Victor says one thing, then another, then asks a question, and even before Yuri can more than think toward an answer, Victor's arms around his sides and Victor's head is against his middle and Yuri is left blinking. At the suddenness of it, and how it's the absolute opposite of where he'd started, and how ... easy that seems to be for him.
The same way it had always been so easy for Victor to throw his arms around Yuri's shoulder, and hug him, or drag him anywhere. It does help, but that's a thought that's just as quickly here as it is gone. When he's looking down at Victor, curled up on his lap from one side, and it's not entirely unpainful, the suddenness of it, the solidness and weight of Victor on him, but it's also, so vastly startling in different ways.
He can't really see Victor's face, and Victor is talking into another part of his shirt, making Yuri shift a little at the realization, but it's even more than that. He's looking down at Victor's hair and Victor's shoulders, all right beneath his elbows and hands, where they had been at first. There's something of a sigh, as he sets a hand down on Victor's shoulders, careful at first, like it might go through it, and but then with more weight, fingers curling around the bone there, under well-formed muscles. "I don't think you're doing anything wrong."
He's not sure he believes Victor could. (That's just him.) But what does he really know? He doesn't know anything. (Again. Him. Only him.) He still doesn't think Victor could be the one doing anything wrong. Not even when that thought seems halfway distant as he watches his hand unsettle. Drift over the round of Victor's shoulder, slow against the soft fabric of his black shirt, over the curve to the top of his arm. Solid. (Real.) How is he even allowed to do this?
He stops, looking back down and inward toward the pile of silver hair in his lap. (Surreal.) "It's not--" But he stops there, too. Pressed his mouth a moment. Tries again. "There's so much."
Which isn't enough either. "But it all seems so--" It drags, hating the options.
no subject
The same way it had always been so easy for Victor to throw his arms around Yuri's shoulder, and hug him, or drag him anywhere. It does help, but that's a thought that's just as quickly here as it is gone. When he's looking down at Victor, curled up on his lap from one side, and it's not entirely unpainful, the suddenness of it, the solidness and weight of Victor on him, but it's also, so vastly startling in different ways.
He can't really see Victor's face, and Victor is talking into another part of his shirt, making Yuri shift a little at the realization, but it's even more than that. He's looking down at Victor's hair and Victor's shoulders, all right beneath his elbows and hands, where they had been at first. There's something of a sigh, as he sets a hand down on Victor's shoulders, careful at first, like it might go through it, and but then with more weight, fingers curling around the bone there, under well-formed muscles. "I don't think you're doing anything wrong."
He's not sure he believes Victor could. (That's just him.) But what does he really know? He doesn't know anything. (Again. Him. Only him.) He still doesn't think Victor could be the one doing anything wrong. Not even when that thought seems halfway distant as he watches his hand unsettle. Drift over the round of Victor's shoulder, slow against the soft fabric of his black shirt, over the curve to the top of his arm. Solid. (Real.) How is he even allowed to do this?
He stops, looking back down and inward toward the pile of silver hair in his lap. (Surreal.)
"It's not--" But he stops there, too. Pressed his mouth a moment. Tries again. "There's so much."
Which isn't enough either. "But it all seems so--" It drags, hating the options.
Chaotic? Childish? Absolutely stupid?