I was hoping to get a cab and go safely, quietly, home. I was hoping to just rest today, since it's almost midnight, and face everyone tomorrow again, and every question that I already know will be too many and specially annoying. Specially painful.
I was not expecting this.
When I saw Viktor through the glass doors, hugging katsudon and planting kisses on his neck, making him giggle like a idiot, I felt the nausea coming: damn it. One day, let the grossness go for one day, at least in a fucking airport. When I see them actually waving at me I realize I have no choice but to go with them.
The gigantic poodle of a man lifted me up on a hug before I can even react, squeezing the air out of my lungs while katsudon silently puts my bag on the trunk of the car, vaguely smiling at me as to say sorry. I smack the huge idiot on the arm as soon as he lets me go and get in the car without a word. I didn't need this, I could have gotten home on my own.
"Sooooo" viktor seems to sing out the words, "how was your birthday'"
"Fine. Why are you here?" I spat out as venomously as I can. Viktor doesn't even flinch, keeping his gaze on the road, just occasionally stealing glances at me to the rear view mirror with that stupid suspicious grin of his. Yuuri, on the other hand, tries to keep the conversation flowing.
"How did it go with Otabek? Did he meet your grandfather'"
"Of course he met my grandfather, HE STAYED AT MY HOUSE." viktor lets out a small whistling and jumps in, looking at me through the mirror.
"Oh? And did something happen that you decided to pair skate like lovebirds?" his tone annoys me the fuck out of my wits;the only reason I don't kick him into oblivion is because he's the one behind the wheel.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, OLD MAN." Katsudon scolds him under his breath and gestures to my phone.
"You should probably check your Instagram, Yurio." the idiot mumbling "I thought he knew!" while I scroll through the hundreds of shares of one single post tagging me and Beka: someone took a picture of us, sliding on the ice, him staring deep into my eyes while bending me closer to the ice, ad can almost recognize that stare. Almost the way he looked at me that morning, mesmerized, lovingly, so impossibly sweet I find myself glued to that photo and almost don't realize of my own face on it: wide eyed, lips parted and barely twisted upwards, slightly blushed and with such a particular way to look at him. Affectionate, sure. Impressed even, maybe. Relieved at some point, but definitely happy.
I download it without them noticing and start looking through the comments insinuating that we're a couple, and some of the most obsessive fangirls ranting, in all caps, how I would NEVER date a fellow competitor, much less the dark horse. I have to fight the urge to unravel my whole and pretty extensive glossary of profanities at her because how dare she treat my friend like that but decide against it since it will surely do more harm than good. He's around my feed a lot, anyways; if she didn't notice it's because she's trying hard not to see. I lift my eyes up to realize Katsudon is still staring at me, waiting for me to say something, smiling like he knows. But there's nothing to know, right? Nothing so impressive. We went to skate, we were having fun, the picture happened, period.
"I just showed him my hometown rink, what's so weird about that?" I try not to pout, not to hide under my hoodie. Mission failed, both, miserably if I may add.
"Nothing! Of course, nothing's weird with that; it's just nice you're sharing the thing you love with people." It sounds like the sentence doesn't end there but I cringe at how could he close it, knowing how awfully cheesy these guys are. I'd better not give them the chance to say one more word.
"Look, I'm tired, OK? Just shut up for once and take me home."
Once we arrive at Lilia's house, I snatch my bag out of Katsudon's hand and get in in a flash, trying to avoid the hug Viktor looked so convinced I needed. I walk upstairs without paying too much attention to the two people sitting on the couch shooting out trivial questions that could be easily answered by a series of random fine's and OK's followed up by a simple goodnight and the sound of a door closing.
I throw my bag in some corner and sit on my bed as Anje jumps into my lap, rubbing her face against the plush bear I let out of the backpack and hold in front of me. Ha, she misses him more than she missed me, uh?
