Victor's mouth is the definition of existence. Crushed against his with a speed that even crashing into a wall at full speed on skates doesn't knows. Holding on like the end of a whip chain even as everything is shattering and burning. While Victor is biting out Russian on his lips, and shoving it into his skin, his mouth, pushing it into him. Kissing the crook of his neck, and then the side, while Yuri is still in his arms, and the worlds is rushing, with the marching band marathon of his heart and the blur of the walls. The bed. The inside of his head.


Yuri's body is buzzing. Buzzing. Like he's turned into a hive of honey bees.


Then, Victor. Victor's face is a blur in front of him, fogged, and his mouth is moving.
(He's so gorgreous. It's unfair. It's unreal. He's blinding. How has he managed not to die yet?)


Absently. Distantly. Yuri is perturbed at the gal of Victor to be talking.

To probably expect Yuri to be listening. To be able to hear him.


That Victor has a mouth at all, when it feels like Yuri's gone. It got blown off, it fell away and melted into the buzzing that it is in everything. Everywhere. Blistered and buzzing, the zip that is every single nerve and every single thought. That isn't moving, and it takes , he doesn't know, whatever a while is in buzzing, to even realize that sound of hiccuped breathing, furiously fast, is actually coming from his mouth because it does exist.