Yuri's breathless and there's a grin tugging at his mouth, but Victor just gives a beleaguered sigh, and leans to set his forehead against Yuri's collarbone, his hand sliding up from Yuri's hip to his chest, sulking. "Why won't it just go away?"
It's a stupid thing to complain about, he knows, petty and ridiculous, but he feels petty, and there's nothing so ridiculous about being annoyed with the fact that there continues to be something in his way. The tray, of course, but, more than that, some semblance of responsibility. He's still the coach here, after all, and that means he has to make sure Yuri is taking care of himself, or take care of Yuri for himself if he forgets to or simply opts not to, and he could be wrong, but he's pretty certain what he's been doing for the last few minutes is likely frowned upon.
(He's going to have to work at this balance a lot more than he initially thought, probably.)
He should have made sure Yuri ate enough. That the painkillers are kicking in. Gotten more ice, if it's needed. Set out the food cart and the dry-cleaning, and given strict orders to go to bed early tonight and get rest, since he hadn't slept today, or last night, either.
He probably shouldn't be still wanting, when he pulls back to look up into Yuri's face, to flip them both over, and damn the tray, and damn the responsibilities, because Yuri's face is pink and his eyes are bright and his hair has dried in a soft, rumpled mess that Victor wants to run his fingers through. "I should take care of that."
The tray. Which would, at least, give them the whole bed, and not just this bottom half of it, and that's an appealing thought, but his hands still tighten on Yuri as if they're against the entire idea, and he can't blame them.
The breath he puffs out is an annoyed one. Everything is going so well: why do they keep hitting these stumbling blocks? Why can't the real world be as perfectly choreographed as their programs?
Not to mention the very real danger of Yuri coming to his senses if Victor lets him go, if there's too much space, too much time, too many minutes without Victor being able to kiss him or drag him in or make him yell because he's been hauled onto Victor's lap.
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Date: 2017-04-27 03:52 am (UTC)It's a stupid thing to complain about, he knows, petty and ridiculous, but he feels petty, and there's nothing so ridiculous about being annoyed with the fact that there continues to be something in his way. The tray, of course, but, more than that, some semblance of responsibility. He's still the coach here, after all, and that means he has to make sure Yuri is taking care of himself, or take care of Yuri for himself if he forgets to or simply opts not to, and he could be wrong, but he's pretty certain what he's been doing for the last few minutes is likely frowned upon.
(He's going to have to work at this balance a lot more than he initially thought, probably.)
He should have made sure Yuri ate enough. That the painkillers are kicking in. Gotten more ice, if it's needed. Set out the food cart and the dry-cleaning, and given strict orders to go to bed early tonight and get rest, since he hadn't slept today, or last night, either.
He probably shouldn't be still wanting, when he pulls back to look up into Yuri's face, to flip them both over, and damn the tray, and damn the responsibilities, because Yuri's face is pink and his eyes are bright and his hair has dried in a soft, rumpled mess that Victor wants to run his fingers through. "I should take care of that."
The tray. Which would, at least, give them the whole bed, and not just this bottom half of it, and that's an appealing thought, but his hands still tighten on Yuri as if they're against the entire idea, and he can't blame them.
The breath he puffs out is an annoyed one. Everything is going so well: why do they keep hitting these stumbling blocks? Why can't the real world be as perfectly choreographed as their programs?
Not to mention the very real danger of Yuri coming to his senses if Victor lets him go, if there's too much space, too much time, too many minutes without Victor being able to kiss him or drag him in or make him yell because he's been hauled onto Victor's lap.
(Again.)
"But I don't want to let you go."