Yuri can use his name as an exclamation, he can call Victor impossible and annoying, he can be as exasperated as he wants, as long as he does the rest: resettles himself on Victor's lap, arms still around him, shiver when Victor presses a kiss to his throat.
As long as he doesn't pull away, it's all fine, and he can complain and disparage to his heart's content.
But he doesn't pull away. Even when he's grumbling that comment, and trying to shift to a comfortable spot while Victor's legs cross underneath him, he's not actually trying to get away, and maybe that's as eloquently stated by the grin Victor gives him when he pulls back just enough to look up into Yuri's face. Yuri, who just called him impossible in a way that meant you are impossibly terrible, who is reminding him that he isn't the tray that Victor had just been commenting on.
While Victor just gazes up at him, smiling, and smiling. "No?"
As if butter wouldn't melt. Head tipped back, and eyes on Yuri's face, and he's pretty sure the Orthodox Church frowns on worshiping anyone other than God Himself, but that's what this feels like. Worship. The sort of saturated adoration he had always found to be romantic but improbable in so many ballets, operas, classic works of literature. He'd never fully understood why someone might throw themselves under a train simply because they married the wrong person, but this last year, the last hour, the last ten seconds have all proved him wrong. "So you're saying I should let you go to get the tray, instead?"
It's ridiculous. Absurd. He knows he's being patently idiotic, that he may well have simply lost his mind, but he can't find it in himself to care, only wants to keep looking up at Yuri, while Yuri allows him to hold on, while Yuri's arms are around him, while his mouth is still buzzing from Yuri's skin and Yuri's kiss.
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Date: 2017-04-22 04:28 am (UTC)As long as he doesn't pull away, it's all fine, and he can complain and disparage to his heart's content.
But he doesn't pull away. Even when he's grumbling that comment, and trying to shift to a comfortable spot while Victor's legs cross underneath him, he's not actually trying to get away, and maybe that's as eloquently stated by the grin Victor gives him when he pulls back just enough to look up into Yuri's face. Yuri, who just called him impossible in a way that meant you are impossibly terrible, who is reminding him that he isn't the tray that Victor had just been commenting on.
While Victor just gazes up at him, smiling, and smiling. "No?"
As if butter wouldn't melt. Head tipped back, and eyes on Yuri's face, and he's pretty sure the Orthodox Church frowns on worshiping anyone other than God Himself, but that's what this feels like. Worship. The sort of saturated adoration he had always found to be romantic but improbable in so many ballets, operas, classic works of literature. He'd never fully understood why someone might throw themselves under a train simply because they married the wrong person, but this last year, the last hour, the last ten seconds have all proved him wrong. "So you're saying I should let you go to get the tray, instead?"
It's ridiculous. Absurd. He knows he's being patently idiotic, that he may well have simply lost his mind, but he can't find it in himself to care, only wants to keep looking up at Yuri, while Yuri allows him to hold on, while Yuri's arms are around him, while his mouth is still buzzing from Yuri's skin and Yuri's kiss.
His smile is going, really, absolutely nowhere.