[ He makes another small sound as Verso makes his way up toward his ear, eyes closing as his head tips, as his hand works a little higher along Verso's thigh. ]
Verso.
[ Breathed on a laugh, half-indulgent and half-scolding, all affection — you wouldn't really be feeling him up in public, would you, Verso? – even as he lets the fantasy coalesce in his mind's eye.
And it is a fantasy, he has no doubt, one of many, going by what Verso had suggested before, and it rocks him all over again, how much Verso had thought about him. That Verso had missed him, longed for him, just as much as he had longed for Verso. All those times he lay back in that garden, staring up at the golden gleam of the dome overhead and imagining that Verso was there beside him, Verso was here, doing something similar. Piecing together what-ifs and might-have-beens, indulging in daydreams where they took each other apart slow and fast and every other possible way in between.
He can imagine it so easily: the low murmur of sound in the restaurant, Verso's voice full of mock innocence, the taste of the wine, his own discomfort and rising desire. His gut twists, heat beginning to chase its way through his veins, simply from the low words Verso is speaking quietly into his ear.
His breath hitches a little as he works that cord free, starts on the buttons of Verso's uniform coat. The desperation of yesterday isn't wholly gone from the way he touches the man, the way he works at those fastenings, but he tells himself sternly to slow down, not to rush. They have time, even if it's not as much as he'd like. ]
That would be very cruel of you, mon cher, teasing me that way. Don't you know how helpless I am in your hands?
And you'd touch me anyway, knowing how hard it would be not to come for you even there?
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Date: 2025-06-08 02:36 am (UTC)Verso.
[ Breathed on a laugh, half-indulgent and half-scolding, all affection — you wouldn't really be feeling him up in public, would you, Verso? – even as he lets the fantasy coalesce in his mind's eye.
And it is a fantasy, he has no doubt, one of many, going by what Verso had suggested before, and it rocks him all over again, how much Verso had thought about him. That Verso had missed him, longed for him, just as much as he had longed for Verso. All those times he lay back in that garden, staring up at the golden gleam of the dome overhead and imagining that Verso was there beside him, Verso was here, doing something similar. Piecing together what-ifs and might-have-beens, indulging in daydreams where they took each other apart slow and fast and every other possible way in between.
He can imagine it so easily: the low murmur of sound in the restaurant, Verso's voice full of mock innocence, the taste of the wine, his own discomfort and rising desire. His gut twists, heat beginning to chase its way through his veins, simply from the low words Verso is speaking quietly into his ear.
His breath hitches a little as he works that cord free, starts on the buttons of Verso's uniform coat. The desperation of yesterday isn't wholly gone from the way he touches the man, the way he works at those fastenings, but he tells himself sternly to slow down, not to rush. They have time, even if it's not as much as he'd like. ]
That would be very cruel of you, mon cher, teasing me that way. Don't you know how helpless I am in your hands?
And you'd touch me anyway, knowing how hard it would be not to come for you even there?