The ribbon is tied back onto the doll's neck. I should probably text him. My hands fall automatically on the fluff of the cat and behind her ears, trying to find some clarity from her purring: it usually works. But this is much too different than if I should tell my coach about a bad fall or if I should get Mila away for her particularly douchey new prospect. I'm tired of relying in people but I can't find a way to stop this constant mes of emotions and images and sensations too clustered together to understand any of them separately. So, I love my friend: of course I do, he's my friend, the one person I can trust. Sure, there are Yuuko, and Mila, and I guess the awful couple found their own place somewhere around there as well. But they're not like him: he might like to mock me, and try to get me flustered on propose, ands check if I really would kick him as much as I say I will, but he never really judges, or stops me from rambling about the same things over and over. And he doesn't treat my feelings as a teenage phase thing… Well, not until now. Not until an actual line has been drawn and he seems like he feels it's a crime to cross it. I'm sixteen, I'm technically of age, and just because I hadn't have a love interest before doesn't mean I'm an idiot.
But that wasn't exactly what he said, was it? It was more on the lines of "I won't touch you just because you want someone to"; but then again, I don't want someone, I want HIM.
"Cute bear. You're also cheesy as fuck. Who knew." It sounds somehow aggressive but I'm sure he'll read the right way: we've spent too much time together this past week for him not to, after all. And he always has seemed to be able to read me like an open book; not that I actually try to hide from him. I know there must be still some eight hours left for him to land, so I know he won't be reading it until morning. Somehow it's still relieving to text him, even when he can't answer. But I'm still too anxious to sleep right now, so I proceed to text her, just to see what she's doing.
"When are you coming back? Yakov is gonna pester me if I go back to the rink alone."
"He won't if he knows how hard you've been practicing, according to the people attending your hometown rink, kitty (heart emoji)" , That damn picture. It's gonna be hard to come back tomorrow. "Fret not, my child, I'll be there with you tomorrow. Love ya"
Idiot. I should just get some sleep to get ready for the storm coming. I can almost feel the static in the air.
Home sweet fucking home.
I wake up to the all too familiar sound of Lilia banging on my door while politely asking me to get down for breakfast in a tone so enraged that makes anything sounds far from polite. It's still way too early and I'm sincerely starving, so I just put on a loose hairband and my training outfit to go down and sit in between two particularly grumpy old people.
"You didn't brush your hair" What a swift, clever woman.
"No I didn't. You asked me to get down this instant, young man. I did." I wanted to glare at her but I'm suddenly too focused in stuffing my face with food so I'm not even looking at the scowl I know she's wearing.
"Yurotchka, Vitya wants you for dinner, so we're going with them-"
"WHAT." Since when do they decide what I do with my free time. And why THERE? At this point I don't know if it's because of the pictures, or the birthday, or Katsudon being close to Yuuko, but there's not one way this will be less than fucking awkward. "Why should I?"
"It's important for your career, he's a legend, he knows everything there is to know…" He realizes I'm not looking forward to it, as if my face wasn't enough to notice, but keeps on going. "Look, it will be for the better, Yurotchka, just you go. It won't be that bad." I can't really do much; if I'm not going, I'd better let that clear directly to them, and not to Yakov, who surely already said yes on my behalf.
"FINE, but if it IS terrible I'm coming back early. I don't have to stay."
"You don't have to stay. Promise." It is better than them locking the door from the inside so I'm obligated to stay over there, so. It could be worse. It could also be much, much better. But I'll have to settle for what I can get today; I'm still too tired to argue.
As she promised, Mila is on time to train, but doesn't do much than waving and sending furtives pitiful smiles at him. So she knows, uh? And of course she does: the gigantic idiot is telling everyone we're having a "family dinner" tonight to celebrate. I'd love to lash out at him but I don't have enough energy to concentrate on anything but skating: I haven't slept much last night, without the heat of another body besides me, of his breath against the nape of my neck, and if I fall just once Yakov could have the impression that these training breaks are doing too much harm on my practice. I won't allow him to take the chance to see my grandfather away from me.
