[ His eyes stay on Verso's as that clear glance moves over his face, his body, drinking him in like Gustave is the mostly beautiful thing he's ever seen, like every bruise and scar are beauty marks, like his fabricated left arm and flesh and bone right one are both works of art. His own gaze stays steady even as Verso's flick to the side, his fingers lifting to carefully trace the petals and stem of the little yellow flower he'd tucked earlier into the wayward curls of Gustave's hair.
He's seen those hands travel lightly over the keys of a piano, coaxing music so beautiful it felt like his heart would break just hearing into existence; he's seen them grip a sword and dagger and strike down a Nevron in only a handful of blows. All that, and now they touch him with so much focused gentleness, drawing him into life with every stroke and caress. Their fingers tangle together, and Gustave lifts their hands to press a kiss to Verso's knuckles, lowers them again to set them comfortably on his own chest, just over his heart. Even now it beats a little faster, trying to push past ribs and muscle and skin to the hand lying above it. ]
Perhaps I should be calling you fleuriste.
[ That little yellow flower, he knows, will go between the pages of his journal to join Verso's note and Sophie's picture and the red petals he'd caught in his hand just before the ship set sail from Lumiรจre's small harbor, bow pointed to the continent lying low and menacing on the horizon.
His own smile is caught in Verso's kiss, his thumb running idly, affectionate over the angle of Verso's where their hands are laced together on his chest. ]
You threw all my plans on their ear. And it wasn't even hard, was it? All it took was a song I happened to hear on my way home one night, a few stolen hours in a garden. And now, this...
[ This unlooked for bounty of time. His left hand drifts over firm muscle and soft warm skin to the small of Verso's back, to his hip, thumb sliding under the loosened waistband of his trousers. That laugh hasn't left his voice, warm and low and rumbling in his chest, almost a contented purr, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks over at Verso, lingering on the line of his nose, the full sweet bow of his mouth. ]
If my attempts at are at all successful, it's not due to my plans or ability to seduce, trust me. But something seems to be working, and I don't know whether I should be glad about it or worried you've hit your head and may yet come to your senses.
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He's seen those hands travel lightly over the keys of a piano, coaxing music so beautiful it felt like his heart would break just hearing into existence; he's seen them grip a sword and dagger and strike down a Nevron in only a handful of blows. All that, and now they touch him with so much focused gentleness, drawing him into life with every stroke and caress. Their fingers tangle together, and Gustave lifts their hands to press a kiss to Verso's knuckles, lowers them again to set them comfortably on his own chest, just over his heart. Even now it beats a little faster, trying to push past ribs and muscle and skin to the hand lying above it. ]
Perhaps I should be calling you fleuriste.
[ That little yellow flower, he knows, will go between the pages of his journal to join Verso's note and Sophie's picture and the red petals he'd caught in his hand just before the ship set sail from Lumiรจre's small harbor, bow pointed to the continent lying low and menacing on the horizon.
His own smile is caught in Verso's kiss, his thumb running idly, affectionate over the angle of Verso's where their hands are laced together on his chest. ]
You threw all my plans on their ear. And it wasn't even hard, was it? All it took was a song I happened to hear on my way home one night, a few stolen hours in a garden. And now, this...
[ This unlooked for bounty of time. His left hand drifts over firm muscle and soft warm skin to the small of Verso's back, to his hip, thumb sliding under the loosened waistband of his trousers. That laugh hasn't left his voice, warm and low and rumbling in his chest, almost a contented purr, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks over at Verso, lingering on the line of his nose, the full sweet bow of his mouth. ]
If my attempts at are at all successful, it's not due to my plans or ability to seduce, trust me. But something seems to be working, and I don't know whether I should be glad about it or worried you've hit your head and may yet come to your senses.