Well, he can do this right, anyway. Roll towards the edge of the bed and push himself up to sitting, one hand raking through his hair to resettle it while the other finds the phone.
The front desk is gracious. He's probably ordering off-menu, but they're used to accommodating the particular diets of athletes here, and he's sure no one will bat an eye at the pork and rice, steamed vegetables, dumplings, and tea he orders. There's a brief moment when he wonders if he should ask for some champagne, too, but Yuri doesn't drink during competition season and it wouldn't be worth it to have by himself.
The polite voice at the other end of the line asks him to please forgive the wait, they'll send the food up fresh as soon as it's ready, in about fifteen to twenty minutes, and thanks him for thinking of them before he hangs up, and shifts to look over at his shoulder at Yuri. Hair rumpled and creased with sweat and what's left of his gel, ice on his hip, still wearing the clothes he'd changed into back at the arena.
Along with that expression Victor doesn't quit know what to do with, again. Braced. Every time Victor scares it off, it sneaks back in, turning Yuri's usual amused silence into something full of trap doors over pits lined with spikes. "It'll be up soon," he says, instead of anything else, and settles back onto the mattress and his own pillow with a sigh, though he stays on his back this time instead of reaching for Yuri or crowding him, only turns his head to watch him, while his hands land lightly on his chest and stomach and stay there. "But there's time for you to shower, if you want. It might help with the soreness."
![[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: 2017-04-18 01:05 pm (UTC)The front desk is gracious. He's probably ordering off-menu, but they're used to accommodating the particular diets of athletes here, and he's sure no one will bat an eye at the pork and rice, steamed vegetables, dumplings, and tea he orders. There's a brief moment when he wonders if he should ask for some champagne, too, but Yuri doesn't drink during competition season and it wouldn't be worth it to have by himself.
The polite voice at the other end of the line asks him to please forgive the wait, they'll send the food up fresh as soon as it's ready, in about fifteen to twenty minutes, and thanks him for thinking of them before he hangs up, and shifts to look over at his shoulder at Yuri. Hair rumpled and creased with sweat and what's left of his gel, ice on his hip, still wearing the clothes he'd changed into back at the arena.
Along with that expression Victor doesn't quit know what to do with, again. Braced. Every time Victor scares it off, it sneaks back in, turning Yuri's usual amused silence into something full of trap doors over pits lined with spikes. "It'll be up soon," he says, instead of anything else, and settles back onto the mattress and his own pillow with a sigh, though he stays on his back this time instead of reaching for Yuri or crowding him, only turns his head to watch him, while his hands land lightly on his chest and stomach and stay there. "But there's time for you to shower, if you want. It might help with the soreness."