Yuri had brushed aside his veil of bangs, and he's never felt more naked. Used to seeing the world half clearly, half through a cloud of silver, but it's gone now, tucked towards his temple, and both eyes are fixed on Yuri's face with a terrible, painful clarity.
I love you so much I flew across the world for you, he wants to say, and doesn't. I love you more than all my medals combined.
This feels like Yuri is taking his skate blades and drawing them slowly across Victor's stomach just to watch the blood well. He knows it's not cruelty –– that look on Yuri's face is one of embarrassed determination and complete focus –– but it feels that way. Sitting here, knowing he has to let Yuri come to him. Unwilling to do so much as to push up to find his mouth again, even as Yuri's fingers trace down along the curve of his cheek and jaw to his mouth, light against his bottom lip.
Even if he can see it. How easy it would be. Just a shift of his weight, and the satisfying thump of Yuri hitting the mattress, the firm way he'd bounce directly back up into Victor. What it would be like to sink his fingers into that hair, and set those glasses aside, and run his mouth along the curve of his throat until Yuri's gasping, until he doesn't even remember what words are, let alone how to use them.
The kind of impact he'd had, high-velocity and with no care for self-preservation, back on the ice, when everything was blindingly clear for just one second and Victor knew exactly what he had to do.
That he can't do now, if he ever wants to get there again. He has to let Yuri pick his way carefully towards him, as fast or slow as Yuri wants to go while also eying the path like it might be the back of a coiling snake, ready to strike as soon as Yuri stops looking.
But his hands can slide to Yuri's back, and he can pull Yuri even closer, as flush against his stomach as Victor can get him, while his traitorous mouth feels so dry he has to lick his lip, suddenly nervous in a way he hasn't been since he was a teenager.
It never mattered then as much as it does now. Nothing has. Maybe nothing ever will.
I love you beating at the back of his teeth, feeling too big and too useless at the same time. Yuri has shattered him with the brush of a few fingertips, and probably Victor should be embarrassed, but it's difficult to be embarrassed when he can't even breathe. He wonders, insanely, if his heart is about to give out.
But aside from his hands, and the way his lips part under Yuri's touch, and the drop of his eyes to Yuri's mouth and back up again, he doesn't move. Is too aware of everything he could ruin if he did the wrong thing, right now. Too deep under this spell to even think of anything else.
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Date: 2017-04-15 07:29 pm (UTC)I love you so much I flew across the world for you, he wants to say, and doesn't. I love you more than all my medals combined.
This feels like Yuri is taking his skate blades and drawing them slowly across Victor's stomach just to watch the blood well. He knows it's not cruelty –– that look on Yuri's face is one of embarrassed determination and complete focus –– but it feels that way. Sitting here, knowing he has to let Yuri come to him. Unwilling to do so much as to push up to find his mouth again, even as Yuri's fingers trace down along the curve of his cheek and jaw to his mouth, light against his bottom lip.
Even if he can see it. How easy it would be. Just a shift of his weight, and the satisfying thump of Yuri hitting the mattress, the firm way he'd bounce directly back up into Victor. What it would be like to sink his fingers into that hair, and set those glasses aside, and run his mouth along the curve of his throat until Yuri's gasping, until he doesn't even remember what words are, let alone how to use them.
The kind of impact he'd had, high-velocity and with no care for self-preservation, back on the ice, when everything was blindingly clear for just one second and Victor knew exactly what he had to do.
That he can't do now, if he ever wants to get there again. He has to let Yuri pick his way carefully towards him, as fast or slow as Yuri wants to go while also eying the path like it might be the back of a coiling snake, ready to strike as soon as Yuri stops looking.
But his hands can slide to Yuri's back, and he can pull Yuri even closer, as flush against his stomach as Victor can get him, while his traitorous mouth feels so dry he has to lick his lip, suddenly nervous in a way he hasn't been since he was a teenager.
It never mattered then as much as it does now. Nothing has. Maybe nothing ever will.
I love you beating at the back of his teeth, feeling too big and too useless at the same time. Yuri has shattered him with the brush of a few fingertips, and probably Victor should be embarrassed, but it's difficult to be embarrassed when he can't even breathe. He wonders, insanely, if his heart is about to give out.
But aside from his hands, and the way his lips part under Yuri's touch, and the drop of his eyes to Yuri's mouth and back up again, he doesn't move. Is too aware of everything he could ruin if he did the wrong thing, right now. Too deep under this spell to even think of anything else.