Number 10, Victuuri? If you would be so kind! ~ Adele ♡
#10, “We can’t keep this up forever.” anything for you @victorsporosya <3 i threw in a btpw reference :D
The August summer is heavy with the promise ofrain and the rolling heat of the setting sun, it nothing more than a dark,crimson, omnipresent circle as it sinks hotly beneath the horizon. Purple-orange saturates the sky and spreads watercolor ofpinks and browns and blues between the clouds.
Cicadas sing their oily song between the bladesof grass and, somewhere, an owl hoots. The humidity is thick and suffocating, awool blanket drenched dark with sweat over the landscape. Sweat rolls down hisskin and sticks his hair to his nape and his temples, tempting out the curlhe’d painstakingly straightened out earlier that morning.
Needless to say, Victor is dying.
But Yuuri, his sweet Yuuri, is far from it; backstraight, fingers curled around the bow in his hands, he points a silver-tippedarrow at the makeshift dummy they’d set up under the branches of a white,jagged tree, and listens. He’s focused on the ‘X’ they’d painted on itschest, body still with the prowling grace of a predator near its prey.
Victor holds his breath. The world tunes outuntil all he hears is the soft inhale, exhale Yuuri breathes, sees the sweatrolling down the back of his neck with fine-tuned clarity. They’re so close Victor can smell the sun inhis dark hair, can feel the heat of his body pressing into his own.
He reaches out, drags his fingertips over Yuuri’sheat-flushed skin, meeting the soft curl of his wrist with a tentative touch.“Almost.” he says, quiet. Wind rustles through the trees but, asquick as it came, the breeze drops away until all that’s left is the swayinggrass at their feet, falling limp in the stillness.
Victor rearranges Yuuri’s fingers on the shaft ofthe bow, his breath catching at the minute flex of Yuuri’s fingers. “Don’tlook away, now.” he whispers, pulling his hand away, letting his fingersdrag under the curve of Yuuri’s forearm.
Yuuri glances at him quick, brief, mouth parted.Victor has the urge to kiss him. “I said don’t look away.” Victorteases, gentle, tender. Any louder and he’d break the silence. Yuuridrops his gaze back to the target, though, and Victor drops a kiss on hisshoulder. I love you, it says into the fabric of Yuuri’s shirt. The push hedoes on Yuuri’s arm, though, adds, Take the shot. You’re almost there.
Yuuri takes a sharp breath, rigid and straight.
And he is almost there, Victor thinks. Months andmonths of them out here in the forest ensured that. Secret meetings and tangledbreaths and tender kisses were but a few of the things they did out here, andnow Yuuri will have another to add to that list.
Well. He will…if he doesn’t miss. Victor hasfaith in him that he won’t, not after all the hard work he’s been pouring in,but Yuuri’s been rather distracted today. Practicing with Victor’s bow hashelped Yuuri stay focused but there’s still the little shake in his fingers heknows Yuuri thinks he’s hiding. There’s even the little shake in his eyes, theslight tremble of his mouth when he pauses too long and Victor catches him.
Yuuri breathes in; Victor immediately turns hiseyes to the way Yuuri’s chest fills, how his mouth opens inexplicably minusculeand puckers as his breath curls out. Every detail appears in crystal clarity toVictor’s denied eyes, and he takes it all in, commits every bit to preciousmemory.
It’s moments like this that get Victor throughthe lonely nights behind those palace walls, when he and Yuuri are separated byboth distance and status and looming stone with only the letters they sharekeeping him company.
Yuuri takes another breath and it’s only becauseVictor’s so attuned to the way he breathes that Victor notices the shake, thebreak, the gasp. It’s quiet but it’s loud in Victor’s ears, ragged and sharp,and Victor looks at him.
“Victor.” Yuuri says. Even the way hesays his name is sweet, no matter the way he says it – with laughter, withpleasure, with tears.
This time, it’s devoid of emotion… save for thecusp of fear curling inside his voice.
It’s still sweet, but it’s sweetly bitter, andVictor swallows around the ball building in his throat.
“What’s wrong, darling?” His handsgravitate to their well-known nook on Yuuri’s hips, a home of affection andpromises and the touches he’d left when the nights were cool and Yuuri’slaughter bubbled in his ears.
Yuuri’s fingers tremble. He won’t meet his eyes.
“You,” Yuuri chokes, “and me. Wecan’t – We need to stop. We can’t keep this up forever.”
The wind blows. The cicadas aren’t singinganymore.
