He doesn't understand so much of this. Not sure he would even if it was written on cue cards in front of him. So he could just keep looking down at them every time his mind balks and tries to start over like a computer turned off, restarting. It basically is, isn't it? When Victor's arms tighten around his protesting ribs and stomach and back muscles, sore from the day, from the whole weekend, but not sore enough to care when Victor is doing that.
Victor. Is in his lap. There. Still there. Every time he looks down. Everytime he breathes.
Hugging him closer, making this soft plaintive sound, and then sighing so hard it shakes his whole upper body. Making Yuri stop for it. Victor's hair only just pressed back ending up everywhere again and Victor's face pressed into him. Yuri's hand curling, lightly, on the back of his head, as the only place to really land without any weight because he's waiting to see if Victor's going to move again.
This isn't how he pictured this. Not that he pictured this. Not really pictured this. Not even truly pretend-pictured this. This isn't how ... his panicked worst exploded in terror thoughts at the beginning, or even brightest, confusing dreams, like that, even to recently get stuck on the wrong reactions and days of exhaustion with only one sensible, worldwide agreed, focal point, went. They never made sense, to begin with, and they weren't real, but they weren't like this.
They weren't ... Victor suddenly curled up on top of half of him like he was a life-sized pillow. Like he was emulating his own poodle. Flopped down and unmoving. Sighing like it's all he wants.
Both that sound and the one before it caught in Yuri's chest. Messy in his lungs. Kicks him back to. Victor wants him. Victor loves him. More than in any of the ways Yuri has already both had so many problems believing and grown so reliant, so supported on being real, at the same time. Everything so very real and not before this, and this just shifted it up a million notches.
Every word Victor said, every movement Victor made. When he takes a breath in and his fingers shift, gently, against Victor's hair, fingertips sliding into his hair, even though watching his hand makes it so he can't even breathe in. How many people would -- and he's. There's a wave of everything. Overwhelming everything as he cards his fingers so very slowly and lightly down, uncertain again, ready to pull back.
Strange like he can't breathe. Strange like his eyes are slightly stinging. Strange like he wants to hug Victor. Strange like everything is different. Strange like ... he doesn't even know ... light. So much light. Silver and silent. But he doesn't do anything more than that, watch his fingers and feel Victor's hair, until both reach the softer shorter end and his neck.
no subject
Victor. Is in his lap. There. Still there. Every time he looks down. Everytime he breathes.
Hugging him closer, making this soft plaintive sound, and then sighing so hard it shakes his whole upper body. Making Yuri stop for it. Victor's hair only just pressed back ending up everywhere again and Victor's face pressed into him. Yuri's hand curling, lightly, on the back of his head, as the only place to really land without any weight because he's waiting to see if Victor's going to move again.
This isn't how he pictured this. Not that he pictured this. Not really pictured this. Not even truly pretend-pictured this. This isn't how ... his panicked worst exploded in terror thoughts at the beginning, or even brightest, confusing dreams, like that, even to recently get stuck on the wrong reactions and days of exhaustion with only one sensible, worldwide agreed, focal point, went. They never made sense, to begin with, and they weren't real, but they weren't like this.
They weren't ... Victor suddenly curled up on top of half of him like he was a life-sized pillow.
Like he was emulating his own poodle. Flopped down and unmoving. Sighing like it's all he wants.
Both that sound and the one before it caught in Yuri's chest. Messy in his lungs. Kicks him back to. Victor wants him. Victor loves him. More than in any of the ways Yuri has already both had so many problems believing and grown so reliant, so supported on being real, at the same time. Everything so very real and not before this, and this just shifted it up a million notches.
Every word Victor said, every movement Victor made. When he takes a breath in and his fingers shift, gently, against Victor's hair, fingertips sliding into his hair, even though watching his hand makes it so he can't even breathe in. How many people would -- and he's. There's a wave of everything. Overwhelming everything as he cards his fingers so very slowly and lightly down, uncertain again, ready to pull back.
Strange like he can't breathe. Strange like his eyes are slightly stinging. Strange like he wants to hug Victor. Strange like everything is different. Strange like ... he doesn't even know ... light. So much light. Silver and silent. But he doesn't do anything more than that, watch his fingers and feel Victor's hair, until both reach the softer shorter end and his neck.