As if that was the point all along. (It was. Sort of. Mostly.) A note of satisfied triumph in his voice, even as he's stretching up to push a kiss against Yuri's throat, because neither he nor Yuri is actually moving.
He could, again. It would be pretty easy, with his arms around Yuri's waist and his own weight already settled. Could just haul him down, next to or even on top of Victor, and hold him there, like he had already twice before.
But a little different. There's still a difference between dragging Yuri into his lap, and tugging Yuri down onto a bed, and he's sure the thin line between them is probably one that would have Yuri floundering and red-faced and anxious again to have crossed, so he shouldn't.
(Maybe only as a last resort.)
Still, his hand sneaks out from under Yuri's shirt to go searching around for the ice pack that got dropped, and he turns his head a little at Yuri's neck to look for it, until he finds soft terrycloth and a corner of plastic that he catches between his fingertips to tug a centimeter at a time until he can grab the whole thing in his palm and press it gently against Yuri's hip. His other hand is dropping to the mattress behind Yuri to brace himself, and he finally pulls away far enough to smile up into Yuri's face.
It doesn't feel like a normal smile, though: it feels almost dopey, eyelids heavy, too full of his own success and Yuri's warmth and how good it feels to be this close without Yuri running away to manage any cockiness. "As your coach, I really suggest it."
And as ... whatever he is now, he wholeheartedly requests it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zaluzianskya and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
skylark_photos
no subject
Date: 2017-05-01 03:27 am (UTC)As if that was the point all along. (It was. Sort of. Mostly.) A note of satisfied triumph in his voice, even as he's stretching up to push a kiss against Yuri's throat, because neither he nor Yuri is actually moving.
He could, again. It would be pretty easy, with his arms around Yuri's waist and his own weight already settled. Could just haul him down, next to or even on top of Victor, and hold him there, like he had already twice before.
But a little different. There's still a difference between dragging Yuri into his lap, and tugging Yuri down onto a bed, and he's sure the thin line between them is probably one that would have Yuri floundering and red-faced and anxious again to have crossed, so he shouldn't.
(Maybe only as a last resort.)
Still, his hand sneaks out from under Yuri's shirt to go searching around for the ice pack that got dropped, and he turns his head a little at Yuri's neck to look for it, until he finds soft terrycloth and a corner of plastic that he catches between his fingertips to tug a centimeter at a time until he can grab the whole thing in his palm and press it gently against Yuri's hip. His other hand is dropping to the mattress behind Yuri to brace himself, and he finally pulls away far enough to smile up into Yuri's face.
It doesn't feel like a normal smile, though: it feels almost dopey, eyelids heavy, too full of his own success and Yuri's warmth and how good it feels to be this close without Yuri running away to manage any cockiness. "As your coach, I really suggest it."
And as ... whatever he is now, he wholeheartedly requests it.