelmed close, but not close enough that Victor was half-complaining, half-wining, mostly-fixing for himself, that seemed to suddenly strike a deep, dark, tried to be ignored note in Yuri, too. It went without warning.
A little awkward in the dark, but all a thrust of movement forward, burying himself into the front of Victor.
Not quite. It wasn't. It was ... half like hugging someone, even with one of his arms pressed under him, his other arms slipped up against Victor's side, or maybe it was part of his back, without even checking in with Yuri's head. Like the rest of him, not doing that. When he can't keep that thought long.
Not when Victor's shirt is skin warm against all of his face, and that warm, but cool scent, that is all Victor, and still reminds Yuri so much of ice somehow, is suddenly on every breath in, and Yuri doesn't want to let go even when there's a shrill alarm in his head trying to rouse itself. But, he doesn't want to let go. Pull back. Not yet. Not here in the dark. Not even when there's suddenly the drop of Maccachin between their legs, making this possibly a little more awkward. But that doesn't seem to phase Victor in the slightest who goes right on talking.
There's a noise that might have meant to be neutrally dubious at Victor's last words, Victor saying he needed Yuri to sleep, but it's hard to say what really makes it out and what stays utterly muffled right into the center of Victor's chest with the rest of Yuri's mouth.
no subject
His name sounds louder in the dark.
Loud enough that his heart leaps into the base of his throat, and he swears that single use of his name, already sliding into other words, can't possibly have been quiet enough not to be heard through walls that aren't so much paper-thin as just not nearly as thick as any of their recent ones. Bringing to mind too many, and not enough to even be counted anywhere near many, nights last week. Nearby, even a bed away, with whispered goodnights and morning plans in the dark (and this; this, too, more than once).
Yuri mouth had already been open to say something -- Yuri doesn't even know what specifically, about the walls, or being quieter, or something on the string of his panic -- but then Victor's fingers landed on his side stealing it away, with the flutter of muscles that tightened in surprise. Even as Victor was still talking, telling him to Come here, while Victor was already tugging his body one way and bringing himself to the middle of the bed, too.
So that Yuri's awareness seemed to go straight from Victor's hand, to Victor right there inches away. Then, even less.
His heart, the eternal traitor in any part of this equation where he tried to be sensible. Beating like a drum at that spot at the bottom of his throat, refusing to really let any air in, and act as propulsion for a snap of movement he can't even say he saw coming. This necessary overwhelmed close, but not close enough that Victor was half-complaining, half-wining, mostly-fixing for himself, that seemed to suddenly strike a deep, dark, tried to be ignored note in Yuri, too. It went without warning.
A little awkward in the dark, but all a thrust of movement forward, burying himself into the front of Victor.
Not quite. It wasn't. It was ... half like hugging someone, even with one of his arms pressed under him, his other arms slipped up against Victor's side, or maybe it was part of his back, without even checking in with Yuri's head. Like the rest of him, not doing that. When he can't keep that thought long.
Not when Victor's shirt is skin warm against all of his face, and that warm, but cool scent, that is all Victor, and still reminds Yuri so much of ice somehow, is suddenly on every breath in, and Yuri doesn't want to let go even when there's a shrill alarm in his head trying to rouse itself. But, he doesn't want to let go. Pull back. Not yet. Not here in the dark. Not even when there's suddenly the drop of Maccachin between their legs, making this possibly a little more awkward. But that doesn't seem to phase Victor in the slightest who goes right on talking.
There's a noise that might have meant to be neutrally dubious at Victor's last words, Victor saying he needed Yuri to sleep, but it's hard to say what really makes it out and what stays utterly muffled right into the center of Victor's chest with the rest of Yuri's mouth.