It has every time before, but it's even truer right now.
All of it goes to his head. Goes through his head. Scatters and clatters and rolls off in every other direction. Disjoints everything and Yuri's brain can't scramble itself toward any sensible direction, or sense, or even collection of words' thought, against each new, and next, kiss from Victor. Until it's not thoughts, thoughts are washed out for impressions and feeling.
The softness of Victor's lips. The warmth of his mouth. The solidness of the thigh and calf muscles in the leg that claims his. The almost tickle of the fingers that thread up into his hair, and the pressure of fingertips, together, and yet almost entirely unconnected from each other while he can't collate.
A second ago he'd nearly wished for Victor to be everywhere and it was almost as if a breath later he was there, wresting everything left in Yuri's hand and Yuri's head from him, as he put himself there, like a price, like a promise. Kiss, by kiss, by kiss, by touch, by touch. That Yuri doesn't have enough time to catalog no less the time to question and doubt and defend and question again. Not when his mouth moved beyond his control, to meet every new kiss. His heart trying to reach out of his chest and up his throat to each.
Disjointed and absolute darkness like ink clouding up the whole world in front of him, making touch louder than sight ever seemed when he could see things coming. Making his grip in Victor's shirt a little harder, like Victor might dilute and blow away in that darkness, or maybe because he won't, because he's real and really here, and Yuri doesn't know how not to know that because he is both suddenly, and not a dream, not anything like a dream, after not.
All of it tears a sound from his chest. Something helpless, and wordless, and breathless. Soft and high, so much closer to a whimper than a sigh. Uncatered and uncurated feeling like the darkness was erasing all his solid edges away from being able to hide it inside his head, inside his skin, draining them completely away, even when all of his skin seems more present under Victor's touch than it has since he stepped off the ice, looking for something no one else could have been.
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Date: 2017-09-24 02:56 pm (UTC)It goes to his head, and through it.
It has every time before, but it's even truer right now.
All of it goes to his head. Goes through his head. Scatters and clatters and rolls off in every other direction. Disjoints everything and Yuri's brain can't scramble itself toward any sensible direction, or sense, or even collection of words' thought, against each new, and next, kiss from Victor. Until it's not thoughts, thoughts are washed out for impressions and feeling.
The softness of Victor's lips. The warmth of his mouth. The solidness of the thigh and calf muscles in the leg that claims his. The almost tickle of the fingers that thread up into his hair, and the pressure of fingertips, together, and yet almost entirely unconnected from each other while he can't collate.
A second ago he'd nearly wished for Victor to be everywhere and it was almost as if a breath later he was there, wresting everything left in Yuri's hand and Yuri's head from him, as he put himself there, like a price, like a promise. Kiss, by kiss, by kiss, by touch, by touch. That Yuri doesn't have enough time to catalog no less the time to question and doubt and defend and question again. Not when his mouth moved beyond his control, to meet every new kiss. His heart trying to reach out of his chest and up his throat to each.
Disjointed and absolute darkness like ink clouding up the whole world in front of him, making touch louder than sight ever seemed when he could see things coming. Making his grip in Victor's shirt a little harder, like Victor might dilute and blow away in that darkness, or maybe because he won't, because he's real and really here, and Yuri doesn't know how not to know that because he is both suddenly, and not a dream, not anything like a dream, after not.
All of it tears a sound from his chest. Something helpless, and wordless, and breathless. Soft and high, so much closer to a whimper than a sigh. Uncatered and uncurated feeling like the darkness was erasing all his solid edges away from being able to hide it inside his head, inside his skin, draining them completely away, even when all of his skin seems more present under Victor's touch than it has since he stepped off the ice, looking for something no one else could have been.