Yuri isn't positive he wants to play this game. Where Victor sounds a little stung with the offense.
Not angry. But a little offended. The flash bright reaction of it.
He's seen and heard things near enough to have some clue at Victor's actual disappointment and stormy annoyance. But this one he doesn't entirely believe. That there is a cent of him that believes Victor is less than fully aware of who Victor is, what he is, what he represents to the world. With his characteristic ease and the million hearts that broke anytime he so much as threw a wink at a crowd, or a camera.
Yuri doesn't, though, entirely have the time to focus on that, or, more aptly, just that, because Victor pulls him closer even while sounding stung. A hand running down his back, pulling him there. Momentum moving him a step in, shoe bumping Victor's and that catches, with no real preparation or thought and his hands still trapped, making him catch himself on his hands on Victor's chest. Which. Is. It's. It's a development. Leaving him blinking at his hands.
Before he realizes, with exquisite pressure against the back of his breastbone, that he can feel Victor's heart. Just faintly. Through the lapel of his suit jacket and his shirt. Through everything. His cheeks are definitely warming.
But the look up after is something slower, something ... different. Eyes caught on his hands, while things slot together like odd, suddenly checked boxes.
His hands are on Victor's chest. And he's in his room (their room) (they are). He's in Victor's arms. Pressed against Victor. Because they were kissing. Because Victor says he's not going to stop. And there's. It's. Really. It's all rather insane, still, but when he's looking back up to Victor's face, there's something soft plucking the edge of his mouth.
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Date: 2017-04-13 11:05 pm (UTC)Not angry. But a little offended. The flash bright reaction of it.
He's seen and heard things near enough to have some clue at Victor's actual disappointment and stormy annoyance. But this one he doesn't entirely believe. That there is a cent of him that believes Victor is less than fully aware of who Victor is, what he is, what he represents to the world. With his characteristic ease and the million hearts that broke anytime he so much as threw a wink at a crowd, or a camera.
Yuri doesn't, though, entirely have the time to focus on that, or, more aptly, just that, because Victor pulls him closer even while sounding stung. A hand running down his back, pulling him there. Momentum moving him a step in, shoe bumping Victor's and that catches, with no real preparation or thought and his hands still trapped, making him catch himself on his hands on Victor's chest. Which. Is. It's. It's a development. Leaving him blinking at his hands.
Before he realizes, with exquisite pressure against the back of his breastbone, that he can feel Victor's heart.
Just faintly. Through the lapel of his suit jacket and his shirt. Through everything. His cheeks are definitely warming.
But the look up after is something slower, something ... different.
Eyes caught on his hands, while things slot together like odd, suddenly checked boxes.
His hands are on Victor's chest. And he's in his room (their room) (they are). He's in Victor's arms. Pressed against Victor. Because they were kissing. Because Victor says he's not going to stop. And there's. It's. Really. It's all rather insane, still, but when he's looking back up to Victor's face, there's something soft plucking the edge of his mouth.