There's a brief pause, and then, suddenly, Yuri is everywhere.
Scrambling to his knees, hands going to Victor's face and shoulder, while Victor's reflexively fall to his hips to steady him with a wince at the pained jerk Yuri gives, but before he has a chance to ask if Yuri's hip is alright, there are warm fingers on his face and Yuri's still-damp hair brushing across his forehead, and Yuri's kissing him.
It startles a falling chain of dominoes: his hands tighten on Yuri's hips, and then slide to his back to pull him closer, while a surprised sound bubbles out of nowhere, from the back of his throat, deep in his chest, and he slips back, a little, sitting back on his heels as Yuri pushes into him. Out of nowhere. Or, potentially, out of somewhere easy to identify, if he had a little more knowledge of what Yuri looked like right before he kissed someone, but he doesn't. Not even Yuri does, because this is still only a handful past first, for him, which is the thought that shorts everything else out, and leaves him just with delighted surprise and sparking warmth in his chest.
Catching Yuri as well as he can. The soft "O" of surprise his mouth had made right before Yuri's crashed into it growing and growing in his head, instead, because Yuri's kissing him. First. Without Victor saying or doing anything, without Victor even leaning in, or teasing. It makes his heart stutter, makes him want to return it ten, a hundred fold, kiss Yuri back until he can't breathe and can't see from the stars in his eyes. He wants to tackle Yuri to the floor, wants to drag Yuri into his lap, and he never wants it to stop.
When did. How did. Why did it all change, when did Yuri start thinking about this, was it just tonight, today, was it five minutes ago, was it months?
But that just makes him wonder how much time he'd managed to waste, pining away in St. Petersburg or even keeping his peace in Hasetsu, and that's enough to make him kiss Yuri back harder, a hand slipping up along Yuri's back to settle at the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing the edge of his hair.
As wrapped up as he can get, without making a mess of the bed and the tray that is still, annoyingly, next to them.
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Date: 2017-04-21 02:48 am (UTC)Scrambling to his knees, hands going to Victor's face and shoulder, while Victor's reflexively fall to his hips to steady him with a wince at the pained jerk Yuri gives, but before he has a chance to ask if Yuri's hip is alright, there are warm fingers on his face and Yuri's still-damp hair brushing across his forehead, and Yuri's kissing him.
It startles a falling chain of dominoes: his hands tighten on Yuri's hips, and then slide to his back to pull him closer, while a surprised sound bubbles out of nowhere, from the back of his throat, deep in his chest, and he slips back, a little, sitting back on his heels as Yuri pushes into him. Out of nowhere. Or, potentially, out of somewhere easy to identify, if he had a little more knowledge of what Yuri looked like right before he kissed someone, but he doesn't. Not even Yuri does, because this is still only a handful past first, for him, which is the thought that shorts everything else out, and leaves him just with delighted surprise and sparking warmth in his chest.
Catching Yuri as well as he can. The soft "O" of surprise his mouth had made right before Yuri's crashed into it growing and growing in his head, instead, because Yuri's kissing him. First. Without Victor saying or doing anything, without Victor even leaning in, or teasing. It makes his heart stutter, makes him want to return it ten, a hundred fold, kiss Yuri back until he can't breathe and can't see from the stars in his eyes. He wants to tackle Yuri to the floor, wants to drag Yuri into his lap, and he never wants it to stop.
When did. How did. Why did it all change, when did Yuri start thinking about this, was it just tonight, today, was it five minutes ago, was it months?
But that just makes him wonder how much time he'd managed to waste, pining away in St. Petersburg or even keeping his peace in Hasetsu, and that's enough to make him kiss Yuri back harder, a hand slipping up along Yuri's back to settle at the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing the edge of his hair.
As wrapped up as he can get, without making a mess of the bed and the tray that is still, annoyingly, next to them.