He didn't need his jacket, anymore than he needs anything past the weight of Yuri's arm in his, or Yuri's warm shoulder bumping into his, or the way Yuri looks up into his face, questioning enough that Victor has to thing back to make sure he's been using English.
(He can't remember.)
Scoffed: "Since when does cold bother Russians?"
(Sounding more like Yurio than he might know.)
It doesn't. Bother him. After the warmth inside the restaurant, it feels nice, even, and he's about to suggest that maybe he and Yuri walk around for a little bit, until Victor's head has stopped spinning and his feet have stopped floating and his stomach has agreed to settle back into its usual spot, when he says that.
And. Victor can't help but look down at him, blinking a drunken fog out of his eyes. Did he hear that right? Because it sounded like...
Like last winter. The winter before, even. The banquet. The Katsuki Yuri who took no prisoners and held his ground and implied everything, even if he never showed up.
(Even though Victor waited. Longer than he should have. Longer than anyone smarter than him would have. Waiting there in Sochi, until it became abundantly clear that Yuri wasn't going to show up at his door and make good on his promises.)
Unable to keep any of his thoughts from flooding across his face, he's sure, because he can barely feel his face, and Yuri just. That. He said that. And Victor knows that's not what he meant, but he can't help it, picturing it. Listening for the sound of Yuri's back hitting the door. Pushing, directing Yuri the way Yuri is pushing and directing him.
Not what Yuri meant. But it kicks the cover off the raw and pulsing want that has had nearly two years to expand and take on a life of its own, and he can feel it as a distant warmth in his cheeks. The way he did in those first few days at Yu-topia, when he couldn't take his eyes off Yuri.
Like now, except they're walking, and not looking where he's going is only going to make him stumble, no matter how many years he's trained to be light on his feet.
Annoyed with himself, when he catches his balance, because he knows better. Or did, before tonight.
And, yes. Maybe a little annoyed with Yuri, too. With the wait. With the hours that night, and how foolish he felt the next day.
With the whole year after, when he couldn't ever get it off his mind or out of his program. "Don't make promises you aren't willing to keep."
no subject
(He can't remember.)
Scoffed: "Since when does cold bother Russians?"
(Sounding more like Yurio than he might know.)
It doesn't. Bother him. After the warmth inside the restaurant, it feels nice, even, and he's about to suggest that maybe he and Yuri walk around for a little bit, until Victor's head has stopped spinning and his feet have stopped floating and his stomach has agreed to settle back into its usual spot, when he says that.
And. Victor can't help but look down at him, blinking a drunken fog out of his eyes. Did he hear that right? Because it sounded like...
Like last winter. The winter before, even. The banquet. The Katsuki Yuri who took no prisoners and held his ground and implied everything, even if he never showed up.
(Even though Victor waited. Longer than he should have. Longer than anyone smarter than him would have. Waiting there in Sochi, until it became abundantly clear that Yuri wasn't going to show up at his door and make good on his promises.)
Unable to keep any of his thoughts from flooding across his face, he's sure, because he can barely feel his face, and Yuri just. That. He said that. And Victor knows that's not what he meant, but he can't help it, picturing it. Listening for the sound of Yuri's back hitting the door. Pushing, directing Yuri the way Yuri is pushing and directing him.
Not what Yuri meant. But it kicks the cover off the raw and pulsing want that has had nearly two years to expand and take on a life of its own, and he can feel it as a distant warmth in his cheeks. The way he did in those first few days at Yu-topia, when he couldn't take his eyes off Yuri.
Like now, except they're walking, and not looking where he's going is only going to make him stumble, no matter how many years he's trained to be light on his feet.
Annoyed with himself, when he catches his balance, because he knows better. Or did, before tonight.
And, yes. Maybe a little annoyed with Yuri, too. With the wait. With the hours that night, and how foolish he felt the next day.
With the whole year after, when he couldn't ever get it off his mind or out of his program. "Don't make promises you aren't willing to keep."