This might have been a surprise a few hours ago, but now Yuri says he knows and that's probably true. Victor's told him, over and over again, nearly from the time he first arrived in Hasetsu. That's how I show my love. It's not something he's ever really hidden, or tried to hide, even once he had to set it aside to give Yuri what he wanted. It isn't a secret.
He loves Yuri, and he lost his mind and tracked Yuri down to be with him, and now he losing it all over again, because Yuri hasn't moved, except to hold him tighter, and the only thing in his head is an echoing sense of loss, edged with cold fear. The thought of not having this, of those months spent killing himself in practice at the Sports Palace until even Yakov told him to take a break. He never wants to feel that way again: lost and lonely and so angry he didn't know what to do with it. Angry at Yuri for disappearing, angry at himself for wanting him anyway long after it had stopped making any sort of sense to stay infatuated, to keep longing for something and someone he couldn't have.
To tempt all of that once again simply because he couldn't keep himself from being impatient and thoughtless and selfish tonight is a freezing, desperate thought. It makes him want to cling to Yuri like a child would to a teddy bear, wrap around him and refuse to let go. It makes him want to kiss Yuri again until they're both breathless and unthinking and he can't remember feeling this way, not tonight, and not months ago.
(He wants to pour it all out into the dimly lit air of this hotel room, lay it out here on the crisp white comforter of the bed, how he doesn't understand how his heart could be so full and feel so close to breaking at the same time.)
Yuri isn't going anywhere. He hasn't been scared away, and he hasn't fled from Victor at all even if he's looked uncomfortable or skeptical at various points in the evening. He's still lying here, letting Victor just try to be as close to him as he can get, his far hand sliding down under Yuri's shoulderblade to run palm and fingers over his side, his ribs, down to his waist, where it settles, warm and affectionate.
(He doesn't understand how it's possible to long for someone already under his touch, under his chest, whose skin is against his lips and the tip of his nose and whose arms are around him.
But that's how this feels.)
Puffing out a heavy breath, as he tries to relax his shoulders, his back, all the muscles that had decided to knot and aggravate him and each other, to pull himself back to this moment, here. The reality of Yuri against him. How long ago all the rest of that was.
Yuri, who loves him back. Wants him, back. Is holding onto him, had just been complaining that Victor didn't look like he was having trouble breathing or even just being, right now.
Yuri does all those things, so he doesn't need to long for it anymore, doesn't need to feel desperate. The bruise he's pressing on is an old one, even if it still aches. This is something new. "Good."
He should say something else, but it still feels raw, like he'd accidentally scratched off a scab and now that wound is free-bleeding again, and needs a few moments to clot over once more. "Then you should know you take my breath away all the time."
Not just tonight. Regardless of how he looked just now, that make Yuri make that face.
In the rink. Sitting at the beach. Talking over dinner. In the mornings, sleepy and mussed.
There are times he thinks he stopped breathing altogether, the first time he really saw Yuri.
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He loves Yuri, and he lost his mind and tracked Yuri down to be with him, and now he losing it all over again, because Yuri hasn't moved, except to hold him tighter, and the only thing in his head is an echoing sense of loss, edged with cold fear. The thought of not having this, of those months spent killing himself in practice at the Sports Palace until even Yakov told him to take a break. He never wants to feel that way again: lost and lonely and so angry he didn't know what to do with it. Angry at Yuri for disappearing, angry at himself for wanting him anyway long after it had stopped making any sort of sense to stay infatuated, to keep longing for something and someone he couldn't have.
To tempt all of that once again simply because he couldn't keep himself from being impatient and thoughtless and selfish tonight is a freezing, desperate thought. It makes him want to cling to Yuri like a child would to a teddy bear, wrap around him and refuse to let go. It makes him want to kiss Yuri again until they're both breathless and unthinking and he can't remember feeling this way, not tonight, and not months ago.
(He wants to pour it all out into the dimly lit air of this hotel room, lay it out here on the crisp white comforter of the bed, how he doesn't understand how his heart could be so full and feel so close to breaking at the same time.)
Yuri isn't going anywhere. He hasn't been scared away, and he hasn't fled from Victor at all even if he's looked uncomfortable or skeptical at various points in the evening. He's still lying here, letting Victor just try to be as close to him as he can get, his far hand sliding down under Yuri's shoulderblade to run palm and fingers over his side, his ribs, down to his waist, where it settles, warm and affectionate.
(He doesn't understand how it's possible to long for someone already under his touch, under his chest, whose skin is against his lips and the tip of his nose and whose arms are around him.
But that's how this feels.)
Puffing out a heavy breath, as he tries to relax his shoulders, his back, all the muscles that had decided to knot and aggravate him and each other, to pull himself back to this moment, here. The reality of Yuri against him. How long ago all the rest of that was.
Yuri, who loves him back. Wants him, back. Is holding onto him, had just been complaining that Victor didn't look like he was having trouble breathing or even just being, right now.
Yuri does all those things, so he doesn't need to long for it anymore, doesn't need to feel desperate. The bruise he's pressing on is an old one, even if it still aches. This is something new. "Good."
He should say something else, but it still feels raw, like he'd accidentally scratched off a scab and now that wound is free-bleeding again, and needs a few moments to clot over once more. "Then you should know you take my breath away all the time."
Not just tonight. Regardless of how he looked just now, that make Yuri make that face.
In the rink. Sitting at the beach. Talking over dinner. In the mornings, sleepy and mussed.
There are times he thinks he stopped breathing altogether, the first time he really saw Yuri.