Mila finishes her practice and waits for me: the couple of lovebirds are already out and preparing dinner for tonight, so I'll just have to catch up whenever I feel like it, which might mean in a couple of hours. As soon as I reach my bag, still with the skates on, and whip the phone out, she drapes herself over me; at this point I don't really care what she might see, I have told her WORSE than she can ever read on it. It's not like Beka is capable of sending sudden dick pics anyways. I manage to see a text saying "Glad you like it. Good morning and good night" with a picture of a kazakh morning from a balcony that could perfectly well be his, his own silhouette cast on the door glass, and the embrace on my shoulder tightens.
"Ow, he's cute! Is that his home?" She might not have seen anything weird but she sure is nosy anyways.
"What do you care, баба? Let go!" I realize that I'm not really fighting her off so much but still she does releases me in order for me to untie my skates.
"Mama and Papa bear are waiting for you, why don't you go talk to them about…?" she does a wide gesture at the phone and I suddenly feel the need to bash it against her head. I'll miss it, though, so I don't; I just get ready to get away.
"I'm NOT telling them anything. So watch your mouth." She nods, giggling, and I don't believe her for one second, but she did have a whole week to fuck up and didn't, so I'll just have to. "And don't call them that, it's creepy."
"They like it."the image of them hugging me like an old married couple with their child shows up and I can already feel the bile climbing up my throat. Disgusting. "And they'll ask, you know they will."
"Yes, I KNOW. I'm trying to prepare myself to not throw them out of the window."
"You're not big enough." she's openly laughing at me now but the grossness doesn't let me get mad at her.
"I can always get my skates."
"They wouldn't be so dumb to let you near them. You should go: they're waiting."
"Yeah, the sooner I go, the sooner I'll get out, I guess."
We part ways at the rink's front door and I put on my headphones; I haven't been around here in a week and it feels like years, like I've spent a lifetime embraced by Beka and my grandpa in our own little world, circling around a snowglobe, knowingly, not wanting to get out. The apartment is just a few blocks away, on one of the expensive skyscrapers close to the rink, and I get there in a matter of minutes, even before the cold starts piercing through my clothes; I take the phone out once again just to check the time of the picture, taken somewhere before noon, and block it again to stare at the picture of us on the ice, fixated on each other, as if the rest of the world had suddenly vanished and we're all alone on the ice, as if that was just how it should be. I decide eventually to ring the buzzer on their floor and the door buzzes almost immediately. This is gonna be a long, long night.
As soon as Viktor opens the front with a really loud and overexcited welcome, crushing my ribs to dust on a hug, I can feel my phone vibrate; I leave it there until I can finally get off the old idiot and his huge lapdog bouncing around and licking my hands, to sit on a couch and wave at Katsudon, still in the kitchen. A new text and an Instagram notification come up almost at the same time and a click on the latter first, just to prepare myself for whatever they'll have to say when they see it.
otabek-altin Goodbye, Moscow. We'll see each other again. #moscow #russiaThat's the view from the lake we went to the day after he arrived home; the sun shining bright on the bridge's stones, reflecting into the golden strands of hair trapped by the gentle breeze that a quiet hand tries to hold in place behind their ear, mouthed slightly gaped in astonishment with the beauty of the clear light blue stream underneath their feet but still, somehow, smiling. I remember that; it wasn't exactly a date, he said. It was way too good for it. That's the first thing he does when going back home? Post a picture of me?
yuri-plisetsky when did you take that?
otabek-altin On your birthday. The first one, at least.
yuri-plisetsky Idiot.
otabek-altin Туған күніңмен, жолбарыс
I can feel their eyes burning through my skull where they're staring, one man sitting on a bar stool and the other fiddling with something on the stove; do they think I can't notice then? I lift my head to glare at them and Viktor just giggles. Phone in hand. Fuck.
"You were smiling at you phone, Yurotchka." I was clearly not smiling at you, that's for sure.
"Are you listing my face expressions now, old man?"
"Well, with the amount of times you actually smiled, I could easily count them." I can hear his fiance scolding him from the kitchen but I still put my foot around his bar stool and pull, making him fall flat on his ass.
