The hand on his chest feels like a brand, like it has the entire weight of the world on it. But there's also no way he would be moving, even without it. Yuri reaches and searches and he watches Yuri, rapt. Yuri being beautiful has little to nothing to say to why he is doing this. He doesn't want Yuri because he's pretty. But he is fascinated by it, could watch him all day.
He opens the vaseline and slicks his fingers and there's no real nerves from him about this, but there's concentration, because while he'd been able to bear the discomfort pretty easily when he tried, he also has read it can be painful and he doesn't want that.
"I can't feel what you're feeling," he reminds Yuri as he's rubbing a little lube in shallow circles, finger already starting to ghost inside him just a bit, but not quite to the point yet of stretch, "It's not supposed to hurt," because he knows Yuri, and knows that he'll try to push himself to the limits-- but Yuri's also an athlete and the only way to survive as one of those is to know the difference between a hurt that's alright, bearable, and one that means injury or strain.
no subject
He opens the vaseline and slicks his fingers and there's no real nerves from him about this, but there's concentration, because while he'd been able to bear the discomfort pretty easily when he tried, he also has read it can be painful and he doesn't want that.
"I can't feel what you're feeling," he reminds Yuri as he's rubbing a little lube in shallow circles, finger already starting to ghost inside him just a bit, but not quite to the point yet of stretch, "It's not supposed to hurt," because he knows Yuri, and knows that he'll try to push himself to the limits-- but Yuri's also an athlete and the only way to survive as one of those is to know the difference between a hurt that's alright, bearable, and one that means injury or strain.