[ He chuckles, too, just at the mental image of it: Lune or Sciel or — heaven help him, Maelle — rushing in to the attack right in the middle of a friendly sparring session. ]

Probably for the best. You wouldn't enjoy it. Believe me when I say they all hit a lot harder than they look like they can.

[ And they all look like they can hit pretty damn hard.

But Verso's not thinking about that anymore, it seems; he's distracted, the way he holds himself turning just slightly toward coiled, like he's ready to pounce at any second.

And pounce he does, leaning in to catch Gustave's mouth with his, a little like those first kisses back in the garden when he'd been so intent, coaxing Gustave to part his lips and open his mouth so he can kiss him more deeply, tongue sinking into his mouth and drawing a sharp, guttural groan from Gustave's chest. Merde, this man really might be the death of him, and not the other way around.

Gustave reaches for him, hands at his shoulders, his arms, until he realizes what Verso's doing and finds himself laughing again, eyes crinkled, breathless, against that mouth that he kisses once more and once again. ]

Through with talking, are we?

[ Amused, even as he lifts his own hands to the buckles that keep his pack strapped securely to his back. He'd been careless with it the day before, but this time he loosens it and sets it and the lumina converter that dangles from it carefully to the side before reaching to get his hands back on Verso. He runs his palms up the man's side, over the lines of this unfamiliar uniform with its sash and tassels and buckles. ]

I did think about changing before coming out here, but that seemed like it would be even more suspicious than everything else.