[ Verso can feel the way some of that tension just melts away from him, the halting sense of relief in his voice. He squeezes his arms around him, holding him close, taking a few moments to just -- feel him. Warm, solid, real, and he can only imagine how much like a far-off dream everything the night before must've seemed to Gustave with everything he doesn't know and everything he's only just learned, but Verso himself needs that assurance, too. That this is real.
( Or -- as real as any of them really are. )
He breathes him in, nuzzling down against the side of his neck, scruff and beard scratching against his skin as he lightly mouths over those bruises, dark and tender. Verso might feel a little apologetic about them, especially when asking for secrecy had been his pejorative to begin with, but if he's honest, seeing him beautiful and perfect and undeniably his if just for al those marks. It's hard to regret. ]
Thank you for trusting me.
[ For keeping his secret, so far. Verso hadn't kept near enough to literally listen in on every conversation, but it wasn't hard to tell how distracted Gustave had been all day, and how much he clearly didn't like hiding things from them. A slight ripple of guilt -- he's going to have to ask Gustave to keep keeping those secrets for quite a while longer. ]
I missed you. [ Murmured against his ear, and the fact that he's pressed against Gustave's back saves him from how he's clearly a little embarrassed when he says it. Sweet, genuine, but he was with him only just last night, only hours before -- and yet its true. He'd missed him when he wasn't there, when he couldn't feel him in his arms, that aching yearning in his chest only hurting more knowing he finally can just -- go to him. ] I hope you can believe that I won't be leaving you again, mon Monsieur le fleuriste.
[ Not if he can help it. He has -- some fears, about Renoir keeping tabs on him, about what it might mean for the Expedition and Gustave if Renoir sees just how attached he's getting, but. He squeezes his arms around him again, protectively. He'll just have to be ready. ]
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Date: 2025-06-07 03:43 pm (UTC)( Or -- as real as any of them really are. )
He breathes him in, nuzzling down against the side of his neck, scruff and beard scratching against his skin as he lightly mouths over those bruises, dark and tender. Verso might feel a little apologetic about them, especially when asking for secrecy had been his pejorative to begin with, but if he's honest, seeing him beautiful and perfect and undeniably his if just for al those marks. It's hard to regret. ]
Thank you for trusting me.
[ For keeping his secret, so far. Verso hadn't kept near enough to literally listen in on every conversation, but it wasn't hard to tell how distracted Gustave had been all day, and how much he clearly didn't like hiding things from them. A slight ripple of guilt -- he's going to have to ask Gustave to keep keeping those secrets for quite a while longer. ]
I missed you. [ Murmured against his ear, and the fact that he's pressed against Gustave's back saves him from how he's clearly a little embarrassed when he says it. Sweet, genuine, but he was with him only just last night, only hours before -- and yet its true. He'd missed him when he wasn't there, when he couldn't feel him in his arms, that aching yearning in his chest only hurting more knowing he finally can just -- go to him. ] I hope you can believe that I won't be leaving you again, mon Monsieur le fleuriste.
[ Not if he can help it. He has -- some fears, about Renoir keeping tabs on him, about what it might mean for the Expedition and Gustave if Renoir sees just how attached he's getting, but. He squeezes his arms around him again, protectively. He'll just have to be ready. ]