All of his best intentions keep getting thrown out the window, and he might care more about that if Yuri's hand wasn't tightening against his cheek and jaw, and if Yuri wasn't lifting the other to grip at the back of his head and pull him closer, kiss him harder, but they are. It is. He is.

Turning that sound into something more like a whimper when he gives up, fingers uncurling from Yuri's shirt to circle both arms around his ribcage and push forward, up, as much as he can, even if his back is sore and his core is complaining, unused to being forced to hold even just himself upright without something to lean against.

So he leans into Yuri, instead, shifting underneath him, hands sliding up his back, his right hand curling over the back of Yuri's right shoulder, fingers at the crook of his neck, left spread wide over his ribs, and he can't actually wrap himself all the way around Yuri, but he wants to, wants to try. Wants to solidify this somehow, ink it into reality, brand it on himself so he can never even imagine it didn't happen, if it ever goes away. If Yuri ever changes his mind.

Not that it seems likely right now, when Yuri's melting into him and he's just trying to soak it up as much as he can, trying to return it without letting go of this deathgrip he has on his self-control that's weakening a little further with every new time Yuri touches him.

He never was very good at denying himself.