Victor's hand drops from his hair and finds it's way to over Yuri's heart, where it's still marching at a faster than anything normal outside of practice or performance or anxious pace. Like it's on a constant quest to find a way through his lungs and his ribs, to lay itself against the palm laying against Yuri's shirt, and his chest, and his skin. Maybe it wasn't too wrong, if Victor is still there, staring at him, like this.
Hands unsettling as simple and easy as it had settled, back up his throat while Yuri swallows, and Victor does that thing Yuri is starting to feel, with a slightly harder beat to that heart of his, has gotten suddenly far more constant. Victor's palm and fingers are slightly curled around the bottom of his face and his thumb is running over Yuri's bottom lip. The soft warmth, pressure, texture, friction.
Making it harder to breathe in realization, even before he's saying something Yuri doesn't catch. Following it up with English that Yuri isn't certain makes it any easier to breathe either.
When Victor is calling him beautiful and it makes him search Victor's face for why he'd say that. That even when nothing has shifted in those peerless bright eyes or the nearness of Victor, Yuri knows what the world sees when it looks at him. Quiet to point of near silence. Compact. Mousy. All but sexless. He blends with ease into the background of anywhere he goes, and people don't notice him before or after he does.
Nothing like Victor, or Victor's face ... nothing like Victor, right there, right in front of him, who has written the book on that word just by his every breath. Smile. Pose. Wink. The kind of beauty you could only find a match of in the miracle of nature. The kind of hot that made you climb the walls, but didn't give you any relief from the heat. You couldn't miss Victor even if you were blind, and no one was or ever had be. Not to or for Victor.
Yuri's smile falters, a little, or maybe it just shifts to a faintly awkwardly little press.
He doesn't know why for all of that, but it doesn't change that he doesn't want to look or pull away. (That maybe somewhere so far deep down it's by his throbbing ankles, he almost does want to believe that Victor believes it.)
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Date: 2017-05-03 12:44 pm (UTC)Hands unsettling as simple and easy as it had settled, back up his throat while Yuri swallows, and Victor does that thing Yuri is starting to feel, with a slightly harder beat to that heart of his, has gotten suddenly far more constant. Victor's palm and fingers are slightly curled around the bottom of his face and his thumb is running over Yuri's bottom lip. The soft warmth, pressure, texture, friction.
Making it harder to breathe in realization, even before he's saying something Yuri doesn't catch.
Following it up with English that Yuri isn't certain makes it any easier to breathe either.
When Victor is calling him beautiful and it makes him search Victor's face for why he'd say that. That even when nothing has shifted in those peerless bright eyes or the nearness of Victor, Yuri knows what the world sees when it looks at him. Quiet to point of near silence. Compact. Mousy. All but sexless. He blends with ease into the background of anywhere he goes, and people don't notice him before or after he does.
Nothing like Victor, or Victor's face ... nothing like Victor, right there, right in front of him, who has written the book on that word just by his every breath. Smile. Pose. Wink. The kind of beauty you could only find a match of in the miracle of nature. The kind of hot that made you climb the walls, but didn't give you any relief from the heat. You couldn't miss Victor even if you were blind, and no one was or ever had be. Not to or for Victor.
Yuri's smile falters, a little, or maybe it just shifts to a faintly awkwardly little press.
He doesn't know why for all of that, but it doesn't change that he doesn't want to look or pull away.
(That maybe somewhere so far deep down it's by his throbbing ankles, he almost does want to believe that Victor believes it.)