( Yuri doesn't bother trying to hide the way he soaks up the stunning cut of Dimitri's body. The dedication he's thrown into training is very much reflected in the way he looks: his broad shoulders and trim waist are wrapped with sleek, strong muscle, and Yuri has to squeeze his hands into fists for just a moment to stop himself from pouncing on him the way he would with Balthus.

It's difficult, though. The scent of him hangs heavy between them where it mixes with the aroma of his own arousal; he flits his tongue over his lips, then swallows hard before offering a distracted little nod. )

Uh — ah, yes, that's perfect.

( Get it together, Yuri.

He exhales softly, mischief pricking the corners of his lips as he moves in to close the distance between them again. For a moment it might seem as though Yuri might swing a leg over to straddle his hips — but then he turns at the last minute, one knee set either side of Dimitri's shoulders and his pussy within kissing distance. )

Figured out how we're gonna do it yet?

( Yuri teases, sliding his palms down the prince's abdomen before dipping low enough that his breath flares over the swell of his cock: )

Or do you need me to be more explicit?