All amused agreement, while his thumb is smoothing over hair that's still a little sticky with gel and stiff with sweat. "Haven't I been trying to get you eat something since we got here?"
(Shanghai crab! Duck blood! Drunken shrimp!)
Something that's almost a memory tugs at his attention but it's too hazy still. Rice wine, powerful stuff. "Okay, I'll call down in a minute."
First, he wants to make sure everything here is fine, before he goes moving again. It hardly seems possible, but the few minutes in the hallway feel like they've managed to swallow up everything that happened before: Yuri's question, mumbled into his neck and shoulder, his subsequent response, everything that happened after. It all feels a little more like a fever dream than Victor's strictly comfortable with, but it wasn't. He has intimate experience with imagining what might happen, if Yuri were to ... if they were to ... happen, and nothing he'd ever dreamed up before had even come close to that.
Not Yuri's caution, or the way he threw that caution to the wind and decided to try his best to burn Victor to a cinder right on the edge of the mattress, there.
Not quite the way he's looking at Victor now. So he's not going anywhere for the moment, and anyway, Yuri had flinched at the ice settling gently on his hip and Victor's hand holding it there. It'll help, they both know, and so will lying down, and so will the painkillers, but it'll all take a minute.
A minute during which Victor is tempted to throw caution to the winds and let one of the things circling his head come winging out: ridiculous statements, all of them, some jokes about dinner, some dirty jokes about dinner, any number of innumerable questions that he's eager to hear the answers to.
If there are any. Maybe Yuri didn't think about this at all until only a few minutes ago, when he weighed his options and decided he was okay with it. Maybe Yuri still hadn't thought about it.
But all he does is sigh artfully and say, rueful: "You never listen to me," shifting up to kiss the tip of Yuri's nose with deep affection, and then Yuri's temple, where his thumb has been smoothing over his hair and where sometimes Yuri gets a headache that is suspiciously Victor-adjacent.
One last one, aiming for a ticklish spot on his neck, and nuzzling plaintively there once his lips have lifted before he settles back with a sigh and a smile. "I don't think they have katsudon, here."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zaluzianskya and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
skylark_photos
no subject
Date: 2017-04-16 10:47 am (UTC)All amused agreement, while his thumb is smoothing over hair that's still a little sticky with gel and stiff with sweat. "Haven't I been trying to get you eat something since we got here?"
(Shanghai crab! Duck blood! Drunken shrimp!)
Something that's almost a memory tugs at his attention but it's too hazy still. Rice wine, powerful stuff. "Okay, I'll call down in a minute."
First, he wants to make sure everything here is fine, before he goes moving again. It hardly seems possible, but the few minutes in the hallway feel like they've managed to swallow up everything that happened before: Yuri's question, mumbled into his neck and shoulder, his subsequent response, everything that happened after. It all feels a little more like a fever dream than Victor's strictly comfortable with, but it wasn't. He has intimate experience with imagining what might happen, if Yuri were to ... if they were to ... happen, and nothing he'd ever dreamed up before had even come close to that.
Not Yuri's caution, or the way he threw that caution to the wind and decided to try his best to burn Victor to a cinder right on the edge of the mattress, there.
Not quite the way he's looking at Victor now. So he's not going anywhere for the moment, and anyway, Yuri had flinched at the ice settling gently on his hip and Victor's hand holding it there. It'll help, they both know, and so will lying down, and so will the painkillers, but it'll all take a minute.
A minute during which Victor is tempted to throw caution to the winds and let one of the things circling his head come winging out: ridiculous statements, all of them, some jokes about dinner, some dirty jokes about dinner, any number of innumerable questions that he's eager to hear the answers to.
If there are any. Maybe Yuri didn't think about this at all until only a few minutes ago, when he weighed his options and decided he was okay with it. Maybe Yuri still hadn't thought about it.
But all he does is sigh artfully and say, rueful: "You never listen to me," shifting up to kiss the tip of Yuri's nose with deep affection, and then Yuri's temple, where his thumb has been smoothing over his hair and where sometimes Yuri gets a headache that is suspiciously Victor-adjacent.
One last one, aiming for a ticklish spot on his neck, and nuzzling plaintively there once his lips have lifted before he settles back with a sigh and a smile. "I don't think they have katsudon, here."