[ Verso makes some soft, pleased sound at that gentle touch running up over his stomach. It's a simple, idle movement, not even necessarily any purpose behind it other than contact and touch, and that just -- makes it feel that much more intimate, that much more dangerous in a way that Verso still struggles to define and understand. He looks at Gustave, hears how absolutely earnest he is in his response: the gestral needed help, so of course that's all that mattered. And when he describes his work in Lumiere . . . ]

You know. [ A thoughtful hum, and he pushes himself up slightly just so he can roll over and brace himself over him again, one elbow against his bunched-up sash and jacket, fingers curled lightly into his hair, the other tracing up over his belly as he leans his body over him. His eyes are lidded, fond, those fingers walking their way up over his chest. ] You had your performances from your Monsieur le pianiste, and you know I adore mon fleurist's work --

[ His hand lifts to curve against his chin, thumb tracing lightly just under his lower lip as he leans in to catch his mouth in a kiss. He lingers for just a while, the stir of heat starting to build again just under his tongue, pulling back to murmur against he corner of his mouth with a soft purr. ]

-- But I never got the chance to see mon ingénieur at work.

[ Verso is pretty sure that they'll be stuck there for much longer than Gustave appears to think: he's used to talking with the gestrals by now, but they are stubborn and persistent, not to mention Gustave seems much less likely to be willing to just physically pick them up and toss them away when warranted.

But maybe that's fine. A bit of time with the gestrals to watch Gustave at work, to give the gestrals a hand in some of their projects -- and probably more opportunities to watch him fight. Because the gestrals aren't going to let them go without multiple test rounds of their new toys. ]