[ It's all already almost more than he can take โ Verso's body crowded against his, slick with sweat and warm, so warm, every rock of his hips sending Gustave's head reeling, his breath hitching hard in his chest โ and then Verso wets his hand and wraps it around them again and Gustave swears, low and breathless, sounding like he's been punched in the gut. ]
Putain.
[ Already his body is stuttering, his hips pushing helplessly into that slick, maddening touch, that perfect friction, feeling every twitch and throb almost as intimately as if it were his own. There's no chance of lasting much longer, not when the only person who's touched him like this in the last two years has been himself, not when he's so desperate for Verso's hands, his body, the way they feel pressing and rocking together.
He lifts his mouth from Verso's skin, setting his forehead there against his shoulder for a moment as he shudders, trying to collect himself, trying to control himself, but it's all too much, too much, especially once Verso starts murmuring to him, his own voice low and groaning as he tells Gustave everything he wants, what he's imaginedโ
The thought of Verso picturing this, him, them so many times over the last two years sends a flush of heat through him, and anything Gustave could say back is choked on a moan as the man rolls his hips again, smooth and deliberate. His eyes squeeze closed, hard enough to hurt, and he lifts his head again to find the man's lips, open-mouthed and messy, tonguing into him, drunk on the things he's saying. I want you. I always wanted you. ]
I imagined you, too.
[ Such a few small words for the way he'd truly indulged: daydreams, long musings, closing his eyes and pretending to himself. He kisses him again, metal left hand coming up to the back of Verso's neck to drag him close before Gustave chases kisses down along his throat again, feverish and hard but with that same intent adoration he'd shown in the garden all that time ago. Verso is beautiful, impossible, and who knows, who knows if he'll ever have this chance again, no matter what the man says? ]
The way you would look in my bed, in the morning sun. The sounds you would make, the way you'd taste, when I have you in my mouth and you're coming apart beneath me.
[ His breath is coming faster now, his whole body shivering. ]
How it would feel โ Verso, mon dieu โ how it would โ
I needโ
[ It spills out of him anyway, close as he is, helplessly tipping into Verso's gravity. ]
I want you, I... Je veux รชtre avec toi, I need you. I need you.
no subject
Putain.
[ Already his body is stuttering, his hips pushing helplessly into that slick, maddening touch, that perfect friction, feeling every twitch and throb almost as intimately as if it were his own. There's no chance of lasting much longer, not when the only person who's touched him like this in the last two years has been himself, not when he's so desperate for Verso's hands, his body, the way they feel pressing and rocking together.
He lifts his mouth from Verso's skin, setting his forehead there against his shoulder for a moment as he shudders, trying to collect himself, trying to control himself, but it's all too much, too much, especially once Verso starts murmuring to him, his own voice low and groaning as he tells Gustave everything he wants, what he's imaginedโ
The thought of Verso picturing this, him, them so many times over the last two years sends a flush of heat through him, and anything Gustave could say back is choked on a moan as the man rolls his hips again, smooth and deliberate. His eyes squeeze closed, hard enough to hurt, and he lifts his head again to find the man's lips, open-mouthed and messy, tonguing into him, drunk on the things he's saying. I want you. I always wanted you. ]
I imagined you, too.
[ Such a few small words for the way he'd truly indulged: daydreams, long musings, closing his eyes and pretending to himself. He kisses him again, metal left hand coming up to the back of Verso's neck to drag him close before Gustave chases kisses down along his throat again, feverish and hard but with that same intent adoration he'd shown in the garden all that time ago. Verso is beautiful, impossible, and who knows, who knows if he'll ever have this chance again, no matter what the man says? ]
The way you would look in my bed, in the morning sun. The sounds you would make, the way you'd taste, when I have you in my mouth and you're coming apart beneath me.
[ His breath is coming faster now, his whole body shivering. ]
How it would feel โ Verso, mon dieu โ how it would โ
I needโ
[ It spills out of him anyway, close as he is, helplessly tipping into Verso's gravity. ]
I want you, I... Je veux รชtre avec toi, I need you. I need you.