There's a whimper, and one he's not proud of, doesn't know is coming, until the sound is there, escaped without warning or thought, embarrassingly needy, when Victor's pulled away, fingers suddenly calmly in Yuri's hair, a finger rubbing against his hair even and calm too (and why does Victor get to suddenly seem able to be calm, not affected like this), between his head and the pillow. Telling Yuri, again, to breathe.
When it seems unfair and unreal, aches even while things focus more in his head, even against everything in him being against that. Forming only to find drops of colder water. To want something else. That he doesn't want. Whether he should want this. Has any clue. Should breathe. Should pull back, from Victor suddenly everywhere. Victor over him. Victor holding him, like this, on Victor's bed.
Except.
Except all of his skin is throbbing toward every still there place they are still touching. Except Victor's own breathing doesn't sound anything like the calm and he wants to lean into that, more than Victor's single word. Victor's mouth -- always his mouth, all to present source of every problem, how has it only been minutes and hours -- but not that. The way his voice is just slightly rough, too.
Yuri wants to lean into both of those. His heavier breathing. His not so steady voice. He wants to believe that this insane thing inside of him, pushing up, demanding, getting everywhere, pushing everything out. That seems to not have handrails and keeps stealing his mind from his head, his heart from his chest, caution and panic and fear.
Wants Victor feels anything like this. Even if it's not new for him.
If he said those words. If he meant any them. All of them.
And still, still, Yuri can't help it. His breathing slowly getting deeper, breaths longer. Lungs as much a traitor as his arms, his fingers, as the study of Victor's face, swinging up and down, swimming before him. As though there isn't a part of him that knows how not to listen to Victor. Even if half of the things happening, all listening to Victor, are at the opposition of the others, the messages, requests, demands, touches, kisses, words.
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Date: 2017-05-09 02:21 pm (UTC)When it seems unfair and unreal, aches even while things focus more in his head, even against everything in him being against that. Forming only to find drops of colder water. To want something else. That he doesn't want. Whether he should want this. Has any clue. Should breathe. Should pull back, from Victor suddenly everywhere. Victor over him. Victor holding him, like this, on Victor's bed.
Except.
Except all of his skin is throbbing toward every still there place they are still touching. Except Victor's own breathing doesn't sound anything like the calm and he wants to lean into that, more than Victor's single word. Victor's mouth -- always his mouth, all to present source of every problem, how has it only been minutes and hours -- but not that. The way his voice is just slightly rough, too.
Yuri wants to lean into both of those. His heavier breathing. His not so steady voice. He wants to believe that this insane thing inside of him, pushing up, demanding, getting everywhere, pushing everything out. That seems to not have handrails and keeps stealing his mind from his head, his heart from his chest, caution and panic and fear.
Wants Victor feels anything like this. Even if it's not new for him.
If he said those words. If he meant any them. All of them.
And still, still, Yuri can't help it. His breathing slowly getting deeper, breaths longer. Lungs as much a traitor as his arms, his fingers, as the study of Victor's face, swinging up and down, swimming before him. As though there isn't a part of him that knows how not to listen to Victor. Even if half of the things happening, all listening to Victor, are at the opposition of the others, the messages, requests, demands, touches, kisses, words.