[ He wonders, if they had managed to have all three of those years together, if he'd ever get tired of watching the way emotions wash raw through Verso's clear eyes, how he looks when Gustave surprises him, when he's cracked open and vulnerable and there's nothing, nothing, nothing but the two of them and their panting breaths and their hands on each other. The whole of their desolate, shattered world shrinks down to this: Verso's eyes widening, his heart splashed just for a moment across his face. Here with him, just with him, just like Gustave asked. It's everything he could want, coalesced down to this one perfect moment.
Maybe they didn't have those three years. Maybe they've both been existing, half dreaming and half heartbroken, on memories run so many times under their fingers that they almost don't feel real. But this is: Verso's body lowering over his, Verso blanketing him, Verso everywhere, his mouth on Gustave's and his hand around him and his name caught on a moan that falls off Gustave's throat as his hips stutter, pushing helplessly up into the hand that's driving him insane.
He feels when Verso's pace picks up, feels when Verso gathers his willpower to slow it back down again, and recklessly moves his own hand faster, stroking long and firm and building a rapid pace as he tries to catch up with the edge he himself teeters on, between Verso's hand and body and putain de merde, that voice, telling him yes, he's here, yes, he's Gustave's, and isn't that the real fantasy that's come true? That somehow this man, painfully beautiful over him, charming and heated and carrying with him always some of the danger of this wild place, could possibly feel this way. That he could choose Gustave, of everyone.
That he would come back and offer himself so freely. ]
Versoโ
[ Even his thoughts are fragmenting now, and it's harder and harder to keep his eyes on Verso, hazy as they are with pleasure. ]
I'm yours. Mon cher, Iโ Versoโ
[ His name the last thing on Gustave's lips aside from the wordless cry that's dragged up and out of him as his hips rock sharply, once, twice, and he throbs against Verso's palm, spilling over his fingers and onto his own belly in a hot rush as he comes. ]
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Date: 2025-06-10 03:19 am (UTC)Maybe they didn't have those three years. Maybe they've both been existing, half dreaming and half heartbroken, on memories run so many times under their fingers that they almost don't feel real. But this is: Verso's body lowering over his, Verso blanketing him, Verso everywhere, his mouth on Gustave's and his hand around him and his name caught on a moan that falls off Gustave's throat as his hips stutter, pushing helplessly up into the hand that's driving him insane.
He feels when Verso's pace picks up, feels when Verso gathers his willpower to slow it back down again, and recklessly moves his own hand faster, stroking long and firm and building a rapid pace as he tries to catch up with the edge he himself teeters on, between Verso's hand and body and putain de merde, that voice, telling him yes, he's here, yes, he's Gustave's, and isn't that the real fantasy that's come true? That somehow this man, painfully beautiful over him, charming and heated and carrying with him always some of the danger of this wild place, could possibly feel this way. That he could choose Gustave, of everyone.
That he would come back and offer himself so freely. ]
Versoโ
[ Even his thoughts are fragmenting now, and it's harder and harder to keep his eyes on Verso, hazy as they are with pleasure. ]
I'm yours. Mon cher, Iโ Versoโ
[ His name the last thing on Gustave's lips aside from the wordless cry that's dragged up and out of him as his hips rock sharply, once, twice, and he throbs against Verso's palm, spilling over his fingers and onto his own belly in a hot rush as he comes. ]