"Remind me why I'm here again."
"In a minute: let's eat first. I'm making Katsudon, I thought you'd like it." I mumble an OK and sit on the bar, watching him work, while opening the text I couldn't yet read.
It was a picture, and I knew that damn couch. I knew that perfectly sculpted chest, splashed with little water drops as if he was freshly out of the shower, tracing every curve on his torso, highlighting the dark trail of hair going down from his belly button to the hem of his loosened gym pants that curled a little under his knees and show the tanned bare legs and… are those...?
"You kept the slippers." the reply gets in quick: he's online right now.
"I did lose that game."
"That's why you left the bear?"
"I brought it to you, I just forgot to give it to you sooner. I was busy, you see." I can almost see the smirk on his face. He's liking these games. And I'm not stopping them: I'm starting to learn how to win.
"Ribbon and all?" This time, the message takes a bit longer.
"No. I didn't think it would be necessary. You surprised me." You were the one sharing all these… things. I look at the kitchen and see Yuuri preparing the bowls while Viktor hugs him from behind, whispering things into his ear. Is that what love is? The tingling on your skin when they touch you? The need to not pull away ever? The lack of sleep when they're not around, or the warmth spreading through you when they are the first thing you see in the morning?
"You weren't planning on telling me?"
The plates arrive and I put the phone in my pocket, ignoring the buzzing. They try to make small talk about my grandfather, and the city, the motorcycle rides, and I concede; you have to be thankful for a bowl of homemade katsudon after all, and the guy does know his way around a kitchen. I enjoy the almost familiar setting of it all until the idiot strikes:
"So, let's talk about sex." He says with that silly grin he always wears.
"Viktor, what, no!"
"WHAT THE HELL, GEEZER." yuuri might be shocked, but I was sure it was bound to happen. "I had the sex talk already, I'm fucking sixteen, you idiot."
"Oh yeah, I'm sure you did, where would those hickeys come from if not from sex?" My face suddenly feels like it was lit on fire. The hickeys. Damn it. I've almost forgot. "But because you're having it…"
"I'M NOT. And I wouldn't come to ask you about it anyways if I were." Katsudon can't separate his hand from his face from the embarrassment but his fiance doesn't even flinches. Viktor doesn't have one inch of shame in his body.
"Who better than me to tell you how to be safe with your boyfriend?." I get up and stomp to where my bag is when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"He's an idiot, please forgive him." I want to spit out every swear word in the book, but he does look like he has something important to say. I don't know if it's pity or curiosity or what, but something lets the bag fall on the floor again and allows him to take me to the master bedroom and wait there for him, sitting on the bed. I check the new text, now that Viktor is being loudly scolded in the living room.
"Not like that. And not then. I didn't want you to feel like you obligated to correspond." Fuck you and you niceness, Beka. You need to stop feeling responsible for my own actions for once.
"I wasn't gonna do anything I didn't want to." Idiot. "Still, I have to say you won."
"Did we still have a bet going?"
"The geezer wants to give me THE TALK because of the chunk you tried to bite off my neck"
"well… the flight attendant and a few girls were eyeing me the entire flight. But if you yield…" I'm not letting you win, you bastard. Even though they'll surely weren't staring because of the bites if you just happened to be wearing that particularly translucent shirt.
"I'm not yielding, you fucker. I'm not a loser (fuck you emoji)"
"You are a sore one. You cheated. And I don't think I've done enough to be called that." how DARE he. And he says he doesn't flirt. In my dictionary, that sounds like a challenge.
"That one's on you." I won't give him the chance to answer, especially when the discussion on the other room seems to have ceased. "Katsudon's back. We'll talk later. Don't go to bed without me"
"I won't. Let me know if they'll force us to marry before I earn the title of… what was it again?"
The shithead must be having so much fun making me blush like a silly school girl two minutes before the door creaks open. Katsudon looks down to where I threw myself, my back bouncing on the soft mattress and a pillow held tightly to my face. He doesn't seem to understand what's going on. He's denser than I thought.
