It's only a single sentence and Yuri is certain the skin on the back of his neck is turning into the surface of the sun. A disastrous snap between the words, and the jangle in his mind replaying both that's too violent to even be a specific thought, that has him looking up too fast, while Victor lifts his hand and brushes Yuri's check before stepping back. It's all too fast, and it feels brutal as anything else.
The sudden spike of terror about getting anything like less dressed, while Victor encourages it like it's a foregone conclusion, Yuri should strip out of his things, with that edge of a laugh in his words. The drastic swing that screams into place next about Victor walking back. Letting go. Suddenly. Space. Air. Cold that isn't cold. That still make his stomach feel like it just drops out of its place. Hands in the air and nothing there to grab or pull back.
Promptly drowned by the next wave that is Victor, with his hand pulling at his tie, and then his fingers undoing a button. Blurring at Yuri's vision. Or maybe it's his glasses. Maybe they are fogging against the heat that slaps his brain, too.
Yuri has to hope that turning away, as directed, looks anything but like a scramble of confusion away. Fingers hesitant, numb, on his zipper, when it's pounding in his ears. He doesn't know where this is going. He doesn't know what is happening anymore. What he. If he. Does he.
The room is almost pin-drop silent, while Yuri's head is throbbing and his ears are straining for a single clue to whether Victor is still -- still -- and it makes the fast clacking zziipp noise as he undoes his jacket so loud, too loud. Jarring. Makes peeling his jacket off, even with sensible, normal, winter clothes under it, still feels like peeling off a layer of his skin he suddenly isn't ready to be done with. Feels bare without. Which is, he knows, it's idiotic. Childish. He's crazy. Anyone else would be thrilled. Not. Not ... terrified? Confused? Plagued by a million doubts?
He does manage to get it hung up, next to Victor's, and he doesn't know why he stares at them, side-by-side, a too long second. Doesn't know if he's looking for something, or hesitating desperately from turning around. Especially since he has to do just that a second later. Turn around. Turn back. Swing behind the way, even as his heart is skipping beats in a wash too full to have a single name, his eyes still go to Victor first. Fastest. Only.
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The sudden spike of terror about getting anything like less dressed, while Victor encourages it like it's a foregone conclusion, Yuri should strip out of his things, with that edge of a laugh in his words. The drastic swing that screams into place next about Victor walking back. Letting go. Suddenly. Space. Air. Cold that isn't cold. That still make his stomach feel like it just drops out of its place. Hands in the air and nothing there to grab or pull back.
Promptly drowned by the next wave that is Victor, with his hand pulling at his tie, and then his fingers undoing a button.
Blurring at Yuri's vision. Or maybe it's his glasses. Maybe they are fogging against the heat that slaps his brain, too.
Yuri has to hope that turning away, as directed, looks anything but like a scramble of confusion away. Fingers hesitant, numb, on his zipper, when it's pounding in his ears. He doesn't know where this is going. He doesn't know what is happening anymore. What he. If he. Does he.
The room is almost pin-drop silent, while Yuri's head is throbbing and his ears are straining for a single clue to whether Victor is still -- still -- and it makes the fast clacking zziipp noise as he undoes his jacket so loud, too loud. Jarring. Makes peeling his jacket off, even with sensible, normal, winter clothes under it, still feels like peeling off a layer of his skin he suddenly isn't ready to be done with. Feels bare without. Which is, he knows, it's idiotic. Childish. He's crazy. Anyone else would be thrilled. Not. Not ... terrified? Confused? Plagued by a million doubts?
He does manage to get it hung up, next to Victor's, and he doesn't know why he stares at them, side-by-side, a too long second. Doesn't know if he's looking for something, or hesitating desperately from turning around. Especially since he has to do just that a second later. Turn around. Turn back. Swing behind the way, even as his heart is skipping beats in a wash too full to have a single name, his eyes still go to Victor first. Fastest. Only.