Sometimes, if he's patient, Yuri comes to him. It's a lesson he learned that day on the beach, that giving Yuri the space to figure things out on his own tended to make it easier for him. That Victor had to wait, and coax, and just be there for when Yuri finally found his way to him, and not always haul him along like Yuri was just another Maccachin for Victor to take on trips and pose with in pictures.
It's harder to remember here and now, with Yuri so close and his fingers so gentle on Victor's cheek and lips, but he still does. Wait. Give him the space to work his way around to it, if he's going to, even if it feels like dying by inches, until suddenly Yuri's hand stiffens, and Yuri's bumping in to him, mouth clumsy and hard, thumb in the way because Yuri couldn't even wait to move it, and ––
Victor doesn't really remember everything that happened next. All he knows is there's a dark sound at the back of his throat, and a breathless moment of shaking self-restraint, and then he's shoving up against Yuri's mouth hard and thoughtless. Hands ripping from Yuri's back to move to his face, his hair, one sinking in there and the other running back down his neck, shoulder, chest, stomach, to wrap back around his waist and pull him in tight. Yuri's name a running, sprinting litany in his head, pounding in his blood, on the edge of every ragged breath. Like that wait had been two hours, instead of two minutes. Or eight months. Or two years.
Unable to stop himself, now that Yuri's started it again, but this time there's no teasing and there's no laughter: only the bare-stripped electric wire of need and the white flare of insanity.
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Date: 2017-04-15 08:13 pm (UTC)It's harder to remember here and now, with Yuri so close and his fingers so gentle on Victor's cheek and lips, but he still does. Wait. Give him the space to work his way around to it, if he's going to, even if it feels like dying by inches, until suddenly Yuri's hand stiffens, and Yuri's bumping in to him, mouth clumsy and hard, thumb in the way because Yuri couldn't even wait to move it, and ––
Victor doesn't really remember everything that happened next. All he knows is there's a dark sound at the back of his throat, and a breathless moment of shaking self-restraint, and then he's shoving up against Yuri's mouth hard and thoughtless. Hands ripping from Yuri's back to move to his face, his hair, one sinking in there and the other running back down his neck, shoulder, chest, stomach, to wrap back around his waist and pull him in tight. Yuri's name a running, sprinting litany in his head, pounding in his blood, on the edge of every ragged breath. Like that wait had been two hours, instead of two minutes. Or eight months. Or two years.
Unable to stop himself, now that Yuri's started it again, but this time there's no teasing and there's no laughter: only the bare-stripped electric wire of need and the white flare of insanity.