[ He half expects Verso to bypass the question entirely, to shove in and just attempt to burn him down. He's even braced for it, muscle shifting under skin as the man reaches for him, only to relax in confused longing as Verso only gently touches his side, his cheek, runs a thumb lightly over his cracked lip.
There's understanding in his eyes. He knows what Gustave is asking, surely, what he wants, what he's longed for this whole time. But if the answer is yes, what then? Will Gustave really be able to send him off with a kiss and a goodbye this time, watching another part of his heart disappear over the horizon?
He tips his head into that warm touch, his eyes never leaving Verso's even as his own hands shift, working their way into a closer grip on his shirt, his thumbs brushing bare skin. Gustave's lips twitch, wry, at the promise —it sounds good, it sounds like he means it, but it's sounded that way before — and again at the lame attempt at what must be a joke, based on that smile that lacks anything like humor, that looks just as sad as Gustave felt every time he thought of this man and the way he'd slipped through his fingers. ]
It couldn't be even if I said it were all right.
[ The numbers glowing on the Monolith are the brightest things in the night sky, brighter than the moon, the stars Gustave can't stop looking up at, losing himself in. 33, indelibly written. ]
I'm 32.
[ Verso can do the math himself, can have that realization that only months and a handful of weeks and days remain. And it hurts all over again, the loss of almost three whole years, everything they could have been. Maybe it wouldn't have worked out, and this story would always have been one of loss. But maybe it could have been almost three full years of happiness before the beginning of the end came.
He glances down now, at Verso's open shirt, his lean and beautiful body, and slowly uncurls his fingers from the shirt to instead slip them beneath the cloth, gentle. He remembers touching Verso before, the adoration in his fingertips, and he feels it again now, tries to show him how just how he'd slipped under Gustave's skin on the power of a song and a passionate tumble and a few short hours in the sun. And now Gustave does admit it, eyes still downcast and lashes lowered, his hands disappearing beneath Verso's shirt, following the perfect curve of his ribs, feeling his breath, his beating pulse. ]
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Date: 2025-06-05 12:33 am (UTC)There's understanding in his eyes. He knows what Gustave is asking, surely, what he wants, what he's longed for this whole time. But if the answer is yes, what then? Will Gustave really be able to send him off with a kiss and a goodbye this time, watching another part of his heart disappear over the horizon?
He tips his head into that warm touch, his eyes never leaving Verso's even as his own hands shift, working their way into a closer grip on his shirt, his thumbs brushing bare skin. Gustave's lips twitch, wry, at the promise —it sounds good, it sounds like he means it, but it's sounded that way before — and again at the lame attempt at what must be a joke, based on that smile that lacks anything like humor, that looks just as sad as Gustave felt every time he thought of this man and the way he'd slipped through his fingers. ]
It couldn't be even if I said it were all right.
[ The numbers glowing on the Monolith are the brightest things in the night sky, brighter than the moon, the stars Gustave can't stop looking up at, losing himself in. 33, indelibly written. ]
I'm 32.
[ Verso can do the math himself, can have that realization that only months and a handful of weeks and days remain. And it hurts all over again, the loss of almost three whole years, everything they could have been. Maybe it wouldn't have worked out, and this story would always have been one of loss. But maybe it could have been almost three full years of happiness before the beginning of the end came.
He glances down now, at Verso's open shirt, his lean and beautiful body, and slowly uncurls his fingers from the shirt to instead slip them beneath the cloth, gentle. He remembers touching Verso before, the adoration in his fingertips, and he feels it again now, tries to show him how just how he'd slipped under Gustave's skin on the power of a song and a passionate tumble and a few short hours in the sun. And now Gustave does admit it, eyes still downcast and lashes lowered, his hands disappearing beneath Verso's shirt, following the perfect curve of his ribs, feeling his breath, his beating pulse. ]
I missed you.