They'll just have to make do. As though Yuri's entire idea of Moscow hasn't already been defined by two places since before he arrived. The first being the sports arena that he'd spend more time in, during the next two days, than anywhere else. Which was one. The other was wholly defined by beyond there. Beyond this weekend's days. By the potential and possibility (and something like promise) of the Red Square.
Which didn't stop the alternative from drilling up, in whispered refrain in his head. Even with Victor's hand coast to his shoulder, making him so aware of those fingers, and the curl of that hand, and Victor's expression. None of that stopped the parallel idea of the opposite side. Not that they ever had entirely, before now and Russia and less than a day until, but now it took root with a solid image to back it.
Yurio staring straight forward at the elevator doors, not even deigning to look at him, saying that he'd beat Yuri and he'd take Victor back once he had. The other side of two days, and the two promises waiting there, taking root, with definitive shape and words in well-known voices, each as certain as the other. Digging themselves into his bones, spine and ribs and everything there was of him there to grasp. Each newly focused upon and realized inch of him as Victor's fingers coasted over his shirt and shoulder.
Yuri medals, and they go skating.
Yuri doesn't, and Victor leaves with Yurio.
Cemented with another quick kiss, like a seal, before Victor is pushing himself up and into motion, and Yuri knows he has to go with it. Picking up his phone and pushing himself up to follow Victor. He scoots off the opposite side of the bed from Victor, his other hand rubbing at his face, trying to push his thoughts back, and goes to plug his phone in. It could charge while they went about what they have to do. "Okay."
no subject
Which didn't stop the alternative from drilling up, in whispered refrain in his head. Even with Victor's hand coast to his shoulder, making him so aware of those fingers, and the curl of that hand, and Victor's expression. None of that stopped the parallel idea of the opposite side. Not that they ever had entirely, before now and Russia and less than a day until, but now it took root with a solid image to back it.
Yurio staring straight forward at the elevator doors, not even deigning to look at him, saying that he'd beat Yuri and he'd take Victor back once he had. The other side of two days, and the two promises waiting there, taking root, with definitive shape and words in well-known voices, each as certain as the other. Digging themselves into his bones, spine and ribs and everything there was of him there to grasp. Each newly focused upon and realized inch of him as Victor's fingers coasted over his shirt and shoulder.
Yuri medals, and they go skating.
Yuri doesn't, and Victor leaves with Yurio.
Cemented with another quick kiss, like a seal, before Victor is pushing himself up and into motion, and Yuri knows he has to go with it. Picking up his phone and pushing himself up to follow Victor. He scoots off the opposite side of the bed from Victor, his other hand rubbing at his face, trying to push his thoughts back, and goes to plug his phone in. It could charge while they went about what they have to do. "Okay."