He waits for me to get up and I wait for my face to go back to an actual human color to sit up again; it feels like forever. He looks at me like I was a kid and I already want to kick his face even though he hasn't said a thing yet.
"I know Viktor can be… intense. He doesn't mean any harm, he just gets excited and doesn't realize what he's saying…" I cut him short before I really get the need to punch him.
"Listen carefully. I. Am not. Fucking. With Otabek. Is that clear?" he doesn't flinch.
"I believe you. I do. But, Yuri, you ARE getting close, and I'm not talking about sex. You know what I mean." I take my eyes away from him, there's something about the things he says that makes me feel uncomfortable. Close. We can't get close, we're literally…"long distance relationships can be tough-"
"He's NOT. MY BOYFRIEND" we're friends. Just friends. No more. Not now. Not like this, far away, confused and with an idiot patting on my back and telling me that everything will be OK.
"I know that but it doesn't make it any easier. Especially if you've been living together"
"It was a WEEK." he sighs when he sees me rolling my eyes.
"Still. Listen, I'm not asking you to tell me anything right now. But I want you to know you can talk to me at any time."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Well, for starters, I'm about to marry my childhood idol" he smiles trying not to look smug. He still sounds like it. I can't deny he does have a point but I'm certainly not following his footsteps.
"You suggest I should just grind half naked and black out drunk onto him and everything will solve itself?" he turns bright red and laughs nervously
"Alcohol can certainly lose one's tongue but I certainly don't recommend it, no." I want to ask… But not to him. He's had it easy, he's always known, he's had Viktor at his feet from day one. He's gone to Japan to find him, for fuck's sake.
Well… not that Beka didn't go to my home to meet my family. I mean. I invited him; he didn't just show up out of the blue and glued himself to me with some cheap excuse. Even though he did appear out of thin air in Barcelona. It's hardly the same. Isn't it?
"FINE" I hurled myself back against the couch. "I'll ask. But you have to be nice." He wants to say something but I won't let him right now; his condescending tone puts me on edge. "NO teasing. And DON'T tell anyone."
"I'll have to tell Vik-"
"ESPECIALLY NOT VIKTOR"
"Yuri, he's my…" he looks hurt but if he starts talking all around the rink, I'll have to murder each and everyone. I won't have them talking about us as if we were THEM.
"NOT. A. WORD."
"FINE. Not a word. Promise." I guess he wouldn't dare. He's not that courageous. I cover my face again with the pillow and ask away. He doesn't quite understands. I'm sure Beka would.
"I said how did you know?" Pause. He doesn't say anything, doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. "That he was the one you wanted to be with." Silence. Chuckles. The bastard's laughing at me.
"He was my idol, I knew right away." pause. He gets up, I'm sure he's closer now but I don't want him to look at my face. "Do you…" he sounds like he was kneeling at the side of the bed. "You don't know if you're in love?". He's pitying me. I can hear it in his voice. It exasperates me. I throw the damn pillow at him and he doesn't react fast enough.
"I'M NOT A CHILD, DON'T YOU TREAT ME LIKE ONE."
"I'm not, I'm not! I'm just asking…"
"... Yuuko said I should figure it out on my own."
"Oh? Have you told Yuuko?" he seems genuinely surprised. If I didn't know any better, maybe even a little offended.
"Well YEAH. She's married, not grossly attached to her husband's face."
"That hurts, Yuri… But yeah. You'll know when it happens." he smiles and weirdly, I do feel relieved. He lets me stay until I feel like going back into the living room, and I can do only one thing to forget the pressure of such a conversation.
"We don't have to marry but you'll probably have to put up with THE TALK too" his text comes in right away, as if he was expecting me, as if it wasn't close to midnight over there.
"I'll survive as long as he doesn't go really specific."
"Wth does that mean? Am I gonna be sick?"
"We'll have to wait and see."
"YOU'LL GIVE ME NIGHTMARES, BEKA"
"I'll text you goodnight so you can sleep well."
