Yuri isn't quite sure how to take all the words that get said against the loose bottom of his shirt, and the press of Victor's head. The frisson of chill that seeps around everywhere, even while Victor is correcting himself. It was already there, but the fact Victor has to do anything he wouldn't elsewhere, he already knows he does, but it's a little harder to have the plain words for it. No matter how it's put.
It doesn't leave clinging to his bones, but Victor's next words make his shoulders draw in and press out in a shaky something that isn't really a breath pulled in or out. Commenting on what Yuri was doing. That it was okay? That it feels good? Which makes him hold for a beat, before he lifts his hand, again, not quite sure what to do with it now. It all feels new and big and somehow impossible, like ice that might shatter if he pressed his fingers down too hard.
He's probably far too tense, his eyes drift along the line where the black shirt meets pale skin at the base of Victor's neck, and his neck, the slender skin and the rise of his spine, up to his hair everywhere in Yuri's lap, back to the black shirt, the soft rise of his shoulder blades, ribs, his back, his side. A little too fast in Yuri's chest when trying to pick something, when everything seems like it would be overreaching. Except Victor said. Victor said it felt good Basically. That he could. No several times that he could. Before now.
Like closing his eyes in the middle of the ice, even without closing them, he tries to push his shoulders down.
Running two fingers against the black cloth right on the safe side of where Victor shirt gives way to his shoulder and neck. Tracing that space, the cloth-side of his simple stitch-folded collar, as it went up across the back of his shoulder, part of his back, making himself say it, quietly. "Stupid."
He tries. He tries not to lie to Victor. He really does. Most of the time. Maybe that didn't always work. Maybe it couldn't. Like so many times today had proved, buried so far inside his head. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn't want Victor to have to deal with all of that. That he shouldn't have to. That it wasn't his problem, his responsibility for. What Yuri could or couldn't handle himself. Which gets muddy here, too.
When there's never been a here. He doesn't know what to do with here and this at all. But he keeps trying. Even when it feels terrifying and it does show he's as simple as a child.
Like it turns him inside out, and it proves everything that Victor just clarified his words about.
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Date: 2017-04-29 12:44 am (UTC)It doesn't leave clinging to his bones, but Victor's next words make his shoulders draw in and press out in a shaky something that isn't really a breath pulled in or out. Commenting on what Yuri was doing. That it was okay? That it feels good? Which makes him hold for a beat, before he lifts his hand, again, not quite sure what to do with it now. It all feels new and big and somehow impossible, like ice that might shatter if he pressed his fingers down too hard.
He's probably far too tense, his eyes drift along the line where the black shirt meets pale skin at the base of Victor's neck, and his neck, the slender skin and the rise of his spine, up to his hair everywhere in Yuri's lap, back to the black shirt, the soft rise of his shoulder blades, ribs, his back, his side. A little too fast in Yuri's chest when trying to pick something, when everything seems like it would be overreaching. Except Victor said. Victor said it felt good Basically. That he could. No several times that he could. Before now.
Like closing his eyes in the middle of the ice, even without closing them, he tries to push his shoulders down.
Running two fingers against the black cloth right on the safe side of where Victor shirt gives way to his shoulder and neck. Tracing that space, the cloth-side of his simple stitch-folded collar, as it went up across the back of his shoulder, part of his back, making himself say it, quietly. "Stupid."
He tries. He tries not to lie to Victor. He really does. Most of the time. Maybe that didn't always work. Maybe it couldn't. Like so many times today had proved, buried so far inside his head. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn't want Victor to have to deal with all of that. That he shouldn't have to. That it wasn't his problem, his responsibility for. What Yuri could or couldn't handle himself. Which gets muddy here, too.
When there's never been a here. He doesn't know what to do with here and this at all.
But he keeps trying. Even when it feels terrifying and it does show he's as simple as a child.
Like it turns him inside out, and it proves everything that Victor just clarified his words about.