Is a little dopey, still drunk on the rush of Yuri touching him, Yuri touching him, Yuri choosing to reach out and ––
But it gets a little derailed when Yuri goes on, and Victor's hands move from his jaw to settle against the sides of his neck, just at the curve where his shoulders meet his collarbone. Thumbs light but steady against the corded muscle there.
(Yuri is so much stronger than he thinks he is; he knows the muscle under that soft, fair skin is more like steel now than like the pudge that had been there when he first came to Hasetsu.)
Listening, head tipping slightly like a bird considering a dropped seed, because Yuri's not wrong, but that's not what he meant, either. "Not like this." Riding on the faint huff of a wry breath, because all the times he might have thought he was in love before –– and they exist, Yuri's right about that, he's had his fair share of sweethearts and lovers, even if none of them lasted very long –– it was nowhere near this.
Picking him up like a whirlwind, and sending him to Japan, and as much as he might protest that he really had no choice, he knows that's a lie.
(Somewhere in his head is Yakov's voice echoing around a rink: You say that as if we ever get to choose. We don't. We choose only what we do about it. And that is the story, happy or not.
Once again, Yakov was right.)
But Yuri is still watching him, and Victor is shaking his head, just a little, not to argue, but against the very idea that he's ever experienced anything like this with anyone he'd ever been with before. "Not like you."
![[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: 2017-04-20 07:30 pm (UTC)Is a little dopey, still drunk on the rush of Yuri touching him, Yuri touching him, Yuri choosing to reach out and ––
But it gets a little derailed when Yuri goes on, and Victor's hands move from his jaw to settle against the sides of his neck, just at the curve where his shoulders meet his collarbone. Thumbs light but steady against the corded muscle there.
(Yuri is so much stronger than he thinks he is; he knows the muscle under that soft, fair skin is more like steel now than like the pudge that had been there when he first came to Hasetsu.)
Listening, head tipping slightly like a bird considering a dropped seed, because Yuri's not wrong, but that's not what he meant, either. "Not like this." Riding on the faint huff of a wry breath, because all the times he might have thought he was in love before –– and they exist, Yuri's right about that, he's had his fair share of sweethearts and lovers, even if none of them lasted very long –– it was nowhere near this.
Picking him up like a whirlwind, and sending him to Japan, and as much as he might protest that he really had no choice, he knows that's a lie.
(Somewhere in his head is Yakov's voice echoing around a rink: You say that as if we ever get to choose. We don't. We choose only what we do about it. And that is the story, happy or not.
Once again, Yakov was right.)
But Yuri is still watching him, and Victor is shaking his head, just a little, not to argue, but against the very idea that he's ever experienced anything like this with anyone he'd ever been with before. "Not like you."