[ Sex and a fight tend to lie somewhere in the same direction for Verso when it comes to what neurons it sets alight across his nerves, surprisingly easy and fluid to shift from one to the other. It's adrenaline, focus, molding his entire body and being to a single purpose, just the exact nature of that focus being a little different, depending on what he's doing. Too much has happened too quickly, and his mind finds it far easier to settle on things like this, instinctive responses, than to give himself any real time to think. The anger that he'd carried with him earlier -- slightly dissipated, gone into that Nevron and taking it apart with far more force and fury than was ever necessary, fizzled enough that it can slide to the back of his thoughts ( why would you do that, how could you possibly think it was worth it -- ) in favor of more pressing things.
Unfortunately, Gustave's had enough time to think and breathe, and might find getting answers more pressing than getting Verso's hands and tongue back on his skin. Gustave steps back, Verso steps with him, and something flickers in his eyes, irritated, a little cowed, unsure.
He tries to move in closer, anyway, keeps trying to wind an arm around him and pull him close -- but especially with Gustave holding a hand up between them, he doesn't move to do any more than that. But merde, Gustave is beautiful, and every time he sees him it feels like its worse. In the garden he remembered looking up at him and feeling his breath get caught in his lungs as the sun caught in his curls, remembered rolling over to Gustave laid out next to him and thinking he looked even more beautiful all freshly unmade, and now he's just standing there. Disheveled, a mess, his skin and lips already marked and kiss-bruised, with Verso's eyes tracing his chest and remembering the heat of his skin under his fingers as much as he remembers muscle rippling under his skin as he'd twisted himself into something beautiful and deadly to strike out at that Nevron. He's even more beautiful here, somehow, an infuriating dream of a person, and worst or best of all its not a dream, anymore. Just within arm's reach, plucked from the jaws of death when he'd swept him up in his arms as he'd hurtled to the ground. Finally within arm's reach, after two years.
And right now, just out of reach. He makes some low sound, eyes flicking back up to meet Gustave's. ]
Time and practice. I can teach you.
[ He'd always meant to. Eventually. ]
It'd take some time.
[ A bit of training, maybe. Some Expeditioners were worse at picking it up than others. What's implied behind that answer is clear: not now. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-06-04 08:49 pm (UTC)Unfortunately, Gustave's had enough time to think and breathe, and might find getting answers more pressing than getting Verso's hands and tongue back on his skin. Gustave steps back, Verso steps with him, and something flickers in his eyes, irritated, a little cowed, unsure.
He tries to move in closer, anyway, keeps trying to wind an arm around him and pull him close -- but especially with Gustave holding a hand up between them, he doesn't move to do any more than that. But merde, Gustave is beautiful, and every time he sees him it feels like its worse. In the garden he remembered looking up at him and feeling his breath get caught in his lungs as the sun caught in his curls, remembered rolling over to Gustave laid out next to him and thinking he looked even more beautiful all freshly unmade, and now he's just standing there. Disheveled, a mess, his skin and lips already marked and kiss-bruised, with Verso's eyes tracing his chest and remembering the heat of his skin under his fingers as much as he remembers muscle rippling under his skin as he'd twisted himself into something beautiful and deadly to strike out at that Nevron. He's even more beautiful here, somehow, an infuriating dream of a person, and worst or best of all its not a dream, anymore. Just within arm's reach, plucked from the jaws of death when he'd swept him up in his arms as he'd hurtled to the ground. Finally within arm's reach, after two years.
And right now, just out of reach. He makes some low sound, eyes flicking back up to meet Gustave's. ]
Time and practice. I can teach you.
[ He'd always meant to. Eventually. ]
It'd take some time.
[ A bit of training, maybe. Some Expeditioners were worse at picking it up than others. What's implied behind that answer is clear: not now. ]