"Corny as fuck." It's almost like he tries to find a chance to be sweet and cheesy and fuck, he's cute. "I have your bear to sleep with"
"You're abandoning me for a teddy bear? I'm hurt, Yura."
"You deserve it. Being so lovely"
"You love it. I will text you goodnight anyways, I miss you. So let me know when you get home."
He knows I'm grinning like an idiot. He knows I always do when he says stuff like this: half of the times we were skyping and I had no way to hide.
I know he's doing it on purpose.
I know he means it.
Viktor is already cuddling in the sofa with his fiance, one hand on the other man's hair and the other who knows where; he sees me getting out of the room, pocketing the phone and doesn't even bats an eye. Katsudon, on the other hand, turns around and pulls the idiot's hand out of somewhere between them and sits up.
"Is everything OK, Yurio?" the dumb heart shaped smile on his fiance's face doesn't even quiver, the asshole.
"Don't call me that." His expression changes in a second. He was expecting yelling, he always is.
"You know I was just-" One more words and I feel I'll snap his neck. I'm tired of this, of everyone around asking me to check my step, to go slow, to do something. But I don't have anything to watch for, I'm not going anywhere, I'm just… drifting. And they try, I'm sure they try, but they're not helping. High school sweethearts, idols, "meant-to-be" love stories… And I just wonder why the idea of holding his hand over a hidden corner table at the smallest cafe in the city makes my cheeks burn brighter than the idea of having him moaning low under my weight. What do you do when nothing is so cliched?
"Don't. Not one word." For once, he's trying to reach out and not actually mock, but I can't deal with anymore of this. It's all much easier with him; much easier without them judging what are we doing, what are we. It's much easier just to let go of the definition, just to be. "I don't care." After all, it's just a title, isn't it? "I'm fine." I'm perfectly fine as it is; no matter what it is, as long as he's on it. I'll be fine. "I'm just gonna go now."
The cool air whistling rapidly through my ears soothes the feelings of claustrophobia and the numbness in my face reminds me of the wind rushing towards me while standing on the bike, all adrenaline and awe, clutching hardly on his shoulder, listening to him giggling low under the engine noise and the cars shuffling past us. I feel the need to stop and look for it; the video still on my Instagram somewhere, and play it once more. This time it doesn't feel like a product of my imagination, having heard that low sneaky laugh more than once before, head against his chest; it doesn't look like a trick to the camera, the furtive smile on the rear view mirror, the relaxed features. We were so free that day, so past the competitions and birthdays, and the people asking, and love… We were two idiots on a bike doing stupid risky thing through the motorway. We were invincible.
I can think of only one thing to calm my nerves now.
"Skype. Thirty minutes. It's a date, Beka, don't leave me waiting."
He's already logged in by the time I get to the room and turn on the laptop, skilfully avoiding every attempt of interrogation by my coaches by shouting "YOUR PROTEGE IS A NASTY PERVERTED FUCK" and slamming my bedroom door behind me; they're used to sudden outbursts on my side and gross romantic behaviour on Viktor's so they won't ask.
He looks exhausted, yet different from other nights when he stayed way past his bedtime to talk about some particularly difficult day for me; he seems refreshed, relaxed, almost younger, as if some weight has lifted from his shoulders. There's a book sitting on the couch next to where the back of his head is resting and a mug lazily clutched on his lap; a subtle lingering smile pales against the screen light that makes his skin glistens on his still naked torso. I want to tell him it's all way too much, that my world has turned upside down in a damn week and I still don't know if that's a bad thing.
"Do you even sit on that couch?" he laughs lazily and runs a hand through his hair
"If I do now, you'd be staring at my crotch." Who says I wouldn't even if you don't. I catch him smirking and notice I haven't answered back. "Do you want me to?"
"NO! Damn it... " I have only the light on my night table on and I hope it's not enough for him to see me blushing up to my ears, since the only light on his apartments seems to be the laptop screen. He doesn't make a sounds but I can see it on his face: he's having so much fun with it.
