[ Verso laughs, but there's nothing cruel or mocking in it, and he softens it immediately after with a kiss that's so sweet and with such an edge of pure desire to it that Gustave's head spins.
Which is happening a lot, and he really does need to get himself under control when it comes to Verso. There's so much he needs to know, so much they need to talk about, he shouldn't be indulging himself like this, lifting his own hands to help Verso remove his scarf and jacket and setting them aside near his pack. Even with the promise of tomorrow, again, he shouldn't be wasting time.
But how heartbreaking to have to think of this, of losing himself in Verso and sinking into him the way he would into a warm bath, of grasping a little happiness for himself amid a world of horrors and exhaustion and the promise of death in less than a year, as wasting time. In a just world, a fair world, they could spend as much time as they like learning each other, teasing, playing, losing themselves in kisses and touches. He would be able to ask Verso questions just to get to know this beautiful man who has so thoroughly stolen his heart away, not because Verso has intelligence his team needs to survive. He hates it almost as much as he craves Verso's touch, his heated words, his lips against his skin.
He huffs a helpless, breathless laugh, sliding his hand up into Verso's hair and dragging him close, left arm tight around him. ]
This really isn't the kind of information I should be asking you for, you know.
[ And he is conscious of just how frustrated his team is likely to be if โ when? โ they find out that he's spent this time with a man who has lived since the Fracture and used it not to learn more, but simply to... be with him. The pressure is relentless; who is he to decide he can simply let go of it, even for a little while?
And still he can't let go of Verso, can't make himself push the man away. Every part of him is still yearning for more, as if he might wake up back in that bed in Lumiรจre, alone and aching for him. And he has to admit, because he knows Verso would hear the lie if he tried to say anything else: ]
But... yes. Yes, I want to hear you.
[ He does want to hear it, these impossible things falling off those lips. So far as he knows, nobody has ever thought about him like this before, wanted him like this before; why would they? He tried to be friendly and kind, a thoughtful colleague and a trusted friend, but none of that is precisely the stuff feverish fantasies involving mouths and hands and skin and shadowy corners are made of. ]
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Which is happening a lot, and he really does need to get himself under control when it comes to Verso. There's so much he needs to know, so much they need to talk about, he shouldn't be indulging himself like this, lifting his own hands to help Verso remove his scarf and jacket and setting them aside near his pack. Even with the promise of tomorrow, again, he shouldn't be wasting time.
But how heartbreaking to have to think of this, of losing himself in Verso and sinking into him the way he would into a warm bath, of grasping a little happiness for himself amid a world of horrors and exhaustion and the promise of death in less than a year, as wasting time. In a just world, a fair world, they could spend as much time as they like learning each other, teasing, playing, losing themselves in kisses and touches. He would be able to ask Verso questions just to get to know this beautiful man who has so thoroughly stolen his heart away, not because Verso has intelligence his team needs to survive. He hates it almost as much as he craves Verso's touch, his heated words, his lips against his skin.
He huffs a helpless, breathless laugh, sliding his hand up into Verso's hair and dragging him close, left arm tight around him. ]
This really isn't the kind of information I should be asking you for, you know.
[ And he is conscious of just how frustrated his team is likely to be if โ when? โ they find out that he's spent this time with a man who has lived since the Fracture and used it not to learn more, but simply to... be with him. The pressure is relentless; who is he to decide he can simply let go of it, even for a little while?
And still he can't let go of Verso, can't make himself push the man away. Every part of him is still yearning for more, as if he might wake up back in that bed in Lumiรจre, alone and aching for him. And he has to admit, because he knows Verso would hear the lie if he tried to say anything else: ]
But... yes. Yes, I want to hear you.
[ He does want to hear it, these impossible things falling off those lips. So far as he knows, nobody has ever thought about him like this before, wanted him like this before; why would they? He tried to be friendly and kind, a thoughtful colleague and a trusted friend, but none of that is precisely the stuff feverish fantasies involving mouths and hands and skin and shadowy corners are made of. ]