Yuri says that, but his fingers tighten like he's anticipating the need to hang on, and Victor really had no idea that his smile could actually grow this wide. It's a realization which is immediately reconsidered, because there's soft pin touching Yuri's cheeks, and that only makes everything worse. Or better, depending on the criteria used, he supposes.
He thinks it's better. He had no idea how much better better could be, because as many times as he'd thought about this and daydreamed about it and longed for it in the middle of the night, when even Maccachin abandoned him (and how unfair, that Maccachin could so easily, casually, slip into Yuri's room and curl up with him without worry or fear of rejection?), he'd never really thought it could happen. It wasn't even on his list when he first arrived, expecting the Yuri from YouTube or the one from the ballroom. If someone had told him then that he would be perfectly happy, beyond happy, find absolute, perfect content in simply drawing Yuri into his arms and into his lap and curling around him, he would have rolled his eyes and sent them back to their romance novels and improbably cheesy movies.
And yet, here he is. Perfectly content. Feeling like this space in his lap and against his chest was always supposed to be taken up by a slim, warm body. Like his arms were always meant to wrap around this torso, his hands were always supposed to fit on the flats of these shoulder blades, the small of this back, the slight, hard curves of this waist. Aware, all of a sudden, of the nape of his own neck in a way he never had thought about it before, because nothing ever touched it aside from his shirt collars and scarves.
But Yuri's fingers are there now, and it's amazing: how had he never thought about the nape of his neck before? How had he not known how many nerves are there, lighting quietly to life under Yuri's touch, springing to attention and complaining for more?
How is it possible that he loves this annoyance on Yuri's face almost as much as he loved that dazed, starry-eyed desire stripped bare only a few moments ago? How was that only a few moments ago? How does it exist, at all?
But he does. Love it. Yuri's fingers tightening, and Yuri blushing and looking aggravated immediately after, like his fingers gave him away, and Victor's sure he'll never be able to get enough of this. Not if he soaked in it for a thousand lifetimes.
Yuri wants him. And Yuri can't stop himself from holding onto him. Victor's sure this is a drug he'll never stop craving. "In a minute."
Repeating himself, when his hands are flattening against Yuri's back and coaxing him to lean down, while Victor leans up to kiss him again.
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Date: 2017-04-22 02:36 pm (UTC)He thinks it's better. He had no idea how much better better could be, because as many times as he'd thought about this and daydreamed about it and longed for it in the middle of the night, when even Maccachin abandoned him (and how unfair, that Maccachin could so easily, casually, slip into Yuri's room and curl up with him without worry or fear of rejection?), he'd never really thought it could happen. It wasn't even on his list when he first arrived, expecting the Yuri from YouTube or the one from the ballroom. If someone had told him then that he would be perfectly happy, beyond happy, find absolute, perfect content in simply drawing Yuri into his arms and into his lap and curling around him, he would have rolled his eyes and sent them back to their romance novels and improbably cheesy movies.
And yet, here he is. Perfectly content. Feeling like this space in his lap and against his chest was always supposed to be taken up by a slim, warm body. Like his arms were always meant to wrap around this torso, his hands were always supposed to fit on the flats of these shoulder blades, the small of this back, the slight, hard curves of this waist. Aware, all of a sudden, of the nape of his own neck in a way he never had thought about it before, because nothing ever touched it aside from his shirt collars and scarves.
But Yuri's fingers are there now, and it's amazing: how had he never thought about the nape of his neck before? How had he not known how many nerves are there, lighting quietly to life under Yuri's touch, springing to attention and complaining for more?
How is it possible that he loves this annoyance on Yuri's face almost as much as he loved that dazed, starry-eyed desire stripped bare only a few moments ago? How was that only a few moments ago? How does it exist, at all?
But he does. Love it. Yuri's fingers tightening, and Yuri blushing and looking aggravated immediately after, like his fingers gave him away, and Victor's sure he'll never be able to get enough of this. Not if he soaked in it for a thousand lifetimes.
Yuri wants him. And Yuri can't stop himself from holding onto him. Victor's sure this is a drug he'll never stop craving. "In a minute."
Repeating himself, when his hands are flattening against Yuri's back and coaxing him to lean down, while Victor leans up to kiss him again.