This kiss is so chaste, so careful and fragile, it's like nothing else he's known so far. Maybe the closest thing he's ever come to truly finding that center of Agape: perfect and achingly precious in its purity. In Yuri's.
Yuri, who at almost twenty-four, is still naive and innocent. Yuri, who is touching him like he's the precious thing, the fragile one. It feels like he's uncurling Victor's fingers one by one to gently place that so easily shattered heart of his into Victor's palm, tucking his fingers back around it.
His, to keep safe. His to protect. To adore, to care for.
It's nothing Victor knows if he's ready to do, or capable of doing. His lack of experience with this hasn't changed since that day on the beach, but he's still willing to try. His best. Better than his best. He can be whatever Yuri needs him to be. That's nothing that's changed.
Feeling it like the loss of air when Yuri pulls away, and Victor's hand slips from his hair, to the side of his neck, to his collarbone, to the spot on his chest where he can feel Yuri's heart thumping steady and strong against him palm. (It feels so much more robust than he knows it truly is.)
Leaving him here, feeling bare and sliced open, with his eyes fixed on Yuri's face. Serious brown eyes, under those familiar half-rimmed glasses, his hair gone shaggy and rumpled now that it's dry. Smooth skin, features so familiar he can't remember if he always thought they were this beautiful, or if it's partly because he's associated beauty with Yuri for so long now that he can't tell the difference between his heart and his skating and the way he looks –– but he thinks it's true. That he is beautiful.
Which is probably why it bubbles up to his lips, while his hand slips back along Yuri's chest and throat to run the pad of his thumb over his lip, softly. "красивая."
A pause, and his smile turns a little warmer, fonder. "Beautiful Yuri."
![[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: 2017-05-03 02:43 am (UTC)Yuri, who at almost twenty-four, is still naive and innocent. Yuri, who is touching him like he's the precious thing, the fragile one. It feels like he's uncurling Victor's fingers one by one to gently place that so easily shattered heart of his into Victor's palm, tucking his fingers back around it.
His, to keep safe. His to protect. To adore, to care for.
It's nothing Victor knows if he's ready to do, or capable of doing. His lack of experience with this hasn't changed since that day on the beach, but he's still willing to try. His best. Better than his best. He can be whatever Yuri needs him to be. That's nothing that's changed.
Feeling it like the loss of air when Yuri pulls away, and Victor's hand slips from his hair, to the side of his neck, to his collarbone, to the spot on his chest where he can feel Yuri's heart thumping steady and strong against him palm. (It feels so much more robust than he knows it truly is.)
Leaving him here, feeling bare and sliced open, with his eyes fixed on Yuri's face. Serious brown eyes, under those familiar half-rimmed glasses, his hair gone shaggy and rumpled now that it's dry. Smooth skin, features so familiar he can't remember if he always thought they were this beautiful, or if it's partly because he's associated beauty with Yuri for so long now that he can't tell the difference between his heart and his skating and the way he looks –– but he thinks it's true. That he is beautiful.
Which is probably why it bubbles up to his lips, while his hand slips back along Yuri's chest and throat to run the pad of his thumb over his lip, softly. "красивая."
A pause, and his smile turns a little warmer, fonder. "Beautiful Yuri."