Yuri doesn't answer, and doesn't answer, and only looks more troubled the longer he doesn't answer, so Victor slips his hand into Yuri's palm and pulls it close to his own chest, his other hand sneaking back from where it had been lying on the pillow near Yuri's hair to cover them both. Like he's holding something precious, fragile: an egg, or a bubble about to burst. Yuri's hand, between his, one warm and one still cool from the ice. "It's only a shirt, Yuri."
It doesn't matter. What matters is that Yuri was losing his mind just as totally as Victor was, on a few kisses and one light nibble, and Victor's not sure he has words to convey how much, what that means.
What he's prepared to give up for Yuri to want him, too. How little anything else matters, when he's already paused his career, opted out of another season's worth of medals and accolades.
But. "I shouldn't have teased you." Which is as soft as it is apologetic, and punctuated with lifting his right hand from Yuri's to run his thumb gently over Yuri's jaw, fingertips settling soft as a breath on Yuri's neck. "I only meant you don't have to apologize." Not before, and not now, either. He can touch Victor as gently as he wants, or grab his shirt as roughly as he wants, or not touch him at all and just ask for food and water and some sleep, finally, and Victor will go along with any of it. All of it. As long as he can stay here and be grateful that this is suddenly in his hands at all.
"How could a shirt possibly mean anything to me, when you want to kiss me?"
How could anything, is the better question. He was restless and listless before, when it was an unrequited and thwarted love from across thousands of miles, but now he's fairly certain he'll be completely useless, hung on a single look or touch or kiss. How does he communicate that? That Yuri could do anything, could have whatever he wanted, as much or as little as he cared. That Victor is happy to give it all. "I thought it was impossible."
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Date: 2017-04-17 08:21 pm (UTC)It doesn't matter. What matters is that Yuri was losing his mind just as totally as Victor was, on a few kisses and one light nibble, and Victor's not sure he has words to convey how much, what that means.
What he's prepared to give up for Yuri to want him, too. How little anything else matters, when he's already paused his career, opted out of another season's worth of medals and accolades.
But. "I shouldn't have teased you." Which is as soft as it is apologetic, and punctuated with lifting his right hand from Yuri's to run his thumb gently over Yuri's jaw, fingertips settling soft as a breath on Yuri's neck. "I only meant you don't have to apologize." Not before, and not now, either. He can touch Victor as gently as he wants, or grab his shirt as roughly as he wants, or not touch him at all and just ask for food and water and some sleep, finally, and Victor will go along with any of it. All of it. As long as he can stay here and be grateful that this is suddenly in his hands at all.
"How could a shirt possibly mean anything to me, when you want to kiss me?"
How could anything, is the better question. He was restless and listless before, when it was an unrequited and thwarted love from across thousands of miles, but now he's fairly certain he'll be completely useless, hung on a single look or touch or kiss. How does he communicate that? That Yuri could do anything, could have whatever he wanted, as much or as little as he cared. That Victor is happy to give it all. "I thought it was impossible."