He doesn't love it, especially right now, even when he's the one who made the choice, but Victor, Victor, reason and impetus and everything above him, is softly fuzzed, it's an impossible choice, with a cost either way. A thought that has sharper tips than expected on its claws, sharper wants inside his chest, on Victor, of Victor, everything Victor, even if it exists for all of the second before Victor says those words and most of the air in Yuri's chest turns into something like steam.
As though he would, could. As though Yuri has been the one to throw anyone, anywhere in this room. On ... this bed. Not once yet even, and he doesn't know if that thought should stick, but it slides, slides the way everything gone diffused soft peach pale and gray-silver slides toward darkness, when Victor is leaning down and Victor is sliding his arms beneath Yuri and finding his mouth, and the last thing Yuri's mouth needs is his eyes open to answer.
If he meant to think of anything, anything at all, it was a fools plan. There is nothing more than the slide of Victor's lips. The soft drag of Victor's bangs against his own forehead and cheek, while his fingers push up from cheeks back into it, and he still feels like he's pulling down, needs Victor closer. Dangerous and foolish, everything heavy and still in all of his skin warming so rapidly. Almost like it's easier this way, like there's less and less resistance in his skin, in his head.
He should be thinking about the fact he probably needs to put an arm down to better balance, with Victor's arms beneath him enough to takes a portion of his back off the bed, shoulders and middle back, weight on a new bar beneath him made of Victor's arms, muscles fussing at the newly acquired strain, but he can't quite yet. Can't focus on anything. It falls into his hands, and falls right back out, while Yuri's focus is stormed singularly by Victor.
Impossible perfect Victor, soft and smooth, in his head, defined by his fingers,
charcoal burning, defined by his mouth, that seems to be trying to make his heart explode.
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He doesn't love it, especially right now, even when he's the one who made the choice, but Victor, Victor, reason and impetus and everything above him, is softly fuzzed, it's an impossible choice, with a cost either way. A thought that has sharper tips than expected on its claws, sharper wants inside his chest, on Victor, of Victor, everything Victor, even if it exists for all of the second before Victor says those words and most of the air in Yuri's chest turns into something like steam.
As though he would, could. As though Yuri has been the one to throw anyone, anywhere in this room. On ... this bed. Not once yet even, and he doesn't know if that thought should stick, but it slides, slides the way everything gone diffused soft peach pale and gray-silver slides toward darkness, when Victor is leaning down and Victor is sliding his arms beneath Yuri and finding his mouth, and the last thing Yuri's mouth needs is his eyes open to answer.
If he meant to think of anything, anything at all, it was a fools plan. There is nothing more than the slide of Victor's lips. The soft drag of Victor's bangs against his own forehead and cheek, while his fingers push up from cheeks back into it, and he still feels like he's pulling down, needs Victor closer. Dangerous and foolish, everything heavy and still in all of his skin warming so rapidly. Almost like it's easier this way, like there's less and less resistance in his skin, in his head.
He should be thinking about the fact he probably needs to put an arm down to better balance, with Victor's arms beneath him enough to takes a portion of his back off the bed, shoulders and middle back, weight on a new bar beneath him made of Victor's arms, muscles fussing at the newly acquired strain, but he can't quite yet. Can't focus on anything. It falls into his hands, and falls right back out, while Yuri's focus is stormed singularly by Victor.
Impossible perfect Victor, soft and smooth, in his head, defined by his fingers,
charcoal burning, defined by his mouth, that seems to be trying to make his heart explode.