[ His lips curve into a small smile where they're pressed against the hinge of Gustave's jaw, like the thought of those bruises giving him trouble is something that Verso's actually pleased about. He wants to keep this secret, really does believe that the best way for all of this to play out is for him to stay careful and distant, for the rest of Gustave's Expedition to not have to learn about him until strictly necessary -- but well. ]
Sorry.
[ There is some sheepishness to his voice, but. He clearly doesn't regret it all that much.
The marks are there to be seen as much as they are there for Gustave to feel, for himself. Verso is carrying his own bruises, much lesser in number, at least one pressed against the side of his neck, on his right side, just under his jaw -- and he could have healed that. His body does it without thinking, mends itself anew, and something as simple as a bruise would be gone within minutes. But just like the scar he carries on his face over his eye, Verso wants to keep the marks that matter, and bruises from kisses from his Monsieur le fleuriste's mouth and tongue matter just as much.
He makes some soft, pleased sound just feeling Gustave's hands run over his arms, flesh and blood and cool metal. Real. Noticing when Gustave doesn't echo his belief about anything else he says, but. That's probably fair, given everything he's done. Hopefully he'll win him over with a bit more time, for what little precious time that they have left. ]
A different life and I'd have invited you somewhere nice, I think. There's a bakery I liked, in Lumiere.
[ Verso doesn't think its there, anymore. But the sentiment is real, his voice soft and murmured. ]
No food or wine. But -- we can talk. As long as you want.
[ Genuine, with another little kiss pressed to his neck ( light enough to not bruise, but certainly placed over one on purpose ). There's still a lot that Verso can't tell him, that he'll still dodge and try to distract him from, but. They finally have at least some luxury of time. To be together, and just -- talk. ]
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Date: 2025-06-07 04:55 pm (UTC)Sorry.
[ There is some sheepishness to his voice, but. He clearly doesn't regret it all that much.
The marks are there to be seen as much as they are there for Gustave to feel, for himself. Verso is carrying his own bruises, much lesser in number, at least one pressed against the side of his neck, on his right side, just under his jaw -- and he could have healed that. His body does it without thinking, mends itself anew, and something as simple as a bruise would be gone within minutes. But just like the scar he carries on his face over his eye, Verso wants to keep the marks that matter, and bruises from kisses from his Monsieur le fleuriste's mouth and tongue matter just as much.
He makes some soft, pleased sound just feeling Gustave's hands run over his arms, flesh and blood and cool metal. Real. Noticing when Gustave doesn't echo his belief about anything else he says, but. That's probably fair, given everything he's done. Hopefully he'll win him over with a bit more time, for what little precious time that they have left. ]
A different life and I'd have invited you somewhere nice, I think. There's a bakery I liked, in Lumiere.
[ Verso doesn't think its there, anymore. But the sentiment is real, his voice soft and murmured. ]
No food or wine. But -- we can talk. As long as you want.
[ Genuine, with another little kiss pressed to his neck ( light enough to not bruise, but certainly placed over one on purpose ). There's still a lot that Verso can't tell him, that he'll still dodge and try to distract him from, but. They finally have at least some luxury of time. To be together, and just -- talk. ]