There's an all too clear second he thinks that was a mistake. Not at first. It comes in little parts.
The first part, the one where Victor leans in and is placing a kiss on his forehead floods himself behind mostly closed eyes, tugging from his chest a feeling childishly comforting, which spans into something flustered almost pink, because of it, because that almost certainly not what he should feel while Victor is kissing him, embarrassing but bearable, is mostly fine. All the way mostly normal in the slight unsettled, but deeply wanted, feeling.
The second part is definitely where it starts, when Victor pulls away and Yuri's eyes widen, first in question of why and then in a muddled, furrowed line between his brows, rather wordless, but not emotionless, dislike at himself, and barely, Victor, because why was his question, because why was Victor's answer, because Victor is with almost magic suddenness off that side of the bed, because--
Third, Victor is actually tugging at the blankets and sheets like this is something amusing. Nothing like that barely there memory that had borne up the question. Victor. Tugging him awake from being almost asleep. Victor. Directing him to get the blankets, because Victor was cold. Victor. Keeping a hand on his wrist the whole time, like a leash meant to keep him from going more than to do just that.
Except Victor is on his feet, and Yuri feels so suddenly weightless without the pressure of Victor above him. On him. And disoriented by the near aplomb he's going about unmaking his bed for Yuri. At Yuri's question, that hadn't even gotten around to being a request, or even an exact comment on needing them. Even though he would sleep better with a blanket. Would, did, want one if he was supposed to, was going to, go to sleep.
Here. Apparently? In Victor's bed. Who is saying he'll have to move. Help. "Okay."
He did sit up though, leaden muscles giving annoyed groans and that rusty familiar bone deep throbbing, as he used them, and went on moving, to help with at least where he was. Still fuzzy on just how his question had worked up to this. Victor up. (Victor away.) Victor looking just as fine to be doing this, and Yuri could at least get this part of the sheet and comforter. Tug it down from under the pillow he'd been using.Then, get himself levered up off the bed enough to pull it under his bottom, then set himself back down, while tugging it under, then over, his bare feet, in a wiggle of shifting weight and fussy joints that never has him actually off the bed where he is.
Then, back sitting with a slow few blinks and a puddle of Victor's white bedding in his lap and around him suddenly, oddly reminding him of yesterday morning. Except he'd run away as soon as he finally could yesterday, and even without Victor's hand on him now, even if his stomach shifted a little inside him, like it was trying to poke wakening fingers through the deep cloud of his exhaustion ... he wasn't.
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The first part, the one where Victor leans in and is placing a kiss on his forehead floods himself behind mostly closed eyes, tugging from his chest a feeling childishly comforting, which spans into something flustered almost pink, because of it, because that almost certainly not what he should feel while Victor is kissing him, embarrassing but bearable, is mostly fine. All the way mostly normal in the slight unsettled, but deeply wanted, feeling.
The second part is definitely where it starts, when Victor pulls away and Yuri's eyes widen, first in question of why and then in a muddled, furrowed line between his brows, rather wordless, but not emotionless, dislike at himself, and barely, Victor, because why was his question, because why was Victor's answer, because Victor is with almost magic suddenness off that side of the bed, because--
Third, Victor is actually tugging at the blankets and sheets like this is something amusing. Nothing like that barely there memory that had borne up the question. Victor. Tugging him awake from being almost asleep. Victor. Directing him to get the blankets, because Victor was cold. Victor. Keeping a hand on his wrist the whole time, like a leash meant to keep him from going more than to do just that.
Except Victor is on his feet, and Yuri feels so suddenly weightless without the pressure of Victor above him. On him. And disoriented by the near aplomb he's going about unmaking his bed for Yuri. At Yuri's question, that hadn't even gotten around to being a request, or even an exact comment on needing them. Even though he would sleep better with a blanket. Would, did, want one if he was supposed to, was going to, go to sleep.
Here. Apparently? In Victor's bed. Who is saying he'll have to move. Help. "Okay."
He did sit up though, leaden muscles giving annoyed groans and that rusty familiar bone deep throbbing, as he used them, and went on moving, to help with at least where he was. Still fuzzy on just how his question had worked up to this. Victor up. (Victor away.) Victor looking just as fine to be doing this, and Yuri could at least get this part of the sheet and comforter. Tug it down from under the pillow he'd been using.Then, get himself levered up off the bed enough to pull it under his bottom, then set himself back down, while tugging it under, then over, his bare feet, in a wiggle of shifting weight and fussy joints that never has him actually off the bed where he is.
Then, back sitting with a slow few blinks and a puddle of Victor's white bedding in his lap and around him suddenly, oddly reminding him of yesterday morning. Except he'd run away as soon as he finally could yesterday, and even without Victor's hand on him now, even if his stomach shifted a little inside him, like it was trying to poke wakening fingers through the deep cloud of his exhaustion ... he wasn't.