Yuro only yawns, jaw-cracking and adorable, and tucks himself closer, his forehead butting into Victors shoulder and chest, arm slung over Victor's back, curling into him as if Victor is some sort of stuffed animal, or pillow.
Which is just about perfect, isn't it? Yuri, wanting to be wrapped up in him. Yuri, who even now hardly touches Victor first, or much at all, even if he's reluctantly come around to being moved about like a doll when Victor needs to fix his form. It's a little like the times Yuri kisses him first: a thrill of surprise, followed by a swelling warmth of happiness. It's such a simple thing,Yuri reaching for him, touching him, curling against him –– but for so long it had seemed like it would never happen.
And yet, here they are. Folded into each other like so many sheets, their combined body heat filling the bedding and turning the slight winter chill of the room into a warm hideaway. Yuri breathing deep and slow under Victor's arm, his hair silky under Victor's fingers as they slowly stroke along his skull. Yuri, bare moments, in all likelihood, from sleep.
Victor almost wishes he weren't so exhausted himself, so as to be able to enjoy it a little longer.
His eyes are grainy, though, and he can't keep them open, even to watch Yuri or prove to himself that it really is over for now, that Yuri is back and so is Maccachin and they have almost a month before Barcelona. They slide closed despite himself, the darkness of the room nearly as heavy as the blanket itself, warm and solid, coaxing him to relax, and he finally can. Maccachin a warm weight by his feet, Yuri a warm bundle in his arms, against his chest.
When sleep does come, it hits suddenly and swift, and he gets almost no warning at all before he's dozing off, sinking deeper and deeper with every slow breath he takes.
![[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: 2017-09-27 02:48 am (UTC)Yuro only yawns, jaw-cracking and adorable, and tucks himself closer, his forehead butting into Victors shoulder and chest, arm slung over Victor's back, curling into him as if Victor is some sort of stuffed animal, or pillow.
Which is just about perfect, isn't it? Yuri, wanting to be wrapped up in him. Yuri, who even now hardly touches Victor first, or much at all, even if he's reluctantly come around to being moved about like a doll when Victor needs to fix his form. It's a little like the times Yuri kisses him first: a thrill of surprise, followed by a swelling warmth of happiness. It's such a simple thing,Yuri reaching for him, touching him, curling against him –– but for so long it had seemed like it would never happen.
And yet, here they are. Folded into each other like so many sheets, their combined body heat filling the bedding and turning the slight winter chill of the room into a warm hideaway. Yuri breathing deep and slow under Victor's arm, his hair silky under Victor's fingers as they slowly stroke along his skull. Yuri, bare moments, in all likelihood, from sleep.
Victor almost wishes he weren't so exhausted himself, so as to be able to enjoy it a little longer.
His eyes are grainy, though, and he can't keep them open, even to watch Yuri or prove to himself that it really is over for now, that Yuri is back and so is Maccachin and they have almost a month before Barcelona. They slide closed despite himself, the darkness of the room nearly as heavy as the blanket itself, warm and solid, coaxing him to relax, and he finally can. Maccachin a warm weight by his feet, Yuri a warm bundle in his arms, against his chest.
When sleep does come, it hits suddenly and swift, and he gets almost no warning at all before he's dozing off, sinking deeper and deeper with every slow breath he takes.