He’s literally thrown aside by the canine-sized hurricane, that forces his body backward and slips in between he and Yuuri famished for attention. Viktor can’t help but stare at the two, overwhelmed by wonder, stark-naked and semi-sitting on his heels. And solely when the poodle seems satisfied with his ministrations, does the owner’s hand land atop the furry muzzle which recognized it nestles within the palm.
The arch curving now his lips is fond and one can spot merriment secretly coalesced with fallacious distress. Even his timbre changes intonation slipping into a whiny (humorious) murmur.
“Seems like I am the only one who didn’t get any.”
Easy is as well, though, surrendering to Yuuri’s caress. His neck cranes ever so slightly and bends laterally to meet the source that irradiates a nostalgic feeling, that he’d associate to dim and almost forgotten fragments of yore. Only that is nothing nearly as dispiriting- but uplifting in a way he might have never experimented before. It tastes like HOME and SAFETY and FREEDOM and AFFECTION. And he’s not inclined anymore to let a second pass without grasping it.
Almost half of his existence pirouetted around him shunning away s e n s a t i o n s he now revels in, and he shall and wishes to dip himself in suchlike certainty until it lasts… which he hopes, nay, is convinced will endure until his last breath. This time no, he won’t let nor allow to be let go.
and while transfixed on Yuuri’s delighted ones are brimming of the same matter engulfing his heart.
They widen, gradually. Thrilled, enraptured… e n a m o u r e d.
For that reason his free hand shifts and raises brusquely, capturing Yuuri’s once again. Right now he’ll leave no space to procrastination. The movement is swift, as celerous as are his steps in the rink. He pulls him forward, abandoning Makkachin’s pampering to instead cup the partner’s nape in his other palm.
Something clatters behind,
the dog doesn’t yap anymore.
And there’s no more breathe, no more words and no more space for anything else for h i s l i p s crash on these of the youthful before him with a charge not even his own brain is capable to chronicle or understand.
E v e r y t h i n g switches to n o t h i n g in a millisecond.
And that’s all that matters.
Victor has this overwhelming power to surprise him every time. Even if Yuuri strives so hard to do the same – and he has been successful most of the time as of now – Victor always manages to beat him on this, to always do a little bit more.
His smile, so beautiful it hurts.
His voice, even when he pretends to be sad or offended and whine at him.
His eyes, that look at Yuuri like he means the world to him.
His way of reclining is head to meet his hand, like a perfect fit.
Those are the things that grab Yuuri’s heart and don’t let it go. They squeeze it, they bind him to that man, they make him love Victor even more, if possible.
Those are the things that Yuuri loves about them being together. Not the fancy declarations or the fact that Victor is that Victor Nikiforov, the multiple-time champion, the Russian hero of the ice rink, the brightest star in the sky of their sport. No, not at all. He doesn’t care about the fame, about the victories. He is with Victor, they are together, on and off the ice. And those rings that shine on their fingers mean that this is for the rest of their lives.
Yuuri keeps smiling at his fiancée and keeps stroking Makkachin, when Victor’s sudden movement startle both him and the dog. And if the animal quietly moves away and loses interest in both of his owners, the young Japanese man can’t do the same. He doesn’t want to.
He’s sitting now, his back straightened up and tense again. His whole body is stretching out towards Victor’s, his skin is melting where the Russian man’s hand touches his nape. And this is so Japanese of him, but this is almost the sexiest thing that Victor has done since they woke up.
The kiss tastes like love, like need, like thirst, like hunger. It tastes also like passion, but for the two of them, Love and Eros are now one and the same. These two definitions blend into one another, switch between themselves so easily. And that’s just so right, so perfect. That’s what Yuuri has been longing for throughout his life, even if he doesn’t realize it.
His hands take their place again on Victor’s shoulders, they clutch that skin as if it’s the only anchor that prevents him from drowning inside all of these feelings that are swelling up inside him like an hurricane. He forgets how to breath, he doesn’t care anymore. Victor’s lips are his everything now, they make his head spin like crazy. He told the other that without a kiss he would have gone crazy, but now it’s actually be the contrary.
Yuuri closes his eyes, leaves behind the rest of the world and focuses only on his man right inside his arms. He starts to relax and slowly moves his hands downwards, on Victor’s biceps, and then on his back, tracing quietly all his muscles, caressing his skin like he has always wanted to do. Reciprocating this kiss is easy now, even if it has come like a surprise, as that day on the ice.
His own lips open up and let him taste better Victor’s savor and softness. He becomes even bolder, his tongue takes the lead and tries to conquer the other’s mouth – if Victor allows him, of course. He finally starts to breathe again, letting out a little moan in between their mouths, with the air heating up by the second.
Yuuri wants Victor so bad he’s even becoming impatient, reckless when he reclines backwards on the bed, taking the Russian man with him. He adores the way Victor’s body can lay down on top of him like that, without weighing down on him, like it is the most natural thing in the world. Like they are meant to be together even like that.
Like Yuuri is a glove and Victor is the hand that fits perfectly inside it.
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
izzy806
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
gamechangershow
2087
