It's almost immediate, this answer. Could never be anything else, when it's the truest thing he knows. "All the time."
Night after night. In St. Petersburg. Around the world, at competitions. (Memorably, and miserably, nearly every single night back in Sochi. He's not sure he'll ever go back to that hotel.)
Maybe they took slightly different shapes, once he came to Hasetsu, but not by much. If anything, they were more prevalent than ever, fed by all the hours and days and weeks and months he spent with Yuri.
Dreams about that night in the ballroom, Yuri's hand on his skin and the sheer joy of movement. Dreams about how it all should have ended, with someone's back hitting a wall and fingers against burning skin, until the inability to breathe woke him up, slick with sweat, heart racing.
But dreams, also, about spending the day together: Yuri just there, next to him, or just in front of him. Occasionally, Yuri missing, and Victor desperate to find him, chasing down long hallways and city streets.
Yuri coy. Yuri blushing. Yuri certain and sexy. Yuri shy and smiling. Every shade of Yuri that he's been so fortunate to see, have, hold, touch, visiting him over and over again until he was sure he'd lose his mind or snap under the strain of longing. Certain, sometimes, that one more jolt awake into the world where none of it was real would break his heart for good. It never had –– his heart always proved a little more resilient than he'd thought –– but there were times when he was sure he could stand no more of it.
And now Yuri's here, warm beneath him, looking bewildered at the very thought. Bemused enough that Victor leans down to kiss him, gently, before answering the other half of that still unasked question. "Yes, like this."
Like this, and so much more. He could no more keep from dreaming about Yuri than he could keep from falling asleep.
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Date: 2017-05-08 04:53 pm (UTC)Night after night. In St. Petersburg. Around the world, at competitions. (Memorably, and miserably, nearly every single night back in Sochi. He's not sure he'll ever go back to that hotel.)
Maybe they took slightly different shapes, once he came to Hasetsu, but not by much. If anything, they were more prevalent than ever, fed by all the hours and days and weeks and months he spent with Yuri.
Dreams about that night in the ballroom, Yuri's hand on his skin and the sheer joy of movement. Dreams about how it all should have ended, with someone's back hitting a wall and fingers against burning skin, until the inability to breathe woke him up, slick with sweat, heart racing.
But dreams, also, about spending the day together: Yuri just there, next to him, or just in front of him. Occasionally, Yuri missing, and Victor desperate to find him, chasing down long hallways and city streets.
Yuri coy. Yuri blushing. Yuri certain and sexy. Yuri shy and smiling. Every shade of Yuri that he's been so fortunate to see, have, hold, touch, visiting him over and over again until he was sure he'd lose his mind or snap under the strain of longing. Certain, sometimes, that one more jolt awake into the world where none of it was real would break his heart for good. It never had –– his heart always proved a little more resilient than he'd thought –– but there were times when he was sure he could stand no more of it.
And now Yuri's here, warm beneath him, looking bewildered at the very thought. Bemused enough that Victor leans down to kiss him, gently, before answering the other half of that still unasked question. "Yes, like this."
Like this, and so much more. He could no more keep from dreaming about Yuri than he could keep from falling asleep.