[ Showing up to meet him today, Verso had mostly braced for an interrogation, and while Gustave did get some questions in, he's already been successfully distracted -- only, it wasn't difficult. There's things he wants to know and ants to ask, but Gustave just seems to want to revel in this, to enjoy being with him, having him, and --
It's nice. It's good. It makes some quiet part of his heart sing, the same part of him that he'd forgotten was there until Gustave had somehow found it and dug it up with his own hands, carved a place in it just for him. He lets himself be dragged close, smiling against his mouth, peppering more kisses across his cheek and neck, that smile widening even more when Gustave tells him, yes.
These aren't the kinds of questions he should be asking. But for everything Gustave should do, has to do, its nice to just do something he wants to instead, and Verso is the same. So much of his life bent towards lies and deceptions and just one mission, so much of his own happiness sacrificed towards that end. Shouldn't he make some choices, sometimes? Just for himself?
Slowly, Verso shifts against him, a hand against his shoulder, pushing him down to lay him out across the soft grass. This is definitely nicer than it had been the night before, and he even has enough time now to reach up and shrug his own jacket completely off his shoulders, gathering it up along with the sash Gustave has already pulled open and pool them behind Gustave's head. Not a bed, not fresh linen sheet that smell of both of them from a night's sleep shared together before, but -- close enough, for what they have, for what they can do. ]
-- I used to imagine playing at the opera house, again.
[ A real dream he's had, time and time again -- clearly not as heated as the other, at least not initially, and Verso has absolutely picked something like that on purpose. He leans down over him, pulling open what's left of his shirt and running his hands down over his chest as he kisses at his bruise-covered neck ]
As an actual pianist. To a crowded hall. I'd already have a bouquet on the piano -- a gift from mon Monsieur le fleuriste, before the show started. [ Mostly purple flowers, in his imagination, like the ones that Gustave had given him before. he sighs, gently urging Gustave's legs apart so he can settle himself between them, making it easier to press his body down against Gustave's, kissing down from his neck to the dip his throat. ] I'd look for your face in the crowd before I played. And after, during my bows.
And when everyone else is pouring outside -- You'd come look for me backstage.
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Date: 2025-06-08 04:19 pm (UTC)It's nice. It's good. It makes some quiet part of his heart sing, the same part of him that he'd forgotten was there until Gustave had somehow found it and dug it up with his own hands, carved a place in it just for him. He lets himself be dragged close, smiling against his mouth, peppering more kisses across his cheek and neck, that smile widening even more when Gustave tells him, yes.
These aren't the kinds of questions he should be asking. But for everything Gustave should do, has to do, its nice to just do something he wants to instead, and Verso is the same. So much of his life bent towards lies and deceptions and just one mission, so much of his own happiness sacrificed towards that end. Shouldn't he make some choices, sometimes? Just for himself?
Slowly, Verso shifts against him, a hand against his shoulder, pushing him down to lay him out across the soft grass. This is definitely nicer than it had been the night before, and he even has enough time now to reach up and shrug his own jacket completely off his shoulders, gathering it up along with the sash Gustave has already pulled open and pool them behind Gustave's head. Not a bed, not fresh linen sheet that smell of both of them from a night's sleep shared together before, but -- close enough, for what they have, for what they can do. ]
-- I used to imagine playing at the opera house, again.
[ A real dream he's had, time and time again -- clearly not as heated as the other, at least not initially, and Verso has absolutely picked something like that on purpose. He leans down over him, pulling open what's left of his shirt and running his hands down over his chest as he kisses at his bruise-covered neck ]
As an actual pianist. To a crowded hall. I'd already have a bouquet on the piano -- a gift from mon Monsieur le fleuriste, before the show started. [ Mostly purple flowers, in his imagination, like the ones that Gustave had given him before. he sighs, gently urging Gustave's legs apart so he can settle himself between them, making it easier to press his body down against Gustave's, kissing down from his neck to the dip his throat. ] I'd look for your face in the crowd before I played. And after, during my bows.
And when everyone else is pouring outside -- You'd come look for me backstage.