His hands drops from Yuri's hair to his shoulder when Yuri sits back, but that's as far as Yuri goes, so Victor focuses on trying to follow along as Yuri starts and stops and contradicts himself. Trying not to smile too much at that last grumbled toss of his hands in the air, because there isn't a right word. Searching for some subtlety in Japanese that doesn't exist in the English they both have to use, and winding up confusing both.
Different, but not different. New, but not new. This is different and new. (Obviously.) For Yuri, who has never so much as kissed someone before. Who has probably never been this physically close to someone before, maybe the same way Victor has never been this close to anyone before, in any way and every way it counts.
It's probably as much of an answer as it isn't. It changed, but it didn't. Either Yuri doesn't have the words, or he doesn't know, or it's some combination of both, but does it really matter? He wants to know, but does it really matter? He has Yuri here now. Like this. Looking at him like that, and leaning heavy into his touch, and that's enough, more than. He doesn't really need to try and dissect it all right now, or trace the patten of how they got here, does he?
But the last time he tried to give Yuri an out, he was scolded, told don't do that, so he should ... what. Find some response. Maybe look for something that will convince Yuri it's all right if he doesn't know, or even if this is too brand new to clarify.
It's still here, and that's the important thing. "Different, and not different."
Maybe not as sudden as he'd thought, but not as long-lived as he'd wondered. Which explains this last eight months, maybe, but not the banquet.
Unless it does, and he was right back then, and Yuri just didn't care at all.
But that all feels so long ago, and he leans to press a light kiss to one side of Yuri's neck, and then the other, smiling against his skin and when he pulls back to watch Yuri's face again. "Language is clumsy."
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Date: 2017-04-23 11:31 am (UTC)Different, but not different. New, but not new. This is different and new. (Obviously.) For Yuri, who has never so much as kissed someone before. Who has probably never been this physically close to someone before, maybe the same way Victor has never been this close to anyone before, in any way and every way it counts.
It's probably as much of an answer as it isn't. It changed, but it didn't. Either Yuri doesn't have the words, or he doesn't know, or it's some combination of both, but does it really matter? He wants to know, but does it really matter? He has Yuri here now. Like this. Looking at him like that, and leaning heavy into his touch, and that's enough, more than. He doesn't really need to try and dissect it all right now, or trace the patten of how they got here, does he?
But the last time he tried to give Yuri an out, he was scolded, told don't do that, so he should ... what. Find some response. Maybe look for something that will convince Yuri it's all right if he doesn't know, or even if this is too brand new to clarify.
It's still here, and that's the important thing. "Different, and not different."
Maybe not as sudden as he'd thought, but not as long-lived as he'd wondered. Which explains this last eight months, maybe, but not the banquet.
Unless it does, and he was right back then, and Yuri just didn't care at all.
But that all feels so long ago, and he leans to press a light kiss to one side of Yuri's neck, and then the other, smiling against his skin and when he pulls back to watch Yuri's face again. "Language is clumsy."
Easier to do this. Easier to find it on the ice.