[ Verso doesn't entirely know how to feel and he won't even after he's untangled himself from this, so all he wants to focus on is what he does know and understand. Heat, want, the almost predatory need in him to take him by the throat and hold him down, mark every inch of his skin with kisses and bruises and bites until no one, no Paintress, no Renoir, no canvas, could ever take Gustave away from him again. He wants to touch him, taste him, devour him alive, wrap him up in himself until the world falls away and neither of them have anything but each other.
Once Gustave gets the buttons of his jacket open he's shrugging it off, and they slip from his shoulders to collapse somewhere next to them. Verso keeps mouthing kisses over his skin, groaning appreciatively when he feels Gustave's hands plucking at his shirt, and when Gustave arches so sweetly beneath him and into his mouth and pushes his head down he's only happy to oblige. Tonguing over the hardened nub of his nipple, latching his lips around him and sucking.
( A sound, in the distance, a cry that Verso is particularly attuned to recognize. He knows what it means. He ignores it. )
The only problem with being on top of him like this is that one hand needs to brace itself against the rock, he buckles it down to elbow so he can press even closer. He drags his teeth over the lean muscle of his chest to turn his attention to his other nipple, tongue lathing over him and then sucking, his other hand fitting down between them so a callused palm can trail down over his belly. He likes feeling the way the muscles in his stomach tense and flex as Gustave squirms and arches beneath him, and he's already impatient, his hand moving further down, palming roughly and deliberately over the shape of him through his trousers and moving back up to pluck at the fastenings. ]
Gustave. [ Again, like a prayer, like a mantra, half-muffled against his chest, heated and breathless and raw. ][ Beautiful. Beautiful as before. Perfect as he remembers, tasting even sweeter in person than in all the dreams he had of him.
( Another crash, a rumbling distant sound. Closer now -- )
He can scarcely think from how loud his heart is pounding in his ears. He keeps not being sure what to say, but he just lets the words come. ]
I've missed you --
[ Another sound, a louder crash, this time much closer, and for as much as he absolutely fucking loathes it Verso's body is more tuned to survival instinct than it is to Gustave beneath him. He locks up, immediately tense, looking up -- and it's a putain de nevron, all twisted blue-inked flesh and red mane. It soars through the air, the massive club in hand, and Verso's eyes are wide, looking back down at Gustave ( beautiful, absolutely perfect, spread out beneath him ) -- ]
-- Putain.
[ He doesn't have time for this.
He wraps his arms around Gustave, forcefully pulling him close and rolling to the side, the tumble is messy and a little clumsy but it works. The cruler's club comes crashing into the rock where they were just moments before, the creature's entire body following suit. Verso is is instinctively using his body to shield Gustave's from any flying debris even in that messy tumble, and eventually rolls away from him, almost managing a smooth transition into a ready stance, one knee on the ground, the other foot braced against the rock. He's breathing heavily, jacket gone, and Verso had distracted Gustave with his mouth and tongue before the other man had a chance to finish with the last button of his shirt, leaving it hanging mostly open as he stays there for a moment, breathing heavy.
Fuck. The nevron makes its strange sound, turning to face them. Verso's looking at Gustave, catching his breath, and once he's satisfied the man is okay he's gesturing with a tip of his head towards the enemy that's crashed their damn party. His eyes are dark, narrowed, he's absolutely goddamn pissed, maybe even more than before, pushing himself up to his feet as a sword and dagger materialize into his hands with ripples of Chroma. ]
-- J'en ai ras de cul --
[ A stream of muttered French and nothing else, that's how you know he's pissed, and in a whirl of chroma and fury he's launching himself at the nevron. All of that almost lupine hunter's grace Gustave's always seen him carry, now actually sharpened to functional form, a little acrobatic, a little showy, but absolutely trained in on his target and ready to reach for a kill. ]
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Once Gustave gets the buttons of his jacket open he's shrugging it off, and they slip from his shoulders to collapse somewhere next to them. Verso keeps mouthing kisses over his skin, groaning appreciatively when he feels Gustave's hands plucking at his shirt, and when Gustave arches so sweetly beneath him and into his mouth and pushes his head down he's only happy to oblige. Tonguing over the hardened nub of his nipple, latching his lips around him and sucking.
( A sound, in the distance, a cry that Verso is particularly attuned to recognize. He knows what it means. He ignores it. )
The only problem with being on top of him like this is that one hand needs to brace itself against the rock, he buckles it down to elbow so he can press even closer. He drags his teeth over the lean muscle of his chest to turn his attention to his other nipple, tongue lathing over him and then sucking, his other hand fitting down between them so a callused palm can trail down over his belly. He likes feeling the way the muscles in his stomach tense and flex as Gustave squirms and arches beneath him, and he's already impatient, his hand moving further down, palming roughly and deliberately over the shape of him through his trousers and moving back up to pluck at the fastenings. ]
Gustave. [ Again, like a prayer, like a mantra, half-muffled against his chest, heated and breathless and raw. ][ Beautiful. Beautiful as before. Perfect as he remembers, tasting even sweeter in person than in all the dreams he had of him.
( Another crash, a rumbling distant sound. Closer now -- )
He can scarcely think from how loud his heart is pounding in his ears. He keeps not being sure what to say, but he just lets the words come. ]
I've missed you --
[ Another sound, a louder crash, this time much closer, and for as much as he absolutely fucking loathes it Verso's body is more tuned to survival instinct than it is to Gustave beneath him. He locks up, immediately tense, looking up -- and it's a putain de nevron, all twisted blue-inked flesh and red mane. It soars through the air, the massive club in hand, and Verso's eyes are wide, looking back down at Gustave ( beautiful, absolutely perfect, spread out beneath him ) -- ]
-- Putain.
[ He doesn't have time for this.
He wraps his arms around Gustave, forcefully pulling him close and rolling to the side, the tumble is messy and a little clumsy but it works. The cruler's club comes crashing into the rock where they were just moments before, the creature's entire body following suit. Verso is is instinctively using his body to shield Gustave's from any flying debris even in that messy tumble, and eventually rolls away from him, almost managing a smooth transition into a ready stance, one knee on the ground, the other foot braced against the rock. He's breathing heavily, jacket gone, and Verso had distracted Gustave with his mouth and tongue before the other man had a chance to finish with the last button of his shirt, leaving it hanging mostly open as he stays there for a moment, breathing heavy.
Fuck. The nevron makes its strange sound, turning to face them. Verso's looking at Gustave, catching his breath, and once he's satisfied the man is okay he's gesturing with a tip of his head towards the enemy that's crashed their damn party. His eyes are dark, narrowed, he's absolutely goddamn pissed, maybe even more than before, pushing himself up to his feet as a sword and dagger materialize into his hands with ripples of Chroma. ]
-- J'en ai ras de cul --
[ A stream of muttered French and nothing else, that's how you know he's pissed, and in a whirl of chroma and fury he's launching himself at the nevron. All of that almost lupine hunter's grace Gustave's always seen him carry, now actually sharpened to functional form, a little acrobatic, a little showy, but absolutely trained in on his target and ready to reach for a kill. ]