"How bad was it?" I remember why I asked him to log in and I push a pillow down my face, a long painful groan escaping my lips, even muffled by the fabric. "Yura, it's a Skype call, I'll need you closer to the mic to understand you." Out of sheer exasperation I pull myself up and really close to the camera, my lips almost brushing the microphone over the screen, and say the words really slowly.
"I. Hate. Them. Both." He knows it's not true, but he's not making a sound; I get away from the laptop to look at him and he's sitting there in awe, his tongue running around the edges of his teeth and his stare hungry with desire. He sees me lean down again and suddenly snaps out of it, spilling his tea all over himself with a loud "Fuck!" and stands up to get away from the camera view, probably to clean himself off. "Are you still there?"
He shows up on knee long tight leggins and slumps on the floor right in front of the camera again, sighing. "Yeah. Just a bit… tired." I bite my lip: I should probably just let him go to bed, yet he keeps talking. "Tell me, what did they say?"
"That their life is a fucking fairytale. As always." I feel the urge to belch when I remember them both cuddling on the couch, like teenage lovebirds, whispering things to each other. "Their whole constant cuddling and groping and kissing is… Ugh."
"Mh-mh." His smug half smile came back, but he looks always trying to hide it.
"What is that supposed to mean, Altin?" He plunges forward and leans on his hands resting on the floor, looking straight at the camera, close enough for me to see the detail on the soft peck of chest hair gleaming under the artificial light, his sun kissed taunting me, calling for me, adorned with little dark red love bites on his collarbone, his lips pumped and bright red. I push my hand under the covers as if I were to just cover it, trying not to be too obvious about it pressing hard on my dick to make the throbbing sensation, the fire on my loins, stop. Even then, I'm sure he can see it in my eyes.
"If I were to hold you," he pauses and his voice becomes an exasperatingly sweet breath, "If I were to whisper in your ear, would you stop me?" The hand that tried to stop me is doing anything but that, caressing gently at the tip, making me take way too many deep breaths in order to avoid my voice from shaking.
"You would." it sounded like a quivering plea. As if I was asking him to correct me. Asking him to tell me everything he'd say, every little thing he'd do. He hesitates. I can't hold the movement of my hand much longer, going up and down my shaft slowly, my eyes glued to the vision that is his chest right in front of me, the thirst in his eyes, his mouth open enough for his tongue to wander around his lips in wanting, almost inviting me to… "Don't stop me." there's a degree of begging into that phrase and he notices it: he likes it.
He sits back down, still supporting his weight onto the floor with his left hand, while the right starts wandering slowly, painfully slow up his tight. He doesn't even reach his crotch before I stop him. "Put on some light; I can't see you." He takes his phone from somewhere besides the laptop and sets it under the coffee table, flashlight on and pointing at him. Now I can notice the perfect underline of his bulge pulsating under his pants. I have this piercing feeling on the back of my mind, i shouldn't, I shouldn't…
It must be over one in the morning when he comes back from the bathroom; he refused to end the call and now slouches on his spot on the floor, one hand resting on his knee, looking at me through a half lidded gaze and a shy smile.
"Are you sure this is okay?" There it is. The regret. The sting on the back of my mind, the hesitation, all there.
"You are way too far off, Beka: I'll take what I can get-"
"That's not reassuring. You're…" He looks away; there's something he's not saying, something big. But the last time I pushed him into talking he ended up under the snowfall for hours until I decided to talk again. I don't want a fight again, not now, not through a fuck webcam.
"I want you. And I can't have you right now, not really. So I'll take this, every text or stuff you concede me, and I'll be happy with it." Even I get surprised at my calm demeanor right now, I'm trying way too hard not to snap at him. "I've slept alone last night after a week of… you." I want to say something else, to make him understand me, but I can't find the words. I just… reach out to the bear plushie and hold it to my chest. His expression changes: he smiles, relaxes.
"I miss you too, Yura."
Good enough, I guess. This is what I can get and I'll hang on to it. I realize the grin on my face only when I finish putting my laptop away.
This is what we are now, uh? Not titles. Just…. Us.