That sound almost undoes him. A whimper, dragged out of Yuri's throat, because Victor has stopped, because Victor pulled away, because Victor no longer has his mouth on him.
Reminding him of the real reason he needs to pull back. The one that isn't because Yuri needs air, but because he does.
Air. Sanity. The chance to cool off and regain his slipping hold on his self-control. (It doesn't matter what sounds Yuri makes, or how dopey he looks when Victor pulls back enough to see his face, watch him blink, or how pink his mouth is, how flushed his cheeks.
The only thing that matters is not taking it, any of it, as permission to go too far.)
But he still swallows hard, looking down at Yuri. Thinking of how easy it could be. How much better it would feel, to skin out of this shirt, no matter how soft and thin it is, and tug Yuri's over his head. To not stop just at the collar there, but be able to trace the curve of his neck all the way down to where his shoulder rounds, run his mouth over his collarbone, down towards his stomach. Yuri might even want it, everything Victor is telling himself not to do. Right now, flushed and breathless, not thinking straight, he might. He trusts Victor. He might even trust Victor to do everything, anything.
Which is exactly why Victor can't. Not when Yuri only got kissed for the first time tonight. Not when he's exhausted and barely able to think or even stand up when adrenaline isn't thudding through him. Not when they've barely had time to talk about any of it, and Yuri was flabberghasted just at the idea of having a date, a single harmless evening doing something they both love.
(That ice pack is still within reach: he considers grabbing it to dump the contents directly over his own head.)
Slow down. It's not a command he's used to giving himself, but he needs it, now. Not stop, maybe never stop, not again, now that this is all suddenly in his hands and someone would have to break his fingers to make him let go, but slow. Slower. Try to keep some semblance of his rational mind on a leash in his head, so he doesn't ruin everything before it gets the chance to start.
There's a spot at the top of Yuri's throat, just under his jaw, that's turning a dusty rose, and he leans to kiss it lightly, thumb running over it when he pulls away again, with a huff of breath and a rueful smile. "I need to, too."
Breathe. Cool down. Regain his senses. It isn't as though this is his only chance. Right?
![[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: 2017-05-09 03:54 pm (UTC)Reminding him of the real reason he needs to pull back. The one that isn't because Yuri needs air, but because he does.
Air. Sanity. The chance to cool off and regain his slipping hold on his self-control. (It doesn't matter what sounds Yuri makes, or how dopey he looks when Victor pulls back enough to see his face, watch him blink, or how pink his mouth is, how flushed his cheeks.
The only thing that matters is not taking it, any of it, as permission to go too far.)
But he still swallows hard, looking down at Yuri. Thinking of how easy it could be. How much better it would feel, to skin out of this shirt, no matter how soft and thin it is, and tug Yuri's over his head. To not stop just at the collar there, but be able to trace the curve of his neck all the way down to where his shoulder rounds, run his mouth over his collarbone, down towards his stomach. Yuri might even want it, everything Victor is telling himself not to do. Right now, flushed and breathless, not thinking straight, he might. He trusts Victor. He might even trust Victor to do everything, anything.
Which is exactly why Victor can't. Not when Yuri only got kissed for the first time tonight. Not when he's exhausted and barely able to think or even stand up when adrenaline isn't thudding through him. Not when they've barely had time to talk about any of it, and Yuri was flabberghasted just at the idea of having a date, a single harmless evening doing something they both love.
(That ice pack is still within reach: he considers grabbing it to dump the contents directly over his own head.)
Slow down. It's not a command he's used to giving himself, but he needs it, now. Not stop, maybe never stop, not again, now that this is all suddenly in his hands and someone would have to break his fingers to make him let go, but slow. Slower. Try to keep some semblance of his rational mind on a leash in his head, so he doesn't ruin everything before it gets the chance to start.
There's a spot at the top of Yuri's throat, just under his jaw, that's turning a dusty rose, and he leans to kiss it lightly, thumb running over it when he pulls away again, with a huff of breath and a rueful smile. "I need to, too."
Breathe. Cool down. Regain his senses. It isn't as though this is his only chance. Right?