Victor's hair is soft against his finger, and then his palm, in the soft pat, and for a moment he almost regrets that he's not going to see Victor's face.
Not going to know if Victor gets it. Wondering if even he does . Anything more than a seconds brush of contact to intimate a million things his mouth can't, and didn't. That there is no time for now. He won't see the face that comes up, not when he's already shifting his weight to push off. His minutes are down to seconds now. He has to skate. He has to try and show the world. His love. The story they wrote together.
But he won't leave Victor looking entirely so alone, so adrift, so apart. He isn't. Whatever he is, they are, even now, especially now ... it isn't that.
Yuri knows better than all of those things, even if he's only just thinking them as he comes across the ice. A long fluid movement and the soft hiss of ice, backed by a roar of cheering that coasts over every inch of his thoughts, his hearing, his self as slides into his starting position. Closing his eyes. One foot behind the other, hands down and fingertips all but not touching his thighs.
Face tipped down and he breathes. Out. In again. Feeling it fill down and down into him, nothing stopping it. The music starts and he breathes through it, hands lifting in time to it. Muscles answering the music and his own direction, with an almost disorienting amount of ease. Everything flowing, upward, and ... there's so much s p a c e. In his head. In his skin. In the music.
He felt so much better after crying. And Victor's expression when that had started. Had he ever seen Victor so shocked? It seemed priceless now. Now, removed. Now, flickering against the glide of the first easy spins, turning his mouth. The beginning of this story. He'd cried after a competition before. Several. Most, even. But not before. Never before a competition. Everything was so spaced out, and he was already coming into his first jump.
A glide that turned out his combination quad toe loop, and then a double toe loop, with even surprising ease. The effort was there -- he still had to throw himself off the ice, catch himself, continue, right into the same again -- but not the wall he'd slammed into earlier. He trailed straight through it. Surprise and relief like twins settling on his shoulder, trailing in the icy air between his temples and his hair, buoying up something warmer in his chest. The smoothness rounding out all of his still slower beginning movements.
As the music began to only slowly introduce the more and more complicated strains. Of Love. This paths he'd taken.
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Date: 2017-04-09 08:30 pm (UTC)and for a moment he almost regrets that he's not going to see Victor's face.
Not going to know if Victor gets it. Wondering if even he does . Anything more than a seconds brush of contact to intimate a million things his mouth can't, and didn't. That there is no time for now. He won't see the face that comes up, not when he's already shifting his weight to push off. His minutes are down to seconds now. He has to skate. He has to try and show the world. His love. The story they wrote together.
But he won't leave Victor looking entirely so alone, so adrift, so apart. He isn't.
Whatever he is, they are, even now, especially now ... it isn't that.
Yuri knows better than all of those things, even if he's only just thinking them as he comes across the ice. A long fluid movement and the soft hiss of ice, backed by a roar of cheering that coasts over every inch of his thoughts, his hearing, his self as slides into his starting position. Closing his eyes. One foot behind the other, hands down and fingertips all but not touching his thighs.
Face tipped down and he breathes. Out. In again. Feeling it fill down and down into him, nothing stopping it. The music starts and he breathes through it, hands lifting in time to it. Muscles answering the music and his own direction, with an almost disorienting amount of ease. Everything flowing, upward, and ... there's so much s p a c e. In his head. In his skin. In the music.
He felt so much better after crying. And Victor's expression when that had started. Had he ever seen Victor so shocked? It seemed priceless now. Now, removed. Now, flickering against the glide of the first easy spins, turning his mouth. The beginning of this story. He'd cried after a competition before. Several. Most, even. But not before. Never before a competition. Everything was so spaced out, and he was already coming into his first jump.
A glide that turned out his combination quad toe loop, and then a double toe loop, with even surprising ease. The effort was there -- he still had to throw himself off the ice, catch himself, continue, right into the same again -- but not the wall he'd slammed into earlier. He trailed straight through it. Surprise and relief like twins settling on his shoulder, trailing in the icy air between his temples and his hair, buoying up something warmer in his chest. The smoothness rounding out all of his still slower beginning movements.
As the music began to only slowly introduce the more and more complicated strains. Of Love. This paths he'd taken.