Yuri has never felt like this. He keeps coming back to that thought. But it doesn't hurt this time. It's soft, and warm, and golden. The way Victor is soft, and warm, and golden, when his forehead shifts to Yuri's shoulder, pressing in against his neck, his hand stopping, arms wrapping Yuri, and he's never felt like this. He never knew anything like this feeling existed.
This warm and soft. This ... right and safe. Like he ever held something this precious.
Like he was ever trusted enough, or good enough.
While Victor huffs a slow, warm (causing him to shiver) breath into his shoulder, the bare skin of his neck (maybe more sensitive for so much focus on it) relaxing into him, into holding on to him, like it's all Victor's ever wanted. To hug him (hold? hold him?) like this. This thing Yuri has no name and no comparison to, and suddenly never wants to let go of when his nose, and cheek, and jaw is left against Victor's hair for the shift.
That huff of breath. This hold of Victor's arms around him. The way Victor's shoulders relax down, pulling Yuri's arms around his neck down, slowly with them, and that breath. When Yuri just wants to drift away, forget everything else he ever thought he knew, or needed, or felt that isn't just this, filling every hole and space and piece of him. Making him close his eyes and tighten his arms, gently. Tucking his face down against Victor.
He doesn't understand how he could mean any of these things to Victor, even half of the way to the words he'd said, this isn't a dream, but he doesn't want to let go. Wants to believe, even just so far as maybe Victor is feeling this thing. This thing that is in every part of his body, just as important, maybe more, than the rushes that spike and fall.
Yuri's nose wrinkling and mouth grimacing into Victor's soft hair against his face, at the reminder, at these words that sound like Victor is going to let go. Victor is probably right, and Yuri, reluctantly opens his eyes, looking over at the tray. The one he'd carefully set his cup on and then forgotten as entirely when he'd pushed up to get to Victor as Victor had shoved it away to get to him.
But Victor doesn't let go, doesn't pull from being curled into him, and Yuri says quietly, to his hair, to warmth against his neck, to Victor, Victor, Victor, here in his arms, wrapped around him, "We're lucky it hasn't fallen."
The both of them. Forgetting everything that wasn't ... this?
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Date: 2017-04-21 04:16 pm (UTC)This warm and soft. This ... right and safe.
Like he ever held something this precious.
Like he was ever trusted enough, or good enough.
While Victor huffs a slow, warm (causing him to shiver) breath into his shoulder, the bare skin of his neck (maybe more sensitive for so much focus on it) relaxing into him, into holding on to him, like it's all Victor's ever wanted. To hug him (hold? hold him?) like this. This thing Yuri has no name and no comparison to, and suddenly never wants to let go of when his nose, and cheek, and jaw is left against Victor's hair for the shift.
That huff of breath. This hold of Victor's arms around him. The way Victor's shoulders relax down, pulling Yuri's arms around his neck down, slowly with them, and that breath. When Yuri just wants to drift away, forget everything else he ever thought he knew, or needed, or felt that isn't just this, filling every hole and space and piece of him. Making him close his eyes and tighten his arms, gently. Tucking his face down against Victor.
He doesn't understand how he could mean any of these things to Victor, even half of the way to the words he'd said, this isn't a dream, but he doesn't want to let go. Wants to believe, even just so far as maybe Victor is feeling this thing. This thing that is in every part of his body, just as important, maybe more, than the rushes that spike and fall.
Yuri's nose wrinkling and mouth grimacing into Victor's soft hair against his face, at the reminder, at these words that sound like Victor is going to let go. Victor is probably right, and Yuri, reluctantly opens his eyes, looking over at the tray. The one he'd carefully set his cup on and then forgotten as entirely when he'd pushed up to get to Victor as Victor had shoved it away to get to him.
But Victor doesn't let go, doesn't pull from being curled into him, and Yuri says quietly, to his hair, to warmth against his neck, to Victor, Victor, Victor, here in his arms, wrapped around him, "We're lucky it hasn't fallen."
The both of them. Forgetting everything that wasn't ... this?