Victor doesn't say a word, only leans in and kisses him again. But it's a fast thing. That kiss. A faint press and then a lift away, almost confusing, except that Victor doesn't stop moving. He places a kiss on Yuri's cheek that almost makes him duck his head, in a bubble of something warm and amused. A familiarity that almost makes him smile, or laugh. He's not sure which.
Before it's cut through with a wobble of surprise when Victor is leaning down again, but not to just kiss him. Leaning down more than that. When lips graze the edge of his jaw and everything warm and light become heavier and sharper, aware like he's never felt, suddenly, chest going still, fire bright, brilliant uncertainty. Fingers tightening into that jacket again even as he can hear the small, fast, surprised breath that suddenly pulls in between his barely parted lips and teeth.
When suddenly dizzying is not the right word for earlier, for a single kiss. Dizzying is this. It's the way his heart slams into racing faster than expected, and the way Victor's mouth softly, so softly, only softly, with aching slowness is touching his neck, is dropping kisses, right where his thumb had been before. It's everything becoming brighter, and tighter.
His vision a blur of sparkling gem-gold and night-black Shanghai and silver-grey hair, and blurred so he can't see anything, anything at all, because all of his focus is on that faint pressure of Victor kissing him, and the soft flutter of his hair ghosting after it. The elastic drag that feels like his skin and his heart and his thoughts stretched suddenly fast and tight like a jerked a rubber band when he lifts away, and then just explodes with into a shower of heat when it touches again, drenching through his skin, making him shiver, making him hold on tighter.
A confused contortion of leaning into his body and away from Victor's mouth, not away, not away, not away, but his head tilts like he'd just give everything away, wants, wants everything, more, more, whatever more is, Victor wants, again at each the next touch.
It's .... nothing. Nothing. There's nothing in the world, in his head, in that gleaming light, or Victor's face, or any dream, or any story, to even begin to compare. Or is it the other way. Maybe it's the other way, that he hasn't compared, or hasn't understood, at all, the world, himself, anything until this second, this barest brush that he knows isn't even a step but feels like his skin is still crackling, snapping where Victor's lips had touched him, heart, still spinning, air turned to steam, like this was the bath and not a hotel room, and there's the breath of something like, "Oh," falling from his lips.
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Date: 2017-04-15 01:29 pm (UTC)Before it's cut through with a wobble of surprise when Victor is leaning down again, but not to just kiss him. Leaning down more than that. When lips graze the edge of his jaw and everything warm and light become heavier and sharper, aware like he's never felt, suddenly, chest going still, fire bright, brilliant uncertainty. Fingers tightening into that jacket again even as he can hear the small, fast, surprised breath that suddenly pulls in between his barely parted lips and teeth.
When suddenly dizzying is not the right word for earlier, for a single kiss. Dizzying is this. It's the way his heart slams into racing faster than expected, and the way Victor's mouth softly, so softly, only softly, with aching slowness is touching his neck, is dropping kisses, right where his thumb had been before. It's everything becoming brighter, and tighter.
His vision a blur of sparkling gem-gold and night-black Shanghai and silver-grey hair, and blurred so he can't see anything, anything at all, because all of his focus is on that faint pressure of Victor kissing him, and the soft flutter of his hair ghosting after it. The elastic drag that feels like his skin and his heart and his thoughts stretched suddenly fast and tight like a jerked a rubber band when he lifts away, and then just explodes with into a shower of heat when it touches again, drenching through his skin, making him shiver, making him hold on tighter.
A confused contortion of leaning into his body and away from Victor's mouth, not away, not away, not away,
but his head tilts like he'd just give everything away, wants, wants everything, more,
more, whatever more is, Victor wants, again at each the next touch.
It's .... nothing. Nothing. There's nothing in the world, in his head, in that gleaming light, or Victor's face, or any dream, or any story, to even begin to compare. Or is it the other way. Maybe it's the other way, that he hasn't compared, or hasn't understood, at all, the world, himself, anything until this second, this barest brush that he knows isn't even a step but feels like his skin is still crackling, snapping where Victor's lips had touched him, heart, still spinning, air turned to steam, like this was the bath and not a hotel room, and there's the breath of something like, "Oh," falling from his lips.