Some small part of him was expecting Yuri to flinch away, maybe: the part that hates himself in the middle of the night, the part that even now is saying you've ruined it, everything, but he doesn't.
Nor does he just stand there and let Victor hug him, passive and unsure. His arms are up in a second, wrapping Victor's ribcage so tightly that for a second it feels like they're creaking in protest, shoving forward into Victor so roughly that Victor takes a quick step back to keep his balance, and this is the kind of love he understands, better than trying to explain it. Physical and immediate. Wrapped in arms and breathed against the crook of his neck and burned there in the impression of Yuri's face into his shirt collar, into his throat.
It takes him off guard, but he's hugged Yuri more times than he can count in the last eight months, and he can do this, if it's what Yuri needs, can unfurl one hand over the back of Yuri's head, fingers light on soft hair to hold him here while Victor stares at the closed door in front of him and wonders what he should do, or say. If there's anything he should do or say, or if it's like in the garage, when all Yuri wanted from him was to be there and not leave, to believe in him when Yuri couldn't believe in himself.
That was easy, and this is, too, his voice low and a little breathless from the way Yuri's arms are squeezing his ribs. "I'm not going anywhere, Yuri."
Even if Yuri wasn't holding onto him like grim death, determined to cling to him like a barnacle to a dock, he has no more intention of leaving or ability to go if he had than the dock might.
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Date: 2017-04-14 06:28 pm (UTC)Nor does he just stand there and let Victor hug him, passive and unsure. His arms are up in a second, wrapping Victor's ribcage so tightly that for a second it feels like they're creaking in protest, shoving forward into Victor so roughly that Victor takes a quick step back to keep his balance, and this is the kind of love he understands, better than trying to explain it. Physical and immediate. Wrapped in arms and breathed against the crook of his neck and burned there in the impression of Yuri's face into his shirt collar, into his throat.
It takes him off guard, but he's hugged Yuri more times than he can count in the last eight months, and he can do this, if it's what Yuri needs, can unfurl one hand over the back of Yuri's head, fingers light on soft hair to hold him here while Victor stares at the closed door in front of him and wonders what he should do, or say. If there's anything he should do or say, or if it's like in the garage, when all Yuri wanted from him was to be there and not leave, to believe in him when Yuri couldn't believe in himself.
That was easy, and this is, too, his voice low and a little breathless from the way Yuri's arms are squeezing his ribs. "I'm not going anywhere, Yuri."
Even if Yuri wasn't holding onto him like grim death, determined to cling to him like a barnacle to a dock, he has no more intention of leaving or ability to go if he had than the dock might.