It's so cute, the way Yuri scrunches up his face, and makes that sound like he can't decide if he's laughing or squeaking, how his shoulders lift like he's trying to fend off Victor's ticklish kisses, but without any real attempt to get away, and it's like drinking straight vodka. Goes to his head as swiftly and as completely, and all he wants to do is make it happen again, coax out that laugh until Yuri is sparkling and happy and relaxed and can't remember that he had ever even doubted Victor's sincerity.
Even if it's absurd to think that Yuri could somehow be better, when just Yuri is all Victor has wanted for so long he can't remember what it was like before he wanted it. When all he cared about was the next competition, the next medal, the next program, always something new, always searching for the next surprise. it seems like such an empty existence now, to think back on it.
(Remembers how he'd scoffed at himself that night in the ballroom, sure it couldn't possibly be love, because love at first sight was a fairy tale, and not even a good one.)
"I don't have much practice with this," he confesses, still fond, still smiling, and leans to kiss Yuri's nose, hoping for that same addictive crinkle of his features, and has he gone insane, maybe? Why on earth does he find that so irresistible? "You'll have to be patient with me."
When he is, as he's prone to doing, throwing caution to the wind and hurling himself headlong into the fray, too impatient to wait, too unpracticed to know how to do it right, but if Yuri doesn't mind, if Yuri likes him enough to remind him not to go too fast, maybe he can ––
But that thought gets wrecked on the slight shift of Yuri's weight, and he watches as that teacup changes hands, before one lands light as a feather against his side, and the cup is placed on the tray along with the rest of the dinner he'd honestly managed to forget even existed, entirely, in the last half a minute. Not that he's sure anything exists except that hand that's now free, fingers careful and shy, that float for a minute near his elbow while Victor's breath catches and his heart stumbles, and then makes a suicidal dash against his ribs to try and meet that hand where it is.
(How is it possible to feel something that isn't even touching him?)
Except it doesn't stay there. Drifts down, pauses, before deciding to be brave and settling at his waist, so lightly he almost doesn't feel it, might not at all, if his nerves weren't screaming news of it all the way up his skin, his spine.
Making that caught breath shake out, hard and vulnerable, when he shivers. Forehead lightly bumping Yuri's, as his eyes close, before they open again to find his, even if he can't remember what it was he was saying at all.
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Date: 2017-04-20 06:05 pm (UTC)Even if it's absurd to think that Yuri could somehow be better, when just Yuri is all Victor has wanted for so long he can't remember what it was like before he wanted it. When all he cared about was the next competition, the next medal, the next program, always something new, always searching for the next surprise. it seems like such an empty existence now, to think back on it.
(Remembers how he'd scoffed at himself that night in the ballroom, sure it couldn't possibly be love, because love at first sight was a fairy tale, and not even a good one.)
"I don't have much practice with this," he confesses, still fond, still smiling, and leans to kiss Yuri's nose, hoping for that same addictive crinkle of his features, and has he gone insane, maybe? Why on earth does he find that so irresistible? "You'll have to be patient with me."
When he is, as he's prone to doing, throwing caution to the wind and hurling himself headlong into the fray, too impatient to wait, too unpracticed to know how to do it right, but if Yuri doesn't mind, if Yuri likes him enough to remind him not to go too fast, maybe he can ––
But that thought gets wrecked on the slight shift of Yuri's weight, and he watches as that teacup changes hands, before one lands light as a feather against his side, and the cup is placed on the tray along with the rest of the dinner he'd honestly managed to forget even existed, entirely, in the last half a minute. Not that he's sure anything exists except that hand that's now free, fingers careful and shy, that float for a minute near his elbow while Victor's breath catches and his heart stumbles, and then makes a suicidal dash against his ribs to try and meet that hand where it is.
(How is it possible to feel something that isn't even touching him?)
Except it doesn't stay there. Drifts down, pauses, before deciding to be brave and settling at his waist, so lightly he almost doesn't feel it, might not at all, if his nerves weren't screaming news of it all the way up his skin, his spine.
Making that caught breath shake out, hard and vulnerable, when he shivers. Forehead lightly bumping Yuri's, as his eyes close, before they open again to find his, even if he can't remember what it was he was saying at all.