Yuri doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to: the sudden dull flush of red in his cheeks and the choked sound he makes is enough for Victor. Some inner devil almost pushes the words are you all right, Yuri? innocently up his throat, but he shouldn't, shouldn't. No matter how cute Yuri is with his face gone that fetching shade of cherry blossom pink. No matter how his awkward, reflexive push in towards Victor only a few moments ago when to Victor's head like champagne.
Besides, as nice as that was, he wasn't lying, before: he wants Yuri all to himself, and that will never happen out here on the sidewalk, or by pushing Yuri into locker rooms that will, sooner or later, turn out to actually have people in them.
So he settles for a chuckle that does nothing to settle the itch starting up again just under his skin, the smooth and insistent waves of heat that keep flushing up and down his arms, his throat, his chest. "You look so cute right now, Yuri."
Well, he does. Much like he did when Victor first arrived, and Yuri was a flustered ball of surprised, all pink cheeks and shining eyes and stumbling words, even while he did absolutely everything Victor required of him. Ran. Jumped. Did calisthenics. Hours of ballet. Hours of stretching. Hours of basic drills. Never once giving up or in, even when he seemed so disbelieving that it could actually be happening.
This isn't unlike those days, except Victor knows Yuri better now, and he knows not to push too far, because even if Yuri is all right with being kissed –– or, at least, is surprised enough he hasn't actually considered running away yet –– it's probably a tenuous gift.
But it should be better when they're alone. When Victor can explain, and wrap him up, and touch his cheek with his fingers, and they can figure it all out together.
(The hotel loom just ahead, thankfully close, frustratingly far.)
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Date: 2017-04-13 02:40 am (UTC)Besides, as nice as that was, he wasn't lying, before: he wants Yuri all to himself, and that will never happen out here on the sidewalk, or by pushing Yuri into locker rooms that will, sooner or later, turn out to actually have people in them.
So he settles for a chuckle that does nothing to settle the itch starting up again just under his skin, the smooth and insistent waves of heat that keep flushing up and down his arms, his throat, his chest. "You look so cute right now, Yuri."
Well, he does. Much like he did when Victor first arrived, and Yuri was a flustered ball of surprised, all pink cheeks and shining eyes and stumbling words, even while he did absolutely everything Victor required of him. Ran. Jumped. Did calisthenics. Hours of ballet. Hours of stretching. Hours of basic drills. Never once giving up or in, even when he seemed so disbelieving that it could actually be happening.
This isn't unlike those days, except Victor knows Yuri better now, and he knows not to push too far, because even if Yuri is all right with being kissed –– or, at least, is surprised enough he hasn't actually considered running away yet –– it's probably a tenuous gift.
But it should be better when they're alone. When Victor can explain, and wrap him up, and touch his cheek with his fingers, and they can figure it all out together.
(The hotel loom just ahead, thankfully close, frustratingly far.)