The flicker of concern in those glassy blue eyes flares into something like actual dread, edged with what seems all too much like it might be horror waiting in the wings, dying the things it touches inward, as Victor, who could manage any conversation with anyone, anywhere, at any time, suddenly seemed to be uncertain how to even phrase the questions he wanted to and then was asking Yuri.
If he'd done anything to Yuri. Like that. Which was a no, right? When you got down to it? Realistically.
"No." If it sounds a little like a question, it's more at Yuri's own mind than the startling need written bright and unavoidable as the full moon, rippling on the sea. "Not like that." He didn't. Hadn't. Not really. (Right?) "After we got back, you basically--" His mouth pressed.
What was a good word, or picture, for that even, aside from the one in his head? With Victor curled up around his whole body, arm around him, hand on his stomach, his chest, his heart, circling a wrist, head on his shoulder, head on his chest, lips against his neck, cheek and forehead to his shoulder, his neck, against his head, his shoulder. The rusting, sleep bare, needing note of stay, that might be more his imagination than memory.
Clearer in his mind than he expects, making his gaze drop. "--made me your pillow and then fell asleep on me." Not and then letting go even after that. Not and how every single word had burned against Yuri's skin unbidden. Forbidden.
The two he said were it, if extremely basic. But then so was Yuri's skin, suddenly heated at every touch, and Yuri's head, given he still had no clue how long he lay there, stiff as a board, heart pounding, and more awake than he'd seemed until that moment then, in his entire life (if that bar had been severely heightened by tonight, again), not even knowing Victor had fallen asleep.
Even if Victor had several times stopped him, barely even awake for all Yuri could guess, anytime he'd tried to leave after that point.
"You were still pretty out of it then." That much was true, and that walk with Victor had felt dizzying, even in a straight line. "And about half the things you were saying by then were in Russian." This with something not quite to a shrug, but the verbal equivalent of one. Like it was expected. Of his live-in Russian Coach ... Victor ... tonight, yesterday, the day before, multiple days. His first, truest language.
Most of the time he explained if Yuri couldn't make some context jump, and even when he could, often.
But Victor had been very drunk and that changed a good number of things. Hadn't 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: 2017-05-06 09:09 pm (UTC)If he'd done anything to Yuri. Like that. Which was a no, right? When you got down to it? Realistically.
"No." If it sounds a little like a question, it's more at Yuri's own mind than the startling need written bright and unavoidable as the full moon, rippling on the sea. "Not like that." He didn't. Hadn't. Not really. (Right?) "After we got back, you basically--" His mouth pressed.
What was a good word, or picture, for that even, aside from the one in his head? With Victor curled up around his whole body, arm around him, hand on his stomach, his chest, his heart, circling a wrist, head on his shoulder, head on his chest, lips against his neck, cheek and forehead to his shoulder, his neck, against his head, his shoulder. The rusting, sleep bare, needing note of stay, that might be more his imagination than memory.
Clearer in his mind than he expects, making his gaze drop. "--made me your pillow and then fell asleep on me."
Not and then letting go even after that. Not and how every single word had burned against Yuri's skin unbidden. Forbidden.
The two he said were it, if extremely basic. But then so was Yuri's skin, suddenly heated at every touch, and Yuri's head, given he still had no clue how long he lay there, stiff as a board, heart pounding, and more awake than he'd seemed until that moment then, in his entire life (if that bar had been severely heightened by tonight, again), not even knowing Victor had fallen asleep.
Even if Victor had several times stopped him, barely even awake for all Yuri could guess, anytime he'd tried to leave after that point.
"You were still pretty out of it then." That much was true, and that walk with Victor had felt dizzying, even in a straight line. "And about half the things you were saying by then were in Russian." This with something not quite to a shrug, but the verbal equivalent of one. Like it was expected. Of his live-in Russian Coach ... Victor ... tonight, yesterday, the day before, multiple days. His first, truest language.
Most of the time he explained if Yuri couldn't make some context jump, and even when he could, often.
But Victor had been very drunk and that changed a good number of things. Hadn't it.