There's this small gasp that pulls in between his lips, not ready, not prepared, for movement, for breath, for anything when Victor pulls away. While something in his chest aches like it's being ripped from the center of him making his fingers slide, curl into his palms.
Except he doesn't pull away, not any further than. Yuri can't even do distance. Do anything when Victor's forehead bumps gentle into his, and there's Victor's hand, thumb running the collumn of his throat, while he can barely swallow and his heart is trying to press up his windpipe.
Toward the hand. Toward his pulse beating in his bottom lip. Toward the place where Victor's skin is still touching his. Toward where Victor's eyes are so close, so full.
The way the words Victor says, soft and confusing for a moment, when Yuri isn't even sure he could convince himself to blink, to look away for a second, and it's like he's utterly forgotten how to even understand English, all language ever learned. Except it permeates somehow. Bubbles of air in water, at once a screaming sound, in that smooth voice, and distant, under a completely different kind of screaming.
Run away. (Don't run away.) As though he had any ability to move. (Legs.)
Any will to do anything that wasn't just stand there.
His face gone hot and chest rising and falling, with Victor's face right there. The fall of his light hair framing Yuri's entire line of sight on one side. The press of his forehead like a brand. The absolute clarity of his eyes, burning sunlight through the clearest water, the most faceted stainglass sky, so bright it's almost impossible to breathe, think, look away.
But only that.
Only. Almost.
Because Yuri can't stop this circuit even when he knows where it's going, can feel it threaded through every muscle, lack of thought, lack of control. He's not sure if he's ever been able to control his self, but certainly not now. Not now, when his eyes drift down, to Victor's mouth. Delicate, and loose, and familiar as his face. And more. More. Where those words had come from. That had been pressed to his only second before.
When he can't tell if he's trying to say something. There's just something piercing, something like suffocating and drowning and burning all at. Everywhere. That shifts his own lips completely beyond his control to keep them still, too. Except not for air, and not for words.
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Date: 2017-04-11 09:16 pm (UTC)Except he doesn't pull away, not any further than. Yuri can't even do distance. Do anything when Victor's forehead bumps gentle into his, and there's Victor's hand, thumb running the collumn of his throat, while he can barely swallow and his heart is trying to press up his windpipe.
Toward the hand. Toward his pulse beating in his bottom lip.
Toward the place where Victor's skin is still touching his.
Toward where Victor's eyes are so close, so full.
The way the words Victor says, soft and confusing for a moment, when Yuri isn't even sure he could convince himself to blink, to look away for a second, and it's like he's utterly forgotten how to even understand English, all language ever learned. Except it permeates somehow. Bubbles of air in water, at once a screaming sound, in that smooth voice, and distant, under a completely different kind of screaming.
Run away. (Don't run away.)
As though he had any ability to move. (Legs.)
Any will to do anything that wasn't just stand there.
His face gone hot and chest rising and falling, with Victor's face right there. The fall of his light hair framing Yuri's entire line of sight on one side. The press of his forehead like a brand. The absolute clarity of his eyes, burning sunlight through the clearest water, the most faceted stainglass sky, so bright it's almost impossible to breathe, think, look away.
But only that.
Only. Almost.
Because Yuri can't stop this circuit even when he knows where it's going, can feel it threaded through every muscle, lack of thought, lack of control. He's not sure if he's ever been able to control his self, but certainly not now. Not now, when his eyes drift down, to Victor's mouth. Delicate, and loose, and familiar as his face. And more. More. Where those words had come from. That had been pressed to his only second before.
When he can't tell if he's trying to say something. There's just something piercing, something like suffocating and drowning and burning all at. Everywhere. That shifts his own lips completely beyond his control to keep them still, too. Except not for air, and not for words.