The jacket is a new bit of lumpiness laying over the back of his chair, between his and it, but he doesn't have long to consider that, or whether he should, would, wants to move it at all, because Victor's fingers slide around his wrist, with pure nonchalance, and he's suddenly crooning about his love for this place --
-- and really, he should be used to that. He almost is, in some ways. Even if he looks at the fingers on his wrist, briefly, under the tuck of his face, and careful blink of eyelashes. He more used to being touched by Victor than he was months ago. It's always a little bit of a surprise, a strange, faint flutter in his chest when it's not on the ice.
If he's being honest, even on the ice, but on the ice, he has to focus more. Beyond. Be on all the time. When and where he's being touched by Victor are parts of what he needs to focus one. Where his weight should move, where he should be turning, leaning, moving more. This system of a physical language, of learning, instruction, they build between themselves, an extra language beyond their cobbled stones.
Which means that gets a glance, something almost patient when it's just a shift from his wrist to looking over. Because Victor is in love with another place, that gives him more to eat and drink, and that's the least surprising thing.
But it's gone seconds later, too, and Victor is filling his glass and Celestino's glasses, like he hadn't tied a fading string of warmth on Yuri's skin. Not when he's giving a carefree laugh at the man who looks --now that Yuri's managed to actually look at Celestino since returning face gone reddish and eyes having a trouble focusing on his chopsticks -- rather more drunk than Victor, and he's uncertain how that could be. They weren't gone that long.
But then suddenly something bumps into his temple, cheek, and Victor's words are suddenly being said with breath rebounding on his cheek, and everything happens in the startled stiffness of a second. He blinks rapidly, his cheeks reddening and his eyes shooting to what he can see of Victor's face, and then to the people across the table. One of whom is still chasing a mushroom (badly) and the other, Phichit, whose eyebrows are alarmingly high suddenly.
Which just makes Yuri flush more, heart thudding too hard, shoulders uncertain whether to come up and drawn in or stay stuck. When Victor just isn't done. Goes about all but murmuring against his ear (again, again, like that day...) with that completely innocuous question that bounces too fast around Yuri's brain, because it's trying to dissolve and explode as much as make it to the center of his brain.
It's a nod. Tiny, fast, a few too many times. (His throat not agreeing to swallow.) "Yes."
Which sounds captured in his throat, so he tries harder. A little louder. Normal. Totally normal. This is normal. And there are people with them. "They're bringing more plates for everyone."
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-- and really, he should be used to that. He almost is, in some ways. Even if he looks at the fingers on his wrist, briefly, under the tuck of his face, and careful blink of eyelashes. He more used to being touched by Victor than he was months ago. It's always a little bit of a surprise, a strange, faint flutter in his chest when it's not on the ice.
If he's being honest, even on the ice, but on the ice, he has to focus more. Beyond. Be on all the time. When and where he's being touched by Victor are parts of what he needs to focus one. Where his weight should move, where he should be turning, leaning, moving more. This system of a physical language, of learning, instruction, they build between themselves, an extra language beyond their cobbled stones.
Which means that gets a glance, something almost patient when it's just a shift from his wrist to looking over.
Because Victor is in love with another place, that gives him more to eat and drink, and that's the least surprising thing.
But it's gone seconds later, too, and Victor is filling his glass and Celestino's glasses, like he hadn't tied a fading string of warmth on Yuri's skin. Not when he's giving a carefree laugh at the man who looks --now that Yuri's managed to actually look at Celestino since returning face gone reddish and eyes having a trouble focusing on his chopsticks -- rather more drunk than Victor, and he's uncertain how that could be. They weren't gone that long.
But then suddenly something bumps into his temple, cheek, and Victor's words are suddenly being said with breath rebounding on his cheek, and everything happens in the startled stiffness of a second. He blinks rapidly, his cheeks reddening and his eyes shooting to what he can see of Victor's face, and then to the people across the table. One of whom is still chasing a mushroom (badly) and the other, Phichit, whose eyebrows are alarmingly high suddenly.
Which just makes Yuri flush more, heart thudding too hard, shoulders uncertain whether to come up and drawn in or stay stuck. When Victor just isn't done. Goes about all but murmuring against his ear (again, again, like that day...) with that completely innocuous question that bounces too fast around Yuri's brain, because it's trying to dissolve and explode as much as make it to the center of his brain.
It's a nod. Tiny, fast, a few too many times. (His throat not agreeing to swallow.) "Yes."
Which sounds captured in his throat, so he tries harder. A little louder. Normal. Totally normal.
This is normal. And there are people with them. "They're bringing more plates for everyone."