[ With everything they've already done and said to each other ( even if scattered across time and space, years and a literal ocean apart ), there's still something about this that has Verso's breath catching in his throat, his heart seizing in his chest, something almost painfully intimate. Its those eyes, lovely and warm as they always are and still as clear as he remembers all those years ago: he can see into him, into his bared open heart.
And Gustave doesn't look away. Just lets him see everything, every daydream and fantasy flickering through the back of his mind that he can't bring himself to say, how much he wants, how much he needs. He doesn't look away and he tells him, that out of everything he could ever want, out of every fantasy that Verso could weave for him and promise to make true -- all he wants is this.
Both of them. Now. And he feels a pulse of something warm twist painfully around his lungs, something that makes him feel like he's drowning but in the best possible way, taking his breath away and replacing it with something warm and gold and honey-sweet. He squeezes his hand around him again, feeling Gustave's own fingers stuttering slightly around him in turn, his own hips instinctively tipping into that touch.
Gustave is laid out beneath him, spread out and breathless and completely bare from the waist up and looking like a dream, blue gleam of those chroma-stained trees spilling over his skin, catching the tendons and muscle in his arm as he touches him. Verso finds himself remembering the garden, after he'd first tried to steal away, however half-hearted it was: part of him really was ready to leave after finishing him off with his mouth and tongue, to vanish over the horizon and never see him again. But of course Gustave had bid him to stay, with touches, with kisses, with the look in his eyes, and as he'd laid him out on the grass Gustave could tell that there was something in him holding back, locked away, knowing the lies he was living, that he'd have to tell.
And Gustave had simply reached in past those walls to some door he never knew was there and pulled them open. Until Verso was just there, there in the garden with him, moaning into his touch and then pressing up into his mouth, and Verso's head spins because now he's here and thats what matters, more than anything else. He came back, except he didn't -- Gustave brought him back, seized him by the heart and hauled him close, and now he doesn't ever want to leave.
Verso sinks down, presses closer, lips ghosting against Gustave's own. ]
-- I'm here. [ A kiss, a bite, and then a softer murmur; ] I'm yours.
[ And he means it, merde, he means it. His breath is starting to come in shorter, sharper stops, his hand working over Gustave at a good, steady rhythm, trying to match how Gustave touches him but getting a little impatient in turn before forcing himself back down. The knot in his stomach is building, building, his hips starting to stutter as he rocks against Gustave's sweet fingers. He's here. He's yours. And nothing else matters. ]
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And Gustave doesn't look away. Just lets him see everything, every daydream and fantasy flickering through the back of his mind that he can't bring himself to say, how much he wants, how much he needs. He doesn't look away and he tells him, that out of everything he could ever want, out of every fantasy that Verso could weave for him and promise to make true -- all he wants is this.
Both of them. Now. And he feels a pulse of something warm twist painfully around his lungs, something that makes him feel like he's drowning but in the best possible way, taking his breath away and replacing it with something warm and gold and honey-sweet. He squeezes his hand around him again, feeling Gustave's own fingers stuttering slightly around him in turn, his own hips instinctively tipping into that touch.
Gustave is laid out beneath him, spread out and breathless and completely bare from the waist up and looking like a dream, blue gleam of those chroma-stained trees spilling over his skin, catching the tendons and muscle in his arm as he touches him. Verso finds himself remembering the garden, after he'd first tried to steal away, however half-hearted it was: part of him really was ready to leave after finishing him off with his mouth and tongue, to vanish over the horizon and never see him again. But of course Gustave had bid him to stay, with touches, with kisses, with the look in his eyes, and as he'd laid him out on the grass Gustave could tell that there was something in him holding back, locked away, knowing the lies he was living, that he'd have to tell.
And Gustave had simply reached in past those walls to some door he never knew was there and pulled them open. Until Verso was just there, there in the garden with him, moaning into his touch and then pressing up into his mouth, and Verso's head spins because now he's here and thats what matters, more than anything else. He came back, except he didn't -- Gustave brought him back, seized him by the heart and hauled him close, and now he doesn't ever want to leave.
Verso sinks down, presses closer, lips ghosting against Gustave's own. ]
-- I'm here. [ A kiss, a bite, and then a softer murmur; ] I'm yours.
[ And he means it, merde, he means it. His breath is starting to come in shorter, sharper stops, his hand working over Gustave at a good, steady rhythm, trying to match how Gustave touches him but getting a little impatient in turn before forcing himself back down. The knot in his stomach is building, building, his hips starting to stutter as he rocks against Gustave's sweet fingers. He's here. He's yours. And nothing else matters. ]