This kiss -- fleeting, golden, fragile thing, that it feels like he could place his heart on a scale against -- is nothing like the million stories of kisses he's seen, or heard, or read. The daily simplicity of his parents, or long-time couples in college. It's not like the amorous explosion of old opera's and modern movies.
It's not those. It's something else. Something. He doesn't know. If there's a word for it. Maybe that makes it wrong, and the thought tangles a little in his guts, even when it doesn't stop the rest. This feeling like placing his fingertips on the glass after the first snowfall as a child. The golden burst into darkness when the sun sinks over the Genke, rippling everywhere as it vanishes.
The humbleness of resting his forehead on the ground, to something bigger. He doesn't know if it's foolish, wrong, only that it feels, felt, impossible to deny. That he's not sure how to be anything but wrong though.
Like for a second he'd lay his heart, his soul, whatever Victor wanted in his hands if he wanted it. Without his even having to ask. He's not sure that makes him any different from anyone else in the world -- that anyone else couldn't, wouldn't offer that and so much more -- but no one else in the world is here. Except Victor.
Who keeps saying him. Victor wants him. That Victor's waited for him. No one else. Him.
Yuri pulled away gently, rosy and flustered at himself, at his own actions and thoughts. The space of a breath, only enough to look at Victor this close, without letting go, trying not to break the fluttering feeling, like a bird with trembling wings, and apologize.
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Date: 2017-05-02 07:05 pm (UTC)It's not those. It's something else. Something. He doesn't know. If there's a word for it. Maybe that makes it wrong, and the thought tangles a little in his guts, even when it doesn't stop the rest. This feeling like placing his fingertips on the glass after the first snowfall as a child. The golden burst into darkness when the sun sinks over the Genke, rippling everywhere as it vanishes.
The humbleness of resting his forehead on the ground, to something bigger.
He doesn't know if it's foolish, wrong, only that it feels, felt, impossible to deny.
That he's not sure how to be anything but wrong though.
Like for a second he'd lay his heart, his soul, whatever Victor wanted in his hands if he wanted it. Without his even having to ask. He's not sure that makes him any different from anyone else in the world -- that anyone else couldn't, wouldn't offer that and so much more -- but no one else in the world is here. Except Victor.
Who keeps saying him. Victor wants him.
That Victor's waited for him. No one else. Him.
Yuri pulled away gently, rosy and flustered at himself, at his own actions and thoughts. The space of a breath, only enough to look at Victor this close, without letting go, trying not to break the fluttering feeling, like a bird with trembling wings, and apologize.