There's a sputtering shake as there's wet hair accosting his neck and his jaw, shoving more ice in already jangled nerves, and Victor's mouth is pressing words into his shirt, which is his skin, that is again just getting soaked with even more of that water from his face, hair, everything, making Yuri sputter and his heart jump up and down too rapidly for breath. While Chris is dogpiling him, them, in a fashion Yuri is not certain he ever needed to understand the term for more than Maccachin and Victor, or things on tv, in books, from an akimbo of long bare limbs in bronze, to the hand smushing a pillow on Victor's head suddenly.
The last of which Yuri can't even entirely compute beyond a vague -- not quite loud enough to have any hook, against the siren wailing on constant deafening repeat in his skull, and his skin -- about how that should not be happening to the top of Victor's head. By anyone. Ever. Because, Victor. Except Chris is, also, barely a foot away. And. That screaming alarm is very much still screaming at that, and the still constant, drilling need for the back of the bed to just let him go tumbling off it.
Which has him pushing at the pillow, and Chris's grip on it, and Victor's head beneath it, and Victor's hand escaping from under it -- which how is there so much of them everywhere -- but Victor is one hand down and Yuri tries escaping harder in that realization, fully jumping at anything now. "Yes! Yes! Fine! Coffee! I'll make coffee, but you have to get off."
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There's a sputtering shake as there's wet hair accosting his neck and his jaw, shoving more ice in already jangled nerves, and Victor's mouth is pressing words into his shirt, which is his skin, that is again just getting soaked with even more of that water from his face, hair, everything, making Yuri sputter and his heart jump up and down too rapidly for breath. While Chris is dogpiling him, them, in a fashion Yuri is not certain he ever needed to understand the term for more than Maccachin and Victor, or things on tv, in books, from an akimbo of long bare limbs in bronze, to the hand smushing a pillow on Victor's head suddenly.
The last of which Yuri can't even entirely compute beyond a vague -- not quite loud enough to have any hook, against the siren wailing on constant deafening repeat in his skull, and his skin -- about how that should not be happening to the top of Victor's head. By anyone. Ever. Because, Victor. Except Chris is, also, barely a foot away. And. That screaming alarm is very much still screaming at that, and the still constant, drilling need for the back of the bed to just let him go tumbling off it.
Which has him pushing at the pillow, and Chris's grip on it, and Victor's head beneath it, and Victor's hand escaping from under it -- which how is there so much of them everywhere -- but Victor is one hand down and Yuri tries escaping harder in that realization, fully jumping at anything now. "Yes! Yes! Fine! Coffee! I'll make coffee, but you have to get off."