The smile that tugs on to Victor's mouth while Yuri is staring (staring, and can't stop staring, and he's going to light up like a fire for that, too) is as familiar as it is foreign. A single solid shining curve of movement that feels like it's got a toepick hooked under one of his ribs, and the rest of a blade pressing down on the rest of his, as it widens, coming as sudden and bright as dawn when the sun finally flips over the horizon line, flooding everything sticky and golden.
He jumps, just barely, when Victor shifts, again, and if he could he might kick himself for the inability to see it coming or to stop it. But he can't, he can't even think. Can't even look down beyond the tip of Victor's nose back to his mouth, because Victor is leaning into him again. Victor's mouth presses against his, again, Victor's body does, presses him back against the door, and Victor -- Victor, Victor, Victor, the world's star, living legend, Victor, his coach, his -- Victor -- Victor is kissing him, him
And from nowhere and everywhere a soft sound, hollow and high, wrecked on itself, crawls up the back of his throat, into his mouth, against Victor's, before he even knows it's coming, like the last crash of anything like sanity, or maybe control. When his mouth moves with it, brushing Victor's lips, somehow flooding through his head, his skin, like a flash of light and lightning, fire bright and charring, blistering hard to think through and clarifying pointed all at once, when he pushes up from his toes thoughtlessly into it.
Because Victor is kissing him, kissing him, kissing. Again. A third time and he must be an idiot, an absolute idiot, that it took until this second (the third time) to parse that sentence -- the one he's been repeating for the better part of twenty minutes -- was a one-way sentence. Because the other side, the other side, is just as crazy, and it should have been there, he should have thought about that, then. But it's only happening now.
Now, with the realization, with that smallest friction, weight in the balls of his feet, even with his shoulders on the door, hands somewhere in the air, confused, having absolutely no clue where, what he should be doing, or not doing,
Except that he has to kiss Victor back. Is.Is now.
Like it's the only clear thing left in the world. And even that is burning away fast.
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Date: 2017-04-12 01:12 am (UTC)He jumps, just barely, when Victor shifts, again, and if he could he might kick himself for the inability to see it coming or to stop it. But he can't, he can't even think. Can't even look down beyond the tip of Victor's nose back to his mouth, because Victor is leaning into him again. Victor's mouth presses against his, again, Victor's body does, presses him back against the door, and Victor -- Victor, Victor, Victor, the world's star, living legend, Victor, his coach, his -- Victor -- Victor is kissing him, him
And from nowhere and everywhere a soft sound, hollow and high, wrecked on itself, crawls up the back of his throat, into his mouth, against Victor's, before he even knows it's coming, like the last crash of anything like sanity, or maybe control. When his mouth moves with it, brushing Victor's lips, somehow flooding through his head, his skin, like a flash of light and lightning, fire bright and charring, blistering hard to think through and clarifying pointed all at once, when he pushes up from his toes thoughtlessly into it.
Because Victor is kissing him, kissing him, kissing. Again. A third time and he must be an idiot, an absolute idiot, that it took until this second (the third time) to parse that sentence -- the one he's been repeating for the better part of twenty minutes -- was a one-way sentence. Because the other side, the other side, is just as crazy, and it should have been there, he should have thought about that, then. But it's only happening now.
Now, with the realization, with that smallest friction, weight in the balls of his feet, even with his shoulders on the door,
hands somewhere in the air, confused, having absolutely no clue where, what he should be doing, or not doing,
Except that he has to kiss Victor back. Is. Is now.
Like it's the only clear thing left in the world. And even that is burning away fast.