This, he understands. Yuri clinging to him, like he thinks Victor was the one about to be ripped away, when it's impossible. There's nowhere Victor would go, if Yuri wasn't there, too. Not anymore. Hasn't he proven that?
So maybe he screwed up. (Again.) There's a learning curve to all of this, and it involves him being more thoughtful, and maybe Yuri being more open, but it doesn't matter. As long as they're here together, they can figure it out. Relief a cold sweep of water pouring down over his head and along the back of his neck, everywhere Yuri is touching. His chest. Shoulder. The crook of his neck. Those arms around his neck and shoulders, fingers hard and gripping too hard. Not painful, but harder than Yuri should feel like he needs to hold on to Victor, which is why his own arms loosen enough for him to shift, lift his head to find the side of Yuri's neck with his mouth, even as quiet, coaxing words are coming out. "Come back to bed."
Come back to him. Here. This quiet, safe place where the world is still shut out, and no one will bother them, and they have ... not all the time in the world, but some. Some more.
What Yuri said was supposed to be just theirs. When in reality it's just his. Victor is. If there's a world outside that window, he doesn't give a damn about it, or what the people in it think. All he wants, he has, right here and now.
Already leaning his weight down and backwards, pulling Yuri with him in a slow but inexorable drop, to find the bed with his back with Yuri on his chest, long arms securing him like a seatbelt.
He'd said nothing would change, and he'd meant it. And nothing has. Nothing that matters. It's still just them.
Lifting his head to brush his nose into Yuri's hair, lips over his ear. "This is just ours." Except that's not even quite right. It is, but even more, it's. "Yours."
This is. The important part.
All of him. Even if he doesn't always get it 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: 2017-05-17 03:03 pm (UTC)So maybe he screwed up. (Again.) There's a learning curve to all of this, and it involves him being more thoughtful, and maybe Yuri being more open, but it doesn't matter. As long as they're here together, they can figure it out. Relief a cold sweep of water pouring down over his head and along the back of his neck, everywhere Yuri is touching. His chest. Shoulder. The crook of his neck. Those arms around his neck and shoulders, fingers hard and gripping too hard. Not painful, but harder than Yuri should feel like he needs to hold on to Victor, which is why his own arms loosen enough for him to shift, lift his head to find the side of Yuri's neck with his mouth, even as quiet, coaxing words are coming out. "Come back to bed."
Come back to him. Here. This quiet, safe place where the world is still shut out, and no one will bother them, and they have ... not all the time in the world, but some. Some more.
What Yuri said was supposed to be just theirs. When in reality it's just his. Victor is. If there's a world outside that window, he doesn't give a damn about it, or what the people in it think. All he wants, he has, right here and now.
Already leaning his weight down and backwards, pulling Yuri with him in a slow but inexorable drop, to find the bed with his back with Yuri on his chest, long arms securing him like a seatbelt.
He'd said nothing would change, and he'd meant it. And nothing has. Nothing that matters. It's still just them.
Lifting his head to brush his nose into Yuri's hair, lips over his ear. "This is just ours." Except that's not even quite right. It is, but even more, it's. "Yours."
This is. The important part.
All of him. Even if he doesn't always get it right.