He wonders if his heart will ever stop listing with the angle of Yuri's head when he leans a little into that feather-light touch, thinks: probably not. It would be like no longer falling towards Earth if he tripped, or no longer floating to the surface after diving into a pool: it's been a fundamental physical law to him for so long he can't imagine how the world could work without it. He can't resist it anymore than he can resist shifting to lean a little closer, eyes soft on Yuri's face, even as Yuri is glancing down and away, and trying to find words.
The things he said that night, that are sounding more and more like maybe he was just being honest for the first time since arriving in Hasetsu. Being mistaken for talking about Eros, which is a reasonable assumption to make, if Yuri wasn't going to leap straight to the actual conclusion. Erosis Yuri, and how he feels about Yuri, and what Yuri did to him. Choreographed straight from memory, with all the longing and desire and fire he could put into it. His own undoing, that he rewatches now almost every day, helps Yuri perfect, gives him all the tools he needs to make sure Victor never recovers.
Maybe he hated himself a little, with it. Taunting himself with everything he couldn't have. Making it more effective, and thus more destructive, throwing himself on the fire to stoke it because if Yuri seduced him, Yuri could seduce anyone and everyone. He's said that more times than he can count. He always thought Yuri understood. Eros was never a made-up fairy tale. Where else could it have come from?
But Yuri is still picking words, while Victor leans a little nearer, hand lifting and turning to trace knuckles over Yuri's cheek until his fingers slip over the shell of his ear, tuck a few strands of silk hair back behind it. "What do you think now?"
That night is gone. He doesn't remember it, and if Yuri had even caught a glimmer of the truth, he wouldn't know. He would care if that night had gone more like this one, if he'd kissed Yuri and Yuri had let him, only to ignore it all in the morning, but that's not what happened, if he believes Yuri, and he does. He can readily believe that, blind drunk, he was lost in thoughts of wanting Yuri and not having him, and loving Yuri so much it felt like the force pushing the blood around his body and the air in and out of his lungs. He can even believe that half of that was in Russian, considering he's already found a few words tonight he hasn't been able to define correctly.
It's a little embarrassing, but not that much: he doesn't care who knows or what he says, when it's all the purest truth that he knows. It's only embarrassing that he did it, blackout drunk, the night before the Cup of China began, when Yuri really only needed to focus on skating. It's only a little embarrassing that Yuri clearly didn't believe him.
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Date: 2017-05-08 11:59 am (UTC)He wonders if his heart will ever stop listing with the angle of Yuri's head when he leans a little into that feather-light touch, thinks: probably not. It would be like no longer falling towards Earth if he tripped, or no longer floating to the surface after diving into a pool: it's been a fundamental physical law to him for so long he can't imagine how the world could work without it. He can't resist it anymore than he can resist shifting to lean a little closer, eyes soft on Yuri's face, even as Yuri is glancing down and away, and trying to find words.
The things he said that night, that are sounding more and more like maybe he was just being honest for the first time since arriving in Hasetsu. Being mistaken for talking about Eros, which is a reasonable assumption to make, if Yuri wasn't going to leap straight to the actual conclusion. Eros is Yuri, and how he feels about Yuri, and what Yuri did to him. Choreographed straight from memory, with all the longing and desire and fire he could put into it. His own undoing, that he rewatches now almost every day, helps Yuri perfect, gives him all the tools he needs to make sure Victor never recovers.
Maybe he hated himself a little, with it. Taunting himself with everything he couldn't have. Making it more effective, and thus more destructive, throwing himself on the fire to stoke it because if Yuri seduced him, Yuri could seduce anyone and everyone. He's said that more times than he can count. He always thought Yuri understood. Eros was never a made-up fairy tale. Where else could it have come from?
But Yuri is still picking words, while Victor leans a little nearer, hand lifting and turning to trace knuckles over Yuri's cheek until his fingers slip over the shell of his ear, tuck a few strands of silk hair back behind it. "What do you think now?"
That night is gone. He doesn't remember it, and if Yuri had even caught a glimmer of the truth, he wouldn't know. He would care if that night had gone more like this one, if he'd kissed Yuri and Yuri had let him, only to ignore it all in the morning, but that's not what happened, if he believes Yuri, and he does. He can readily believe that, blind drunk, he was lost in thoughts of wanting Yuri and not having him, and loving Yuri so much it felt like the force pushing the blood around his body and the air in and out of his lungs. He can even believe that half of that was in Russian, considering he's already found a few words tonight he hasn't been able to define correctly.
It's a little embarrassing, but not that much: he doesn't care who knows or what he says, when it's all the purest truth that he knows. It's only embarrassing that he did it, blackout drunk, the night before the Cup of China began, when Yuri really only needed to focus on skating. It's only a little embarrassing that Yuri clearly didn't believe him.
But. Now.