Yuri hadn't really meant to say it before, he thinks. It had popped out of him almost reflexively, the way his foot would kick if a doctor tapped on his knee with a rubber hammer. None of which is surprising –– Yuri is prone to sudden bursts of declarative speech, in the same way he declared his theme for the season or his desire to train every sort of jump Victor could teach him.
What was surprising was how he knew it. How he knew to say that, instead of the more direct translation. How –– why –– those words found their way onto his tongue, even mispronounced, even awkward and stumbling.
It doesn't make sense. It makes as much sense as Yuri asking him to come here and be his coach.
It makes as much sense as Victor deciding to do just that.
He's patient while Yuri looks up at him, the details of his features lost in the dark, all the fine lines of his face and graceful curves of his cheek and chin and throat, leaving him barely anything but a slightly lighter oval blur in the dark, but Victor's eyes will adjust soon enough, and if they don't, well --
He'll probably be asleep by then, anyway. He can feel it chewing at him, the exhaustion, nibbling at his determination to stay awake for this, as Yuri braces himself, and his voice comes carefully through the dark.
Words that don't sound quite right. Everything that sounds more perfect than anything Victor has ever heard before.
(Has he ever truly been needed, before? He's been wanted for the greater part of his life, but needed, that's a different story.
Nobody's ever needed him, except perhaps Maccachin. And never like this.)
Words he hadn't been able to react to in the car, but he can here. No road or other cars to distract him, no seatbelt holding him back, no astonishment keeping him from moving, breathing, thinking.
Only Yuri, close enough that Victor can feel how his embarrassed warmth is swelling through the sheet and blanket, can feel the grip Yuri still has on his shirt, blunting fingertips from digging into his back.
All of which means he can shift down enough to find Yuri's mouth with his, and slip arms around him, and roll in towards him, slow and dedicated and with absolute precision, kissing Yuri the way he should have at the airport, in the hotel at Moscow, in the car when those words first came spilling out.
"Я тоже тебя люблю," the only thing that he can say, when he finally has to say something at all.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zaluzianskya and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
skylark_photos
no subject
Date: 2017-09-23 02:51 am (UTC)Yuri hadn't really meant to say it before, he thinks. It had popped out of him almost reflexively, the way his foot would kick if a doctor tapped on his knee with a rubber hammer. None of which is surprising –– Yuri is prone to sudden bursts of declarative speech, in the same way he declared his theme for the season or his desire to train every sort of jump Victor could teach him.
What was surprising was how he knew it. How he knew to say that, instead of the more direct translation. How –– why –– those words found their way onto his tongue, even mispronounced, even awkward and stumbling.
It doesn't make sense.
It makes as much sense as Yuri asking him to come here and be his coach.
It makes as much sense as Victor deciding to do just that.
He's patient while Yuri looks up at him, the details of his features lost in the dark, all the fine lines of his face and graceful curves of his cheek and chin and throat, leaving him barely anything but a slightly lighter oval blur in the dark, but Victor's eyes will adjust soon enough, and if they don't, well --
He'll probably be asleep by then, anyway. He can feel it chewing at him, the exhaustion, nibbling at his determination to stay awake for this, as Yuri braces himself, and his voice comes carefully through the dark.
Words that don't sound quite right. Everything that sounds more perfect than anything Victor has ever heard before.
(Has he ever truly been needed, before? He's been wanted for the greater part of his life, but needed, that's a different story.
Nobody's ever needed him, except perhaps Maccachin. And never like this.)
Words he hadn't been able to react to in the car, but he can here. No road or other cars to distract him, no seatbelt holding him back, no astonishment keeping him from moving, breathing, thinking.
Only Yuri, close enough that Victor can feel how his embarrassed warmth is swelling through the sheet and blanket, can feel the grip Yuri still has on his shirt, blunting fingertips from digging into his back.
All of which means he can shift down enough to find Yuri's mouth with his, and slip arms around him, and roll in towards him, slow and dedicated and with absolute precision, kissing Yuri the way he should have at the airport, in the hotel at Moscow, in the car when those words first came spilling out.
"Я тоже тебя люблю," the only thing that he can say, when he finally has to say something at all.