"Victor." It's soft, almost a grumble, when the two at the end of the table aren't really listening. "What are you saying?"
Not when they seem to still be taking in the fact every quadrant of this table has turned upside in the last five minutes, more than seems possible. Because they were just called? It's only been five mintues, right? No. But. But it wasn't even this crazy five minutes ago, was it? It wasn't. But it is. And there's no way he's letting Victor leave to anywhere now, with anyone. Especially as he's still softly, singing, slurred words about Yu-topia.
He's turning back to tell Victor they can't go anywhere because they need to go to the hotel now -- but that never happens. He never finishes the thought to get to the words even. His head turns, and his mouth opens, but Victor is looking down at his lap, all entirely distracted away from Yuri now, and that makes Yuri's eyes drop, and he doesn't even have the second to be relieve of being fallen from focus because everything is too clear.
His eyes drop, and Victor's lower body is aerobically twisting in his chair, the flash of the tensed muscles in his stomach, and the dip of a very bare slender hip and ... and .... a n d ... all of which are more familiar to Yuri than he'll ever admit. Except in a second like this when it is what it is what it is, and what it isis Victor getting naked at the table in this restaurant, that is not a bath house, or a bathroom, or anything of the like, making him snap suddenly, shattering glass too loud,
"Hey! Don't strip!"
Except he's saying it too late. Victor's pants and his briefs are already in his hands, and he's smiling like he just completed a perfect program on his chair, eyes all hazy and full of nothing but delight. And they aren't going to stay, Yuri can see that, even as Victor's just bringing them up, the coil in his bare arm muscles, and it's already too late, when Yuri's following his first snap with another desperate pleading order, but not loud, meant for Victor, only Victor, "Don't."
Except he does. Because Victor always does what Victor wants.
The pants and the underwear go flying past Yuri's head, and the table.
Because Victor has no shame. He's never heard of it even. He's beaming at Yuri, naked, in his seat, all liquid pale, snow white, even though his reddened cheeks are betraying his warmth, and sheer warning is blaring and exploding in Yuri's head. Between needing to look to where Victor's clothes landed, and being almost terrified of looking away from him, lest Victor jump the table or do something even crazier without being watched every second now. "Hey! Someone help!"
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Not when they seem to still be taking in the fact every quadrant of this table has turned upside in the last five minutes, more than seems possible. Because they were just called? It's only been five mintues, right? No. But. But it wasn't even this crazy five minutes ago, was it? It wasn't. But it is. And there's no way he's letting Victor leave to anywhere now, with anyone. Especially as he's still softly, singing, slurred words about Yu-topia.
He's turning back to tell Victor they can't go anywhere because they need to go to the hotel now -- but that never happens. He never finishes the thought to get to the words even. His head turns, and his mouth opens, but Victor is looking down at his lap, all entirely distracted away from Yuri now, and that makes Yuri's eyes drop, and he doesn't even have the second to be relieve of being fallen from focus because everything is too clear.
His eyes drop, and Victor's lower body is aerobically twisting in his chair, the flash of the tensed muscles in his stomach, and the dip of a very bare slender hip and ... and .... a n d ... all of which are more familiar to Yuri than he'll ever admit. Except in a second like this when it is what it is what it is, and what it is is Victor getting naked at the table in this restaurant, that is not a bath house, or a bathroom, or anything of the like, making him snap suddenly, shattering glass too loud,
"Hey! Don't strip!"
Except he's saying it too late. Victor's pants and his briefs are already in his hands, and he's smiling like he just completed a perfect program on his chair, eyes all hazy and full of nothing but delight. And they aren't going to stay, Yuri can see that, even as Victor's just bringing them up, the coil in his bare arm muscles, and it's already too late, when Yuri's following his first snap with another desperate pleading order, but not loud, meant for Victor, only Victor, "Don't."
Except he does. Because Victor always does what Victor wants.
The pants and the underwear go flying past Yuri's head, and the table.
Because Victor has no shame. He's never heard of it even. He's beaming at Yuri, naked, in his seat, all liquid pale, snow white, even though his reddened cheeks are betraying his warmth, and sheer warning is blaring and exploding in Yuri's head. Between needing to look to where Victor's clothes landed, and being almost terrified of looking away from him, lest Victor jump the table or do something even crazier without being watched every second now. "Hey! Someone help!"