This is better. More like what he expected the morning to look like, even if Yuri is still tense and probably still annoyed. He lets himself be dragged, even if there's a surprised scold of his name as they go down, but that's fine, he's used to that. Yuri half-shouting his name, as if Victor needs to be brought back to his sense, while Yuri still goes along with whatever it is Victor's doing that seems so insane.
It's a good sign.
So is the way Yuri pushes up, without pushing away, to look at him, with his hand on Victor's chest, directly over his heart, which Victor has to cover with his own, while his other hand lifts to brush back Yuri's hair over his ear, only for it to fall out again, too short and rumpled to stay put without gel, leaving Victor grinning and fond. Eyes gone soft as they track over Yuri's face, no glasses to break up the soft lines of his features or hide his eyes. "You're so beautiful."
Too simple to say, maybe, but it is simple, and it's true. Yuri is, has always been. Fine features and dark eyes that make him think of that old song, that pops up almost every skating season like clockwork, as reliable as Firebird or Scheherazade.
(He could skate it perfectly, now.)
The clean, graceful line of his neck, curving to his shoulder. The soft and rumpled mess of his hair, that seems made to have fingers carding through it. His hands, delicate and nimble. All the strength hidden beneath simple black shirts and pants, under a winter jacket, unassuming and shy.
Could anyone really blame him for losing his head over that picture, over having this in his arms?
Is he really going to be able to restrain himself if the temptation appears again?
How wrong is it that he already wishes he could show this off to the world? Not this, this ... private. Personal. Thing.
But this feeling. This bewildered sense of good fortune he still can't quite believe.
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Date: 2017-05-17 04:30 pm (UTC)This is better. More like what he expected the morning to look like, even if Yuri is still tense and probably still annoyed. He lets himself be dragged, even if there's a surprised scold of his name as they go down, but that's fine, he's used to that. Yuri half-shouting his name, as if Victor needs to be brought back to his sense, while Yuri still goes along with whatever it is Victor's doing that seems so insane.
It's a good sign.
So is the way Yuri pushes up, without pushing away, to look at him, with his hand on Victor's chest, directly over his heart, which Victor has to cover with his own, while his other hand lifts to brush back Yuri's hair over his ear, only for it to fall out again, too short and rumpled to stay put without gel, leaving Victor grinning and fond. Eyes gone soft as they track over Yuri's face, no glasses to break up the soft lines of his features or hide his eyes. "You're so beautiful."
Too simple to say, maybe, but it is simple, and it's true. Yuri is, has always been. Fine features and dark eyes that make him think of that old song, that pops up almost every skating season like clockwork, as reliable as Firebird or Scheherazade.
(He could skate it perfectly, now.)
The clean, graceful line of his neck, curving to his shoulder. The soft and rumpled mess of his hair, that seems made to have fingers carding through it. His hands, delicate and nimble. All the strength hidden beneath simple black shirts and pants, under a winter jacket, unassuming and shy.
Could anyone really blame him for losing his head over that picture, over having this in his arms?
Is he really going to be able to restrain himself if the temptation appears again?
How wrong is it that he already wishes he could show this off to the world? Not this, this ... private. Personal. Thing.
But this feeling. This bewildered sense of good fortune he still can't quite believe.
"How did I get so lucky?"