If he expected Victor to be sensible and scramble to his feet and let Yuri get his skates back under him, so they could try to politely exit the skating arena without any more preamble and reasons for the suddenly very loud cheering, gaping faces -- he was sorely mistaken.
And he should have known better, might have, if it wasn't now. If his eyes weren't going wide, and there wasn't the sudden world of possiblity Victor isn't going to let him up. Isn't going to stop. Might just -- he might -- again -- Yuri's can't even tell where, what, how. His chest tightens, shoulders pressing, breath suddenly starting a sprint in his chest between his lungs and heart, not sure which part of that might be worse, or better, disasterous, but dizzying possiblity, throat dry.
Except Victor relents. With this smile like maybe he's laughing at his own joke, and even though Yuri suggested getting up, knows they need to get up, he feels almost entirely weightless once Victor's weight has come off of him.
Except Victor relents, with a sigh that sounds so soft and put upon Yuri swears it's going to break the bones inside him it falls on. Especially when Victor reaches out at touches his cheek so softly Yuri swears for a second it's gone again -- all of the noise, all of the world, even his own heart, his own lungs, anything but the place where those covered fingers touch him, straining to ache for the touch of his fingers in them, suddenly, impossibly, his absent heart like a desperate fluttering of wings.
Before it's gone and there's his hand, being held out, like every other time Yuri ever fell down near him, in practice, amid jump drills, and Yuri has to push himself up. One bare hand on frigid melting ice and the other in Victor's own, gloved hand, warm and slim, but strong. Helping him lever up, but it's impossible to figure out where to look. The whole world is looking at him. (Them.) Victor is looking at him.
Impossibly, his left leg trembles uncontrollably, first, as his weight settles into his standing, proving his humanity is still attached, with a throb of angry, sharp pain at his hip.
Because that, too.
He doesn't know how he forgot about that even for a second. But a flicker of a glance toward Victor, even under his eye lashes, and not entirely even just that. He does. He does know. He's not sure he's got a grasp on it still. He tried Victor's flip (and Victor kissed him). The whole world seems surreal aside from the pain, from the moment he has to wait at the gate to wipe his skates, and wonder how he's even supposed to answer anything about ... that.
How did he do. Did it work. What will they say.
The questions bursting into life with air, with weight, with space.
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Date: 2017-04-10 06:29 pm (UTC)And he should have known better, might have, if it wasn't now. If his eyes weren't going wide, and there wasn't the sudden world of possiblity Victor isn't going to let him up. Isn't going to stop. Might just -- he might -- again -- Yuri's can't even tell where, what, how. His chest tightens, shoulders pressing, breath suddenly starting a sprint in his chest between his lungs and heart, not sure which part of that might be worse, or better, disasterous, but dizzying possiblity, throat dry.
Except Victor relents. With this smile like maybe he's laughing at his own joke, and even though Yuri suggested getting up, knows they need to get up, he feels almost entirely weightless once Victor's weight has come off of him.
Except Victor relents, with a sigh that sounds so soft and put upon Yuri swears it's going to break the bones inside him it falls on. Especially when Victor reaches out at touches his cheek so softly Yuri swears for a second it's gone again -- all of the noise, all of the world, even his own heart, his own lungs, anything but the place where those covered fingers touch him, straining to ache for the touch of his fingers in them, suddenly, impossibly, his absent heart like a desperate fluttering of wings.
Before it's gone and there's his hand, being held out, like every other time Yuri ever fell down near him, in practice, amid jump drills, and Yuri has to push himself up. One bare hand on frigid melting ice and the other in Victor's own, gloved hand, warm and slim, but strong. Helping him lever up, but it's impossible to figure out where to look. The whole world is looking at him. (Them.) Victor is looking at him.
Impossibly, his left leg trembles uncontrollably, first, as his weight settles into his standing, proving his humanity is still attached, with a throb of angry, sharp pain at his hip.
Because that, too.
He doesn't know how he forgot about that even for a second. But a flicker of a glance toward Victor, even under his eye lashes, and not entirely even just that. He does. He does know. He's not sure he's got a grasp on it still. He tried Victor's flip (and Victor kissed him). The whole world seems surreal aside from the pain, from the moment he has to wait at the gate to wipe his skates, and wonder how he's even supposed to answer anything about ... that.
How did he do. Did it work. What will they say.
The questions bursting into life with air, with weight, with space.