It takes Yuuri a minute to come back to himself, blink his eyes fully back open again, and then a bit longer to focus them. Fucked incoherent is a good look on him, particularly painted in Victor's cum. He keeps reaching new levels of looking relaxed and open, afterwards, dazed.
"Victor," he's barely even aware he's spoken, that's how automatic the response to his name is, and Victor's name comes out rough around the edges from all the noise he's been making, but laced heavy in wonder, still, like even unspooled and sated, he can't quite believe this is real.
Before, though, there was an edge to that-- that it couldn't be real because he didn't deserve it, because he is who he is, not someone worthy to have it. Now, it's an almost giddy disbelief, so much of everything he's ever wanted that he can't wrap his head around it. He reaches up and pushes Victor's hair out of his eyes and the gesture is achingly tender-- all the moreso after the bruises his fingers are leaving behind.
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"Victor," he's barely even aware he's spoken, that's how automatic the response to his name is, and Victor's name comes out rough around the edges from all the noise he's been making, but laced heavy in wonder, still, like even unspooled and sated, he can't quite believe this is real.
Before, though, there was an edge to that-- that it couldn't be real because he didn't deserve it, because he is who he is, not someone worthy to have it. Now, it's an almost giddy disbelief, so much of everything he's ever wanted that he can't wrap his head around it. He reaches up and pushes Victor's hair out of his eyes and the gesture is achingly tender-- all the moreso after the bruises his fingers are leaving behind.