There's a second where he just leans against the door and breathes.
Maybe more than a second. Maybe more like a minute. Eyes open but unseeing, while air moves in and calmly out of his lungs.
He kissed Yuri, and Yuri kissed him back.
He's not surprised by the first thought. Looking back, it could only have been a matter of time before he lost his head and tackled Yuri exactly like he just did on the ice after the free skate. Today, tomorrow, whenever he was sure he'd seen and decoded some message that was meant just for him, that Yuri wanted him, too.
It's the second thought that gives him some pause, because although it wouldn't have surprised him that December in Sochi, or any of the months between then and last April, it's a surprise now. Now, after that morning on the beach with Yuri's panicked string of no no no no no no and how he'd all but shoved Victor away every other time he'd come too close, gotten too flirty, expected too much.
He doesn't know what changed. When it changed. How.
Can he ask? Is that something he can do, tonight, while they're here in this hotel and they don't even have to think about traveling for the next day, when the only thing on their plate is tomorrow's Exhibition that Yuri could do in his sleep? Should he know? Does he need to know? Would Yuri even tell him? He's pretty sure he can count the number of words Yuri has said since Victor! I did great, right? on his two hands.
All of it tumbling in his head when he finally pushes off the door and heads towards the elevators and the ice machine in the little room just next to them, and that's more uncomfortable than he'd like, too. Walking. Acutely aware of just how close Yuri had been pressed against him until bare minutes ago, and whatever he might say and mean about not pushing too far, that doesn't mean he has as much control over his reactions as he might like.
(Would anyone really care if maybe he just stuck his head in the ice machine for a little while, until his blood cools down?)
Finding the room, filling the bucket. He can focus. What does he need to do tonight? Help Yuri ice his hip. Make sure he takes some painkillers and has some food and more water. Make sure he gets some sleep.
He can do all that. Even better, he can do it all right in the room, because he's not at all sure he can focus on anything other than Yuri tonight, or that he wants to share Yuri tonight. Not when everything is changing so quickly and he needs to find his footing before he crashes and ruins it all. Not before they both get on the same page and figure out what this is, what it should be, what they want it to be.
Heading back, he feels a little steadied. (It helps to be sucking on a piece of ice that's slowly melting down his throat and cooling him from the inside out.) None of this is anything they can't handle, is it?
Hoping he's right, when he's finding his key card and sliding it into the lock, waiting for the light to flip before he pushes the door open. "Yuri?"
Swallowing down the sudden and ridiculous fear that Yuri might have just up and left, too panicked or weirded out or ... he doesn't know, hungry? –– to stay, but he's relieved when he steps inside and Yuri's there, right where Victor left him.
Holding up the bucket of ice as proof that he'd done his job, before setting it down to rummage through his bag for one of the several large plastic bags he brings for this exact reason. "Move up and lie on your good side so this can lie on your hip, okay?"
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Date: 2017-04-16 02:32 am (UTC)Maybe more than a second. Maybe more like a minute. Eyes open but unseeing, while air moves in and calmly out of his lungs.
He kissed Yuri, and Yuri kissed him back.
He's not surprised by the first thought. Looking back, it could only have been a matter of time before he lost his head and tackled Yuri exactly like he just did on the ice after the free skate. Today, tomorrow, whenever he was sure he'd seen and decoded some message that was meant just for him, that Yuri wanted him, too.
It's the second thought that gives him some pause, because although it wouldn't have surprised him that December in Sochi, or any of the months between then and last April, it's a surprise now. Now, after that morning on the beach with Yuri's panicked string of no no no no no no and how he'd all but shoved Victor away every other time he'd come too close, gotten too flirty, expected too much.
He doesn't know what changed. When it changed. How.
Can he ask? Is that something he can do, tonight, while they're here in this hotel and they don't even have to think about traveling for the next day, when the only thing on their plate is tomorrow's Exhibition that Yuri could do in his sleep? Should he know? Does he need to know? Would Yuri even tell him? He's pretty sure he can count the number of words Yuri has said since Victor! I did great, right? on his two hands.
All of it tumbling in his head when he finally pushes off the door and heads towards the elevators and the ice machine in the little room just next to them, and that's more uncomfortable than he'd like, too. Walking. Acutely aware of just how close Yuri had been pressed against him until bare minutes ago, and whatever he might say and mean about not pushing too far, that doesn't mean he has as much control over his reactions as he might like.
(Would anyone really care if maybe he just stuck his head in the ice machine for a little while, until his blood cools down?)
Finding the room, filling the bucket. He can focus. What does he need to do tonight? Help Yuri ice his hip. Make sure he takes some painkillers and has some food and more water. Make sure he gets some sleep.
He can do all that. Even better, he can do it all right in the room, because he's not at all sure he can focus on anything other than Yuri tonight, or that he wants to share Yuri tonight. Not when everything is changing so quickly and he needs to find his footing before he crashes and ruins it all. Not before they both get on the same page and figure out what this is, what it should be, what they want it to be.
Heading back, he feels a little steadied. (It helps to be sucking on a piece of ice that's slowly melting down his throat and cooling him from the inside out.) None of this is anything they can't handle, is it?
Hoping he's right, when he's finding his key card and sliding it into the lock, waiting for the light to flip before he pushes the door open. "Yuri?"
Swallowing down the sudden and ridiculous fear that Yuri might have just up and left, too panicked or weirded out or ... he doesn't know, hungry? –– to stay, but he's relieved when he steps inside and Yuri's there, right where Victor left him.
Holding up the bucket of ice as proof that he'd done his job, before setting it down to rummage through his bag for one of the several large plastic bags he brings for this exact reason. "Move up and lie on your good side so this can lie on your hip, okay?"